3

When Sol returns to the campsite, the fire is long extinguished and Yohan still fast asleep.

Sol slips into his tent.

Inside his bedroll, he brings his own fingers to his lips and pushes them to his tongue. He sucks on his bone knuckles as he revels in the memory of the forest nymph's touch. Gods, what has he done?

To be willingly fucked by a nymph is folly. He knows that he is toying with death. If she suddenly decided to snap his neck in two, there would be nothing Sol could do.

But there is a hunger inside him. He wants her to make him feel like a man again. He wants her to touch him, as he is— as Sol. And when the day that follows is slow, full of rain turning the terrain into a dangerous slope, Yohan and Sol haven't a choice but to spend it inside their tents as they fare the storm. Sol has time— too much time —to think as he burns through three thick tomes like an obsessed reader, a troubled mind. He wishes he could forget her. He wishes he could forget what she made him feel.

He wishes he could turn his eyes away from the appetite of wanting to be loved. Of wanting to be Sol. Even if just this once.

He spends the day wishing. The weather eases out of capricious thunder only once dusk breaks.

When Yohan and Sol eat together that night, across from each other around the vampire, Yohan seems to notice something is amiss "Are you all right?"

he asks Sol. "You look worried about something."

The knight shows him a kind smile. "I know we've only just met, but if you need an ear, I'm happy to lend one."

Sol tenses. He grasps at his elbow, then squeezes. As his lips thin into a line, he considers telling the knight everything. It would be so easy to talk. So easy for Yohan to dissuade him. Of course, it is madness to bed a nymph— not once, but twice, too. Of course, he should promise to leave this be and count himself lucky to have survived the encounter just this once.

Of course, Sol merely tells him, "No, I'm fine,"

and his nails dig a little deeper into the thick sleeve that covers his arm. He is on edge that night when they finally turn in. For he knows tomorrow will rob him of the chance of being Sol again, and his mind races with the very notion of that life which he hates to a bitter end.

For a moment Sol eases into slumber, thinking himself a fool, a fool, a fool who, upon waking again—sleepless and terribly bothered by the ache in his heart, his cunt—slips out of his tent in dead silence.

He couldn't help himself.

Sol's eyes are wild, searching the environs for the forest again, the stream.

He couldn't help himself—he didn't want to give this up, not just yet.

Soon, Sol is treading past their campsite and into the woods, leaving nervous footsteps down the trail leading to the stream, as if lured towards madness again.

Gods, he is a fool. But she has what he wants—and isn't that how all foolishness begins? The granting of wishes that cannot be granted?

At first he does not see her. Though, he hears her calling out, "My lovely, you are here."

Sol stares at the stream, how the rocks wedged inside its bed split the running waters in two. "I'm lovely?"

"Your mind is."

Sol reaches downward, into the sky's reflection. "Surely, you have seen more interesting."

His heart is beating fast in his chest with anticipation; he does his best to appear calm. Collected.

He is losing his mind.

"I have."

The forest nymph lets out a cheeky hum. "But, your struggle is unique."

She smiles. "What will you do with it, I wonder?"

The forest nymph licks her lips. "And how can I undo you? Men are rarely as lonely nor abstinent."

Ah, Sol's shoulders drop upon hearing the words, his heart runs a little colder now, so she pitied me.

"Not pitied."

The nymph's form rises from the water, Sol watches the sharp edges in her graceful smirk as she reaches for his chin again. "Intrigued."

Perhaps, he should take offense, but Sol was well-read on nymphs during his studies—having learned their lives, which span eons, shape their minds in peculiar ways mortal kin could never begin to understand. If her interest in him has kept him alive until now, that is a good sign, a great chance. And he is quite curious, too. The more time he spends around her, the more her magic speaks to him. She feels more powerful, more ancient than anything Sol has ever encountered before. It is possible she protects not a single tree, but the entirety of these lands themselves. And what a beautiful, captivating thing that is.

He sees it now… how could he simply leave without saying goodbye?

"Come in,"

the nymph whispers, as the water around her takes the form of branches that hook around his clothes then strip him bare. "Come here, to me."

Sol's breaths grow heavy. She is the very embodiment of Power all mages crave. He cannot bring himself to look away. He kneels inside the stream. The water is cold, yet his skin is scorched with desire. Hunger. The worst of endings could happen here—still, his heart beats with flurried arousal at the thought of experiencing her anew.

The nymph towers over him. She runs a chilled finger down Sol's spine, and grips a hand into his hair, tugging ever so slightly. Sol feels a wetness build between his thighs as the water-sculpted branches bend then soften and slide across his skin. The water glows, taking on an incandescent sheen, pale crystalline cyan fondles his body in ways Sol never thought possible. One of the branches thins then wraps itself around Sol's cock, pumping Sol in ways he could only dream of being touched. But here, beneath her, the impossible exists no longer. "Oh—"

Sol's eyes widen. He chokes around a moan. " Gods , please—"

The nymph chuckles behind him. She lifts his chin and runs her teeth across his ear. "I am no God, my lovely. They have long since abandoned my kind."

She slips her cool, wet fingers down the curve of his ass; the nymph massages his entrance open in circles. Sol likes that she does not enter him. Her touch is just enough for a pleasant warmth to cloud his mind.

Ripples form in the water below. Sol leans into the forest nymph's touch, he thrusts his hips forward on instinct, as she continues to stroke the bud of his cock. Until Sol moans, then comes around the stiffening, cool of the water.

The nymph runs her hands down his chest, leaving Sol a whimpering mess. "Leave tonight,"

she whispers beside his ear. "My sisters will be here soon—they are not as lenient. They will eat you and your friend."

Sol's eyes shoot open as if waking from a dream—it could have very well been, for the water soon falls and splashes around him, leaving no other sight to Sol than the one of his red-faced reflection in the stream. The moon and clouds tower over him like strange deities, watching his every move. He has never seen himself like this. His shoulders are flushed. It hurts to look at his body, and yet, he was in so much pleasure mere minutes ago despite himself… Sol runs a soft hand down his chest. For the first time, he wonders if he could embrace this odd husk. It still does not feel right—he doubts it ever will—but it brought him a moment of reprieve and bliss despite it all. It made him feel good, as Sol and not Solange.

Sol takes a minute to catch his breath. In a brief, moment of absence he reaches for the water and drinks from the stream. Though, he spits it out shortly after. "Urgh. What was I thinking?"

As he spits more of the water, tears line his eyes, and Sol pauses with his head hung low. "I don't want to go back…"

he whimpers.

Sol sniffles. Once I go back, I'll return to playing the role of Solange again. "Please,"

he begs the nymph, "don't make me leave."

He cannot move, he cannot leave, he does not want this to be the end of him. "Let me stay with you…"

Sol begs, even when the nymphs' gift of freedom has already been ripped from his grasp. "I'll do anything! I-I'll even—"

Sol blinks and—somehow, he is back in the tent again, laying in his bedroll.

Outside, an empty howling prowls across the lands, Sol swears he hears the wind whisper to him.

I already told you—you cannot stay.

But, you should tell him. You should tell Yohan.

It is okay, Sol. You were born to be yourself, after all.

Sol's eyes widen as he gasps, he stares at the wind ripples that crease the tent above head. He doesn't understand anymore, how he got here, whether it was all a dream or reality; it is all so strange yet fitting of the legends, the warnings of tampering with ancient magics.

Tell him , the voice whispers again.

Leave.

Leave tonight.

This time, Sol rises to his feet then heeds her warnings. He does not want to take chances, even when his heart aches with loss. His sweat-soaked shirt clings to his back as he pushes past the haunting voice, then bursts into Yohan's tent, Sol shakes the older man awake.

Sol cannot help but take notice of Yohan's bare chest, how well sculpted the muscles that sit across his broad shoulders are. But that isn't what he came here for, so, he looks away.

Yohan blinks. The knight seems groggy, yet still, he wakes fast. As expected from a Rider.

"Sol?"

"It would take too long to explain, so I won't, but you need to trust me."

Sol's hold tightens against Yohan's biceps. "We're in danger,"

he tells the knight, even when he isn't quite sure of his words. "We need to leave."

Do they? Sol wonders. Must they?

"Right now?"

What if it was all a dream?

"Uh…"

Sol ponders on his words for a moment, he is still in the midst of catching his bearings, after awakening again for what feels like the third time tonight. "In the next hour"—he cringes—"if possible?"

He hopes he is not making a mistake.

"Oh, well, that's plenty of time!"

Yohan scoffs as he presses his hands to his hips. He acts as if he used to packing and scurrying off in the dead of night.

Perhaps, he is. But…

Plenty of time? Sol begs to differ.

One, single hour to keep his life fills him with an anxious dread he cannot even begin to explain. He is glad his traveling companion feels confident, at least.

"And here I thought we may have to leave right this second!"

The knight laughs, before he pauses for a moment to stare at Sol. "Sol, are you all right?"

Sol's shoulders tense. He almost jumps out of crouching. "W-Why wouldn't I be?"

"Did you have a nightmare? You are…"

Yohan doesn't finish his phrase, however he doesn't need to, Sol knows what he was likely about to say: You're drenched. You look feverish.

And Sol wonders if he might not be, his cheeks burn, after that strange little encounter.

He stares out into the distance and thinks back to the stream, the nymph—reality and reverie, all blended as one. "Um…"

Sol's lower lip twitches. "Don't worry yourself with that, for now, let's just get going."

As they both rise then grab their belongings, Sol doesn't leave with regrets, only… with the mortifying knowledge that, if properly tempted, he may be quite the fool. Whilst he and Yohan walk the roads to their next stop, Sol rubs his hands together to find warmth, and feels the dense lines from the rocks in the riverside still etched into his skin.

* * *

When Sol and Yohan collapse again miles later, dawn is breaking in the sky, a violet bruise duvet covering starlight. Yohan is slightly out of breath whilst Sol is panting for air as he lays flat on his back, with his limbs splayed out like an overgrown starfish. Sol can't remember the last time he walked for so long—nor if he ever did—but every single part of his body aches with a tense pain. His mind buzzes with recipes for potions that could relieve him, yet, it is hard to think when he is so hungry and tired and sore. "I hate this."

His eyes roll to where Yohan is seated, drinking from one of the vials containing their water. "How are you not exhausted?"

Yohan raises a brow at Sol. "From such a short walk?"

He frowns. "I once went two days without food nor sleep, all the while traveling a distance much greater than this!"

"But everything hurts…"

Sol groans, his cheek is pressed to the ground and there is dirt on his skin; though, he cannot bring himself to care anymore.

Yohan cocks his head sideways. "Are you injured?"

"I…"

Sol shakes his head. "I don't think so."

Yet as he says this, Sol finally moves and realizes how much he is hurting, to an unnatural extent. "Shit."

Swearing isn't proper etiquette, and Sol is certain his mentor would have his head if he could hear him, but right now Sol cannot give less of a damn. He stares at the sky, his gaze darkening. "I can't go on."

However, beside him, Yohan only laughs as he shuffles through his own backpack. "Come now, no need to give up on life yet."

From his belongings, the knight takes out a small glass container, some olive oil, and his tent that they'd packed up earlier. "Your muscles are just stiff from walking all night. That's all."

Sol observes his traveling companion in silence as Yohan raises his tent once more. The knight turns then looks to Sol, his arms a tad tense by his sides. "I can carry you inside so you can take a nap. But, if you wish it so…"

Yohan places a palm over his own chest, his tone grows a tad more serious. "At the King's orders, I once trained beside the best healers in the land. I am quite skilled at giving massages, and relieved my companions of any pain they had incurred, more times than I can recall!"

He clears his throat. "Of course, I would understand if you aren't comfortable with—"

"Do it,"

Sol mutters under his breath as he shuts his eyes in defeat. Usually, he would abstain from letting others see or touch his body: but last night wasn't usually , nor is today.

Right now, Sol's only wish is to be able to move around properly again, he would hate for some bandits or a wild animal to take them both by surprise in the sorry state he's stuck in.

This small sacrifice of discomfort will be well worth it.

"Excuse me, then,"

Yohan says under his breath as he lifts Sol into his arms then kneels. He shifts them both into the tent. "I'll lay you down in the middle, is that all right?"

Sol nods, snug inside Yohan's arms. He cannot do anything but be held without moving. It is an odd thing, to be cared for like this. He honestly thought he would hate it more.

Once Sol is laying across Yohan's sleeping bag, Yohan clears his throat and stares at him a tad awkwardly. "How much are you comfortable with taking off?"

"Oh. Um."

Sol stares at him blankly for a moment. This part, he hadn't quite considered.

"You can keep your undergarments on, that isn't a problem,"

Yohan adds. "But since I will be using oil, your robe might be…"

"W-Well—"

Sol would indeed, rather not dirty his cloak; it is one crafted for mages particularly, a memento from his twenty-fourth birthday, one he is certain cost his mentor a fortune. "I'll be laying on my stomach anyway, right?"

"Yes, of course. And I won't look."

Yohan shows him a curt nod. "No need to worry about that."

Sol gulps. He isn't so worried that Yohan will look per se, but rather, about his own choice of clothes. Because Sol would rather forget the way his chest curves underneath his robes, he has picked up the tendency to wear an extra, tighter undershirt beneath them. He worries Yohan would notice and, somehow, figure Sol out. But how would he even guess? Sol catches himself in his strange line of thinking: clearly, he is being paranoid.

It is not like Sol's most private feelings are an obvious target painted on his back. At worst , Yohan would deduce Sol is merely being practical for his travels. He would not conclude that Sol covers a deep, private secret: that he is a man.

"Sure, I can take it off. H-However…you may have to help me."

"Oh."

Yohan shifts as he moves towards him. "Of course."

For a moment, Sol holds his breath. Yet, he quickly exhales again—the act of being undressed by Yohan is a lot more monotonous than Sol expected. He isn't sure why he was so worried, this merely feels as though he is being attended to by a healer, not the man of his dreams. He supposes that is a good thing, he isn't sure what he would have done with himself if he weren't able to keep his composure.

Sol wriggles out of what is left of his clothes. As he lays on his stomach, Sol listens to the sounds of balms and potions clinking as they are twisted open by Yohan. A sigh escapes him. As calm as he is, his heart beats a little faster, beset by a familiar fear. Sol presses his lips together. "If it feels strange, you'll stop, right?"

The sounds come to a halt. Yohan's shoulders rise as they tense. "Yes?"

Yohan sounds confused. "Why wouldn't I stop?"

Yohan's laughter is awkward. "This is for you, Sol. Feel free to change your mind at any time"

Sol doesn't know what compelled him to ask such a question in the first place, the answer was obvious. "Thanks…"

Still, part of him needed to hear it . His heart is finally quiet again.

When Yohan puts his hands on him, Sol cannot help the hiss of relief that leaves his lips. The healing balm is cool, yet soothing as it seeps into his skin, Sol can already feel it working its magic. He was lucky Yohan had some to spare.

"How is that?"

Yohan asks as he rolls the edge of his palms across Sol's shoulder blades. "Does it hurt?"

"Yes, but…"

Sol cannot help but relax under his touches as his eyes flutter shut. "In a good way."

"Spoken like a true warrior,"

the knight chuckles.

Sol huffs. "You know what I meant."

"Still—"

Yohan mutters. "Do you walk around enough during work? You're so tense. "

He slips his hands down to massage Sol's arms this time, and the pressure has Sol's eyes rolling. Sol is probably making a rather doltish face right now; he thanks the gods Yohan can't see it. "All this tension doesn't feel like it's only from today."

"I mean, not always… I forget, sometimes."

Sol leans into Yohan's touch as he thinks back to his life in Featherlaine. "I get really into what I'm doing. Before I know it, I'm often hunched over my desk for the next twelve hours."

Perhaps, he should be paying more attention to that…

"Ah. I see. That would do it."

The way Yohan slides his hands across Sol's body is completely different from how the nymph had touched him last night. "Consider taking breaks, if you can."

Yohan's touch is gentle, sober, like a comforting hug.

"Thanks,"

Sol shuts his eyes. "I'll consider it…"

he mutters.

Any apprehensions or nerves Sol may have had simply fade away, after a few minutes. The knight was not lying—he is quite good at this. Sol feels like he is floating .

When Yohan runs his fingers down Sol's spine, Sol finds himself trembling, he bites into his lower lip as it quivers. Gods, his hands are big.

Perhaps now is not the moment to recall the visions, but in his half-awake, half-asleep daze Sol's mind drifts, then reminiscences on the feel of being underneath Yohan. Of Yohan being so caring, so tender, as he is now. The closer Sol grows to the knight, the more he realizes how close to Yohan's image those dreams truly were.

This scares him.

It scares him—what could become of them.

What if he will end up sleeping with him—what then?

As if juxtaposed atop Yohan's touch which glides down to his legs, there lays the abrasive memory of being preyed on by that man. A cold hand on his thigh, the gross prick of a wet tongue, rancid breath by his ear and…

Sol tenses. No. No— He doesn't want to remember. Suddenly, he cannot breathe: he is all tears, pinned to the past like an insect again. "I-I'm sorry. I can't anymore."

Sol shrinks away from Yohan's touch, into himself and the ground. He doesn't want to remember. The fleeting thought of thanking Yohan wades through his mind, but his head buzzes with grief. He doesn't want to remember. "Please don't touch me."

He wishes he could rip himself out of that horrid memory.

Yohan immediately pulls away; it is of an odd little comfort to Sol that this knight, who is so strong and could overpower him at will, listened. "Sol, do you feel ill?"

Sol shakes his head. He cannot bring himself to face Yohan. It is humiliating, to feel this way. To still feel this way. When will it stop? "I'm sorry,"

he pants. "I'm sorry."

And Gods, how he wishes he could put his clothes back on. How he wishes he could run away and disappear, and—

Soft warmth covers his back. "It's a towel,"

Yohan's voice supplies, before Sol has a chance to ask. "You were shaking. I figured it may help."

"Oh."

The air is thin again. It does not feel as thick, as suffocating, like two hands wrapped around his neck. "Thank you…"

What will Sol tell him now? he wonders. He does not owe Yohan his history, but… "It's nothing that you did, if you're worried."

Sol is breathless but he is trying, very hard, to put himself back together. "The massage was nice. It helped. Thank you."

He doesn't want to fall apart; not here, in the middle of gods only know where.

"What can I do?"

Yohan's voice is softer than Sol expects.

"I-I… I don't know."

Sol opens his eyes, only to be faced with a mountain of dark fabric, the sleeping bag's many creases. "This rarely happens."

Because I don't let anyone touch my thighs. "I just remembered something… unpleasant."

Sol knows unpleasant is truly not the right word for such a defiling experience that sometimes feels as though it has tainted his soul. But he has never spoken of this to another person before. He'd wanted to ignore it, he'd hoped everything in relation to what he went through that day would go away, just like he immediately packed his bags on that sordid morning. Sol had left early without notice, it was cold and all he could see for miles were his breaths, that materialized quietly in the air—still, the winter greeted him with more warmth than he'd felt indoors, inside that dreaded institution for mages.

In the snow, Sol walked for hours until he'd reached the port. He snuck onto a boat, waited for it to finally find the mainlands that led straight to his mentor, the only person he'd met during his studies who still felt worthy of his trust.

Sol had yearned to be a grand mage, a servant to his people, a researcher dedicated dearly to his craft— but, if this is what it meant to be exalted, he didn't want it anymore. He'd been young and impressionable, and his fall to reality was like one's final breaths: long, drawn out.

Sol doesn't want to tell Yohan with words, so instead, he opens his heart that weeps with sorrow. He reaches for the knight with magic tinged by the pain in his soul. There is a slight tug on the invisible fabric of life that binds them but soon, it is pliant, bending and letting the feelings caged within Sol's mind and body awry. And for a brief instant, Sol feels as though they are one. He takes a deep breath, then thinks , of all the things he would have wanted to say.

Of all the pain he cannot find the bravery to voice aloud.

Sol hopes, his feelings will get through to Yohan.

The knight grows a tad more quiet, as if listening to the wind, he brings his knees to his chest. "I…"

Yohan lets out a woeful sigh. "I am sorry he still burdens you,"

he whispers.

Sol is surprised Yohan understood that much. Though all magic is borne from emotion, unless one is of elven-descent, it is far from easy to bridge a connection to another whom you barely know. Sol wonders if Yohan was better receptive simply due to the Old King's Curse that flows through him—after all, if the legends speak true, the knight is more ancient magic than man.

That… or Yohan and Sol's own magic share a rare compatibility for reasons he ignores.

In a moment of curiosity, Sol tries to reach back into the link they once shared. But Yohan's heart is sealed now— at least, most of it is. The knight's lips curl into a comforting smile, as he shuts his eyes, he allows for Sol to explore him from a distance that feels… safe again .

Sol listens to the knight's pulse, he tries to breathe alongside it. The sound is a solace, a welcome manner of being close to Yohan, without the need for touch as they once knew it. Slowly, softly, Yohan's heartbeats lull Sol to sleep. He knows this, at least, is not a dream. A pulse from the knight is the only thing the visions could not give him.

It is hard to say for how long he rests—yet for once, Sol's dreams are not plagued by the nightmares of vile, frosted pale cerulean hands grabbing at his limbs.

By the time Sol opens his eyes again, he is in Yohan's arms.

Yohan is staring down at him, apologetically. "We both fell asleep at some point and ended up like this…"

The knight averts his gaze, and Sol can feel Yohan's hold on him loosening. "Sorry, I didn't want to wake you."

He prepares himself to pull away. "I'll go now—"

But Sol makes a fist in the fabric of Yohan's tunic. He tilts his head downward, until his nose is pressed to Yohan's chest. Gods, what is he doing? Sol's heart races. Gods, Yohan's so close. This feels like a dream, a vision—Sol cannot help but wonder if it is. "It was nice,"

Sol blurts, "I didn't hate it."

He pauses to take a breath. "Unless… you did?"

Under his fingertips, Yohan's pulse thrums against his skin. So… Sol blinks as a warm flush spreads across his face and he stares downward, avoiding Yohan's gaze. Definitely not a dream.

"No,"

Yohan settles back down, he lets Sol rest in his arms. "No, I do not dislike this—dislike you,"

Yohan clears his throat. "But I—"

His breaths catch. "Sol, you are…"

"Huh?"

Sol asks as the haze of his fatigue begins to fade away. He eventually looks Yohan straight in the eye, and realizes. Oh.

Oh no.

The towel from yesterday has fallen off.

Sol quickly pats around the sleeping bag to find its edge, that quickly pulls up to cover himself. His ears are hot. It is odd how everything has gone back to normalcy, and likely will remain as such now, as long as Yohan doesn't lay a hand on Sol's bare legs—Sol has always found it strange, how this process works.

"I apologize for the…"

Sol cringes. "Indecency?"

Yohan merely shrugs at the comment. "Nothing indecent about a body."

Well, as long as it didn't bother him. Sol shuts his eyes. He leans into Yohan; it is easiest to find comfort in the knight, when it feels like they've already done this thousands of times. "I feel sleepy again."

Yohan tenses against him, ever so slightly, and Sol worries he may have said something wrong. "Sol?"

the knight asks. "Could I touch you?"

"T-Touch?"

Sol isn't quite sure how to feel anymore. He freezes. What does Yohan mean by that? "H-How—"

The knight's face reddens and he shakes his head. "No—not like that!"

His lips part in an awkward, apologetic show; it is likely Yohan has noticed the nerves in his voice. "Merely…hugs and all. Nothing more than that. Since we are already…"

"Ah."

"But if I'm getting ahead of myself, please decline."

Is he? Sol wonders, when he is the one who is naked in Yohan's arms, clinging to him like a fruit bat. "Can I… touch you, too?"

Sol is dizzy. He does not know what has possessed him. But his chest feels as if it is about to burst, amid the loud, ribcage pounding of his pulse .

"You may."

Yohan smiles and brushes stray chestnut strands out of Sol's face. "You can."

Tentatively, Sol reaches out and runs an open palm down Yohan's chest. "You're… very muscular."

Sol didn't want to keep silent out of fear of making things awkward—but now, Yohan is laughing.

"I have to be."

Yohan runs his fingers through Sol's hair; Sol leans into it. Into him. His breaths hitch, ever so slightly, the warmth of Yohan's hands on him a blissful sensation. "Dying on the battlefield would be quite unpleasant."

Yohan is so gentle when he handles him, his touch is soft sunlight in the summer, it raises Sol's heart aflutter.

"I see."

For a moment, Sol loses himself. He glances up at Yohan through lidded eyes. He wants to kiss him. But, something about that is more terrifying than the entire prospect of this journey far from home—like he would be far from himself, too, if he dared delve into their connection any deeper.

Yohan brings his free hand to his own chest, and rests it atop Sol's knuckles that had been laying there, tense. "We won't do anything you don't want to,"

the knight tells Sol. "I am merely happy to be this way with you."

He thumbs at Sol's jaw and smiles. "Are you not?"

"I am…"

Sol swallows, hard, before he looks away. Things have become… complicated.

Even if there were signs from the start that he wanted Yohan and Yohan wanted him: he didn't actually think things would end up this way.

Yohan's features grow serious. "Sol, listen,"

he says. "I know this may not be the right time for this."

Right time? Sol's pulse quickens, an apprehensive lump forms in his throat as his eyes widen, ever so slightly. Right time for what?

"When our spirits touched yesterday, I felt… something ,"

Yohan continues. "As if you were hiding; I can't find better words to explain it, but it has been on my mind and I wanted to ask… are you all right? Is there anything I can do to help you?"

He is earnest, that part is certain.

What a sweet man , Sol finds himself thinking, before the panic of having been discovered settles in his gut—and apparently, across his face, too.

Yohan's expression falls. "Sol, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to overstep."

His brows arch up in a pained manner. "You don't have to tell me."

Yohan continues to look , directly at him, in a manner that makes Sol feel so irrevocably seen that it pushes the truth out of him.

"But I am,"

Sol blurts the words before he can even think them through, like the dirty confession of a sin. "I am hiding."

Yohan nods, slow as he listens, then looks into Sol's eyes. "You are?"

He thumbs at Sol's jaw again and laughs. "But you are right here!"

Ah, an attempt to lighten up the mood? Sol thinks. For a Harbinger Of Malice, he sure is radiant.

Sol's lower lip quivers. He wants to say it, yet the words stick to his palate. "Am I?"

Sol forces a smile. It is a good question, one to which he does not have an answer to. "Sometimes, I feel as though I have never existed."

Yohan's playful expression fades once he pauses to observe Sol in silence. "Sol…"

He lowers his voice. "You talk as if you've been cursed."

"That would be one way to describe it."

Outside, the wind rises. The sun leaves the sky, dragging away goldlight that had once bathed their tent in warmth away, and replacing it with the faint pitter-patter of rain.

Perhaps, it is folly to go down this path—still, Sol's heart has gone wild with freedom, so he embraces Yohan and he spills out the truth. "Ever since I could remember, I've always felt like a man."

Sol's pulse is loud; with his chest pressed to Yohan's, he has no doubt the knight can hear it all. "You're the only person who knows."

His breaths fall heavy atop Yohan's shoulder. Sol's eyes are wide. He's gripping at the shirt over Yohan's back in search of relief. And then, with fear. Because what if the visions were wrong?

What if Yohan was simply calling Sol Sol in those dreams just like he is now, without thinking of Sol as a man?

He should have thought things through.

But he doesn't need to—for it isn't long before Yohan hugs him back. "Hi, Sol,"

he mumbles, his hot breaths falling against Sol's neck in turn. "It's nice to meet you."

Sol didn't think it was possible to hold onto Yohan any more than he did, however, he does. And Yohan caresses the back of his head. Yohan presses his lips to Sol's eyelid where Sol's tear slips down across his mouth. Sol makes a fist in Yohan's shirt. And he exists. He exists. He exists.