9

Early in the morning, when the sun has barely touched Yohan's kingdom, the sun rises to a pale blue that paints the inside of the cottage walls in ephemeral skylight.

Yohan shifts in the bed and the sudden movement wakes Sol. "Yohan?"

Sol calls. "W-Where are you going?"

"The King still wants me to attend my duties as one of his right hand men. I apologize, my love."

He squeezes Sol's hand. "I must leave soon, but if you wish it so, I can return to you at midday?"

Sol leans in to kiss his beloved's cheek. "Come back if you have time."

And Yohan pulls Sol in close, until he towers over him just like last night. "How do you feel?"

Yohan reaches for the edges of Sol's jaw.

And Sol leans into his cradled touch. He giggles. "I feel amazing. Last night was…"

Sol's fingers find Yohan's face in turn, he cannot remember ever smiling so much that his face hurts, and yet, it is happening now. He brushes Yohan's lips with his fingertips. "Words cannot explain how you made me feel, Yohan. But, perhaps, this…"

Sol's voice trails off, he shuts his eyes then concentrates the flow of his magic within his blood, and lets Yohan receive his feelings. It is brief, yet it seems Yohan does understand, for soon the knight is all laughter and grins, too , as he embraces Sol they touch, and love, and relish in the joy of knowing each other. They kiss beneath the lilac covers.

They kiss.

They kiss, until it is time for the knight to depart. Yohan tucks Sol into bed again, leaves him with one final peck against his forehead—Sol loves him and loves loving him, he thinks about Yohan and his ever sweetest words as he falls back into his slumber. Sol wakes not long after, in a world that is his yet isn't, a place that is both everything and nothing melted together in one big abysmal pot. Sol faces a creature whose sole eye is wide and observant, bright, red as it peers into his gaze.

"You've chosen change,"

the eye says, its voice rings throughout the air and yet it does not speak with a mouth: the creature's tone is a mixture of every voice Sol has ever heard in his life. The good ones, and the bad.

Sol's throat tightens, he looks up as the creature flaps its dark feathered wings. He brings his arms over his chest and sews his lips into a thinning line. "I've chosen to be true to myself, nothing has changed,"

Sol tells the strange, raven monster.

And the thing's voice warps into that of Sol's old dormmates—into the ones Sol feared would judge him the most for failing to conform. "But we don't understand—why throw it all away?"

The creature wisps and fades out then materializes into existence again as it flies in circles around Sol. The flapping of its wings are loud beside Sol's ears; the fog rises around them. "You were a prodigy, Solange. Why make your life that much harder, so much more complicated, when you could have it all?"

"Stop calling me that! I didn't have it all."

Sol's hands shake yet still turn into fists by his sides. "And I never would have."

He motions to the world around them, swipes at an invisible struggle in the air. "I felt miserable, it was more complicated to live in Solange's shell than to be free."

The voice twists into an ugly, rageful thing. "But we will never understand! To us, you will always be Solange!"

"That's fine."

Sol smiles at the creature then reaches out to pet its ruffled feathers. "I don't need you to understand."

He leans in, and he wraps his arms around the creature that he holds without hate. "I love the world now—even if it does not ever embrace nor welcome me fully—it feels so good to be myself."

To finally exist, Sol thinks. His laughter is light as he releases the creature, he joins his hands together behind his back then leans forward in glee. "I do not think I could ever hate it again, you see."

At the height of his confession, the world falls beneath Sol's feet—until Sol is floating beside the strange, ocular bird, unable to tell which is up nor down. "You've disappointed everyone,"

the creature tells Sol.

And Sol grins. "I know."

"You are a failure."

He laughs again. "Ah, yes, maybe so."

"Have you no shame, Sol?"

"Perhaps,"

now, Sol kisses the ugly thing with his eyes fluttered shut, "if there was something to be ashamed about."

The creature bats its wings in disgust, it only ceases once it is away from Sol, where it warps into the man Sol feared to see for years. "And me?"

— asks. "Do you not hate me, Solange? I am a part of this world you so claim to love."

— chuckles in the way that had made Sol's skin crawl, when Sol was a mere student, who'd sworn to trust his mentor. "Do you forgive me, Solange?"

"No,"

Sol whispers as his smile grows bittersweet, "I don't forgive you."

He shakes his head, thinks, I could never. "But you are not the world; you don't matter to me anymore,"

Sol hopes that, one day, if he says it enough times this will become truth.

The strong stink of sulfur fills the air. Shadows rise from below and wrap around Sol's figure until they have engulfed him inside an odd, blackened egg.

Sol gasps—his throat wheezes. And he opens his eyes.

* * *

Later in the morning, Sol wakes to birdsong. Sunlight flitters through the window and lays on his head of hair in a warm caress. The aroma of pancakes and strawberry jam are wafting through the old cottage. "Yohan?"

Sol calls, as he turns his head atop his pillow in the direction of the kitchen. Yet, it is not with the sight of the knight that he is met, but a handwritten note left beside a plate of what seems to be breakfast.

Within his bed, Sol stretches his arms to the ceiling, he watches as the sunlight catches on his skin. He is tired, he cannot recall ever sleeping so heavily, like a rock, a dying stallion. It feels as though he had a long dream—though, what that dream was, Sol cannot remember.

He turns, then shifts again beneath his sheets. Sol thinks back to yesternight, to Yohan's big, strong hands traversing every place across his body.

To the way they made love.

The young apothecary brings his palms to his face, he lets out a small, subtle scream.

It finally happened, he thinks as he peers through his fingertips at the room before him and the sight of his first morning here. "I can't believe we a-actually…"

Did it , Sol thinks.

And it was fine, most importantly, is the lesson Sol takes from it all as his eyes widen slightly, I'm fine.

Yohan treated him with such kindness.

There was nothing to fear.

Sol brings a hand to his heart that warms with memories of last night. A lovesick grin tugs at his lips. " Ah… "

Sol sighs. "Yohan was so nice to me."

Sol buries his face into his pillow and lets out another whine. "Gods, he is so…"

Handsome? Gentle? Kind? Perfect? All sorts of words ripple through Sol's heart and mind, yet he cannot simply decide on one.

"Yohan,"

Sol hums. "He's… Yohan, I guess,"

Sol eventually mumbles before he turns his head again that still rests against the soft, plush pillow. He stares out at the breakfast which is still steaming slightly on the little round wood table. Sol wonders if Yohan came back in here at some point to cook when he was still fast asleep, or if he did this before departing.

In either case, Sol doesn't know what he did in his life to deserve such a man as his beloved, but he certainly vows to cherish him now that he is here.

Although there is still a prickle of worry in his heart about things going direly wrong, now that Sol cannot rely on the many certitudes his past visions brought him, it is so painfully easy for him to imagine a future by Yohan's side—one where the knight is nothing but loving to him; Sol doesn't feel as though he needs the reassurance anymore.

Finally, after another moment of laying down in reminiscence, he huffs then pushes himself up away from the bed. Sol wraps a blanket around his naked self. For a minute, he sits on the mattress' edge. His legs still shake a tad from when Yohan had thrust up against his thighs, and Sol's face reddens as he remembers what it felt like when his beloved was inside him like so. He bites into his lip, then realizes, how much he wants to do it again.

But all that will have to wait, for Sol has work to do. And a meal to devour!

"All right,"

Sol rises to his feet with a huff as he stretches his legs again, whilst he makes for the quaint little table in the kitchen. He takes a seat before the pancakes decorated with a crown of fresh fruit. There is a note beside them that reads, ‘ My love, I cannot wait to kiss you again. ' Sol grins, warmth swells inside his heart. "Me, too,"

he whispers. "My heart."

Sol scarfs down the breakfast; everything is delicious, Sol will have to ask him about the recipe later, Yohan is quite the cook.

Sol blinks. In the corner of his eye, a nearby pot of tea catches his attention—oddly, Sol realizes it is still smoking, with the aid of magic. "Hm…"

He squints, and tilts his head as he stares at the pot: it seems the Old King's magic isn't the only sort his beloved knight can wield. "What fun,"

Sol smirks with a content sigh as he pours himself a cup.

If Yohan's personal affinity for the magical world allows him to keep things warm, opening a tearoom in his name is quite fitting indeed.

Sol drinks. And the brew is sweet, full of the savors of this land, and splendidly warm like a fireplace on a cold winter's evening. Sol can taste raspberries in there, somewhere, the tea soothes him and wakes him all the same. "Delicious."

Sol stares down the knight's tea in awe, the layered flavors and perfectly balanced aroma are the furthest from a blend one could have crafted overnight; Yohan must've put a lot of thought into the brew.

As Sol finishes the comforting drink, he cannot help but grin. He is excited for the future— for their future —and what it may hold. He is certain Yohan will be a great solace to wandering travelers, just like the knight had wished: if all of his menu turns out to be like the breakfast he left behind today, Sol has no doubt that anyone in his tearoom will create fond memories there.

It is like Sol has been thrust into another life, even though it is still his, but first… before anything, there is one thing he must do.

Sol eyes his satchel with a huff. What the stars won't have in store for them, on the other hand, is another life if he can help it… Out from his bag, Sol grasps a few herbs that were slipped inside a small pocket. He quickly grinds them into a potion he'd already prepared in advance, then downs it without hesitation; as much as he enjoyed the moment he'd shared with Yohan yesterday, he would rather it not follow him for the nine months to come.

The potion burns his throat ever so slightly, however it is over in an instant, and Sol's worries are soon washed away alongside the odd heat. Sol drags his feet over to the bathroom to splash water across his face.

Before the sink, he stands and stares at himself inside the mirror. His mind had been so peaceful when he'd yet to peer at his reflection—yet, now, his heart aches anew. I can't take it anymore , Sol thinks as a rising pressure wells inside his throat, and the thickening air makes it hard to breathe. He chokes on the feeling.

Sol paces back to his satchel in the living room, from which he grabs a dagger that he holds close to his heart.

I can't do this anymore, not for another horrid day, he thinks as he returns to the mirror, his face lit by soft daylight and shadow, Sol grabs hold of the back of his hair in a makeshift ponytail. And cuts. "Oh."

Sol's hair falls to the ground like old snake skin, he reaches for the mirror with an open palm, then stares at himself for the first time. "It's me,"

he whispers in an awestruck tone. He cannot look away. His lips are agape. He didn't think he could ever be satisfied with… this. Just a haircut. Just his face.

Though it does not change everything, he is relieved to know Yohan was right, he is handsome. It turns out, he can be when he tries. Especially now. Sol loves the way his chestnut strands frame his face now, and bring out every feature that makes him feel at home inside himself.

When Sol gets dressed for the day, for once, his attention lingers on his reflection instead of looking away. "Ah…"

Sol laughs, as his chest blooms with the warmth of knowing he is here ; he wipes a tear of joy away from his eye, "So, that's what it feels like?"

To think it took him so long to finally see himself, to be born, what a strange journey this all has been.

As Sol strides out the little cottage's front door, the bell rings behind him amid the hot summer air; cicadas sing inside the trees.

That morning, Solange becomes a ghost.

* * *

Sol works alone until it is thirty minutes before noon, and Celestina arrives in a rush—contrary to last night, Sol does not pack his belongings when he leaves the King's bedroom, for it won't be too long until his midday break comes to an end.

Celestina is profusely apologizing to him with her hands crossed together before her waist. "Forgive my tardiness, Sol! I didn't mean to make you wait, b-but we've a birth at the castle—it was Her Highness's child! I was required to watch over the Princess until her condition stabilized. S-So—"

"It's fine, really."

Sol waves her apology away. "No harm done. You already instructed me yesterday on what the next few steps would entail, before we turned in. Thanks to your foresightedness I was able to continue that work—ah, and I also used any remaining ingredients to craft a few more painkillers for His Majesty in case he might be in need of them down the line, don't worry."

He smiles at her. "I hope everything went well for you. Assisting with a birth sounds…"

Sol hooks an arm around the back of his neck and gulps, "intense."

To this, Celestina merely shrugs. "I like it."

A proud grin washes over her lips. "It's nice, to see new life come into the world. Though,"

Celestina huffs in relief as she rests her hands against her hips, "I agree, this time around, knowing Her Highness's life was on the line definitely made the whole ordeal rather stressful."

She pauses. "N-Not that I didn't believe in my abilities! But…"

Celestina wipes the sweat away from her brow, she shuts her eyes then brings a palm to her chest. "Thankfully, everything was in order."

Sol can't help but admire his workfellow's ability to remain serene when tending to royalty—all this outlandish quest has made Sol want to do, is run. The feeling of having an entire Kingdom's future in his hands is one he does not think he was made for, with the most perilous stakes he wishes to encounter being the accidental burning of rare ingredients in his cauldron back home.

"Anywho."

Celestina clears her throat, she stares at him again; she is silent as her eyes trace Sol's face. "You cut it."

"W-Well…"

As he thinks back to the earlier morning, Sol cannot help but run a hand through his hair, the length feels perfect pinched between his fingers. "I've been wanting to for a while."

"It suits you."

Celestina smiles at him. "You look…"

she pauses, "handsome."

She stops herself again, her face flushing a dark pink. "S-Sorry! Hope that's not a weird thing to say when you're a—"

"Actually, Celestina—"

Sol's voice cracks under the pressure of his nerves. "I'm not really a woman,"

he squeezes at his own elbow, "rather, I'm not one at all. I…"

Sol stares at his feet, in all honestly he's not sure why he's telling her all this, but he has a feeling she would understand. "I'm just a man, and people often misunderstand, and it's hard to correct them because then they ask questions I might not want to deal with and it's a hassle and—"

He's out of breath.

He doesn't know what he's saying.

He can barely stand to look Celestina in the eye. Sol's ears ring. Although this may have started out decently, Sol wonders if his colleague will even take his blurted, fumbled words in serious.

She is the first person Sol has told who isn't Yohan, or in the presence of Yohan—Sol didn't think it would be this hard.

Before he can find any more words to make himself feel like a complete court jester, however, Celestina rests a reassuring hand against Sol's shoulder. "I won't ask you any questions, don't worry, Sol,"

she tells him—the warmth of her palm is a welcome respite from the nerves that had been eating away at his heart, "thank you for telling me."

Sol gathers the courage within himself to tilt his head, to look at her. "I'm…looking forward to working together again with you today. It's been nice."

He grins, shyly. "I've learned much about healing thanks to you in a mere few hours, I'm sure I'll be a better apothecary for it, so thank you."

There is a silence, until Celestina barks out a laugh. "Look at us!"

She pats Sol on the back. "Aren't we being precious this early in the day!"

Celestina pulls away from him then braces herself to step inside the King's room, to take over Sol's duties.

Before leaving, however, she looks to Sol from over her shoulder. "I'll see you soon, Sol! Enjoy your break—be safe!"

And Sol nods back. "You, too!"

He waves as he watches her leave. "Be safe…"

When Celestina disappears inside the bedroom, and Sol is on the verge of stepping out the King's manor, Sol pauses before the painting that had caught his eye yesternight and now again.

Now that he is seeing it better in broad daylight, it appears to be a family portrait of the Old King, his wife and children—a strange aura envelops the man in the painting, shadows seem to move from within, as if telling the viewer to look away. Leave. Sol thinks back to the legends of the Old King, he stares at the King's son who was famously lost to the war, then to his wife who fell to disease. And as for the Old King's daughter, well… Sol does not know. It is unclear whatever became of her after the Old King summoned magic of the cruelest kind, and made a deal with forces that bound his kingdom to an oath they did not want, even ‘til this day.

The man wanted power , Sol thinks as he stares up to the ancient portrait that towers over him with its sinister presence— he wanted power, and he acquired too much of it.

Eventually, Sol turns away from the portrait and walks outside the manor, into the sunlight again. The face of the Old King's daughter comes to mind, pale with opaline eyes, her ash blonde hair fell in waves across her shoulders; there was something otherworldly about her, too. Sol wishes he knew more about this Kingdom's history, not many dare to ask nor write about it: It is likely all knowledge regarding the Old King will come to disappear one day, faster than any other archive out there as the generations pass. Even amid his studies, Sol met more than a handful of peers who still thought of the Old King and his Cursed Riders more folkloric legend than truth.

"Maybe I could write about these lands…"

Sol sighs as his head hangs low. Who knows. Cicada song grows louder amid the damp, summer heat. Sol's mind veers back to his conversation with Celestina, and then to Yohan, and to the odd ways in which this day has progressed—so much has changed, yet everything is the same. Still, Sol feels different as he makes his way back to the cottage, like he is present in the world for once. Even the air tastes fresher as he stops to laugh and smell the flowers in the gardens and the fields. Sol wonders if Yohan has made it back yet, or, if he will be the first one there.

He presses his fingertips deftly against the cottage's wooden door, only to find that it is locked. "Ah, I suppose I was first, then,"

Sol mumbles under his breath whilst he grabs his key from his coat's pocket. He unlocks the door that creaks open, slow as the snailbeds in the lazy noon grass, as the light bleeds into the kitchen; the cottage is as he left it.

In the corner of his eye, Sol notices the tea Yohan made for him this morning is still steaming, perfectly preserved. He figures having another serving certainly wouldn't hurt. Sol grins. He did quite like the brew, after all.

As Sol pours then sips at the table, on his newly acquired teacup, he looks to the outside world—past the window at the birds flying in the trees, amongst each other in a fleeting aeriform dance. He likes the silence, but it is a bit much.

In search of a brief distraction, Sol grabs a book from a nearby shelf, then starts to read. At first, Sol expects it to be some sort of text related to gardening. Yet, to his surprise, the words on the page describe two men: one of whom is sucking on his lover's nipples, whilst his lover is pliant, more than eager to receive. Sol's eyes widen as he reads the words, Please, Kaiser, don't stop—it's so good! And, Quiet, Elwood, you'll wake His Highness if you moan any louder! He ends up flying through the chapter faster than he likes to admit, his mouth slightly agape, his face is warm with arousal, intrigue. Sol was never one for picking up these sorts of books, having only stuck to thick tomes which taught him a great deal about medicine, brewing potions and magics. Still, Sol can't help but wonder now…

"Does it really… feel that good?"

Sol mumbles aloud with a frown as he rereads a few lines from the passage, where one of the men is dragging his tongue across supple pink flesh and the other is panting, begging him for more. It is brief and he does not mean to, however, Sol pictures Yohan doing these exact same things to him.

His face warms.

He quickly shakes the idea away, his fingers tensing against thick leather bindings as he peers down to his own chest. Sol sighs, "But how could I ever…"

With a shake of his head, he pushes the thought and the book away.

For now.

He takes another sip of his tea.

Seconds later, once Sol nears the end of his cup, there is a knock at the door.

Sol stumbles as he rises, jittery on his feet with excitement of the purest kind— his love for the knight . "Yohan!"

Sol exclaims. He yanks the door open in an odd, needless rush and finds his lover standing there with a merry grin on his face. "Greetings."

Yohan's eyes widen. The knight's lips are shapen in an oh as he gazes upon Sol. "Sol, you—"

Yohan looks and sounds surprised enough for a worried pang to clasp around Sol's heart.

"Do you not like it?"

Sol doesn't mean to sound so dejected nor miserable, but through and through these recent, atypical times, Sol has grown inept at hiding his feelings before his darling knight.

Yohan's brows arch upward in a pained manner, as if saddened by Sol's conclusion. He takes Sol into his arms then, with a hand cupping the crown of his head, Yohan strokes his hair. And Sol leans into the light touch. "No, my heart, I do,"

Yohan tells him. "It suits you."

As they pull away, Yohan's palm finds Sol's jaw yet again. He smiles. "You're very handsome. You've always been to me."

For the very first time, Sol believes him.

The two step inside the cottage together—Sol is leaning in and hugging Yohan from the side, and Yohan reaching for Sol's nimble fingers, neither of them can keep their hands off each other.

But when Yohan tilts his head, the knight seems to catch a glimpse of the book Sol had been reading, which remains atop the kitchen table. He pauses. "Oh, sorry, did I interrupt you in the middle of a read?"

Sol recalls the words he'd accidentally stumbled upon between those pages, and his head disappears into his shoulders. "Not exactly…"

His face warms as the fantasy of Yohan playfully biting his chest lingers in his mind.

"Was it good?"

Sol yelps, then jumps on the spot. "W-Was what good?"

Could Yohan tell from a simple look that he'd been thinking about—

"The book."

"Ah."

Sol has rarely felt quite so awkward in his life. "Yes. Yes, of course."

He wants to bury himself between the tulip fields and the forest near the cottage, where at least the plants there won't judge him, and he would need not explain. "It was,"

Sol hooks a palm around the back of his neck, " interesting , I suppose. But—"

Sol clears his throat with a fist close to his lips. "Why don't I tell you about this a-after we've eaten, maybe?"

Yohan reaches for Sol's hand again, his smile is as warm as the summer light. "As long as you're all right, my love, you don't need to explain."

The tension in Sol's shoulders fade; for even as little as he shares, it seems the knight has gotten quite good at reading him, too. "Would beef stew sound good to you?"

Yohan asks him with a hum, before he turns, then presses a soft kiss into Sol's temple.

Sol rests his head against the knight's shoulder. He shuts his eyes. It is peaceful here. So peaceful. He can still hear the birds singing. Yohan runs a gentle hand down his neck. And Sol wonders why he even worried in the first place as he leans into him. "That sounds perfect."

They get to work.

As Yohan handles the meat and Sol tasks himself with chopping their vegetables, Sol finds himself humming a faraway tune—that is, until he clears his throat. "I thought your brew was amazing, by the way."

Sol giggles. "I may be a tad biased, but I swear, it truly was one of the best I've ever tasted!"

Yohan straightens up with light pink blush dusting his features. "Ah?"

He sounds flustered, surprisingly. "Thank you… I tried something new."

He sighs as his shoulders drop and he tilts his head to rest it beside Sol's. "I admit, I was worried it may have been too fruity, but you'd mentioned liking this sort of taste during our travels, so I'd wanted to try…"

Had he? Sol blinks—if he'd spoken about it, then it was likely quite off-handedly in passing. "I'm surprised you remembered."

He laughs. "Even I forget, sometimes."

The knight nods as he smiles again brightly. "Well, I admit, I had an ulterior motive—during our travels, I kept pondering about how I'd wanted to make something you'd enjoy as thanks, once we'd arrive at the palace. I can't say your tastes weren't in the back of my mind."

He huffs, content. "In either case, there were a few herbs in this kitchen I'd read about in some old cookbooks, but never used before."

He grabs a pot and begins to boil water. "I'm glad you enjoyed it."

Sol finds Yohan's passion for creating recipes endearing, just like his brews, his words warm Sol's heart as he listens to his lover talk. "Of course, I did,"

Sol huffs as he spills the vegetables into the water once it begins to boil. He pauses to look at Yohan. "You're really sweet, you know that?"

Yohan's eyes widen, ever so slightly. "I merely…"

He reaches for Sol's hand again, his fingertips brush past Sol's knuckles. "I want to cherish you properly,"

he whispers, with his head lowered, his attention now focused on their fingers intertwined.

"And you do,"

Sol tells him as he rests their heads together, his voice is quiet, almost overtaken by the sound of the water which bubbles before them. "You do."

Yohan turns then presses another kiss into his temple; Sol can feel him smiling against his skin.

A minute passes in which they simply lean into each other, their body heats merging into one, until Sol sighs. "More importantly, I didn't realize your affinity for magic extended further than the Old King's magic."

"Ah. That?"

Yohan's laughter is awkward. "It's just the one, truly."

He pulls away. "It didn't feel worth the mention."

"How long does it last?"

As the knight adds the meat to the broth, he shrugs, then washes the blood from his hands. "A day or so."

"A day!"

Sol perks up and tilts his head in great interest—for a moment, he forgets himself, and that he is meant to be cooking. "Even if that's the only magic you've mastered, rare are the few who can heat something up for that long! Actually…"

Sol frowns as he ponders on the matter. "You might just be the first one I've ever met!"

"I… I see."

Yohan hooks a hand around the back of his neck, his face flushing red in ways that finds Sol's heart beating a tad faster. "What about you?"

Yohan asks. "I don't think I've ever seen you use magic with your own flair, despite having studied it for so long, as you mentioned during our travels— were you not touched by a particular Gift and merely interested by the Arts? Though, I know you're well capable of sharing your heart with another, thanks to your bloodline's—"

Sol pours the one remaining slab of the meat into a pan that he slams atop the burner. "The Gift touched me, yes, and it still does."

He huffs, from one of the small hessian sacks hanging from the ceiling, Sol grabs a compact vial containing amber liquids which warm his hands from the inside. The young apothecary pops the lid open then sprinkles it beneath the pan.

The underside swiftly catches fire, which remains alight thanks to the burner's magical properties. "In short,"

Sol clicks his tongue, "I have not used my Gift in a while."

He shuts the vial and places it back into the sack with another huff. It'd been years since he last cooked using such convenient tools, they cost a small fortune and Sol would rather keep most of his life's savings if he can help it.

"I don't know how my Gift might react,"

Sol admits, after another short pause. His eyes are fixated on the firelight, the flames reflect pomegranate shade against his pale ivory gaze. "Until recently"— and ever since I ran away —"my Gift felt… unstable."

Yohan mirrors Sol's movements as he approaches the stove in turn, the knight tasks himself with watching the broth. " Until recently , you say…"

The words linger on Yohan's. "That means, it doesn't anymore?"

Sol's shoulders tense. "W-Well…"

It is true that throughout these past six years, Sol felt as if trying anything with his Gift, could very well have hurt himself, or injured the others around him gravely: magic reacts to emotions, after all.

And Sol was hardly able to keep his in check.

He was angry. He was burning. All he wanted was to disappear, to forget himself, it was no state of mind fit for a practicing mage. "That might be true,"

Sol mutters. "But… it's been so long now. I'm scarcely sure of what my magic would even look like anymore."

Sol's fingers tremble against the pan's handle. What if it's changed too much? What if I've changed too much? " I'm scared ,"

he thinks, before he realizes he's said it out loud.

"What of?"

Yohan asks.

"What if my Gift does not obey me anymore?"

The knight sighs. "Sol,"

he whispers. "Perhaps, it may be odd for me to say this, considering I'm no mage myself, however—"

Yohan rests a gentle, comforting palm to Sol's back. "Your Gift is a part of you, Sol—granted, it may be different now, but at the end of everything it can only change and grow alongside you, I don't think it is anything to fear. It is yours, and yours alone."

Sol stares down to his hands as he considers Yohan's words. He cannot quite explain why, yet it feels as though he has been asleep for so long. And he is only waking now. "Maybe…"

The sounds of their life fill the kitchen's air anew. The sizzling of oil across the pan, the water that simmers around its contents and bubbles as it boils.

Sol and Yohan finish with cooking their meal before they both help themselves to a hefty soup bowl each. "Has His Majesty shown good promise of recovery?"

Yohan asks, from the opposite end of the kitchen table.

Sol briefly glances upward from his broth to stare at the knight's lips; they are parted softly as he'd readied himself to swallow a round, carrot piece trapped inside the hollow of his wooden spoon. "He'll be fine,"

Sol eventually says as he eats. "He's in good hands! Celestina is talented, really, it's not often that I've met someone like her. Sometimes, she reminds me of…"

Sol's voice trails off.

"Sol?"

Yohan perks up.

"Just an old classmate."

Sol shakes his head. "Never mind."

It's difficult not to think about such a big piece of his life, but Sol would still rather avoid it—for now. It still hurts.

There is a small silence between them. Outside, the hooves of horses can be heard thumping against grass. "How about some bread to go with the broth, my love?"

Yohan offers as he reaches for Sol's palm then rests his hand atop Sol's knuckles.

Sol relaxes beneath him. "That's not a bad idea."

He shows the knight a grin. "Why not!"

And Yohan rises from his seat. "I'll go cut some up for us."

As he does, Sol watches the knight's back while he works, his strong forearms tense with each new slice created. None of his movements are off, not even slightly—Yohan has perfected the art of controlling his body and strength, and Sol finds something irresistible in that.

Yohan returns to the table with the bread in hand, an earnest smile across his lips, Sol's chest warms. He holds so much love for the man, he isn't quite sure what to do with himself. But he leans in, across the old wood and their meal, and Sol grasps Yohan's hand, twines their fingers together then kisses his beloved briefly.

Yohan kisses back, soft like velvet and honey. And Sol hopes, wishes every remaining day in their lives will be like this.

By the end of their meal, Yohan offers to do the dishes; although Sol offers to aid him, the knight merely waves him off. "Please, I insist. You're a guest here, and a very valuable one at that, too—I'm happy to do them for you."

Yet as he stares at his beloved's back again whilst he gets to work, Sol finds he simply cannot stay away nor still—he rises from his seat, he wraps his arms around the knight's middle, then embraces Yohan from behind. "I'll work hard so we can leave soon, so he can free you,"

he whispers. "I promise."