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twenty years (fic progress update: 9/7)
Leeves is silent in the afternoon air of a Sunday in April, quietly existing near the bigger, busier Heimdallr as if it's just waiting to be brought back to life. The students are all in their dorms preparing for the following week or out living their lives. Rean can find a few off of the top of his head - Altina tucked away in the gardens, Juna and Kurt talking in the dorm, Tita with Agate again speaking with Professor Schmidt, Musse at the cafe, and Ash with Professor Randy - but none of them are the person he's looking for currently. Not even Celine, tucked near Altina's feet, is who he's targeting at the moment.
No. Instead he's fanning his senses out and searching for a cold spot on his radar, existing the same way Leeves itself is: quietly, relentlessly, waiting for the season it'll be in full bloom once more.
It makes Rean miss Trista all the more.
"Siegfried."
He calls out to the person he's looking for as he ducks around the high bushes next to the church, eyes searching for azure before he finally spots who he's looking for near a tree a little ways from where Rean's standing. Siegfried doesn't seem to have noticed him if the way he stays right where he is is any indication, so Rean sighs and calls out his name again while approaching, deciding to give him the benefit of doubt instead of assuming he's being ignored.
When he finally reaches the other man, however, he quiets upon realizing that Siegfried has his arms folded over the rise and fall of his chest, limp underneath the tree he's laying in the shade of.
Sleeping? Rean isn't sure, so he slowly moves towards Siegfried and reaches down once he's standing next to him, popping a squat to reach, to run a hand through his hair - soft, feathery down, the color of lino flowers when they fall to the ground and catch the light - observing the way Siegfried remains mostly unmoving. Definitely sleeping.
Rean can work with that. It's not often he gets to see Siegfried as shockingly still as he is.
He takes a seat next to Siegfried and leans against the tree, wondering why Siegfried's in plain sight for once. Granted, someone would have to actively be looking for him, but once Rean had sensed him out it was an easy task finding him. He looks so soft and vulnerable there in the shade, only his lower half exposed to the sun, that Rean has to look over at him and wonder.
We made plans, but... His eyes squint at Siegfried's face, seeing how relaxed and open he is laying there on the grass. It's a rare sight and if Rean were anymore soft himself, his heart would start beating on his sleeves. He must've been exhausted if he's out in the open like this. I wonder what he was doing.
Siegfried never shares. Everything with him seems to be blue - his name, his wardrobe, his whimsy mood and attitude - and gray, something Rean wants desperately to change, but he understands. Rose has a tendency of saying they're people who shouldn't exist, so if one hears that enough times then it's understandable that they'd start to believe it. Rean doesn't know the whole story, can't know if Siegfried doesn't open his mouth and heart, but he understands.
(And he remembers red eyes and big shoulders, a boisterous attitude and a colorful wardrobe, a smile and a wink, a strong slap on the back— a sunrise as opposed to sundown, writing on the pages instead of tearing through the paper and ink. Rean wants to ask him what happened, why things have to be this way, because that he refuses to understand.)
It's too quiet, now. A good part of the residents moved to Trista for its peace and the people who remain are those with wills as bright as fire. Even so, it seems to be exceptionally stifling today.
What 'it' is, Rean doesn't know. He simply knows that he doesn't like it.
Part of his brain alerts him to an idea. It's a moment in the past that he keeps close and dear to his heart, as embarrassing as it was at the time, Baraehard still shining in that corner of his mind. One sideways glance at Siegfried's peaceful frame makes up his mind for him.
Anything to get rid of the feeling gnawing at his insides.
He shifts his own body as close as he can get to Siegfried's, straightening himself out until his knees are tucked underneath him - seiza his master called it once, forcing him to hold that position for training - before pulling his thighs in to leave no space between them as he sat on the backs of his calves. Gently, Rean reaches over and tucks a hand underneath Siegfried's head to ease his lap underneath it, glad that Siegfried's laying so close to the tree that Rean's able to continue leaning against it.
Siegfried stays asleep through out the entire ordeal and doesn't even wake up when Rean passes a hand over his bangs to swipe the hair out of his face. His fingers linger in Siegfried's hair, running through it with a careful steadiness.
...I'm just trying to get the leaves and dirt out of his hair. It's not because his hair is soft. Yeah. That's my excuse if he wakes up and asks.
He stays in that exact position for a while, just petting at Siegfried's hair and contemplating doing something that's very obviously a breech of the trust Siegfried has so painstakingly given him: to take off Siegfried's mask, or let the ridiculous thing stay on his face. It sits over his pale complexion both innocently and irritatingly, hiding the confirmation of Rean's dreams and fears from sight.
What will he do if Siegfried is really—?
No, Rean tells himself immediately. There's no question. I'll make him come back to to us if it's the last thing I do.
He comforts himself with the one action of petting Siegfried's hair until Rean himself finds it hard to keep his eyes open, laying a hand over Siegfried's chest in search of a heartbeat.
Thump, thump, thump.
Living, breathing, existing. Crow would call it 'surviving', but Rean is just happy to have him close again regardless of the role he's playing now.
His finger snag on the band in Siegfried's hair and he pauses, opening one eye to stare at it for a moment. Vaguely, Rean wonders if it would be rude to undo it, but honestly if he's going to be thorough in getting the dirt and leaves out of his hair then he has to undo it.
Deciding it's the only way, his fingers drag the hairpiece out of Siegfried's hair - careful not to snag the piece itself on any troublesome strands, treating Siegfried's hair as if it were delicate porcelain - and maneuver it onto his wrist for safekeeping.
Satisfied and a bit embarrassed, Rean's fingers take to running through the hair that falls over Siegfried's shoulder and chest, finding nothing terribly amiss there. It's as soft as the rest of the other pearly strands and Rean finds himself starting to - shamefully, his mind will provide later - doze. The peace and quiet, coupled with the fact that the person he wanted to see the most being there with him, is enough to make his eyelids droop once more.
"A little catnap wouldn't hurt," he tells himself slowly, fingers slowing down in their careful, gentle play. "...he'll still be here when I wake up." They have things to talk about, to do, and for the life of him Rean can't really dredge up the effort to remember them at the moment.
Rean lets himself fade and his senses dull as he curls his hand in the strands of hair over Siegfried's chest, thinking, Was it always this easy?
And sometimes, Rean dreams. There are a lot of times where he wakes up in a cold sweat, unable to recall what he dreamed of, left simply with a lingering feeling of dread in his gut and the taste of blood in his mouth. The latter only happens on particular days - days he spent with Crow in the past, lounging around or running around - where he wakes up to find he's bitten nearly straight through the insides of his lips.
Sometimes, Rean remembers. And when he remembers, there's red and blue and more crimson than he can stand, Testa-Rossa standing there with its tail in Ordine's (Crow's) chest. He can't even breathe enough air into his lungs to push forth the scream in his throat.
Rean understands loss in these dreams. In his second year at Thors, there were always moments where he would turn to the desk near the window to start a conversation after hearing a familiar someone's voice in his ear. He doesn't like remembering these times; the emptiness always spoke louder than words ever could.
However.
Rean doesn't always dream in red.
There are times where Rean will dream of splashes of color - Alisa's pretty gold, Fie's grass green, Machias's black and white light and dark woods, Laura's swift and dark blues, Emma's shimmering purples, Jusis's steely warmth, Sara's flashing purple, Millium's bright yellow, Elliot's earthy strings of notes, Gaius's whimsical emerald on a blank canvas that he's mixing in with everyone else's colors, and—
Crow's brilliant blue stands out the most. It always does. Rean can pick the specks of it out from every other color, sparkling as if in revolution, wishing fervently to breathe until Gaius laughs in his seat at his canvas and paints a streak across the side— a stray, free streak.
Crow is free and that ocean blue shines all the brighter for it. Rean's sadness doesn't feel as profound when Crow seems to be bursting at the seams with the life he rightfully deserves. He just...
He wishes he could be free, too.
His dream Crow never lets him linger on that for long and Rean usually finds himself pulled away from the Art Club's classroom, leaving behind Gaius's strangely secretive smile. Crow drags him by the hand until they're down the stairs and out of the school's front doors, Rean's usual badgering questions at his feet when the door opens and there's suddenly a port before them with a boat as sturdy and grand at Thors Military Academy itself.
He wants to go. He knows he does, knows freedom when he sees it, and when Crow turns on him with a lop-sided smile and a finger against his lips he already knows the taste that follows that sight: adventure. Rean doesn't know how long Crow lived on the streets, fending for himself, but the sparkle in Crow's eyes tell of both experience and joy. Was Crow happy in his solitude? Will Crow be happier if Rean comes with him?
The waves sparkle like Crow's eyes when Rean goes to open his mouth to ask it it's really okay for Rean to go, too, as Crow beats him to the punch and says, "Don't sweat the small stuff! We can call Ordine and Valimar when we get to where we're goin'— I trust those fellas on the ship to get us there. Jurai always had sturdy sailors!"
Jurai. It's Jurai's port (Rean's visited once before, but was too chicken, running from the things that reminded him of Crow, to actually explore). Of course. Jurai is Crow's home, even if it's not Crow's sanctuary.
"Is it really okay?" He asks, no longer able to look directly at Crow's face, instead casting his eyes to the ground. "Can I really come with you?"
Crow's answer isn't immediate - he thinks before he answers and for that, Rean gains a sense of anxiety - but when his words come, Rean is forced to look back up at him with water at the edges of his eyes.
"Hey, we're partners now, aren't we? You even said it yourself! Why would I leave without you?"
"I—" Rean chokes as distress paints itself clearly on his pinched face. Crow always oversimplifies everything— "I couldn't save you."
This is usually where his dream takes a turn for the worse and the calm waves - the calm before the storm - begin overtaking the boat if he doesn't already wake up. It's where Rean's dream slowly becomes a nightmare and thunder crackles in the sky, lighting the dark clouds that form above.
That doesn't happen this time. This time, Crow gives him a good, long, hard look before he reaches up with both hands and takes Rean's cheeks between his index fingers and thumbs, gently pulling them apart.
"Knock it off with the pity party," Crow says, eyes narrowed and as jagged sharp as his smile. "What happened back then isn't your fault. It's not like you can control everything, or watch everything like Aidios herself. Everything isn't your responsibility and you need to stop acting like it is. What I did, I did by choice, and I sure as hell don't regret it."
Right. That's just like Crow, comforting him with cold truths and tough love. Rean feels like crying and his wet cheeks attest to that fact, but Crow doesn't let him speak as one hand rests on his shoulder and the other moves to Rean's hair, rubbing his head affectionately.
"We're partners in crime, man. Aren't we supposed to have this all figured out already?"
"I guess so."
"Then, go on. Smile for me. Tell me you'll come with me."
And Rean tries for him, really he does, but—
He's touched.
The phantom sensation of Crow's hand rubbing his head coaxes him into awareness, thoughts of Siegfried and Crow so far from his mind in distinction that when he opens his eyes, seeing Siegfried reaching up makes him wonder. All he sees is Crow in the dip of his nose, in the glint of gold of that single hoop earring, the white of his hair, the strength of his shoulders, the angle of his jaw— he must still be sleepy, but even the weight of Siegfried's hand on his head screams 'Crow Armbrust.'
That's right. Back then, Crow...
The last time Crow pet his head, it was while he was in Rean's arms, warm and smiling and nearly gone. A bittersweet feeling fills him and as Siegfried's hand is dropping, Rean catches it and presses the palm of it against his cheek, giving Siegfried an admittedly watery, lost smile.
It's warm. (He's alive.) That's the impression Rean gets from Siegfried when Siegfried's brow shoots up and his mouth opens, already expecting a reprimand before it comes.
In the end, he's treated to Siegfried's silence and the cupping of his cheek, watching as Siegfried pulls himself up with the elbow of his other arm until he can balance himself on the other palm and sit up on his behind. Rean has enough time to partially throw up his guard before Siegfried's hand hits the other side of his thighs and Siegfried himself leans in to Rean's face, pressing their lips together in one fluid motion.
It's strange. It's not his first kiss - certainly not with Azure "don't sweat the small stuff" Siegfried - but it still gives him the thought to pause.
Thankfully, Siegfried doesn't let him hesitate for long and taps the side of Rean's thigh to bring him back to reality, fully awake.
Why did he come out today? Rean doesn't remember. Both of Siegfried's hands are on his cheeks and Rean thinks he sees a glint of red underneath the mesh over his eyes, and his world feels like it's tilting off of its axis. He grabs at Siegfried's jacket and unfolds his legs, detaching from the kiss, but not wanting the moment to fade, opening them for Siegfried to shift in between and re-claim his mouth.
It takes some time, though.
Siegfried's fingers take to dragging upwards and burying themselves in Rean's hair, and Rean's own hands find Siegfried's sides and back. Warm sides, strong back, the lines of both defined enough that Rean can trace them even with the dulled sensation between his gloves and Siegfried's shirt, skin tight as it may be.
A hint of tongue traces against his lips and he's lost, heat curling in his gut and fingers finding Siegfried's jacket again. Before he even knows it—
Rean turns them both with the force of the toss he throws Siegfried with until he can safely straddle Siegfried's hips, effectively breaking the moment they were encased in. His hands hit the grass on either side of Siegfried's head, letting him lean over Siegfried with a pinch in his expression that he's sure Siegfried immediately understands.
"How long are we going to keep doing this?" Rean's voice has dipped dangerously low, but with his emotions running as high as they are— Siegfried is lucky. "Running around in circles, playing... Siegfried, you—"
Siegfried raises one hand to soothe over the back of Rean's head, fingers briefly running through short strands before twisting in them and pulling them until their lips crash together again. Teeth clink softly before he lets Rean ease up, pleased when he sags against him and lets Siegfried roll them both of their sides to simply keep kissing, slow and languid and easy.
Rean rarely lets anything be easy even when Siegfried is all lazy, straight-faced mirth, and he's sure it drives Siegfried nuts. He ends up sighing again and pushing his own hands over Siegfried's shoulders, the outer edges of his hands catching Siegfried's jacket and pushing it down his shoulders and arms as they travel over each muscle on the way down. He's almost surprised by how (much) big(ger he's gotten) Siegfried's bulk is, his mind flashing to halcyon days, but ends up with Siegfried's tongue in his mouth for his troublesome thoughts.
It's not a bad punishment by any stretch of the word. The weight of Siegfried's tongue passing over his spurs him into action, pushing him to give the same as he's receiving, and making him wish they were in the safety of Rean's room instead of outside next to the Septian Church. He can think of several other things Siegfried can be doing with his hot mouth other than kissing Rean silent.
Rean can be silent. He's perfectly capable of quieting, but some incentive never hurts. Kissing Siegfried— it doesn't hurt. It sets a fire in his gut that makes him wish for things that he can't have yet, but it doesn't hurt.
There's something moving in his sensory vision, roaming up his side - a hand, Siegfried's, firm and gentle - before coasting to his front and snagging in the gold loop of his vest, slowly dragging the zipper down. Rean already understands, or at least he thinks he does: Siegfried wants him, too.
No. Instead he's fanning his senses out and searching for a cold spot on his radar, existing the same way Leeves itself is: quietly, relentlessly, waiting for the season it'll be in full bloom once more.
It makes Rean miss Trista all the more.
"Siegfried."
He calls out to the person he's looking for as he ducks around the high bushes next to the church, eyes searching for azure before he finally spots who he's looking for near a tree a little ways from where Rean's standing. Siegfried doesn't seem to have noticed him if the way he stays right where he is is any indication, so Rean sighs and calls out his name again while approaching, deciding to give him the benefit of doubt instead of assuming he's being ignored.
When he finally reaches the other man, however, he quiets upon realizing that Siegfried has his arms folded over the rise and fall of his chest, limp underneath the tree he's laying in the shade of.
Sleeping? Rean isn't sure, so he slowly moves towards Siegfried and reaches down once he's standing next to him, popping a squat to reach, to run a hand through his hair - soft, feathery down, the color of lino flowers when they fall to the ground and catch the light - observing the way Siegfried remains mostly unmoving. Definitely sleeping.
Rean can work with that. It's not often he gets to see Siegfried as shockingly still as he is.
He takes a seat next to Siegfried and leans against the tree, wondering why Siegfried's in plain sight for once. Granted, someone would have to actively be looking for him, but once Rean had sensed him out it was an easy task finding him. He looks so soft and vulnerable there in the shade, only his lower half exposed to the sun, that Rean has to look over at him and wonder.
We made plans, but... His eyes squint at Siegfried's face, seeing how relaxed and open he is laying there on the grass. It's a rare sight and if Rean were anymore soft himself, his heart would start beating on his sleeves. He must've been exhausted if he's out in the open like this. I wonder what he was doing.
Siegfried never shares. Everything with him seems to be blue - his name, his wardrobe, his whimsy mood and attitude - and gray, something Rean wants desperately to change, but he understands. Rose has a tendency of saying they're people who shouldn't exist, so if one hears that enough times then it's understandable that they'd start to believe it. Rean doesn't know the whole story, can't know if Siegfried doesn't open his mouth and heart, but he understands.
(And he remembers red eyes and big shoulders, a boisterous attitude and a colorful wardrobe, a smile and a wink, a strong slap on the back— a sunrise as opposed to sundown, writing on the pages instead of tearing through the paper and ink. Rean wants to ask him what happened, why things have to be this way, because that he refuses to understand.)
It's too quiet, now. A good part of the residents moved to Trista for its peace and the people who remain are those with wills as bright as fire. Even so, it seems to be exceptionally stifling today.
What 'it' is, Rean doesn't know. He simply knows that he doesn't like it.
Part of his brain alerts him to an idea. It's a moment in the past that he keeps close and dear to his heart, as embarrassing as it was at the time, Baraehard still shining in that corner of his mind. One sideways glance at Siegfried's peaceful frame makes up his mind for him.
Anything to get rid of the feeling gnawing at his insides.
He shifts his own body as close as he can get to Siegfried's, straightening himself out until his knees are tucked underneath him - seiza his master called it once, forcing him to hold that position for training - before pulling his thighs in to leave no space between them as he sat on the backs of his calves. Gently, Rean reaches over and tucks a hand underneath Siegfried's head to ease his lap underneath it, glad that Siegfried's laying so close to the tree that Rean's able to continue leaning against it.
Siegfried stays asleep through out the entire ordeal and doesn't even wake up when Rean passes a hand over his bangs to swipe the hair out of his face. His fingers linger in Siegfried's hair, running through it with a careful steadiness.
...I'm just trying to get the leaves and dirt out of his hair. It's not because his hair is soft. Yeah. That's my excuse if he wakes up and asks.
He stays in that exact position for a while, just petting at Siegfried's hair and contemplating doing something that's very obviously a breech of the trust Siegfried has so painstakingly given him: to take off Siegfried's mask, or let the ridiculous thing stay on his face. It sits over his pale complexion both innocently and irritatingly, hiding the confirmation of Rean's dreams and fears from sight.
What will he do if Siegfried is really—?
No, Rean tells himself immediately. There's no question. I'll make him come back to to us if it's the last thing I do.
He comforts himself with the one action of petting Siegfried's hair until Rean himself finds it hard to keep his eyes open, laying a hand over Siegfried's chest in search of a heartbeat.
Thump, thump, thump.
Living, breathing, existing. Crow would call it 'surviving', but Rean is just happy to have him close again regardless of the role he's playing now.
His finger snag on the band in Siegfried's hair and he pauses, opening one eye to stare at it for a moment. Vaguely, Rean wonders if it would be rude to undo it, but honestly if he's going to be thorough in getting the dirt and leaves out of his hair then he has to undo it.
Deciding it's the only way, his fingers drag the hairpiece out of Siegfried's hair - careful not to snag the piece itself on any troublesome strands, treating Siegfried's hair as if it were delicate porcelain - and maneuver it onto his wrist for safekeeping.
Satisfied and a bit embarrassed, Rean's fingers take to running through the hair that falls over Siegfried's shoulder and chest, finding nothing terribly amiss there. It's as soft as the rest of the other pearly strands and Rean finds himself starting to - shamefully, his mind will provide later - doze. The peace and quiet, coupled with the fact that the person he wanted to see the most being there with him, is enough to make his eyelids droop once more.
"A little catnap wouldn't hurt," he tells himself slowly, fingers slowing down in their careful, gentle play. "...he'll still be here when I wake up." They have things to talk about, to do, and for the life of him Rean can't really dredge up the effort to remember them at the moment.
Rean lets himself fade and his senses dull as he curls his hand in the strands of hair over Siegfried's chest, thinking, Was it always this easy?
And sometimes, Rean dreams. There are a lot of times where he wakes up in a cold sweat, unable to recall what he dreamed of, left simply with a lingering feeling of dread in his gut and the taste of blood in his mouth. The latter only happens on particular days - days he spent with Crow in the past, lounging around or running around - where he wakes up to find he's bitten nearly straight through the insides of his lips.
Sometimes, Rean remembers. And when he remembers, there's red and blue and more crimson than he can stand, Testa-Rossa standing there with its tail in Ordine's (Crow's) chest. He can't even breathe enough air into his lungs to push forth the scream in his throat.
Rean understands loss in these dreams. In his second year at Thors, there were always moments where he would turn to the desk near the window to start a conversation after hearing a familiar someone's voice in his ear. He doesn't like remembering these times; the emptiness always spoke louder than words ever could.
However.
Rean doesn't always dream in red.
There are times where Rean will dream of splashes of color - Alisa's pretty gold, Fie's grass green, Machias's black and white light and dark woods, Laura's swift and dark blues, Emma's shimmering purples, Jusis's steely warmth, Sara's flashing purple, Millium's bright yellow, Elliot's earthy strings of notes, Gaius's whimsical emerald on a blank canvas that he's mixing in with everyone else's colors, and—
Crow's brilliant blue stands out the most. It always does. Rean can pick the specks of it out from every other color, sparkling as if in revolution, wishing fervently to breathe until Gaius laughs in his seat at his canvas and paints a streak across the side— a stray, free streak.
Crow is free and that ocean blue shines all the brighter for it. Rean's sadness doesn't feel as profound when Crow seems to be bursting at the seams with the life he rightfully deserves. He just...
He wishes he could be free, too.
His dream Crow never lets him linger on that for long and Rean usually finds himself pulled away from the Art Club's classroom, leaving behind Gaius's strangely secretive smile. Crow drags him by the hand until they're down the stairs and out of the school's front doors, Rean's usual badgering questions at his feet when the door opens and there's suddenly a port before them with a boat as sturdy and grand at Thors Military Academy itself.
He wants to go. He knows he does, knows freedom when he sees it, and when Crow turns on him with a lop-sided smile and a finger against his lips he already knows the taste that follows that sight: adventure. Rean doesn't know how long Crow lived on the streets, fending for himself, but the sparkle in Crow's eyes tell of both experience and joy. Was Crow happy in his solitude? Will Crow be happier if Rean comes with him?
The waves sparkle like Crow's eyes when Rean goes to open his mouth to ask it it's really okay for Rean to go, too, as Crow beats him to the punch and says, "Don't sweat the small stuff! We can call Ordine and Valimar when we get to where we're goin'— I trust those fellas on the ship to get us there. Jurai always had sturdy sailors!"
Jurai. It's Jurai's port (Rean's visited once before, but was too chicken, running from the things that reminded him of Crow, to actually explore). Of course. Jurai is Crow's home, even if it's not Crow's sanctuary.
"Is it really okay?" He asks, no longer able to look directly at Crow's face, instead casting his eyes to the ground. "Can I really come with you?"
Crow's answer isn't immediate - he thinks before he answers and for that, Rean gains a sense of anxiety - but when his words come, Rean is forced to look back up at him with water at the edges of his eyes.
"Hey, we're partners now, aren't we? You even said it yourself! Why would I leave without you?"
"I—" Rean chokes as distress paints itself clearly on his pinched face. Crow always oversimplifies everything— "I couldn't save you."
This is usually where his dream takes a turn for the worse and the calm waves - the calm before the storm - begin overtaking the boat if he doesn't already wake up. It's where Rean's dream slowly becomes a nightmare and thunder crackles in the sky, lighting the dark clouds that form above.
That doesn't happen this time. This time, Crow gives him a good, long, hard look before he reaches up with both hands and takes Rean's cheeks between his index fingers and thumbs, gently pulling them apart.
"Knock it off with the pity party," Crow says, eyes narrowed and as jagged sharp as his smile. "What happened back then isn't your fault. It's not like you can control everything, or watch everything like Aidios herself. Everything isn't your responsibility and you need to stop acting like it is. What I did, I did by choice, and I sure as hell don't regret it."
Right. That's just like Crow, comforting him with cold truths and tough love. Rean feels like crying and his wet cheeks attest to that fact, but Crow doesn't let him speak as one hand rests on his shoulder and the other moves to Rean's hair, rubbing his head affectionately.
"We're partners in crime, man. Aren't we supposed to have this all figured out already?"
"I guess so."
"Then, go on. Smile for me. Tell me you'll come with me."
And Rean tries for him, really he does, but—
He's touched.
The phantom sensation of Crow's hand rubbing his head coaxes him into awareness, thoughts of Siegfried and Crow so far from his mind in distinction that when he opens his eyes, seeing Siegfried reaching up makes him wonder. All he sees is Crow in the dip of his nose, in the glint of gold of that single hoop earring, the white of his hair, the strength of his shoulders, the angle of his jaw— he must still be sleepy, but even the weight of Siegfried's hand on his head screams 'Crow Armbrust.'
That's right. Back then, Crow...
The last time Crow pet his head, it was while he was in Rean's arms, warm and smiling and nearly gone. A bittersweet feeling fills him and as Siegfried's hand is dropping, Rean catches it and presses the palm of it against his cheek, giving Siegfried an admittedly watery, lost smile.
It's warm. (He's alive.) That's the impression Rean gets from Siegfried when Siegfried's brow shoots up and his mouth opens, already expecting a reprimand before it comes.
In the end, he's treated to Siegfried's silence and the cupping of his cheek, watching as Siegfried pulls himself up with the elbow of his other arm until he can balance himself on the other palm and sit up on his behind. Rean has enough time to partially throw up his guard before Siegfried's hand hits the other side of his thighs and Siegfried himself leans in to Rean's face, pressing their lips together in one fluid motion.
It's strange. It's not his first kiss - certainly not with Azure "don't sweat the small stuff" Siegfried - but it still gives him the thought to pause.
Thankfully, Siegfried doesn't let him hesitate for long and taps the side of Rean's thigh to bring him back to reality, fully awake.
Why did he come out today? Rean doesn't remember. Both of Siegfried's hands are on his cheeks and Rean thinks he sees a glint of red underneath the mesh over his eyes, and his world feels like it's tilting off of its axis. He grabs at Siegfried's jacket and unfolds his legs, detaching from the kiss, but not wanting the moment to fade, opening them for Siegfried to shift in between and re-claim his mouth.
It takes some time, though.
Siegfried's fingers take to dragging upwards and burying themselves in Rean's hair, and Rean's own hands find Siegfried's sides and back. Warm sides, strong back, the lines of both defined enough that Rean can trace them even with the dulled sensation between his gloves and Siegfried's shirt, skin tight as it may be.
A hint of tongue traces against his lips and he's lost, heat curling in his gut and fingers finding Siegfried's jacket again. Before he even knows it—
Rean turns them both with the force of the toss he throws Siegfried with until he can safely straddle Siegfried's hips, effectively breaking the moment they were encased in. His hands hit the grass on either side of Siegfried's head, letting him lean over Siegfried with a pinch in his expression that he's sure Siegfried immediately understands.
"How long are we going to keep doing this?" Rean's voice has dipped dangerously low, but with his emotions running as high as they are— Siegfried is lucky. "Running around in circles, playing... Siegfried, you—"
Siegfried raises one hand to soothe over the back of Rean's head, fingers briefly running through short strands before twisting in them and pulling them until their lips crash together again. Teeth clink softly before he lets Rean ease up, pleased when he sags against him and lets Siegfried roll them both of their sides to simply keep kissing, slow and languid and easy.
Rean rarely lets anything be easy even when Siegfried is all lazy, straight-faced mirth, and he's sure it drives Siegfried nuts. He ends up sighing again and pushing his own hands over Siegfried's shoulders, the outer edges of his hands catching Siegfried's jacket and pushing it down his shoulders and arms as they travel over each muscle on the way down. He's almost surprised by how (much) big(ger he's gotten) Siegfried's bulk is, his mind flashing to halcyon days, but ends up with Siegfried's tongue in his mouth for his troublesome thoughts.
It's not a bad punishment by any stretch of the word. The weight of Siegfried's tongue passing over his spurs him into action, pushing him to give the same as he's receiving, and making him wish they were in the safety of Rean's room instead of outside next to the Septian Church. He can think of several other things Siegfried can be doing with his hot mouth other than kissing Rean silent.
Rean can be silent. He's perfectly capable of quieting, but some incentive never hurts. Kissing Siegfried— it doesn't hurt. It sets a fire in his gut that makes him wish for things that he can't have yet, but it doesn't hurt.
There's something moving in his sensory vision, roaming up his side - a hand, Siegfried's, firm and gentle - before coasting to his front and snagging in the gold loop of his vest, slowly dragging the zipper down. Rean already understands, or at least he thinks he does: Siegfried wants him, too.