Carrion sat on the rusted steel railing that lined the edges of the derelict wharf, watching the sun set into the distance, casting its fiery glow over the murky seafoam waters of the harbor and reflecting in the mirror black of his sunglasses. The evening breeze was swift and demanding, agitating the waters as they churned yards beneath his feet, while ripping loose strands of hair from his ornately wound chignon, until it all began to fall apart around his shoulders and billow in the air like so many feet of silken ebony ribbons. The scream of gulls mixed with the roar of the late tide, and reminded him of how much he had loved the sea as a child; How he had begged pleaded his parents to go see it every summer when the sunlight was bright and warm, and how they never left the monastery once the entire time they were alive. By the time he had finally gotten to see the ocean in person, both of his parents had been ten years dead and without the philosophies of his abandoned religion it hadn’t held quite the same magic to him. It was just another dark, dirty puddle, stinking of salt and fish, as far as he was concerned.

To his distant right, the town’s clock tower struck eight, the bell robust and perfectly suiting to the perfectly maintained image of a port city that Blackhaven meticulously perpetrated. Though he had only been this far out west a few times in his life, he was eerily familiar with their humble flawlessness. It was a place built on proverbial picket fences, subtle communism, and self sacrifice; a sort of heaven-on-earth thick with benevolence and do-no-wrong. It wasn’t faked but it sickened him regardless, leaving him awash with sensations of nostalgia and unwelcomed homsesickness, the former of which was a literal malaise that made his stomach knot and churn and his lungs constrict from the hollow pressure of empty hate. His breathing shallowed, causing him to part his lips in order to force himself to inhale, the warm summer air refreshing the taste of metal and salt and indescribable bitterness on his tongue as he dd. It was the taste of Pyras; the taste of his own despair and deformity; an inescapable taste that even the finest food and wine couldn’t wash away. It caught him off guard, and the breath hitched abruptly in his throat, strangling him and eclipsing his senses in dull panic. All at once it was as though a thousand different emotions were crushing him; hate and anger and loneliness filled every crevice of his being and brought desperate tears to the corners of his eyes. His grip tightened on the rusted pole that comprised the top of the railing, a shuddering sigh escaping his lips as his reserves broke, and viscous tears spilled across his sharp cheekbones, raven in hue. Their hot rivulets stained his eggplant-gray skin and dripped down his chin to land on his thighs, cruelly reminding him of why he chose to dress strictly in black.

The muscles in his body tensed and relaxed repeated in controlled spasms, the tiny jerks and motions as much of his breakdown as his self control would allow him to exhibit. He stayed like that for a very long time, perched on the railing with his joints locked and his limbs twitching subtly, and allowed his sadness to run its course, the tears flowing for what felt like hours. When he finally relaxed and looked up, the sun had disappeared by all but a sliver, it’s thin red glow barely offering a violet haze in lieu of the encroaching nightfall. The falling darkness was soothing, seeming to pull some of the weight from his chest and allow his shallow breaths to deepen, and with slow motions he finally raised a hand to brush away the remains of his tears while he watched nightfall drive away the last rays of sunlight. As the last golden fleck dissipated, he held his tear-soaked hand in front of him, masochistically marveling at the oily black film shimmer on his fingertips under the cool glow of the moon, before slowly pressing his thumb against his ring finger and dragging it with expert force upwards to his index finger, the friction igniting the Pyras-heavy fluid immediately, pale gray flames burning it away in a matter of seconds, leaving behind only charred salt residue on unscathed skin. Just once he wished it would burn him, but though he knew the fire intimately, it never had, and to his dismay, he knew it never would.

His ebony eyes falling half lidded, he relaxed his arm in defeat, and lowered it, only to be startled when he felt a large, familiar hand catch his elbow from behind, fingertips tracing the ridge of his bones all the way up his forearm, before closing protectively around his thin wrist. Its twin took its own liberties, layering itself over the concave of Carrion’s stomach, warm and forgiving, just like its owner, who leaned into Carrion’s ear with breath like minty orange juice, and sighed.

“You’re going to fall in.”, Davin monotoned gently. Carrion shuddered and fell backwards against his broad chest, drawing his knees up to balance on the railing. He allowed himself to be folded up upon himself like a child and eclipsed in denim arms, basking in their simple, gentle empathy. Davin leaned forward and draped his broad chin over his narrow shoulder, the jutting hinge of his jaw nestling into the curve of Carrion’s neck with appropriate fondness.

“What are you looking for, Rose?” He questioned with surprising intuition, exhaustion evident in his voice. Carrion wondered how long it had been since he had slept properly. He closed his eyes and inhaled his scent; he smelled like the sea, only cleaner, with hints of dust and sweat and himself. That pleased him intensely, to smell himself on Davin; it was a familiar comfort, like smelling one’s own clothes, only he was living, breathing, and sentient—a genuine, unimagined source of safety and affection. It made him feel safe.

“I don’t know.” He whispered guiltily, leaning closer to Davin’s chest. Davin tightened his hold on him in reciprocation, fingertips massaging his stomach through the soft cotton of his shirt. Carrion hesitated, and then tilted his head to the side, pressing his sharp nose into the gentle dip of his partner’s temple. “But I need help finding it.”

“To the ends of the world, Rose,” Davin offered with a soft laugh, squeezing his wrist fondly. “I’ll take you there, and we’ll find what you need, don’t you worry.”

Endeared by his naïve, tender loyalty, Carrion smiled, plush eggplant lips curling upwards to expose just slightly too much of his teeth. He opened his eyes briefly to peer at the golden moon overhead, then reached up with a free hand and removed his glasses, his black, blank eyes sparkling eerily under the glow of the night sky. “I don’t worry, Davin.” He admitted, tucking them into the chest pocket of the blonde’s denim jacket, leaving his hand to rest over his heart. “I would like to, but I can’t. You’re like magic.”