Chico remembered the last time he had seen Lee, how he had been so excited to show him to me cuz he had wanted me to be happy finally. What I didn’t realize is that he had also remembered how that plot had backfired on him, immediately and completely, how he had almost fallen to his own death because of the blast of pain I had gotten from Lee, learning how he had been a part of a war that had needlessly torn apart so many lives (not too many). He was standing there now, watching Lee, seeing the drunken stumble and feeling the flutter in my own breast and torn between it all. Cuz he didn’t want me feeling that pain again (No more nightmares). He didn’t want me to break like that again. (No more nightmares, dammit).

But Lee was coming towards me, and Cheek had to move anyway cuz you bet your sweet ass I wasn’t just gonna let Lee shamble his way towards me like that, alone. I was meeting him halfway.

Be safe.

It was automatic and thoughtless; Lee was reaching for me and I was reaching for him, stretching my neck across his wither and getting a face-full of stick and not even caring cuz I couldn’t care cuz here was Leos, finally finally finally, and here was his bulk and his smell and his fur against my own and his voice ringing in my skull (I missed you too—) and he was grabbing me and I was grabbing him just as hard, holding him as close to me as my short ass would allow cuz here he was with a heart still beating—

--and something was breaking out of me, a weak sort of gasping laughter that didn’t make sense at first. Maybe it was just happiness—or relief, a disbelieving sort of relief that catches you off guard, a glimmer that shouldn’t have been there cuz you were so sure the world was so dark. I missed you. “Yeah?” I asked, breathless, but it was muffed against his coat cuz that’s where I wanted to be right now, “Well, here I am.” Here’s where I wanna be.

The worst part about it all was how heartbreaking it actually was: here I was, right about to leave, right about to blow this kickstand cuz I felt too out of place to try and knit myself into it. An outsider, an interloper. I was finally seeing Leos on the cusp of my departure, and it was not a moment too late—but what did these things even matter when I was trying to jet out of here anyway in the next few moments? I was seeing him just in time to say goodbye. How thoughtful.

It was a weird contrast; on one shoulder hung Sparkmarrow, bright and heavy and cold, glittering in the dying moonlight even though the magic itself wasn’t running through the blade; something deadly but still with purpose, an anchor to the whole universe around us, cuz it was born of Papa and bathed in the blood of evil things and I was going to have to fight all of them, huh. But on my other shoulder—on my other shoulder was something (someone) so much warmer and heavier, something fragile that was so much different than the seemingly indestructible strength of Pa’s sword, someone I wanted with a surprising selfishness I didn’t know I even had—and here we were alone, just us, just me and him and fuck the rest of the universe for a second, just fuck off right now, I don’t give a shit, cuz we were here and we were huggin’ and I had missed him and he had missed me.

And he still didn't know my name.

My muscles relaxed underneath him and I got comfortable in his embrace; I breathed out once, slowly, and the knots in my stomach unraveled and there was a warm feeling in my stomach that offered itself hesitantly, and I understood that it was peace. A small, precarious peace—but it was there for a moment, if only for a moment. “How they treating you here?” I asked it softly, my voice delicate as it twisted amongst the sharp, brittle spikes of him, he who was made of ice, who was covered in it from his menacing horn to his blue blue blue eyes to his frosted hooves—he who could snap and crumble just as easily. Lee. (Or Mow-ya).