After Death

[Carver]

First Trial of Cylus, Arc 720
The Docks, Egilrun, Scalvoris

What is love after all but trusting in the unknown.

Marty Rubin

Cold. Death proved to be exceptionally cold. How he could feel his body when such frigid chill seeped through his bones, he could not understand. He could not understand how he realized he felt cold at all. Cold, and dark, and wet. The lap of waves quietly washing ashore, the faint whistle of a sharp breeze that cut through the creaking of old timbers, the sound of frayed breath. His breath. A gentle warmth against his neck… not his breath. He turned, toward the warmth, and though he did not open his eyes, his hand reached forward and found something to touch. Something cold, even colder than himself, and he gathered the shape into his arms for he did not have far to go. The warmth of another’s breath drew closer. He sought to intermingle his own breath, to join their warmth, to conjure heat that might rid them of such profound chill.

C… Ca… Carver opened his eyes. He could not see, not immediately. Dark, everything seemed so dark, shadows within night without the respite of a sun’s grace or lanterns or fires. His hand searched, blindly feeling the shape of the other… man, yes, the other man. It could only be one, for there had only been one he had died with. This, then, must be hell – he supposed, for such was the place he belonged after the life he had led in I… In… Inamalum. Yet, Carver felt no fear, nor did he feel regret. If he had the other man beside him in hell, then it might as well have been a heaven. He could imagine no greater paradise than having L… La… Laures held in his arms.

“…” His lips parted, and he tried to speak. A hoarse gargle sounded instead. Nausea welled inside of him. Driven by sudden instinctual impulse, he pressed away from the other man and crawled forward against hard-packed sand. Carver coughed and coughed. Icy water spurted forth, pressed out of his lungs with each cough. Body trembled, cold, so cold, and he realized he wasn’t wearing much of anything and his hair hung down around his face – still dripping from the frigid bay that lapped at their feet. He expelled the grimy water from his insides, out his mouth, until he rasped with shuddered breath and heavy droplets of tears escaped his eyes from physiological strain.

Hitching desperate inhales, he crawled on his hands and knees to find the other man and see how he fared. Why was there so much sand? Where were they? He rubbed away the tears, as his sight adjusted to the darkness that surrounded them. It was then he realized that the very reason for why it was so shadowed, proved to be right above in the form of tall timbers and the underside of wooden planks tightly nailed together. Docks? They were beneath a pier? Why were they quite nearly naked, with exception to their undergarments, in the cold snowy night on the bayfront? That did not strike him as sensible. Indeed, it was the opposite of sensible.

Carver paused, in his search to check on the other man, and he lifted his hand momentarily to find himself otherwise uninjured. No cut, no wounds like had been on him before his bloody demise at the blade of a knife. His head hurt, it ached terribly and he felt the nagging persistence of something that wished to be recalled but the harder he tried to claim it to the forefront of his consciousness, the more it fought against him and worsened the pain caught within the confines of his skull. He grimaced, then focused instead on the other man as he found his voice, raspy and strained though it was from a throat scraped raw by drowning in icy waters.

“Laures? Can you hear me? Are you okay?”

[Lars]

First Trial of Cylus, Arc 720

The Docks, Egilrun, Scalvoris

Here then — the aftermath of meaning.

Mark Z. Danielewski

Dark. It was all so dark. A darkness so vast it swallowed him whole, and left him uncertain that he had ever known light at all. What came before, that could have outmatched the abyss? What could he have known, and experienced, that could have ever existed alongside this void? Nothing. That must have been it: he had known nothing, because nothing had come before this darkness, and nothing would ever follow it. He was lost. He was alone. If he had even existed in the first place, he did not know. He only knew that he was did not exist any longer.

Although... surely if he had faded completely, as he believed, he would not have the mind to believe such things at all. He had always imagined that death would quite easily take that ability away. For a while, he supposed it had, but he could not remember such an absence. No, he was — he was thinking, ruminating, questioning, he was —

Alive. Was he alive?

But he was so incredibly cold.

He shivered, and shivered, and shivered until his entire body shook. It started in his hands, in the tips of his slender fingers, and crept upward through his bones until there was not a part of him that did not pay due respect to the deathly chill. Forget about the dark, how could he ever manage to find any semblance of hope in this cold? He needed to warm up, he needed heat, he needed... needed... someone. Someone important. Someone's breath that mingled with his own, suddenly, someone's arms that gathered him close with such familiarity. Someone that moved away, then, with such force that it jostled his shivering body into some higher level of awareness; someone that he could hear, faintly, expelling the contents of their stomach; someone that crawled back to him soon after, and returned to where they were meant to be. Someone... someone that he knew. Someone that he loved, he was sure of it. Someone that he could not remember, not yet, but that he wanted — no, needed — to stick around until he did.

What was his name? He could feel it pressing against the confines of his skull, begging to be released. It was then that he realized he did not remember either name, his own nor this someone's, and he strained to recall. They were... Ned. No, not Ned. T... Teddy? But that was not right either. T... no... M... not quite... Car... ver.

Carver.

The name was enough to distract him from the cold, and the dark, if only for a moment. Carver's hands strayed from him, and he was overjoyed with the mere fact that he was able to register the disappointment. His body was was still in the sand, unmoved from whenever he had... arrived here (wherever 'here' was), and his eyes were closed, the man entirely oblivious to whatever might surround him besides his dear Carver. What else mattered? He did not need to see, to know that he was where he was meant to be. He needed only to feel Carver's presence beside him.

Laures?

Laures awoke with a start. As quickly as his lungs drew in a loud, ragged breath, his cold hands shot upwards to his neck, fingers wrapping around in some instinctual urge to protect himself. His eyes opened, and then shut, and then opened again, as the darkness above confused him more than it did behind his eyelids. Where was he? Why was he so cold? And why was he lying in the sand? He could not remember walking out here, but then, he was having trouble remembering much of anything at all. He was pulled upward as if some invisible string had yanked at his chest, and Laures fell forward, struggling to keep his face out of the sand as he, too, succumbed to a wave of nausea. Painful and harsh, his stomach refused the muddled water within, and it clawed at his raw throat to leave his mouth. It mingled with the damp sand beneath, a mixture of earth, and acid, and salt. Tears sprung forth from his eyes, rolling down his cheeks, dripping from the tip of his sharp nose to add to the sickness underneath.

With a weak sound of protest that died in his throat, Laures let himself fall to the side, collapsing once again into the cool ground. His bare shoulder tried to bury itself, his cheek picked up a layer of sand, and the messy blond hair atop his head stuck to his face... he would have claimed to feel like death, but he thought, perhaps, this was worse. At least in death, he had not known such discomfort. Heavy, laborious breaths were pulled in and exhaled, and blue eyes remained shut as he allowed himself a moment's rest right where he was. He could not stay like this forever, he knew, and the persistent trembling in his nearly-naked body was testament to that, but a moment would not hurt. A moment would... not... hur...

...Reluctant though his tired form was to do so, Laures began to push himself up, forcing his hands to press into the sand. He propped himself up with his elbow, eyes fluttering open once more, and then he reached blindly through the darkness, grabbing onto whatever part of Carver he could reach. Quickly, he pulled the other man close, both arms shifting to wrap around his waist and keep him as near to him as he possibly could. Blue eyes bleary and wet with fresh tears, Laures buried his cold face in his neck, and finally attempted to speak.

"C—" it sputtered into a cough, and after a moment, he tried again.

"Carver. Carver, I'm s-so—" but again, his throat proved far too raw, aching as it tried to form the words. Frustrated, Laures sniffed, and held tighter to the other man, as if he might die if he let go.

"Where... are we? Are we..."

Laures did not finish the question, allowing his voice to descend into silence. He was not certain that he wanted to know the answer.

[Carver]

First Break, 1 Cylus, Arc 720

Thoughts bent counter to the pressure of memories, and though he could not claim to have no recollection of what had come before – for he did, and in the most acute condition of his perplexed soul – it did not align with the actual sensations of his body, nor truly his mind in the physical incarnation. What had he said? What had he told the other man who shivered on the sands beside him? If I lose my recollection of language, as long as I keep that one word, as long as I never lose you… then all would be right. Yes, that had been it and what else? There was still so much that remained with him, waiting to be drawn forward through the turmoil of his mind but came it did like the overflow of a soul that could not bear to contain such sentiment buried for yet another trill of time. He whispered, voice hoarse, “Until the world goes dark from the death of the suns…”

“…and the oceans turn red with blood.” He peered through the darkness at the vague rippled motion of water as it foamed against the sands. What had been said in return, what had it been…

…In life, and after death, M̸̢͇̱̙̤̀̊̃ͅe̸͈̦̅͆̓̾̌̐͐̋̊̕è̵̺͚̝͆̾̋̂͛̐̐̆͘e̵͕̗̤̽̆̎̂̽̿̔͑͘͠e̶̘͇͇̥͖̣͙͓̘̚l̸̻̘̺̗͈̣̹̾͂̈́̀̕͠͠ͅz̶̧̝̳̮̰͓̙̼̎̅͌̑̈̕q̸̖̮̼̗́v̷̻̳̙͗̂d̶̝͔̼̦̼̟̮̀͠j̴̨̡̢̜̮̮̞͚̿̕͜ – my very soul belongs to you…

Agony pierced through his skull and in his throat. Carver placed a hand to his forehead, a strangled shout escaped him, then it faded, and he lowered his hand. As much as he fought through the inherent confusion of a soul embedded in a body that was not his origin, he discarded any further harvesting of the quicksand that was his memories of his life and where he had come from…

…where they had come from…

…and he felt the other man pull him close. His own arms found his companion’s shoulders, wrapped around to gather what little warmth existed between them. With the beat of their hearts, the steadiness of their breath, the chill of death waned but the air around them hardly felt comforting. Closer, closer, closer: he pulled near to press their shivered vulnerable bodies close together. Something about those very bodies felt different, though, but he could not notice nor care enough to analyze such a fact. Not yet.

Hands rubbed against the other’s back to coax warmth from the friction, the other man sputtered against him. The painful strain sounded in Laures’s voice as much as it had in his own. He nuzzled against the older’s damp sand-encrusted hair and whispered into the blond waves, “Shh, shh, it’s okay. We’re okay.”

Where were they? Carver didn’t know. He had not the slightest idea, other than it was under a pier at night. Had it been a delusion? Some sort of shared madness? Had they only hallucinated the knives and the blood (so much blood) and the way he’d seen the life leave his lover’s fair eyes and held close. Held so close. Held like he might never let go again. His arms tightened their embrace and he squeezed the other man against him. Had they blacked out and woken on the beach? It would not be the first time that Carver underwent such loss of understanding, of memory, yet this time… this time didn’t seem like all those other times.

“We… need to get warm,” he said in sudden focus. The human lifted the other man, to help them both to their feet. It wasn’t simple, nor easy, to accomplish when he found that the muscles in his legs burned from what he suspected had been a great deal of kicking, or the like. He nearly collapsed back down, muscles trembled while his body seemed to fight against existence itself. Carver found his strength by the touch of Laures against him, though, by the sound of the other’s shaky breath and sad little sniffs, and he needed to get Laures out of the cold.

Questions could come later, confusion could wait. For now, they needed to not freeze to death because even if they were in some sort of hell – it still felt unbearably cold, which meant he had a body that did not want to feel such things, and breath he strained to keep in his lungs, which meant he had… organs and lungs at all and… he searched the surrounding shadowy beach, then he took Laures by the hand and led up the sloped dune to get out from under the pier.

Light came into view, the flicker of torches along a dirt and stone path that led through utilitarian squat buildings and closed-up stalls. This was… this was not what he remembered. Carver paused at the top of the dune, then turned to look out at the darkness beyond the bay waters. There were ships in the shallow space, but not like how he remembered the ports. This was not the city. This was not what he knew. Even in the dark night, he could recognize that fact. Where were they?

Bewilderment set aside, he noticed something else on the docks – illuminated by a faint glint in the torchlight thrown from the nearby path. Carver nearly told Laures to stay where he was, and wait for him to check it out, but he couldn’t bear even the mere thought of letting go of the other’s hand. So, he brought him along while they walked on the creaky boards of the pier. He walked and walked, and it felt like forever as splinters stuck into his cold bare feet, and frost gathered on the drying water on his clammy skin. Carver reached the very end of the pier and he stared down at the two sets of neatly folded clothes and the shoes left beside them.

He let go of Laures’s hand then, if only to pick up the shirt from the top of one stack. Carver unfolded it, held it up, then held it up to the other man. It definitely was meant for Laures – by the size of it, though either of them could have worn the ordinary attire. Something about the fashion though… it looked like a tunic? As he lifted the next shirt from the companion outfit, he realized that while these clothes would fit them… they weren’t their clothes. Not from before. Not what they’d been wearing when he last could recall. Not anything he’d ever owned before, for that matter.

Carver pulled on the tunic shirt, thin lacings that crisscrossed over the v-neck. He picked up the trousers breeches next, then tall socks that went to his knees. The human focused on dressing, and not on the persistent nausea and dizziness and confusion, and he made sure that Laures similarly focused on getting dressed as well. It would help with the cold. Not for a long time, but for long enough, or so he hoped. He found a bundled pair of leather gloves. Carver handed one of the pairs to Laures, then pulled them on to find that they were insulated with warm fur. He sighed at this, a weary exhale of petty relief. Coats were there too, and he lifted them up to figure out which was his, then hurried to pull the other one onto Laures and protectively nestle the fair blond underneath the fabric. He rubbed at his companion’s shoulders and arms, to gather reasonable heat within the clothes. Voice in a struggle to sound louder than a whisper, he asked, “Can you walk?”

[Lars]

First Break, 1 Cylus, Arc 720

Okay. Okay? How were they anywhere near okay? Laures tried to laugh, and the bitter sound caught in his throat, twisting halfway through into a sob. It was not okay. They were not okay. He was not okay. He could hardly even remember a time when he was. Carver's embrace did little to truly warm him, though his hands rubbed against the other man's back in return — but it did serve to keep him steady, and as their cold bodies pressed against each other, he tried to calm himself down. Falling deeper into that dark, endless pit of despair would not help either of them, and though he could have so easily succumbed to the panicked dread that clawed at the edges of his mind, he could not allow himself to do so. They were... here, possibly (presumably) alive, and they were together, which meant...

It meant that he could not give up just yet. Even if a part of him wanted nothing more than to return to that empty state of unawareness, if only to rid himself of the cold, and the dark, and the deepest of sorrows that threatened, still, to consume him. He could not give in to it. He could not let go. Not when Carver was here, truly here; not when it meant leaving him behind. The tears were slowing in their onslaught down his cheeks, and though a new, heavier wave of despair washed over him, Laures caught his breath. He felt himself be squeezed closer to the younger man. Carver was there for him, so... he had to be there for Carver.

That was what he had promised. To be there, always: in life, and after death, his very soul belonged to...

Laures lifted his head, reluctantly, as his companion spoke. Warm... yes, he wanted to be warm. He could not remember what it felt like, being warm, but he wanted it desperately. So when Carver moved, pulling them both up on weak, trembling legs, Laures did his best to help. Hands went to the other man's shoulders to help steady him and keep him upright, and though his own legs wobbled underneath him, he managed to hold his own well enough. Despite the vulnerable state of himself, he felt... was he... stronger...? Something felt different that he could not quite place, but he did not have the time nor the energy to dwell on it now. He held tightly to Carver's hand, and leaned against him slightly as he was led out from underneath the... pier. How had they ended up down at the docks?

But as Carver led them up the damp, sandy surface of the dune, Laures realized that this was not the docks at all. Or — it was, it was quite clearly docks, but not the ones he knew. The layout was all different, the flickering lights nearby were different, the air was different as it was pulled into his straining lungs. It made no sense. He knew the city well, he had spent months learning and committing each street, shop, and corner to memory, but he had never seen this place before. Swallowing down another fit of nausea, Laures did not allow himself to spent too much time thinking about their location either. Like the strangeness of his body, where they were did not matter, so long as they could get warm and find some sort of shelter. The details of how, why, and where could all come after.

Besides... what was stranger, perhaps, than the new scenery around them, was the fact that Laures could see any of it at all. It was so terribly dark, in the places where the torch lights could not reach, and yet he could see. Blinking rapidly through his bleary blue eyes, his gaze swept over the area, catching on a folded pile of... clothing, over on the docks. Carver must have spotted the bundle at the same time, for his hand was pulled soon after, and Laures was led in that direction. Quiet he was as he followed after his companion, only giving the occasional little sniff as his tears slowed, and slowed, and finally... stopped. There were so many things that he wanted to say, and so many more that he wanted to ask, but he did not have the will to speak, not properly. In the numbness of the cold, he hardly felt the wood beneath his feet — the creak in the hall, have to be careful of — but stepped lightly anyhow, even if his legs wished to stop completely.

Slender fingers curled into a fist as his hand was released, and the blond took a moment to look over his companion while he gathered the clothes. It was still too dark to check him extensively for any injury, but even in the shadowed light of the pier, he looked...

Did he look different? He supposed he had felt different against him; his hands had felt strange against his own, and his voice had sounded off, but he had assumed that it was only because of the whole... dying, thing. Laures' brow furrowed as he observed the younger, but he was unable to tell for sure. Certainly it was Carver. He was just... oh, he did not know. He could not tell. He ignored it, for now, and took the shirt when it was offered to him.

It was not his shirt, as far as he could tell, and the style of it rather confused him, but it looked like it would fit. Like it was intended for him, though he had never seen it before. Without bothering to question it further, Laures pulled on the shirt, and with each layer of odd clothing he put on, he felt a bit of the cold leave his bones. Not completely, and definitely not enough to consider himself comfortable or warm by any means, but it was a good start. He slipped on his shoes, and... gloves, and moved his arms to assist when Carver helped put on his coat. Not a single article of clothing made much sense to him, but it did not matter. It was far better than wandering around and freezing to death. Or... another death.

Laures' eyes darted back up to Carver's face when he was questioned. The tip of his pointed nose was pink, and the tears that had collected in his dark lashes had crystallized like frost. He reached out, his gloved hand holding to the back of Carver's head, and he pulled him closer again. His other weary arm slipped around him, and Laures nodded, resting his head upon his shoulder for just a moment.

"Yes," he replied, just as quiet, just as rough. Yes, he could walk, even if he did not wish to. What other option did he have? Being carried? Laures could not remember what that felt like either. He could not remember if he had enjoyed being held, and being carried, he could not remember feeling much of anything at all besides the profound sadness that rested within him now. I'm scared, he almost said, but he kept it to himself.

"Let's... find somewhere. Shelter."

Those were proper words, weren't they? Laures released the younger, and one of his hands dropped to take Carver's in his own. Turning back towards the direction they had come from, his eyes focused on the torch lights, and he started back down the creaking dock. "Are you hurt? Can you tell?"

He had not seen any blood, and his neck had seemed to be in proper condition. It confused him terribly. He could not remember much, but he did remember how they had... died. They had died, hadn't they? Laures could remember dying. He could not remember seeing Carver die, but he could remember the moments before. The weak smile, the count for a waltz, the cold blade against his skin. The blood. So much blood it choked him, strangled him, drowned him, killed him.

Laures made sure to keep Carver close at his side as he walked, while his other hand was shoved hastily into his pocket.

"We're... alive, aren't we?"

[Carver]

First Break, 1 Cylus, Arc 720

Breath warm, intermingled in visible clouds from their chapped lips. When Laures pulled him close again, Carver tried to look into his eyes. It was difficult through the dark, and the other man moved to rest against his shoulder instead. He mirrored the hold, hand against the other’s head in a protective embrace while he kept Laures still against him. Carver scanned their surroundings. Opposite the lap of water underneath the pier, on the horizon he could see more lights and hear the faintest sounds from the direction. Wherever they were, they were not the only ones. He did not know whether this was something good or bad, and truly he did not think in such a way regardless. Okay or not okay, good or bad, right or wrong, none of that mattered in the context of base needs for warmth and protection. Whatever had happened: he was conscious. His body was cold. Laures was scared. The other man didn’t need to tell him so, he already knew because Carver also felt scared. But he would try to act otherwise.

Shelter. He hummed in agreement. They released each other, if only to hold hands and start on their way back down the pier and to the dunes. He glanced over when he heard the inquiry as to whether he was hurt. Carver slowed his steps, then lifted his hand. He looked at the gloved palm, then he set it over his neck. The inside of his throat still hurt from the bay water, and some pressure remained in his chest, his limbs were freshly sore with the burn of overuse… but it was a far cry from the last of what he’d remembered of his body.

“I think… somehow… I think I’m alright,” he managed. They reached the last of the boards, back onto the sand that crested into a stonework path. It wasn’t exactly cobblestone, but it was obviously a road of some sort. It led into a wide torchlit path that looked to have more lights in the distance. He could hear noises in that direction. Carver turned his gaze to look to the curved perpendicular route that followed along the water. It was less lit up and led back into darkness. There would clearly be warmth if they went forward, and he suspected from what noises he could pick up – his hearing adjusting more and more while he listened to them – that it was likely a tavern area. Warmth… and people.

He glanced at Laures, glad to have the gloves so their hands weren’t bare to the cold. The clothing made it less of an immediate priority, though not an ignorable one, to get out of the night air. Carver turned them to the side, and he started along the empty dirt road that led back into the shadows – and away from the brightly lit center beyond the closed market stalls.

“We’re…” the soft voice of Laures sounded next to him. Carver didn’t look for long at the other man, while he surveyed every shadow and every corner in the case of something unexpected that might threaten them. “…alive, aren’t we?”

“I don’t know,” answered Carver honestly. He frowned, while they passed by a sparse few torches and their shadows crossed over the flattened dirt. The human glanced at… the other human, thinking to say something, but found himself at a loss for words. He stopped walking, next to one of the torches, and simply stared for a few seconds.

“…Laures… you…” look different, and yet the same. Carver didn’t know how to describe it. In the nearby torchlight, he could see that in the eyes he’d come to learn as gray, they were blue instead. The hair had darkened, as well, to an actual blond rather than the ghostly white. There was the color of life in the cheeks and on the tip of the delicate nose. Delicate but… he glanced over Laures’s silhouette. Was he slightly taller than him? Carver did not realize that his own body had drastically changed – or not changed, for it was not his body at all. He had not fully realized it, yet.

A cough racked through him, then he shook his head and continued their walk along the path of a river. He’d forgotten what he’d meant to say before he’d gotten distracted by the obvious changes in his lover’s appearance. Up ahead, he saw a bridge that crossed over to another torch-lit street. Carver kept his gaze moving, in sweeps of their surroundings, and he peered at the various buildings to try and figure out what they were. Almost all of them were dark, though, and did not strike him as houses. They seemed more like warehouses or shops judging from the way that signs and symbols were beside the doors. Out of the torchlight again, he focused on moving forward at a pace quick enough to warm them but not so fast as to exacerbate the soreness in their bodies. He added, “You’re not hurt either? Or I mean, I know you and I know me, and- maybe this is… Maybe we are both dead now? All I know is that I can feel your hand in mine, and I want to get you out of the cold.”

[Lars]

First Break, 1 Cylus, Arc 720

"I'm not sure... if I'm alright."

"I think... somehow... I think I'm alright."

Laures offered a nod, watching the other man raised a gloved hand to his neck but not questioning him further on the matter. While it did not mitigate his concern entirely, Carver's reluctant response was all that he needed at the moment. An assurance that he was, at the very least, not about to die on him again. He glanced away from him, looking forward to the path ahead of them, and doing his best to stay aware and stay alert. If he could see well enough in the dark, then he had no excuse not to. Calmer now that he was dressed and protected, somewhat, from the elements, he adjusted his hold on Carver's hand, interlocking their gloved fingers. His own tapped curiously against the leather, as if testing the gesture, as if his fingers recalled the action when his mind did not... and that, too, served to calm him.

That was what he needed. Calm. He had to stay calm for Carver, so that the younger could think about himself. So his fingers tapped idly away, and his breaths remained steady, forming little clouds where they exited his nose. His companion — lover — husband? — did not know how to answer his next question, but Laures did not blame him. He could not quite tell himself, either. He knew that this, whatever he was now, it was different from the... nothingness, and it was different from what came before that nothingness. Better or worse, he was not sure, but it was different in the most incomprehensible of ways. It felt... present? Sharp? It felt... real.

"...Laures..."

His name caught his attention again, distracting him for the moment from his thoughts. Best not to allow himself to think too much anyhow, he supposed, and he stopped beside the other man, his fingers pausing just the same. Eyes flicked up from the damp ground beneath them to scan over Carver's face — his... face. His face. What... that was not his face. Was it? That was not... no, it could not be, could it? Laures frowned as he met his lover's gaze. His eyes were... brown? Or was it simply too dark to pick out the green? That was perhaps the smallest of differences, though, for his entire face, entire body he imagined, was different. Wasn't it? He was not just imagining that? Had his mind really convinced him of the younger looking so different? Finding himself at a loss for words, Laures could not even fathom that his own appearance might have changed, and that that might have been the reason for his lover's pause in the first place. The light flutter within his chest was ignored, easily buried beneath his confusion.

It was... nice, though. Even ignoring the obvious, Carver looked good. Alive, or close enough to it, and all of his blood, so precious and divine, was safely kept within his body. Tired, certainly, with his drying hair mixed with sand, but he imagined that he mirrored that himself. It was strange, though, to hold his hand and stand so close when he looked like someone else. Laures swallowed almost nervously, and it once again caught against his raw throat, but he was able to quiet his cough. Carver looked away from him, not finishing whatever he had meant to say, but the blond could not judge him for that either. Silenced, Laures fell into step beside him again, restless fingers resuming their persistent little motions against the back of Carver's gloved hand. Right, they needed to find shelter, or something that might give them a clue as to where they were. Even now, as they continued through the darkness, following the empty dirt path, he could not see anything around them that he recognized. Not in the distance, not behind them, not here.

Had someone put them here? Found their bodies, and moved them? No, that wouldn't make sense. They would not have woken up, they couldn't have. Were they dead?

As they walked, though, Laures found it difficult to tear his gaze away from the other blond. Even out of range of the torches and their light, all the various differences made themselves clearer and clearer now that he had become aware of them. If he had not woken up beside him, he might have not thought it was his lover at all. He fought the sudden urge to pull his hand away. It was Carver, he reminded himself again. It was. And he needed him, no matter how peculiar it felt to feel so close to someone that looked like a stranger; he loved him, no matter how much his physical attributes changed. Taking a quiet, deep breath, he forced his fingers to stop tapping, but rubbed his thumb in gentle circles against Carver's hand as they grew nearer to the bridge.

"I'm... not hurt, no," he answered quietly, finally managing to look away from the other man to focus forward. "Not as far as I can tell."

He had not seen any bruises either. Perhaps it was simply too dark to see them, but he had not noticed... the...

His arm. There had been no burn on his arm. Laures' eyes widened, and if they had been in a warmer environment, he would have removed his clothes all over again just to confirm. But no, no, that could wait. He glanced back at Carver for a brief moment, and said, "um, I — right. We need to get out of the cold. We can figure out the rest of it after. I..."

And that was when he looked away, his damp blond hair falling around his face as he dipped his head to stare at the ground passing beneath them. He took a step towards his companion, walking closer for both the emotional and physical comfort it brought him. "We... did die, though, didn't we? You felt it? I don't feel it now. I just feel... so strange, and — Carver, you look..."

Like someone else? Like you've changed? He was not sure which felt more accurate. He wanted to curl up in a ball and go to sleep, and wake up back in... in... gods, he could not remember where he lived. He lived there with Carver, didn't he? And they had... cooked there, and read there, healed there, washed there, loved there, but he could not... remember it.

"I don't know. I don't recognize any of this. I want to go home, but fuck if I know where home even is. None of this feels right."

[Carver]

First Break, 1 Cylus, Arc 720

Even through his confusion, Carver noticed the slight change in the other man as Laures kept looking at him. He did not assume the reason for it, though, and suspected it was the similar fascination that simmered under the surface that they were still… whatever it was that they were… alive? Conscious? Able to hear each other? Talk with each other? Know each other, still. They had bled out together, and now they’d woken up together, and there hadn’t been a space between those two points where they hadn’t been together. The more that Carver allowed that understanding to seep through his mind, like the cold had seeped through his bones, the more he felt an almost breathless sensation rise through his spine and twitch the corners of his lips upward.

“We… did die, though, didn’t we? You felt it?”

Carver looked away from a shadowy corner of a building and placed his gaze to look toward the other man who’d moved closer to him. He changed hands, so that he could wrap an arm around Laures’s shoulders and hug him to his side while they continued to walk. He noticed that the other man stared at the ground below them, no longer glancing at him like he had been.

“I don’t feel it now. I just feel… so strange, and – Carver, you look…”

He looked? Looked…? Carver wanted to know what the other was to say, but nothing else came. Had he changed in some fashion too, like Laures had? What did he look like? The answer did not provide him with any understanding.

“I don’t know. I don’t recognize any of this. I want to go home, but fuck if I know where home even is. None of this feels right.”

“Wait,” said Carver quietly. He stopped their walk again. His hands went to the other’s shoulders and he turned him to look through the dark at the other man. Nausea roiled in his guts. He swallowed it down but felt beads of cold sweat gather on his brow. “You… You don’t mean that… do you?”

His raspy voice cracked when he said it. The younger man stared, dark brown eyes full of hurt, and he tried to focus but found it difficult. He expected anger, soon. Expected to feel the easy turmoil of rage crash through him and color him red like it always did. But as his grip on Laures’s shoulders tightened, the anger did not come. He simply felt the… hurt.

“None of it? But…” he whispered, an almost croak for how it graveled against his raw throat. “…we’re together.”

His hands slid over the other’s arms, away, and he turned with a confused, sorrowful look on his vastly different features that he held no awareness for. This was not his body, and this was not the mind he’d had before, though his soul worked quickly to supply it with connections again. Vulnerable in the pristine state of a new physical vessel, he did not have the same command over his expressions for what he revealed. Carver continued along the dirt path and shoved both his hands in the coat pockets. No longer did he look at the shadows, but he stared at his feet while he walked. Those were not his shoes. He didn't wear laced flats... he wore boots.

“I don’t know,” he mentioned again, voice forced past bewildered emotions and sounding stilted because of it. “I… yes. We had to have died. How could we- what other explanation is there? There is no… no way I could have imagined that pain. It is hardly possible, don’t you agree? Or- I… Maybe this is… Maybe we were… I- I’m sorry, I don’t know!”

His voice pitched in exchange for what otherwise might have been a shout. He placed a hand against his head, and pressed the palm against his eye, with a low growl. His focus waned. What did it matter if they found their way out of the cold, if Laures only wished to go home… “Home… What home? The city? You want to go back to that… that pit? Maybe, maybe we’re nearby. Maybe we washed ashore close by, or something. Maybe we’re only a short walk away or don’t worry, we can hitch a ride right back and… and...”

He didn’t finish. He couldn’t. His voice had gone too quiet, his attitude too bitter, and yet, he didn’t feel angry. Carver kept expecting it, but the familiar waves of fury refused to grace him with forceful, heightened energy. He was upset, yet he felt different than usual. His insides felt like a blend of too many things but through it, he maintained a reasonable degree of calm.

Without warning, Carver threw out an arm to make sure Laures didn’t walk ahead of him. He quietly breathed, then nodded forward. Ahead, past the darkness they hid in, a trio of figures were traveling across the bridge. Carver glanced around, took hold of Laures’s wrist, and led to the nearest building to hide behind the corner with a slight view of the bridge.

[Lars]

First Break, 1 Cylus, Arc 720

Laures came to a stop when Carver did, eyebrows drawing together in his confusion as the younger grabbed his shoulders. Had he said something wrong? Or perhaps Carver had simply noticed something else that was different, or he remembered something more, or.. or... no, that was not it. Even if the features were unfamiliar to him, even in the shadows of the strange place they found themselves in, he could recognize the hurt on his lover's face. Clearer now than even before, and that alone only added to the twisted ball of confusion that sank to the pit of his stomach. What had he done in such a short amount of time to hurt him? He reached out to set his hands against the other man's sides, as if he sought to comfort him, but was left feeling more uncertain than ever. Carver's grip on his shoulders tightened, and Laures' hands were drawn back to himself. Before, he might have been afraid. But now, as he stared into the younger's dark eyes, he could not find it within himself. Regret, perhaps, for whatever he had said to hurt him, but unafraid.

"But... ...we're together."

That's what he picked out of that? Laures could not help the subtle downward curve of his lips. That was not what he had meant at all. Although he would not deny that it was strange to see his lover like this, and that he was... not entirely pleased with what had come before, he had not meant to shatter Carver's confidence like that. No, he was the only thing that did feel right, in spite of his new inconsistencies. The only thing he recognized, beneath the flesh, behind the voice — the only thing he understood. Did he not know that already? It was not like him, to react this way. The older did not know how to take it. "I — no, I didn't..."

Carver's hands slipped down and off of his arms as his lover turned away from him. Laures' frown deepened, and after a moment of stillness, his arms were crossed over his chest, hands pulling his coat tighter around himself. He stepped forward to follow Carver, distressed though the younger seemed to be, but he kept a bit more distance between them now. As much as he wished to help him, he was still reeling from the differences himself, and was not sure how to react to such a change in his normally so hot-headed companion. But he supposed this was a change that he could understand, if a change was truly what it was — for he had never been good with anger himself. Hurt, though, sorrow and pain, they were things that Laures knew well.

"I- I'm sorry, I don't know!"

There was a moment of silence in which Laures simply stared, wide-eyed, at Carver.

"...Love, it's alright, I didn't mean to—"

Laures cut himself off as the other man pressed his palm against his face, rubbing it into his eye. A pained sound escaped him, something akin to the growling sounds he knew better, but it wasn't quite the same. "Carver..."

Truly, he had not meant to bother him so. He was so used to sharing his anxious ramblings with him, by now, that he had not even considered doing otherwise. Carver wanted honesty, didn't he? But he supposed that if he had been honest from the start, they might not have found themselves here in this situation at all. If he had just told him that he was afraid. That he did not want to die. That he did not want to kill the only man he had ever loved. But then, that he did not believe they had done wrong either. Laures had known Carver's reasoning behind the sudden change of events, or at least he thought he did, and he did not blame him for their current predicament. Nor was he angry with him for suggesting it at all. No, the world around them did not make any sense, and he did want to go home — but did Carver not understand that 'home' was not that place, but simply somewhere warm, and familiar, where he could know that they were safe?

"That isn't what I meant. I'm just scared, Carver, aren't you? I don't want to go back, I'm just afraid of where we are. I want to be somewhere where—" Carver's arm shot to the side and stopped him in his tracks. Laures was silenced yet again, and blue eyes shifted forward to look up ahead. There... travelling over the bridge were three figures, cast in shadow. It was a wonder to him that he could even see their silhouettes, but he did not waste time standing around to see them any clearer. He felt gloved fingers wrap about his wrist, and he stepped off of the path, following the other blond quietly through the darkness. Even his breaths quieted, and he suppressed the urge to sniff despite the persistent cold in his nose. As he was led away from the dirt road and behind the corner of one of the unfamiliar dark buildings, Laures moved his hand, angling to catch Carver's in his own again rather than be pulled by the wrist.

Once hidden well enough at the edge, he closed his eyes for just a moment, leaning back against the wall. He was drained. He was exhausted. He was confused, and he was afraid, and he was not entirely sure that all of this was not just some delusion, fabricated by his mind in his final moments before death.

In a soft whisper, Laures leaned close and said, "I'm sorry. You know that I would never... you know I meant all of what I said, before, don't you?"

Eyelids fluttered, and he forced himself to stand on his own again, but remained wary of the unseen figures nearby. He did not peer around the corner, figuring that a job best left to Carver, and kept his voice quiet, barely above a murmur.

"In life... and after death..." he let go of Carver's hand reluctantly, and leaned his head back against the wall again. "I just want somewhere safe, not..."

Not the city. Not whatever kind of home they had had there.

"Somewhere where I can make sure that you're really alright, because I can't lose you again. Where we can figure this out. Together."

He might have said more, might have had the words on the tip of his tongue, but he stopped. Laures held his breath as he heard the sound of three sets of footsteps finally reach the part of the path they'd strayed from. Reaching out, he grabbed onto Carver's arm, and pulled him close.

[Carver]

Second Break, 1 Cylus, Arc 720

Through the disorientation of death, and the blur of hazed recollections of the spaces in between, Carver struggled to maintain his composure. He wanted to be strong for Laures. He wanted to hold the other man up, he wanted to provide him with as much support as he could muster, he wanted to find him a place to warm that wouldn’t be crowded or dangerous. Yet Carver felt so very weak. It had only taken five words, misconstrued though they might have been, to shake his tenuous focus apart. He did not feel assured like he had when he’d held the knife. No longer did he follow the logic of his own mind, when he tried to trace a route back as to why he had done such a thing. Not simply the suicides, but the way it had been done. There were so many other ways, so many calmer ways, and did Laures hate him for it? Had death made him realize otherwise than all their words that came before? Carver had meant them, meant them still – he felt – but he did not feel the same about what the other had shared. Carver did not wish for the sad excuse of what he might have called home before, and he could not even discern if what was around them felt right or not… it only felt and he could not ascribe any value to it yet. With one exception. And that was that he still had his soulmate with him. He still had the other man. If that wasn’t right, he didn’t know what was.

“…I’m just scared, Carver, aren’t you?...”

He heard what the other man said, but he threw out an arm as soon as he saw the figures ahead of them. Carver did not want to run into whoever it was, so he hurried away to hide with his companion.

Carver didn’t pull his hand away from the other’s. Even after they settled into a position of stealth. He remained close to the corner and peered around to watch where the figures headed. A faint weight against his arm, and he listened to the whispered apology while he kept watch on the shadows past the bridge. Or he tried to. Except he glanced over when he felt the other repeat the words from before and start to move away. He didn’t let him go. Carver quickly gathered the hand back in his own.

“…I just want somewhere safe, not… Somewhere where I can make sure that you’re really alright, because I can’t lose you again. Where we can figure this out. Together.”

He allowed a slight smile to flicker on his lips. Even if the other man hadn’t grabbed onto him and pulled close, he would have moved closer anyway. Carver would have gone farther, and gathered him into a hug, if it weren’t for the footsteps he heard. He felt a pressured need to get a look at the people walking past, so he turned away despite every other impulse within him to keep near the other man. His arm pressed Laures to move up against the building wall so they were as blended to the environment as they could possibly be. He held his breath.

“-got to figure out what you’re doing, ‘cause I’m not keen to avoid the Lemon forever,” said one of the passer-bys.

He understood the language, so that was good. Carver leaned slightly, and watched the figures walk past. It looked to be… two men and a woman? It was difficult to tell because the individual, with long plaited braids of dark hair, wore layers of leather and hides rather than any dress. The other two were muscular and tall enough to wager that they were men.

The man who spoke before continued, “I don’t know how you got in that much trouble anyway with the old guy. Just pay him what you borrowed and be done with it?”

“I don’t got anything to pay him back with. If I had it, wouldn’t have needed to borrow it in the first place, but he doesn’t want to hear that,” said the other man in a gruff accent that Carver didn’t recognize in the slightest. While he understood the language, he couldn’t place any of the inflections.

“G’morning,” said a higher-pitched voice.

Carver blinked. He realized that the leather-covered woman had turned and looked right at them. How had she seen them so easily through the dark? In the dim torchlight that cast from farther up the path, he saw that she had tons of beaded jewelry over her neck, arms, and even her ankles. She wore simple slips for shoes. Sandals? In this cold weather? So caught up in the unusual attire, and the startled fact that he’d been so easily recognized from the shadows, he stood nearly motionless. He did move slightly aside, though, to defensively block Laures from view.

The woman said, “Ibiti sre? Dav ke’u mwẹnẹndọ bayyanannu?”

“Leave ‘em be,” said the gruff man who had a knot of hair twisted on the very top of his head and strings of shells that hung down around his sharp-boned features. Carver stared, however, now at the ears that looked odd. Were those triangles? Ear cuffs of some sort? Made out of flesh? “They look like they’re chipped.”

The two men continued along the path. After a lingered moment, while Carver remained completely silent and didn’t make a move either way, the woman shrugged and followed after her companions.

After a bit of quiet, footsteps faded into the distance, a low exhaled escaped him in a plume of visible breath. He turned and looked at Laures, then asked, “Did… Did you understand them too? Except for that question?”

“What were they wearing?” he asked next, confusion obvious in the sound of his voice. He rubbed the side of his head, and his fingers tangled in his damp hair that was matted with the dark blue sands of the bayside beach. “Somewhere safe… somewhere safe… All these places look like storage places, we need somewhere with a hearth. Come on, let’s keep going.”

He took hold of the fair blond’s hand again and started toward the bridge. While he did so, in thought of what had been said before they’d gotten interrupted by the strangers, he mentioned, “…‘Course I’m scared, too. I didn’t think any of this would… I thought we’d just get to- I don’t know. That we would be able to rest finally. I wanted to rest with you, together, without having to… to… experience anything but you. I’m sorry, I didn’t know that… that… this. We’ll find somewhere safe, I promise you. I don’t care if we’re dead, if we’re alive, I’ll find you somewhere safe regardless.”

[Lars]

Second Break, 1 Cylus, Arc 720

The smile was a relief, even if it sat differently on his lover's new(?) face. It might not have been the mouth he knew, the lips his own had spent more time against than not, but it was Carver's smile through and through. Laures even had the thought to return it, in spite of the seemingly-insurmountable dread that he felt resting deep within his soul, but he was given little time to do so. As soon as he had pulled the younger close, he was moving away again, peering carefully around the corner of the building while Laures stepped back to lean against it. He wished he could pull him back... pull him into his arms and hold him, as he had wanted to do before, as he had sat across from him and held a blade to his neck. Kiss him, though his mouth was unfamiliar, as he should have done before. How had he managed? How had he ignored such strong instincts within himself to not harm, but hold instead? To not kill, but make him feel alive? One last time, he thought, as his eyes wandered through the darkness and landed back on his lover's silhouette. Perhaps that was why they were here. The world had simply not allowed them to depart without that. If that was the case (though he doubted that it was), then it was perhaps the kindest thing the world had ever done for him. For either of them.

The footsteps grew louder as the trio came nearer. His gaze only strayed from the back of Carver's head when the three came into view. Three men — no. Two men, one woman, and all three of them dressed like some sort of... well. Laures struggled to think of an analogy, because he was not certain that he had ever seen anything that could reasonably compare. The woman, especially. She was not dressed like a proper lady at all, and while Laures would be the last to fault her for such a thing, she was not exactly dressed like a man either. Rather, she dressed as if the cold all around them could not touch her, with sandals and jewelry and... oh. His hand lifted slowly to touch his ear, before falling to his side again, disappointed. Still pierced (more pierced? since when did he have that many piercings?), but his beloved earrings were missing, as was his necklace and, presumably, the rest of the gifts from Carver. He suppressed a sigh, but the need to breathe at all was quickly paused when he heard a woman's voice sound through the darkness.

G'morning? Morning? When the fuck did mornings get so dark? Was she absolutely... oh, he had a word for it right there, he just could not remember it. His minor frustrations were pushed aside in favor of focusing on the matter at hand, which was, more importantly: three strange people staring straight at them. Unprepared, unarmed, unaware of the world around them — Laures hardly felt ready to take on three people if it came to that, but he was also filled with the conflicting, overwhelming need to keep his love from further harm. When Carver stepped slightly to the side to shield him, the older pulled him back, as if he thought to do the same. And he would have, if he had not been distracted by the woman's voice, curling around words he did not understand. Now, he knew that there were plenty of languages he could not understand, but that he had at least heard during the arcs spent in... in... the city. In... how had he forgotten so quickly? How had he lost the name of a place so horrid, so foul, so devastating? It astonished him... but in any case, it was not a language he had ever heard, which meant that they were even farther from their shared (previous) home than he had thought.

One of the men spoke again, suggesting that the two at the wall were simply chipped before he and his muscular companion turned to continue along the path. He, too, was... odd. Different. Everything was so different in ways that Laures could not fully comprehend, and he did not dare try to place. Not right now. Not when there were so many other questions still unanswered, that he thought more pressing than the outlandish attire and peculiar features of a few strangers in the dark. The woman with the beaded jewelry and sandals turned away after a few moments longer as well, catching up to her companions with ease, and left the two lovers alone again.

Carver moved first, a sigh of relief blowing past cold lips and forming itself in the air. Laures, too, released the breath he had not realized he was holding, and his cool fingers began to tap away at his sides again, rapping against his thighs. He offered, "yes, I... understood most of it..." and bit idly at the inside of his cheek, observing the other blond as he raised a hand to rub against the side of his head. He wanted to reach out and do that for him, or perhaps just lie him down and let him rest his weary head in his lap for a while, but he did not. Now was not the time.

"I've never even heard whatever that question was. And — what are we wearing? These aren't... ours. But they must be."

He remembered what he had been wearing when he died, and these clothes, though they fit him well, were not it. But then, Carver wasn't quite Carver either, so the clothes felt rather unimportant to the older of the two. His fingers did not stop their little repetitive motions when his hand was taken, continuing to tap against the back of Carver's hand as he was pulled away from the wall, out of the darker shadows, and back onto the empty dirt path. As he had done before unknowingly wounding his dear lover's heart, Laures moved to walk closer to him, until he could lean against him. Towards the bridge they went, in search of somewhere safe, and hopefully equipped with a hearth (oh how nice that sounded. He might not have been able to recall true warmth, but he had the desire for it, as real and as strong as ever)... and he would have been content enough to walk in silence, had the younger not continued on.

And even though they had only been walking again for such a short amount of time, Laures stopped. They might as well get this over with and not have to deal with it while they were searching for somewhere to go, he figured. Halfway over the bridge, he glanced back toward where the trio had disappeared off into, and then forward to where they had first appeared, before turning toward Carver and gathering both gloved hands in his own. Staring intently into those near-unrecognizable dark eyes, Laures murmured, "don't be sorry. Don't be. Please."

With only a moment's hesitation, one hand was raised to touch Carver's face. His slender fingers smoothed across his cheek, and then shifted down to trace his jaw.

"I could have said no. Whatever this is, it is not your fault, and I do not blame you for it. For any of it. Alright? I know what you wanted, and I..." against his wishes, his voice broke, as his throat still wrestled against his desire to speak. He tried again regardless.

"I'm afraid, but I-I'm glad. I am. I'm confused, and I'm cold, and I'm afraid, but I'm so... I'm just so... so glad that I can feel you again. That I can touch you. I don't need rest, love, I only need you, and if this place allows me just that... then don't be sorry for giving this to me."

He had not meant to get emotional again, but alas, new tears threatened at the corners of his eyes. He blinked them away, and did not allow them to fall. Moving his hand back through Carver's sandy (...blue sand?) hair, he found the back of his head, and pulled him even closer. Color dusted his cheeks, and Laures was thankful that he at least had the excuse of the cold. How odd it would have seemed, to explain that it felt like he was about to kiss someone entirely new. Yet he pushed through the weirdness anyway, and finally leaned just close enough to press a kiss to Carver's lips. It was short-lived, and it was shy, and his face was all the more red for it, even in the cover of the dark. Gods, did he really have some silly crush on his own husband?

"...Alright. Um — continue. I just had to... do that. Just don't tell yourself that this is your fault. I'm here with you by my own choice, and I would do it again to stay with you." Obviously reluctant to move away, Laures drew back, distracting one hand with the interior of his pocket while the other returned to his lover's. Looking forward into the dark, he tugged at his hand, beginning to cross the other half of the bridge. "Somewhere safe, with a hearth. Right. We can do that. We've managed harder things."

He gave Carver's hand a little squeeze, and added in some attempt to lighten the mood, "maybe if we're lucky, it'll be warm enough that you won't even need those strange clothes. Or if I'm lucky, I suppose."