Chapter Five #3
He’d learned that a long time ago. Either he brought what he needed, or he wouldn’t have it. And the thought of entering Faerie with nothing set his heart hammering in fresh panic.
“Of course,” Declan said. No argument. No false reassurance that Antonio didn’t need to worry. Only a half step back and a faint smile. “Take as long as you need and bring as much as you want. I certainly won’t begrudge a man his wardrobe.”
It was well past midnight when Florian took Antonio’s arm and led him across the veil to Faerie. That familiar sense of dislocation, an unsettling lurch, and then he was standing in front of a large house of dark gray stone, vine covered and imposing.
Vaguely, he heard Declan and Florian bickering about Protocol. But he wasn’t listening. He was hardly breathing.
The last time he’d seen Fairie, he’d been twelve. And when he’d realized it was over, that Calloway wasn’t coming back, he’d sobbed himself to sleep for weeks. All that beauty. All that strangeness. A world of magic. A world away from the life he’d known even then he was failing at living.
It had taken years before he stopped mourning. Years, before he managed to see past the haze of a kid’s lonely adoration, and find the truth of things. The hunger. The fear. The pain. Mostly, the powerlessness.
He’d been Calloway’s pet. And yeah, sometimes, he’d been cared for. Feasts and adventures. Magic and laughter. Sleeping curled in Calloway’s arms.
Sometimes. When Calloway felt like it. Remembered him. And all Antonio had wanted back then was for Calloway’s attention. He’d been happy, just to be a toy. Better that than to not have Calloway at all.
Then he’d stopped being fun, and Calloway had left him, just one more stray dog, abandoned on the side of the highway. Found years later by a punk sluagh with pale blue eyes and a crocodile’s smile.
Antonio tried to focus on Declan, only to find the fae watching him in turn. Probably wondering if he was going to have to talk Antonio off another ledge.
But Antonio knew how to cope with being where he didn’t want to be. He locked down the panic, the wariness, the betrayal that still felt so raw. It wouldn’t help him. His hand tightened on his gym bag, real and solid and his. When Declan walked inside, he forced himself to follow.
“Be welcome, Antonio.”
“Yeah,” he said, like Declan had asked a question.
At least Declan, unlike most of Faerie, wasn’t smudged at the edges, blurry to Antonio’s Hollow sight.
Or maybe that, having one more reason to stare at Declan–his bond–wasn’t so great after all.
“Right. Okay. Is there somewhere I can… be out of the way?”
“Of course.” And Declan reached out, his fingertips running over Antonio’s arms. Ink-black nails and purple fingertips, touch soft as petals.
“Would you like me to show you the kitchen first? The rooms here are largely stationary, especially that one. My sister enjoys cooking by hand and did not appreciate the last attempted location shift.”
Antonio stared in blank incomprehension. Partly for the casual, domestic way Declan spoke of his family, but mostly for the idea that he might need to know where anything was. It wasn't like he could wander around.
He might piss on the carpet.
“Nah,” Antonio offered with a shrug. “Just, wherever you're planning to stash me. And maybe show me where your room is? I won’t– Not gonna go wandering or anything. But, in case.”
In case he needed to know where to run.
Declan’s return stare was equally blank. Well, at least they had being awkward as hell about this whole situation in common.
“I thought you might sleep in a room next to my own. No need to worry there.” Declan watched him, brow furrowed, while the silence stretched.
“You may wander as much or as little as you like.
My only request is to not go into the bedrooms that aren't yours or mine.
They've names on the doors. You aren't to be confined to a wing or set of rooms. Was that a… concern?”
Of course, it was a concern. Everything was a fucking concern.
But Declan didn’t know, couldn’t know, and even if Antonio wanted to hold that ignorance against him, he was too busy drowning in the wash of relief at hearing that he wasn’t going to be sleeping at the foot of Declan’s bed. Or in a closet, somewhere.
Mostly the closet. Being separated from Declan sounded about as fun as sawing off his own arm.
Antonio reached for the bracelet he wasn’t wearing, then let his hand fall to tap against his leg.
“I didn’t think you were gonna lock me in or anything.
But, I’m a human. You might be okay with me, but that doesn’t mean anyone else is.
And, then there’s the Hollow shit.” He took a breath through gritted teeth.
But maybe it didn’t matter that he couldn’t hide how wired he was.
Declan could feel it, regardless. Just like he could feel the Murderpunk’s growing horror.
“I can’t see glamour, but I can feel it.
Hell, I can’t count the number of fae who use glamour instead of Faerie-weave for their clothes.
And that’s just the benign shit. Invisible fires still burn. ”
“That doesn’t sound terrifying at all,” Declan said after a beat. “Not in the slightest bit of unfortunate mindfuckery”
“I’m used to it.”
“May I suggest we wander the house tomorrow and make sure all the halls are navigable for you? All fires to be put out, and I will endeavor to steer you away from kissing any walls.” He offered a faint, apologetic smile.
“As for anyone else, they can keep their thoughts to themselves. So long as you don’t go about trying to hurt the ruddy cat, I don’t foresee anyone convincing Mother you aren’t a ‘sweet young man.’ ”
It didn’t stop the panic. It didn’t chase away the tense wariness that’d knotted between his shoulders since they’d stepped into Faerie. But it let Antonio breathe a little easier, slowed the tapping of his fingers against his leg.
“That’d be good,” he admitted, which was the fucking understatement of the year.
He didn’t know how to deal with Declan. You didn’t thank fae.
You didn’t apologize. And Antonio’d already given the guy his soul, which didn’t leave much in the way of presents.
“Look, I– Jesus. I’m not good at this. I know you got a shit deal out of this.
‘Paranoid wreck that lives in an iron bunker’ probably wasn’t top of your list for what you wanted out of a bond.
And you’ve been more than decent anyway.
I’m just– Fuck.” He needed to say this. He needed to say something.
“It’s not you, alright? If I’m jumpy or weird or whatever.
It’s a lifetime of shit, but it’s not you.
I’m in your corner. You’ve got my word on it. ”
Declan said nothing.
Said it long enough that Antonio started to fidget again, tugging at the strap of his bag and searching the room for something to look at. Declan’s family seemed to like human shit, so at least the whole place wasn’t blurry.
“Alright.” Finally, that low rasp, accent making it sweet at the edges. “I believe you, truly. May I tell you what was at the top of my list?”
No. Absolutely not. The last thing he needed was to hear a list of all the things that accepting his shitty, broken soul was keeping Declan from.
“Sure.”
There was a grandfather clock, a real one, over Declan’s shoulder. Antonio fixed his eyes on that, watching the random spin of the hands.
“For context, some types of fae grow up knowing there will be restrictions in future relationships. The, ah, time limit stipulation you refused, for example. Friendships are likely to be very few and far between. Love matches and extended time with a romantic partner are rare enough that other sluagh view my parents as something of an ideal. A pipe dream.”
Declan’s voice was almost lulling, but the old pain radiating through the bond made his words anything but comfortable.
“Fucked up,” Antonio said, just to say something. Over Declan’s shoulder, the second hand was spinning backward. The hour hand was stuck at eighteen.
“We don’t grow up with much in the way of wishful thinking.
My mother is a notable exception, with more than enough fanciful ideas for the whole of the species.
Unfortunately for me, I took after her.” He shrugged, somewhere between helpless and dismissive.
“It was difficult not to. Though, after the first handful of refusals, it was equally difficult to escape the reality of the situation.”
The air was thick with remembered hurt and the smell of rotting flowers. And this was the fucked up truth of it. Declan had been forced to settle for Antonio because the ones he wanted were all bastards who turned him away.
Antonio didn’t say that. Bit his tongue to keep the words in.
“Still, we kept looking. But I didn’t ask her to find me someone who would be willing to treat me as they might anyone else.
It would have been childish. Though, perhaps, I hoped.
From our first meeting, you’ve done exactly that.
And you continue to do so, with kindness and consideration.
” A wry twist of a smile on Declan’s lips, as the fae stopped doing his own version of clock admiring.
Blue eyes in a pool of dark, and Antonio couldn’t look away.
No rot, now. Only woodsmoke and a feeling Antonio didn’t know how to name.
Something like relief. “And with humor. All while being courted by a fae you do not want. You’ve every reason to be paranoid and a wreck atop an iron nest. I believe you, Antonio, and I am glad to hear I’m not what’s putting you on edge.
Thank you for the reassurance. Please accept mine in turn that you are in no way a shit part of this deal. ”
Declan really needed to raise his standards higher than an ex-con who suggested fucking against a tree within minutes of giving oaths.
Fuck, Antonio already missed that moment. Declan pressed close, holding on, and it’d made sense in the way things you didn’t have to think about made sense. But it wasn’t that simple, anymore. And Antonio wasn’t a fae. He didn’t have any pretty speeches to offer in return.
The best he could do was flash Declan a smile even as he shook his head. “What a fucking pair we are. Paranoid batshit ex-con and a revolutionary, fanciful Murderpunk.”
The slow smile on Declan’s lips was too damned tempting. “I prefer dramatic.”
“Noted. C’mon, show me that room. We can overthrow The Man in the morning.”
Declan took a step back, nodding toward the stairs. “Come along, then. I, for one, am looking forward to some sleep.”