Work Text:
《▪︎▪︎》
They're sitting in the orchid field behind the poba shop. It hasn't grown any since it happened, which Icarus seems to find comfort in. The flowers wilt whenever they run their hands across them, folding in on themself and slowly dying in front of them. Icarus laughed quietly the first time it had happened, now they just sit with a contemplative look. (It reminds him of Momboo, to an extent. The resignment even as they slowly die, even as all the flowers around her wilt.)
They glance up from another wilting flower to meet his eyes, brows furrowed and head tilted. Their hair hangs like a loose curtain in front of their eyes - their goggles, which usually hold it up and back, rest around their neck - hiding when their gaze darts back down. Their next laugh is wet, etched with quiet tears Wolf can see slowly start to fall.
They fidget with their glove velcro for a moment, swallowing and darting their gaze out over the field. It lingers carefully on the Aether portal before darting back to the grass in front of them. He keeps silent, offering a hand if they want something to grab and hold, but nothing beyond that. (He'd like to, of course. However, he has a feeling if he did they'd only dart.)
They huff a sigh, squeezing their hands into fists tight. "I-" They pause, swallowing and flaring their wings. "I'm sorry."
He tilts his head, confusion etching itself carefully into his posture. "Why are you apologizing? You haven't done anything."
"You don't know that," they hiss quietly, wings and feathers puffing. (Part of his worries at the way their gloves flare red for a moment before settling back down. Part of him worries at the way the glitching on their chest shines itself bright. Part of him worries at the way their property is covered in purples.)
"If you did something that-"
"You don't know the extent I'd go to get people to believe me," they cut him off, near annoyance seeping into their tone. Perhaps that was true, he really didn't. Wolf was not there for the endstone reset; he didn't truly know the extent that Icarus would go to.
He sighs carefully, "Icarus." He watches the way their head immediately darts up at his tone. They noticeably swallow, and he watches their expression settle itself. Tears continue to drip gently off their chin. "Icarus," he continues, pausing for a moment before he chooses his next words. "Okay," he sighs softly. "What happened, then? What did you do?" (He places emphasis on the 'you,' well aware of how much Icarus blames themself for things well out of their control.)
He watches their breathing turn shaky, and their wings pull impossibly close. Their eyes dart away, and their fists squeeze tight. "I can't. I can't tell you that." They swallow, and he watches the tears fall a little faster. "I can't tell you that." Their words are a gentle whisper that disappears into the wind. "I'm just." Their lips form the barest hints of a smile. "I'm just sorry. I'm so fucking sorry, Wolf."
"...I'm not sure I can accept your apology if I don't know what you're apologizing for, Icarus."
Creation's child shrugs, and he watches the way their smile - however small - drops. "Doubt you'd accept it if you knew anyway."
They lapse back into a gentle silence, Icarus carefully running their hands along already wilted flowers. The flowers turn various shades of red and purple around them, and Wolf has to wonder about Quixis' current obsession with the colors. (He can take a guess, and he's not sure he wants to.)
It's quiet for a while; just the two of them sitting there mostly content.
Icarus speaks up again when the sun gets a little lower in the sky. "I don’t think I know how to grieve. Properly." Their wings pull closer, and he can see the slight shake of their hands. "I think I was getting to it was Haley, last time. After Alerion told me I couldn't bring her back. Think I finally hit acceptance," they laugh quietly. "Then Quixis brought her back and. Fucked that all up." They squeeze dead flowers in their fist.
Wolf's gaze softens, his wings drooping behind him just slightly. "I'm not sure any of us really know how to grieve; healthily, at least."
They hum, clenching their fist tighter. "I don't like not knowing." There's layers to their words, and Wolf isn't entirely sure they're talking wholely about grief. "I don't like not knowing if we can actually bring him back. I don't like not knowing if I should actually believe him. I don't like not knowing how I'm even supposed to process all of this!" They take a shaky breath, closing their eyes tight. (He's not sure he likes his guess anymore.) "I don't like it."
He frowns, attempting to find his words. He swallows, flaring and settling his wings. "....Do you want a hug?" Perhaps it's not exactly what they need right now - comforting words would be more helpful, but Wolf isn't entirely sure what quite to say. (For Rae saying he's very good with words sometimes, there are definitely enough times he's not to counter that.)
They jolt slightly, not quite expecting his words. Their eyes shine with still-falling tears as they blink them open, confusion etching itself into their eyes. "..Pardon?"
The formality of it isn't lost on him, but he promptly decides to ignore it. "Do you. Want a hug?" He tilts his head, raising an eyebrow.
Their breathing seems to stutter at that, their gaze averting itself back to the grass. "I-" They cut themself off, wrapping their arms around their middle. "I don't-" They pull their wings close, noticeably contemplating their words. "...Can I? Have one?" Their voice is quiet, breaking quietly as emotions build up and spill over.
"'Course. Wouldn’t've offered if you couldn’t." He opens his arms, wrapping his tail gently around his leg. His wings shift and adjust into something a bit softer and more comfortable.
Icarus hesitates, seemingly weighing the pros and cons of actually following through on the action. (Which, as much as he won't admit it to their face, worries him.) They shift, hesitating moments more before pulling him close and wrapping their arms tight beneath his wings. He reacts in kind, one arm wrapping itself carefully beneath and between their wings while the other comes to carefully run fingers through their hair.
They bury their face into the crook of his neck, and he winces imperceptibly at the feeling of their goggles digging into his collarbone. Their tears are quiet, only the occasional sniffle and too tight squeeze around his ribs to interrupt the silence.
He's careful with his movements, draping a wing over them and watching the way they relax into it. He runs his hand over their spine, keeping the pressure gentle so as to not irritate the semi-fresh scar tissue that spans between their wings. (They shiver beneath the touch, pulling their wings in close and tight. He lightens his touch slightly, just enough it's still there and comforting, but not enough he's putting any meaningful pressure.)
He runs his fingers carefully through their hair, combing out week-old tangles. (He doesn’t like that he can guess how old they are. He doesn't like knowing.) His fingers are gentle as he does so, not pulling too hard and stopping where necessary. It's slow going.
The two of them sit there for a bit - a while, more accurately - under the dull light of the stars.
《▪︎▪︎》
(He watches carefully at their hesitance to go home. Worry makes itself very known in his gut, swirling anxiety about who and why.
He can take a guess, and he doesn’t think he likes it.
(That seems to be a pattern with all of this, huh?))
《▪︎▪︎》