Falling Skies

Fourty Five

A fuzzy-eyed Wren stands in the doorway, one hand clasped to the door as the other rubs his face with a yawn. He's still dressed in his wedding robes, gold paint streaming under each eye and hands still cloaked in diamond. Though the golden bands conceal most of his skinny wrist, they can't fully shield the yellowing bruises from view. December's eyes landing upon the broken skin before falling back onto Wren.

"You're awake." It's all December can muster, a sheepish grin crawling across his lips as he rubs at the nape of his neck.

Wren merely yawns again before stepping aside, wedding robes dragging behind his body as he allows December past him. "Is something wrong?" He quizzes, brow cocking as he stares at December dawdling in the middle of his bedroom.

The nest of blankets no longer resides in the center of the room, the floor unnaturally barren in its absence. Rather a real bed has taken its place, draped in colorful quilts of reds and greens and adorned with a thick wooden frame. December doesn't answer Wren's question, merely taking a seat on the bed, the material giving way without a peep as his body sinks into its too-soft covers.

"I never took you as the type to enjoy a mattress." December chuckles to himself, fingers playing with a feather pillow placed beside him. He doesn't advert his gaze as Wren takes a seat beside him, his body jingling from the plethora of jewels still dripping from his attire.

"After a union they replace our nest with a bed. Apparently," he drags out the word with an irritated huff, grabbing the feather pillow and shoving it into his chest. "people don't like to sleep on the floor as much as I do."

The small boy curls into the pillow pressed into his chest, knobby knees dragging upward until he can rest his chin upon them. Warmth floods the room with the light of the setting sun, a yellow-orange that washes over the two boys sat on the bed in silence. Each ray reflects off the gold that adorns Wren, sparkling across his wrists and ankles and casting the light of his diamonds onto the wall.

"Can you believe I slept in this outfit?" Wren laughs, the twinkle as bright as his jewels as he plays with his anklets. "I don't even know how I got in here I was so exhausted." He plays the events of last night off as if they were nothing. As if he hadn't been devoured alive for hours straight, his body still bearing the bruises of the night before.

December's eyes can't help but to trail the line of bruises that crawl up Wren's legs, the yellow-brown dots disappearing behind the cover of black shorts before sprinkling across his stomach and chest. Yet Wren pays them no mind, merely letting out a glittering laugh and squint of burgundy eyes. He rubs at the golden lines still painted onto his cheeks, the smudge of his lip paint visible on the underside of his jaw.

Painted fingers fall upon December's cheek, his breath stilling at the foreign touch as Wren flashes a soft smile his way. "You know I'm alright, December, you didn't have to check on me." Wren's voice falls as soft as the setting sun, a warmth in his words that encases December and leaves him melting in the boy's grasp.

"I-" his voice strains slightly, the distraction of the finger now stroking his cheek becoming too much to bare. "I know but it was still... a lot." His words trail off, double meaning drifting into the room before dissipating as quickly as they came. "As your doctor I thought it would be best to make sure you were doing alright, physically and mentally." December lies, eyes adverting from the fae's burning gaze in a poor attempt to hide his true feelings. To admit that he couldn't sleep from the worry that plagued him, rather wandering the halls for half the morning as the rest of the castle slept. Wren somehow occupying his every waking thought until he found himself counting down the hours until he would wake.

Wren's finger falls away, the spot he leaves now too cold, too barren in the wake of his touch. "It isn't anything I haven't endured before. Turns out torture is torture." The fae laughs yet the chime is empty, just a ringing sound that falls flat in the silence between them. He lets out a deep breath, fingers digging into the feather pillow until it warps around his grasp. "I honestly don't remember that much of it, like my body was there but my mind was somewhere else." His chin buries into the pillow, legs drawing closer in the attempt to shrink, to disappear and forget the memories that claw at his mind. "I would just slip in and out of experiencing it or something would happen and I would start to think of Haven and everything would get worse for a bit."