ONE OF TWO. - razor

Chapter Twenty-Three

It is to be admitted that living unabashedly as your whole self is a daunting thing, frightening even. Perhaps allowing yourself to be perceived and known in the raw entirety of who you are is what requires the most courage in life – an attribute that, on occasion, Razor came to the harsh realisation he had not an infinite well of from which to draw from.

The thought to conceal his Lupus Entia features would pierce his mind from time to time, a thorn bush he had to consistently trim and maintain as small as possible before it could perforate his brain beyond what he could repair. When his shears grew dull, his arms tired of handling them, he would find solace in the people who accepted him as he was, prickly spikes and all.

He had learned to seek the aid and comfort of friends when in need, a skill that had proven to be inconceivably fundamental in keeping himself sane within the city that had yet to truly allow him into its walls with genuine welcome on the days he decided to spend within it.

Razor would pass some mornings at the church, listening to that shining girl in white sing, some afternoons adventuring with his friends or finding peace in the solitude of the woods, and some late evenings resting at the Angel's Share tavern, where the man of fire and wine would allow him to stay and read past closing hours whilst he tidied up his establishment after a day's work.

"The door will always be open for you, kid," Diluc had made sure to tell Razor one night, upon setting a cool glass of juice atop the boy's corner table with a nonchalant expression, "If you ever need anything, come knocking."

There would be hours which Razor would spend being tutored by Lisa in the Favonius library, poring over tomes and practising his skills with a pen. He had made great improvement academically, enough to reply to the letters his family in Sumeru would often write to him – with the help of Lisa's gentle corrections and encouragement.

Other mornings he spent hunting with his wolf Lupical, other afternoons playing with Klee, other nights alone, gazing up at the dazzling embroidery that was the night sky and recalling the constellations Cyno had shown him, an act which brought on thoughts of his fathers and sister, so far away.

A sense of loneliness would engulf him then, for while he had made trips to Sumeru and so had his Sumerian family done the same in vice versa, the amount of time they spent apart was enough to consistently drive the long blade of a dagger into Razor's heart, neatly resting itself between his ribs and seldom permitting him true peace.

There were nights he would wonder what Collei was doing, if she were on patrol or had discovered some cool new plant with Tighnari. He'd wonder if Cyno's missions were going well and if Alhaitham and Kaveh had recommenced their weekly weekend trips to the rainforest for a gathering with the others.

He would think of the humid, grassy scent so distinctly pertaining to Gandharva Ville after hours of rain, the aroma of freshly baked pita pockets and the whiffs of fungi that would be ever present in the air. He would think of the call of those birds with curved beaks, the grunts of the weary sumpter beasts, the Forest Watchers and Rangers' gradually increasing buzz at the start of a new day, and even the continuous rumble of the waterfall that he had mostly avoided for its ceaseless noise.

Razor had stowed the gifts his family had given him in his wooden crate of most precious things. Along with what had already been there for years – a broken hilt of a greatsword, a book titled The Wolf and the Windwheel Aster , and a long since withered and extremely fragile four-leaf clover; he really wished he had known of Collei's methods of plant preservation sooner – was the journal his sister had given him and the book his Forest Watcher father had passed onto him. Cyno's arm guards were being put to use, fastened snugly around the boy's forearms.