Flowers and Hickory Trees

by Maple-Leaf

 

Premise Tags: Non-Linear Storytelling,

Blind Protagonist, Disabilities, Trauma,

Separation, Scifi, War,

Slight Age Gap, Magic Injury.

Content Warnings: war-related PTSD,

mild violence, gore.

 

 

'The falling blossoms greet the soil...'

'The falling blossoms greet the soil...'

I scratched my cheek idly.

It was a poem I read once, in some place and at some time. I couldn't remember the next verse.

A few minutes passed as I tried to catch this escaping train of thought.

'greet the soil...'

'greet the soil upon which...'

A sigh fluttered through my chest. The flowers outside distracted me while I was reading. And now I find myself remembering an old poem.

My fingers roamed around my scalp.

'how tiring...'

Maybe if I looked, I'd be able to find the poem in the library somewhere.

I nodded silently. Unlikely.

I can't see them, but I remember. The spires of bookshelves and the books that filled them. one row, two rows, three rows of mile high shelves. A sector to the far right had poems. That warm, shadowy little corner was home to all the poems in my collection.

Poets had been getting more and more prolific in recent years. Poems, along with scores of other genres experienced a sudden spike in quality when humankind slowed their obsession with magic. Devoting your childhood to the pursuit of magic perfection was out of style, and the people who missed the memo were desperate for other things to find interest in.

And now I can't find my poem.

 

The sigh came back, heavier than before.

The sun shined through the window, warming my face. The window was in the direction the warmth was coming from. And the falling flowers were outside the window.

I couldn't see them. Nor do I remember how pink they are, though I can imagine.

I pinched the cloth blindfold between two fingers. It was soft as always. Though I can't remember if it's always been like that. Maybe it softened with time.

I looked towards the spring blossoms for purely symbolic purposes.

 

'The falling blossoms greet the soil upon which our great empire stands...'

 

Ah.

 

That was it.

...

I sighed again, more disappointed than tired.

'Everything's patriotic in the end.'

And now I'm in a bad mood.

I sat back, momentarily upset about leaving the warm spot of sunlight, but not moving back.

There weren't many people in libraries during the festival, I realize.

I'm not necessarily attached to any of the snot nosed brats trying to sneakily practice the simpler spells without checking out the books. Nor the stiff magicians who finally realized they needed other hobbies if they wanted to fit in and their plastic smiles and too formal formalities and their...

I sighed again.

I'm going to run out of air at his rate.

People my age are too quiet. And if I can't hear them, I can't see them.

Either way, everything's empty now.

It's quite boring.

Ah. I was reading a book, wasn't I?

Well, it's not as if I could see the words. I know it by memory.

I know the general flow of it and how the events are spread across the pages.

Though I do miscalculate sometimes. I once thought I was nearing the final plot twist when I felt one of the earlier landmarks under my fingers. I was gloomy at the time, sad that the character I didn't like wasn't actually dead yet.

I turned back to the book. My reminiscing helped me escape my bad mood, it seems.

My finger roamed the worn papers and I felt for the rip in the middle of left page. Probably the oldest mark in this book. It was the rip that accidentally formed when I threw the book and left it for a while.

Subconsciously, I take a break from reading when I reach that rip.

Thus, allowing the spring blossoms to interrupt my thoughts.

I fingered for the next page, daintily flipping the pages as to not break them.

I could probably finish if the day stayed as uncongested as it was now-

 

"Dinglingling"

 

The bell on the door rang for one round, signaling someone's arrival.

Guess not.

It was one person.

Younger people tended to come with at least one other person to subvert the intimidation the large place caused.

That’s not to say the older ones liked to linger for very long either.

Though there were certain exceptions.

The image of a young, lonely, know-it-all sprung to life in my memory.

I doused it within an instant.

 

The new visitor, who I assume is an adult man, walked through the front door. His steps were just loud enough that I could hear them. They hesitated every now and awhile, as if he were looking around.

He walked over to the front desk where I sat. I could hear his hushed breaths up close. Every wrinkle of his clothes seemed loud in my ears.

For a moment, I almost felt like I could see his silhouette.

...

"Welcome."

My voice sounded soft even to me.

It was a quiet whisper, contained in the space between where I sat and his standing figure.

He did not respond.

Very suddenly, I felt cold fingertips atop my hand that had been laying on my desk.

My fingers twitched in what was as close as I could get to a flinch.

I didn't hear his hand get there.

I heard every breath he took, every heartbeat, up until this point.

It caught me off guard is all.

The silence went on like that, his hand laying on mine.

The book in my lap slid off as I moved to slide my hand away.

His hand pressed down with the lightest pressure and I stopped. There was a thumb lying on my knuckle.

The calloused pad slid back and forth.

It was comforting me. I can't say it worked, but I didn't try to move again.

I heard the sound of his shirt wrinkling. I distantly wondered what he was doing. He seemed to be leaning forward.

Too far forward.

Every huff of his breathing rang through my ear, his oddly cold breath fanning out against my cheek.

A modest chill ran down my neck and I resisted the urge to shield it with my shoulders.

I knew a powerful magician when I saw one. Or heard one.

'Is he... inspecting me?'

All powerful people in this world are odd in some way. Odd magicians have odd habits.

I wanted to turn my head to the window. He was too close.

I felt like something more was going on here.

But for the life of me I can't figure out what.

The warm pads of his fingers slid back, and for a moment I thought he would back away.

He simply readjusted. Out and back in, his fingertips slid right between my fingers. He softly rubbed the space between my knuckles as he nudged my hand upward after our hands were intertwined.

A dull confusion was present on my worn features.

He pulled my hand upwards and suddenly my arm was raised ever so slightly.

I wondered at the significance of this position. There was little difference to the way it was before.

I scooted in my seat. My arm was starting to hurt.

His fingers slid past my knuckles and wrapped my hand in a soft yet powerful grip. And so I sat, hand in hand with this odd customer.

I sighed inwardly, beginning to wonder when he would leave.

Then another breath of his fell near my ear. And my thoughts spiraled into a confusion again.

Every time he breathes it interrupts my train of thought.

I haven’t been so close to frazzled in a long time.

I faintly noticed him moving his other hand to my cheek.

But the sounds of air slipping past his teeth and out back against my ear distracted me again.

‘Just stop breathing for one second please.’

I don’t like the way he breathes.

It was weird, in a way I couldn’t describe.

It felt like any moment a storm of sentences would slide out with the air.

It was…

Familiar.

For a moment, I could almost see a second chair on the other side of my desk. In it was a blond boy, sitting pointedly with his nose buried in a large textbook.

If I had eyes to widen they would probably look like pinpricks right now.

My chest tightened. Unnecessary memories, unnecessary memories.

And the breath hit my ear again.

The blond boy sat up straight, looking directly into the onyx eyes that had sat in front of him at the time.

“Did you know, Mr. Librarian?-“…

‘I missed you.’

The breath didn’t hit this time.

As if disagreeing with the memory, the words were different.

“Hey, Leslie. Did you miss me?”

My hand slid down and fell on the table.

 

────────────────── 〔✿〕──────────────────

7th of March, 3623

 

 

“Old man.”

The man in question turned to look at the stoic boy.

“What is it, brat? And I’m not old, by the way.”

“You know, the Snowstorm Cockatrice can live up to 7,000 years if the regular consumption of human flesh is maintained.”

The boy spoke in a flat tone and didn’t even look up from the book on his knees.

‘Tch. Shameless know-it-all.’

The librarian spun the chair on the other side of the desk and flopped into it with his arms crossed.

“Yeah, that’s why we keep ‘em in cages.”

There was a soft “tsk” on the other end as the librarian observed the book he was reading.

It was a biography about the life and times of a famous magician. One of the only books that was regularly checked out around here, though not the type the boy in front of him would read.

The book he was reading, while popular, had nothing to do with Snowstorm Cockatrice.

The info tidbit had come from another book called “Things Not to do to and Around Magical Beasts”.

The librarian smirked at him. “If you think you can outsmart me with my own books, you’re sorely mistaken.”

The boy ignored him.

The librarian turned and glanced around at the hardly touched, dusty bookshelves with a sigh. ‘Not as if I don’t have enough time to read each and every one.’

The librarian looked back down at the boy feigning ignorance.

This boy had stumbled in one day, being his normal, know-it-all self, when he met someone. This librarian sneered at his informed babbling and responded in turn.

The boy had been determined to outsmart him every day since then.

Or at least that was the Librarian’s understanding of their relationship.

“Ow.”

The boy winced when the hardcover book smacked him on the head.

“Go home brat. You played your fill today, try again next time.”

The boy glared at him sharply in between his white-ish blond locks.

The librarian flinched. “Oi. Don’t look at me like that.”

The eyes glaring him down narrowed further, like daggers. “Like what?”

The librarian shifted uncomfortably. “Like-…” The librarian turned away, embarrassed at his own reaction. “That. Stop glaring at me.”

The boy tilted his head innocently.

The smacking of a hardcover book rang successively.

“Ow.”

The boy rubbed his throbbing forehead as he walked to the door. The sight of the librarian wiping some sweat off his brow graced his vision when he turned.

“What?”

The librarian noticed his staring.

The boy, for the first time in a long while, smiled at him. “You’re far too easy to tease.”

The librarian froze for a while as the boy left the library.

“You know, you’re much less annoying when you’re smiling.” He muttered under his breath.

“I heard that!”

“Tch!” The librarian flushed lightly. “Go home you shameless know-it-all!”

Faint snickering could be heard through the thin walls.

And for a fraction of a second, the librarian wondered how much better the boy would look while he was laughing.

He sighed, waving away the thought. ‘As if I’d ever get to see that.’

 

 

────────────────── 〔✿〕──────────────────

 

 

The blond standing a few meters away from me laughed wryly.

“This place has certainly changed a lot since the last time I saw it.”

I huffed breathily as the tall blond stood a few meters from my desk.

He faced one of the bookshelves, sliding out a corner of a book likely eye level to him.

I could hear him scratching the back of his head as the book slid back into place.

He laughed again, the slightest awkwardness present in his tone.

That laugh wasn’t the blond boy. Nor were his eyes, which I’m sure were squinted right now, paired with a warm, lazy smile.

‘A doppelganger perhaps.’

I mean, it’s not like I really knew what the man in front of me looked like.

All of this just guesswork.

Guesswork based on…

Well-nothing really. Just assumption.

But.

There was no one else on this earth who called me Leslie.

It’s simple really.

My name isn’t Leslie.

It’s Les.

Plain and simple, since I was born.

This answer had not satisfied the blond at the time, and he became certain that it was a nickname.

Frustrated that I wouldn’t give him my full name, he made one up for me.

Leslie.

The blond man was pacing. He walked back and forth along the bookshelves.

He walked and I listened.

Every time his steps hesitated I would wonder what he was doing.

Every time he clicked his tongue I would wonder what he was thinking about.

Every time he-

“Ah.”

His soft exclamation drew my attention. A book slid out of a shelf and in a few seconds time I heard the flipping pages.

His sounds came from the expository shelves. I assume he was reading something about instruments, as the oh-so-different boy I remember always enjoyed those, despite having no interest in learning himself.

I sat back and rubbed my temples. The library fell into a strange silence.

I wonder, is it really him?

So different, but remarkably similar in the oddest of ways.

I could not tell.

I hate to admit it, but some part of me wished he weren’t. The boy was my most precious memory. Seeing him in person again was euphoric, no doubt. Even now as I calmly reflect, I struggle to calm the rapid pacing of my ever-honest heart.

Simply put, I’m embarrassed.

Am I blushing?

Can he see me?

“…”

I-… Why, I almost sound like myself. Way back when.

I sighed softly.

How ridiculous.

People change like seasons. I knew the fact well. The man in front of me. It was him. He’d changed to the point where I could scarcely recognize him.

I was… scared.

What if…? What if he was too different?

It’s all up in the air now. He’s unshelved my greatest book of memories that I left to warmly gather dust.

Who knows if he’ll rip the pages?

Who knows if he’s so… so different, that we can’t get along? Without a doubt, there was little chance we’d be able to laugh like we used to.

This was an endeavor, his showing up, that could very well tarnish the only thing left that I held dear.

My precious, precious memories of that precious, precious boy.

I pinched the bridge of my nose.

I wonder…

I wonder if I’ve changed too much.

The flipping pages ran out continuously.

He’d always been a fast reader.

And here I was, barely as alive as I was before.

He was more vibrant than he’s ever been, yet calm and probing.

That wasn’t him. It couldn’t be.

“hey.”

And then his voice fell. The soft and sharp voice. Calm with a steadiness filled with hidden narcissism. It seemed almost habitual, like he was barely paying attention to his sentence.

It was different. Silky and insidious rather than blunt and composed.

It sent a rush to my head all the same.

I breathed out. “Yes?”

“You know, the cherry blossoms in the capital are fake.”

I moved to look up at him. So he was looking at the flowers outside. He hadn’t shown any sign that he’d noticed me moving.

He continued, “They tell you these things when they’re asking you to make them. Have to keep up appearances I hear, spring blossoms being a symbol of prosperity and all.”

There was a silence.

“No, no I didn’t, actually.”

“…what?”

I shrugged, “Never been to the capital during spring.”

He was quiet. “Oh…”

Ah. I knew that ‘oh’. I remember it.

The blond boy’s voice had trailed off while he glanced towards the ground. A small flush growing on his cheeks while he fisted the hem of his shirt.

I could almost see the man in front of me doing it as well, the wrinkling of his shirt in unison with the memory.

“…Is that so?” His voice was soft like a whisper.

My breath caught in my chest.

It couldn’t possibly not be him. And I couldn’t possibly not treasure him.

It was only me.

The broken down, mess of a human.

That was far too different from the librarian in his memories.

I was quiet for an exceptionally long time. It was a silence brought on by something other than weariness, which is rare.

“Hickory.”

He turned to me. “Yes?”

“It’s been a long time.”

He was quiet before he smiled. I could hear the hum in his tone that gave it away. “I missed you too, Les.”

I scoffed at him. “So you do know my name.”

He laughed smoothly, and suddenly I wasn’t as uncomfortable that he was doing that more often. “Yes, I do.”

“Brat.”

“I’m taller than you now, you know.”

“Obscenely tall brat.”

He laughed heartily.

And for a fraction of a second, I wondered if someone with that laugh could make do with less than a human.

 

 

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19 of November, 3623

 

 

“You…Be careful up there.”

The librarian eyed the boy on top of the wobbly wooden ladder he had hold of.

“I’m fine-“ The ladder jolted to the side and the boy nailed himself to the shelf, taking several trembling breaths.

The librarian steeled his grip on the ladder as Hickory hesitantly began to reach up once more. “Why don’t you just let me get it?”

“No, I can do it.”

The librarian rolled his eyes. “Stop being so stubborn. Kids shouldn’t be up on ladders anyway.“

“I’m eighteen.”

“What?”

The boy was silent, extending his index fingers for the highest book on the new, taller shelves they’d just recently built.

“Wait, really?”

“…yeah.”

“No way.”

“I don’t know why you’re so surprised by this.”

“It’s just-“ The librarian sighed. “You look sixteen at most.”

“I’m just short.”

The librarian narrowed his eyes at the dusty ladder he was supporting. “Well, clearly.”

The librarian could see the hints of red on the back of Hickory’s neck. “Just shut up and hold the ladder.”

The librarian sighed again. “Yes, your highness…” He muttered mockingly.

On top of the ladder, there was an exclamation of relief as the boy clamped his fist around one of the newer books and pulled it out.

Hickory was too nerve racked to consider his pride and muttered a grateful, “Finally…”

The boy slumped over on the ladder, breathing heavily.

 The librarian’s face softened. It seemed even Hickory had weaknesses. “You can come down now. My hands are starting to hurt.” The words were sharp as usual, but they had an underlying softness to them.

Though the last part wasn’t a lie. His hands were really cramping.

Still on the ladder, Hickory balled up, wrapping the book in his chest and breathing heavily.

“Oh my lord that was terrifying.” The boy seemed hardly aware of his own surroundings as his heart recovered from the adrenaline.

Les felt the ladder tremble in his aching grip. “Hey uh, Hickory? Do you think you could do this when you get down?”

“What-?”

The snap echoed through the library. The surroundings seemed to grow silent as the ladder broke, toppled, and fell.

Les felt his breath heave within his own chest, the only thing that accompanied him in the silence was the echo of his own heartbeat. He’d never felt so… quiet. It was the first time that the air itself felt so loud. The first time of a very, very extended list of future experiences.

Time crawled as slow as a snail.

Hickory was falling.

The boy’s eyes looked like pinpricks. They were a little puffy. It seemed like his eyes had been watering for a while now, in a place where Les couldn’t see them.

Hickory was falling.

The book slipped from his hands.

Hickory was falling.

‘Catch him.’

His face was pale in fear and Les imagined that if he cupped the poor boy in his hands he’d be trembling like a leaf.

Hickory was falling.

‘Catch him!’

Hickory fell.

And Les caught him.

The boy’s hands clutched the librarian’s shirt like steel clamps, trembling like earthquakes. His chest heaved and his face was dyed with shock, probably concealing the tears he wanted to shed.

He sat still as ice, trembling like he was really covered in it.

The small tears eventually broke the surface and Hickory, after a long pause, buried his face in the librarian’s shirt.

The librarian tensed. He wasn’t used to comforting people, nor holding them in princess carry.

He laughed awkwardly, trying to soften the mood. “It wasn’t that high you know.”

“…Be quiet.”

The boy bit back like usual and the librarian nearly thought the matter settled, when the chest he held in his arms suddenly inhaled sharply, for such an extended time he grew concerned. Abruptly, the whole dam came crashing down and the boy shook intensely.

Sobbing.

He was sobbing.

The suffocating fabric of his shirt seemed too much for the soft cries and Hickory moved his head away from the librarian’s shirt. Crystal tears fell from his eyes one after the other. A few hiccups interrupted their rhythm, shuddering breaths becoming a single sound in the cacophony of whimpers and cries. The boy’s lips were bent in an unmistakable frown. His eyebrows were curled upwards, painting a pitiful look on his face. He looked like a bullied puppy.

The librarian stared in pure shock.

His heart was unequivocally ripped in two. “Hey- You… Why are you-…?” The Librarian sputtered anxiously, holding the boy like he was a hot potato.

The boy’s beautiful green eyes glistened and quivered as they slid over to his face. His face was flushed red, but it was hard to tell if it was caused by his crying or his embarrassment at the situation.

Nevertheless, the boy sucked in a long breath, and the librarian shut his eyes, preparing for the next wave of sobs.

They didn’t come. Instead, two shaking arms wrapped around his neck and the boy silently buried himself into the collar of the librarian’s old shirt.

Les’ eyes widened, surprised.

Soon enough, two legs wrapped around his waist. Hickory had become the human equivalent to a koala.

“Uhm… what…?”

The librarian grabbed the boy by the waist and tried to pry him away. Hickory did not budge.

“Hey- Hickory-!”

As soon as he managed the lightest distance between them, Hickory would zip back in and wrap him tighter.

The boy’s breaths were small. Every now and then a few shuddering breaths brushed against the librarian’s neck.

Les shivered, his face red. The boy was so warm, he was compelled to wrap him in his arms and hide him there forever.

The librarian shut his eyes. The longer the warm arms sat around his neck, the further and further this position became from simple comforting.

A whisper of the Librarian’s consciousness told him to hug him. To clutch at his small back and let him sink into his chest.

Les’ head drifted forward, letting his face sit against Hickory’s soft locks of hair.

He smelled nice.

Really nice.

The ambiguous atmosphere clouded his judgement, and he pressed his cheek against the boy’s head.

It was soft and warm.

Les couldn’t tell if it was coming from Hickory or him.

The librarian’s eyes blurrily noticed Hickory’s ear, shyly peeking out of his hair.

Strange. It was red. Like a sweet strawberry.

Les distantly wondered how Hickory would react if he were to touch it. Caress it with his fingers, or perhaps with his tongue.

The librarian’s breath tickled the boy’s cheek, and he trembled.

The boy’s face was flushed and burning.

He was embarrassed.

‘How Adorable.’ He thought.

A sting in his neck reminded him of where he was.

The librarian’s finger twitched. Here he was, seriously considering being intimate with the boy he had considered a child until this very moment.

His grip on the boy’s back tightened, and he hoped no one would see him like this. Eyes blurry with desire and breaths heavy with impulse.

Spontaneously, the librarian grit his teeth and pushed, trying to remove the octopus stuck to his chest.

“Hickory…” His words were strained. He was almost appalled at how an 18-year-old boy could muster such strength. “Hickory. Can you-… Get off please.”

“…”

‘There’s no telling what I might do if this goes on a second longer.’

Les’ gripped Hickory’s hips, telling himself the position didn’t embarrass him as much as it did.

As he summoned all of his strength, his hand slipped and he stumbled forward, nearly falling. He caught himself on the bookshelf where the ladder used to be.

“Hickory this is becoming a problem.”

The librarian stared at the unmoving boy. Actually no. He was slipping off.

He debated whether or not he should just let him fall off. He begrudgingly grabbed him by the butt and hoisted him up lightly.

Unfortunately, Hickory took this chance to climb higher.

In an amazing feat of physical ability, he moved his arms from his neck to around his head and released his legs. His legs replaced the empty space where his arms used to be.

And now Les had an 18-year-old boy wrapped around his head.

Well at least he wasn’t tempted to do anything now.

“Hey, Hickory.” A muffled voice fell from behind Hickory’s chest. “Let me go.”

Hickory tightened his grip and the librarian choked.

“Ack!”

The librarian stepped backwards and felt his shoe crush something cylindrical and wooden.

His foot slid forward on the ladder’s remains and he barely had enough time to think, ‘fuck.’ before he was barreling towards an inevitable concussion.

Les was falling.

He slammed his eyes shut, wondering briefly how the boy on his head would fare, when he saw a beautiful green light out of the corners of his eyes.

It was magic, of the purest kind. A shimmering jade green, that spun and twirled like the most beautiful assortment of leaves.

It touched him to his core, for no reason at all. In that brief moment, he genuinely felt that if he could get a clear glimpse of it one time, he could live with never seeing again.

The warm chest in front of him did not allow him to see very much of it, but he felt himself stop falling, and descend towards the ground softly.

They stopped at an incline and rested on a soft surface.

“You… what did you just do?”

The magic had come from Hickory. Though it might not be that much, the effortlessness and speed at which it was done was astounding.

Magic like that was scarcely seen even within the capital.

“Hickory… What… what was that?”

Hickory did not respond, instead simply whispering, “Sleep.”

Les didn’t even get time to be confused before the jade green magic lulled him into the land of dreams. His arms went limp around Hickory and his breath slowed to soft undulations.

Under the coaxing of the jade green vines, his memories of this event were lightly buried under the sand of his own mind.

Hickory adjusted his position, allowing his magic to set them down on the floor.

He was quiet, still wrapped around his librarian. Against his will, his arms didn’t want to let go of the man. Nor did he want to erase his own presence in this library, like he swore to do if his magic was ever discovered.

He sighed, slipping back into the librarian's embrace.

‘Just a little longer.’ He told himself.

Hickory was falling.

 

 

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Soft lips brushed by my cheek. “Would you like something to eat?”

I flipped to the next page, absolutely, entirely, enraptured in the beautiful words on the page that I could absolutely, entirely see. “There’s no place to cook around here.”

Hickory hummed and turned his head, his hair fanning out against my face.

The comfortable silence went on like that. Hickory sat on my desk, swinging his legs back and forth, likely somehow still looking elegant. He would lean back to tell me things every once in a while.

And I sat on my chair, trying to focus on the book in front of me rather that the man beside me.

My aversion to letting him know I was paying attention to him confused even me. Was I feeling bashful, perhaps?

Eventually he spoke again.

“What happened to your eyes?”

He tried to approach it lightheartedly, but I could feel the delicateness in his voice.

I paused before I answered. “The empire was short on healers during the war, and they were taking anything they could get. Fighting happened and… stuff. You know.”

He sighed, “That doesn’t explain very much.”

The breath I was holding in my chest slid out in a sigh. I rubbed my blindfold consciously. “I don’t really remember much.”

A little lie. A small little whisper of a lie.

I shifted, uncomfortable, when my hand collided with his right arm.

I noticed since the moment he set it on my cheek, but that hand always seemed to be gloved.

He retracted it rather quickly, drawing my attention.

“And you?”

“What do you mean?”

“Your hand. What’s wrong with it?”

 He laughed. “It’s nothing, just…”

I spoke up as he trailed off. “Do you remember that thing you said?”

“You’ll have to be more specific than that.”

“Surely you know what I’m talking about?”

“Nope.” He laughed again, the wonderful intonation growing closer and closer to nervous by the second.

The book in my hands was snapped shut, and I sat back.

“One day we had this sketchy customer, who was wearing gloves.”

He stared and I turned to him.

“Remember?”

“Aha… Care to remind me?”

“You don’t remember?”

“No.”

“Really?”

“Why would I lie?”

“I don’t know, why are you lying?”

“I-”

“And you told me as he left, “Anyone who wears gloves has got something to hide.” Remember now?”

Hickory froze. “Oh. Yeah.”

I pressed my fingertips together. “Would you say…” I crossed my arms. “That that applies to you as well?”

I heard the wrinkling of his shirt. He was moving to scratch the back of his head, but it was likely just to hide his hand behind his head.

“I thought they looked cool.”

“Cool enough to only wear on one hand?”

He didn’t respond, and I listened to his breathing for a while.

The silence wasn’t awkward, but it wasn’t comfortable either.

I sat quietly. I knew I was prying, and that I shouldn’t be, especially considering how I just lied. I bit the inside of my cheek. I would tell him afterwards, as apology, I decided. The sound of him moving pulled me from my thoughts.

He began to set his gloved hand down, and I caught it in its descent.

He did not move, and I took that as my consent, sliding the glove off of its home.

Naturally, I couldn’t see the difference. But I could feel the traces of magic. The strings of mana seemed to line up with his joints, and my fingertips glided over to them.

The joints weren’t fleshy, soft, or even dry. They were cold, hard and not joints. Not a human’s joints. They were ball joints.

Porcelain.

I clutched his hand and dragged him away. "Come with me."

Hickory seemed a little resistant, but I pulled him to my study.

Seven large steps right from my desk, towards the poem corner, I reached and felt for the burn mark some kid had left there. Forward from there with a veer to the right was a door.

Hickory took note of my habits and stopped resisting. He hung on half heartedly as I gripped the familiar doorknob, turning it and sliding into the dark room, shutting the door behind me.

The darkness didn't bother me of course, but I knew Hickory might be troubled by it, so I reached for the light switch with my empty hand.

I flicked it on, wait, that was just the wall.

I should be over to the right of the doorway if I remember correctly…

A few moments went by as I patted around the wall.

30 seconds went by.

Then a minute.

My face felt like it was on fire.

My inability to see was something I learned to cope with over time, and that's not to say I never have problems like this, but I've never been so... troubled by it.

Hickory's porcelain hand slid out of my grasp and slapped the left side of the doorway.

I heard a loud click.

I was still.

"Ahem." Dragging him over to where I remembered my desk was, I sat down and pressed his hand to the wood.

He chuckled at me, and I had to remind myself that his laugh was the farthest thing from handsome I had ever heard.

"I thought you became harder to tease, but it seems I was wrong."

"Tease? What do you mean tease?" I responded.

The hand in my grip twisted oddly and made a loud clicking noise. It was the same one I thought was the light switch earlier.

He leaned over, whispering in my ear. His lips brushed against my neck at every word. “The lights are still off, Les.”

I froze before I twitched, astonished. “You... That’s so…dumb.”

Hickory hummed as he tilted his head innocently.

“You’re the one who needs the light right? Not me.”

I felt him try to shrug with the arm I was holding. He probably still had his dopey smile on.

“Are you dumb?”

Hickory laughed, and I noticed his face was growing a lot closer than I remember it being.

His voice was low, with a laugh hidden between his breath, sliding through my ears like syrup.

“The atmosphere’s better like this…” He leaned closer. “You think?”

“I can’t see.”

The laugh he was holding in fell out, like it was inevitable. My heart sped up ever so slightly. I still wasn’t very used to his laughs.

Our noses touched, and I felt his lips brush mine for too short a time to be considered a kiss.

“I know.”

Our breaths intermingled and I felt a strange excitement. Perhaps it was the darkness, that I couldn’t even see, or the fact that I was alone in a room with the man right in from of me. His breath smelled of sugar with a hint of lemons, probably the tea he drinks. We breathed in unison, and I have to admit the sound of his steady breaths were calming. In and out, over, and over, and over. It feels like it’s been hours, but it feels like it’s been seconds.

He got closer. Centimeter by centimeter.

The breaths were slightly heavy now, and louder, as he somehow approached closer.

I pushed him back by his face, smushing it with my hand.

“Stop changing the subject. Why do you have a ball jointed doll’s arm?”

He clicked his tongue, peeling my hand off of his face and backing away. “I can’t believe you didn’t react to my seduction technique.”

I sneered at him. “Your seduction techniques need some work. What was your plan? Breathe on me until I give myself to you? Your breath stinks by the way.”

He gasped, appalled. “No it doesn’t! It smells like lemons.”

“Oh, so you checked beforehand.”

“Naturally. It’s the only reason I drink that shitty tea.”

“Language. And stop trying to hide your tea obsession.”

“It’s not an obsession! It’s a hobby.”

I put a hand to my chest with a mocking somber look, “Why, I knew since you first started drinking it because you thought you looked cool, that you’d develop an addiction.”

“I feel like that middle anecdote was unnecessary.”

“Embarrassing is not equivalent to unnecessary.”

I heard him slap a hand to his forehead, sighing despondently.

“I feel like I’m the one being teased here…” He groaned.

“Just turn the lights on, dummy.”

He pouted. “Never!”

I turned my head towards him. “I swear you’ve aged backwards over the years.”

He laughed at me, and I could hear myself laugh too.

By the time out laughter died out, I was out of breath.

My chest heaved pleasantly, pleading for more air through the smile on my lips.

It was... refreshing, to say the least.

I swear I feel Hickory smiling at me.

In my head, it was a warm smile. A smile filled with joy and paired with squinted eyes too.

"If only I could see it." I muttered, my longing thoughts making their way out of my mouth without my permission.

Hickory didn't say anything about these mutters. Perhaps he was thinking about something? I thought.

I heard Hickory hum in the way he often did when he was about to start a sentence. "How about, if you tell me about your eyes, I'll tell you about my arm."

I paused for a moment, remembering what I decided to do earlier. Even so, as he approached the edges of my ‘secret’ I still felt defensive. "I already told you about them."

He leaned close again, to the point where I could feel the empty smile on his lips. "You lied."

It was spoken matter-of-factly, like he was commenting on the weather.

But there wasn't the slightest doubt in his tone. It was this confidence, this undeniable intelligence, that showed me he changed.

 

"..."

 

'Damn brat, growing up without me.'

I leaned back in my chair. "You tell me first."

He chuckled, and I could hear some surprise in his laugh. He was no longer a dense little boy, and I was no longer a stubbornly honest librarian.

He flexed his porcelain fingers. "I exploded my hand."

"Hm?"

He sighed sadly at my questioning tone, "It was nothing but an accident. I was practicing a spell and it backfired. My arm was gone and since we were training in the mountains, we didn't have a good enough magician on hand. My teacher tried her best, but she's never been good at healing magic."

I felt around his hand, letting my fingers linger around the joints. Round, and when they were bent, I could feel a small hole near the where they met with the next part of the finger.

"And how did they end up like this?"

He continued, "A while later she suggested I get a prosthetic limb. A fellow acolyte excelled with mana strings and offered to string an arm for me. It just went from there."

I felt as he clenched and unclenched his hand around my own.

"It must be troublesome, to have to deal with that over a random accident."

He laughed, and I could tell he didn't take it seriously, especially considering who was sitting in front of him.

"It is a bit troublesome to keep it in good condition, and the manipulation of mana strings is a lot different compared to moving a hand. But it's manageable.”

He pat me on the head rather abruptly. "I tricked you into thinking it was more important, didn't I? Now you have to tell me~"

He poked me on the cheek repeatedly.

I grabbed his hand. "That's not it, is it?" He stopped moving. "What do you mean?"

"Well... You were somewhat young at the time you were brought to the capital, weren't you? And I know how smug you were about your magic." He was endlessly confident when it came to his capabilities, to say the least. Even if he managed to hide it from me for quite a while, all secrets were uncovered eventually.

He laughed, but I could hear confusion in it, like he was wondering what I was getting at. I continued.

"It must have been quite scary, having it backfire like that."

I can't imagine what it was like for him. He hid his magic for a long time, but he was never scared of it. He controlled it flawlessly, part of the reason they brought him to the capital in the first place. I imagined that blond boy, separated from his home and then losing trust in the only thing he had left to rely on.

I could feel him staring at me.

Magic was no longer the ace up his sleeve, but a sword he didn't know how to use.

I reached up and did my best to pat his head, only missing the center of his head by a little.

I stroked his hair gently, letting my hand slide down to his cheek. My palm sat near his ear, in fear of the tears that may be dripping down at the moment.

He lifted his hand up and placed it against my own, as if it were the most precious thing in the world.

After what felt like a few minutes, I let my hand drift back down to my desk, and let it sit.

I tilted my head back, placing my other hand gently against the cloth that blocked a portion of my face for a very, very long time.

"You want to know what happened to them? My eyes."

He might've nodded, but I didn't see it. Or maybe he was simply hesitating, wondering if he would rather live without ever knowing.

"Yes."

I pinched the front, pulling it off my face rather easily. It was tied loosely. I honestly don't know how it managed to stay on so long.

Beneath the black colored cloth was a rough, burn-like, scar. It stretched from one temple to the other, wider in the middle than it was on the ends.

It's an old scar. It doesn't hurt or ache, but the damage impedes me to this day.

I sighed lightheartedly, "Pretty bad huh?"

Hickory was silent.

It was less of shock and more of solemnity. I could tell he was angry. Angry that he wasn't there to see it happen. To have anything to do with the event, any chance to stop it from happening.

I felt his icy porcelain fingertips lightly lay against the area of my scar.

For a moment, it felt fitting. An injury next to an injury. The incarnations of all that had changed over the time he was gone.

I sighed.

I think I'm getting sappy over my old age.

Hickory's hands trailed across my scar as if feeling if it were really there.

I laughed softly, "Don't ask me where my eye sockets went. They were like that when I woke up."

Hickory didn't laugh along with me.

"What happened?" He asked.

I breathed deeply. His question had many interpretations. "Who did this?", "When did this happen?", or maybe...

 

"What happened to us?"

 

Hell if I knew.

 

I placed my hand on top of his, stopping its movement.

"Something of a caliber we didn't anticipate showed up in the middle of the battlefield."

Hickory started caressing my hand, distracting me for a moment.

"...ahem. It didn't bother anyone playing dead, so it didn't take long for it to reach the tent I was at."

I was quiet and Hickory didn't push me.

I could remember it like it was yesterday. Though that's not to say I didn't dream about the incident just yesterday.

A figure comprised purely of ink black smoke; with the largest sword I'd ever seen on its back.

Its steps were entirely silent, despite its giant figure. There was no counting the casualties that occurred on its way through the small tent. It didn't even use the sword.

It was raw strength.

Pure, unforgiving, might.

It crushed skulls with two fingertips, it snapped legs with its steps.

The air was frozen around me, and I couldn't move. I wonder if it was some kind of magic, or if it was fear.

Blood splatters were everywhere by the time it reached me.

Air heaved in and out of my lungs, desperate to get my failing mind to do something.

And then it attacked.

It pulled out its sword, and to this day I try to come up with some other reason why it would only do so for me.

The mass of metal, dull yet somehow piercing, sent me crashing across the tent and through the damp cloth it was built of.

I laid on the ground, unsure if I couldn't move because of the pain or fear. I couldn't see, but I couldn't hear at the time either.

It was cold. Unutterably cold.

Cold, muddy, painful, dark.

I could only guess at which part of me he attacked. Everything hurt. It felt as if the mud beneath me intended to swallow me whole, and there was little I could do to resist.

It was strange. I couldn't hear the rain, or the screaming, or the dying flames. But I could hear its footsteps. They were soft. Lighthearted. Like it was taking a walk in the park.

And I could hear my breath.

My lungs, breathing heavily in an attempt to keep me alive.

I wondered how close he was. His footsteps were right next to me, and yet they kept growing louder, and I was not dead yet.

They stopped, suddenly. And I became increasingly certain about my inevitable doom.

I could feel him, in front of me. In a way I did not know how, I could tell he was there, looking down on me.

His body made up of shadows loomed over me, the black smoke tickling my blood covered flesh.

And suddenly I realized something. It was a wild conjecture, a random thought. I could only wonder if it was correct.

He attacked me because of the small band on my hair, tying it in a top knot. It was so insignificant and small, the powerful mana embedded within it was attributed to me, and it used measures it viewed fitting.

I felt a ball of indignation burn inside my chest. If only it weren't there, if only he never gave it to me.

I lifted my arm with every last ounce of strength I had left in my dying body.

I felt it crawl over to the hairband, desperate to pull it to pieces, to throw it far, far away.

Maybe I could live.

I might just be able to survive if it was gone.

The thought of living through this was unbelievable.

Yet, the possibility was there. The chance was so close.

If I could just...

My fingers lay against the string, and I was reminded of the delicate hands that hand strung it on me.

My hand went limp at my own will.

'Ah...Oh well.'

If I had to explain to someone I knew in the past when exactly I changed so much, I would probably say that it was this moment. The moment where I thought death seemed less frightening than I imagined it to be.

Far less frightening than throwing away the only thing I had left.

I coughed, the metallic taste of blood filling my throat.

My eyes flickered open. So they were still there. The sky was gloomy, and I wondered what the black shadow could possibly be doing to take so long.

My breaths were steadier than they had been a while earlier, and my mind was clearer than it had been since Hickory left.

I breathed in, and I breathed out.

The air in my lungs felt fresh. I wonder how that could be possible, in this dump of a place.

I could feel myself standing up. Or maybe I could see myself? It was all blurry, everything was dark, but it was brighter than anything I'd ever seen.

Dark, bright. Painful, comforting.

I stumbled to my feet.

Everything was so...

 

Exhausting.

 

My eyes burned, as if I opened them too widely for too long.

The burning grew worse and worse, and I wanted to scream. I wanted to shout to the skies and plead with them to stop this mess, but my cracked lips refused to part.

My head lulled limply on my shoulders, and I was staring straight at the shadow in front of me.

I barely registered his presence. Just when I thought the pain in my eyes couldn't possibly get worse, they burned hotter. They seemed to entangle my mind in the flames as well, and I felt my brain go fuzzy.

It got to the point where I couldn't see at all.

There was no darkness swallowing my vision like I anticipated.

It was all... white.

Burning, scalding white.

A white prelude to the everlasting darkness.

 

How ironic.

 

I woke up in the hospital later, unable to see. The doctors were trying to properly document my time of death. I'm sure the looks on their faces when I sat up were nice.

It was mana overload that took my vision, I hear.

Mana overload was a very obscure phenomenon. The most valuable documentation of it we have is a short anecdote, written by someone on the verge of experiencing it. She died afterwards, of course. No one survives mana overload.

The woman described it as the blurriest experience of clarity she'd ever felt. Her corpse was found; death by some kind of explosion originating from her eyes.

Luckily, I had some kind superiors who allowed me to retire in peace, rather than shipping me to the capital to be picked apart and investigated.

My mana circuits were destroyed after the overload, so I lost the ability to use any useful form of magic in its entirety. There was no point in keeping me around anyway.

And thus, I returned to my library, having lost the capability to read most every book in my collection.

I used to pride myself in having read every book in the building. But as other topics grew more popular, more books were made, and my collection grew.

It was too much to keep up with, and there was little way to convince people to read every book for me.

…

I hoped Hickory could hear the tale in my silence, because I really did not feel like thinking about it much longer.

I had a feeling he would blame himself for what happened. Even I blamed him, for a while. There was no telling how he would react.

I felt him slip the blindfold back on. The sight of that scar upset him more than it did me.

Les sighed, knowing that Hickory was still curious. “He attacked, and I experienced mana overload.”

“Mana overload? Are you sure?”

“That’s what they told me. All the damages lined up, save for being dead.”

Hickory ran his fingertips around the scar.

I grabbed his hand, desperate for something to change the subject with.

"Why porcelain?"

Hickory took a moment to process the question. He laughed awkwardly after realizing his answer. "It looks cool." He bent over and booped my nose for reasons I would never understand. I poked him on the forehead in return.

There was silence. Our breath intertwined in the quiet room, as if it were the only sound present.

Hickory wrapped his arms around me, pressing his cheek against mine.

"I'm sorry."

I stroked his back, afraid he might just start crying.

"It's okay."

I felt him frown against my cheek.

"I'm glad you're alive."

In that moment I felt the words I always wished I could speak come alive.

"Me too."

Life has been nothing but a responsibility for a long time. I survived a battlefield, a high-class demon, and mana overload. How pathetic would it be if I died to myself? The last vestiges of my stubbornness were put to work just keeping me alive.

It looked like even fate had a consciousness.

Hickory kissed me gently.

I sighed breathlessly once we parted. He lifted me up by my waist and I held on, wrapping my arms around his neck.

I felt his cold hand on my back, and I shivered.

He laughed softly.

Feeling embarrassed, I pinched him on the cheek when he pressed his forehead to mine.

He stepped over the chair, knocking it over in process. I had to wrap my legs around his waist to stop myself from falling.

We rested against the wall, holding me as I clung to his body.

His hands drifted across my skin. I felt myself curl up, like a shy flower.

With hands so deft you could hardly tell one wasn’t real, he thumbed the flower till it was unfurled and pink, breathless and beautiful.

Wrapped and warm and curled and coddling, time slowly tickled by in the dark, no longer so silent room.

 

 

────────────────── 〔✿〕──────────────────

17th of May, 3632

 

 

The boy leaned behind the librarian’s head, gliding his fingers through the man’s thick hair. The man shivered comfortably when the hands rubbed his scalp. The warm fingers did not linger for long, and they left along with the boy, who gave his embarrassed goodbye before he scampered off.

The librarian reached up and touched his hair, feeling a simple string affixing some of his hair a bit higher, in a small bun.

He was rightly baffled at the sensation of mana, lingering around the tie. Perhaps in that moment, he should have called out to the boy, asked him how or why he gave him it.

And yet, he didn’t.

He feared what nasty things would come loose if he pried only a little.

So, he didn’t.

And if there was one thing Les would think about this later,

He should have asked while he had the chance.

Les rubbed his temples, escaping from his own flashback.

He normally avoided treading on such memories, but he could not help it today.

It was Hickory’s birthday.

In counting, it had been 6 years since he last saw Hickory, 4 years since the war began, and a year since he came home.

Despite the long year he had getting reaccustomed to his home, he was still a bit out of touch. He came back to find his library almost driven to the ground by an uncaring owner who he had the naivete to trust it to before he left.

The large majority of his year was spent replenishing stock and getting the place back up on its feet. It was a world of difficulty, though he found that the scar on his face was sufficiently intimidating when things got tough in a bad way.

Unfortunately, it was quite annoying when it came to customer service, considering at least 40% of his customers were kids.

A few months ago, when started working at the counter himself, he took to wearing a cloth over his eyes. It had helped a bit, though he was still getting used to its scratchy texture.

He fiddled with a pen, trying to keep the blond shorty from lingering in his headspace.

It was a pain filled day.

The hours went by with Hickory’s presence lingering in his memories, struggling to claw their way into his brain and imbed themselves permanently.

Though there was a point where Les relished them and spent hours silently replaying them over and over again, that point was not now.

Hickory and his beautiful smile, his charming sneer, his stubborn intelligence, his soft, inexperienced kisses…

Hurt him to remember.

So he tried his best not to.

It was always the hardest on this day. The day with the sweetest memories.

Les forced his attention to the customers in his library. It was a busy day today so there were no adults. Currently, two children could be heard chattering near the back wall, the highest and largest collection of books, mostly about magic.

The books were heavily used and some of them had been there since before Les got his hands on this place.

The collection’s growth had slowed down as of late, but it was still overwhelmingly larger than the other sections.

He could hear the kids’ entertained chatter and assumed they must have found something good. Children often got excited when they found a type of magic they could use. Unfortunately for his library, they just couldn’t wait to test it out, and usually ended up breaking something.

He should probably remind them to take it outside.

He started fiddling with his pen again, lethargic.

Hickory was never excited when reading magic books. Though he was probably on a whole other level compared to most of the things that publicly available magic books had to offer.

Imagining Hickory getting all giddy over being able to make a rock out of dirt was pretty hard to imagine as well.

Distantly hearing a crackling sound, he entertained the idea. He had never seen Hickory excited. Only very scared, very sad, or very unbothered. He did smile from time to time but that was pretty much it.

Les wondered what his excited face would look like, only to smother his enthusiasm with the thought that he wouldn’t be able to see it even if the boy were standing right in front of him.

The crackling sound grew louder to the point where he could no longer ignore it.

Suddenly the shout, “Mister, watch out!” tore through the room.

He turned towards the shouting children when midway, a scalding heat shot past his head. A ball of fire. Searing off his split ends, the heat was there for only a second before he left.

‘snap’

He froze. The weight of his hair fell on his shoulders. He was too shocked to notice the cloth falling off of his face.

The children stared in fear as his hideous scar fell under the light for the first time in ages. Some time in-between, they ran away.

His hand slowly stretched to the back of his head, afraid to confirm his suspicion. His hand felt only a messy bundle of locks beneath it. He set his hand down, and it landed on a small band. Picking it up, he rolled the tie between his fingers, sitting silently.

He was barely able to comprehend that it happened. The small circle of string had survived an entire war, and daily strain on top of that.

Nowhere in his imagination could he have anticipated it would fall to some brat’s underdeveloped fire spell.

He sat quietly.

The day went on as usual, Les blankly trying to redo the hair bun for longer than he would have liked to admit.

Finally tying it back together, Les readjusted his position and worked as usual. His hair bothered him. It felt different, unusual.

He untied it, tied it again, untied it, tied it again. Over and over. After the thirtieth time, he realized that he’d forgotten how it felt like originally. He was simmering with frustration, feeling as if he might just burst into tears at any moment.

Eventually, he sighed heavily and gave up.

The sun set, the night ate up the light, and all was quiet.

He sank into his bed.

And buried himself in his pillow.

Waiting for the next day to struggle through.

 

 

────────────────── 〔✿〕──────────────────

 

 

I awkwardly walked across the road, feeling my palm grow sweaty.

Thanking the fact that Hickory wouldn’t be able to feel it through his glove, I tightened my grip on the taller man’s hand.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

Hickory was swinging my arm back and forth as we walked, showing his enthusiasm.

“I wanted to go see the flowers.”

“I see.”

Hickory hummed.

We continued walking for quite a while, and I wondered if the flower field was always so far away.

I could’ve sworn we were getting nearer when I stumbled.

Hickory caught me by the arm. “You okay? Does your back still hurt?”

I stood up, grabbing his hand again.

“It’s feeling better.” The ‘no thanks to you’, was omitted.

Hickory laughed awkwardly as if he heard it anyway, only to go quiet abruptly.

He laughed breathlessly. “We’re here.”

I breathed deeply, feeling the warm air fill my lungs.

“It would seem so.”

Hickory helped me down the steep incline and we sat down. Even though I couldn’t see them, the soft flowers cushioned me as I sat.

It was a lot softer than my chair, to say the least.

A comfortable silence surrounded us again when Hickory suddenly spoke up.

“You wouldn’t mind if I stayed here forever would you?”

I responded calmly. “Look at me and tell me if it looks like I do.”

Hickory laughed, “I guess not.”

“Look closer.”

He stared at me, “Don’t do that, you’re scaring me.”

I laughed lightly. “You’re not a criminal, are you? I suppose I can provide you residence.”

Hickory kissed me on the cheek. “I am on the run though.”

I turned, “Pardon?”

“The other court magicians are probably trying to find me right about now.”

I raised my eyebrow at him. “The other court magicians?”

He laughed in a way that meant he was absolutely not joking.

Wrapping his arms around my shoulders, he buried his chin in my hair.

“I’m a person of high value now, you know.”

I sighed. “Well, lucky me.”

He pecked me on top of my head, wrapping himself around me like a blanket.

“Mn. Lucky you.”

Hardly a moment in my life could be considered lucky.

But you know, I’m starting to think he might be right.

 

 

 ✿

 

Author's Account:

Maple-leaf (SH).