Chapter Text
So it was true, whatever lies Stolas had told himself to try and dampen the guilt, they were just that, falsehoods and placating words that meant nothing.
Their farce of a date had made Blitzø’s opinion on their arrangement as clear as day. The one time- the only time- that Blitzø had requested his presence, and it had been nothing short of a disaster.
Taking another swig straight from the bottle, he didn’t even bother to wipe the liquor from his chin as a drop rolled from his beak. The outfit he’d spent time carefully donning in hopes of impressing his soulmate felt too tight, too restrictive. But then again, so did the vast wide halls of the palace. It wasn’t the clothing that held him so tightly, but his own skin. The skin of a royal, edges sanded off, moulded into what was expected of him.
At the very least, the night had ended decades of uncertainty, of never being sure if he still had a soulmate, or if the magic severed the connection entirely. He’d hoped, sweet Lucifer had he hoped, that even with fate taken out of the equation, they could have found common ground.
In the end, all he’d done was keep Blitzø a prisoner, lauding his business over his head so they could play at being something that they weren’t. He’d chained them both to fate, made up the stupid fucking arrangement in the hopes that being together would be enough to make it real. All he’d done was stifle them, make Blitzø believe he was nothing more than a good fuck, rather than the partner that Stolas still so desperately wished he could be.
Maybe… Maybe he still could be.
The arrangement was the problem. He was still putting so much of his faith into the unseeable string of destiny that he’d overlooked everything else that they’d built. Whether they were soulmates or not, it was undeniable that he had feelings for Blitzø. Without the arrangement, the expectations, the misunderstandings, perhaps… Perhaps Blitzø could have feelings too.
But if there was one thing Stolas had learned through their arrangement, he couldn’t force those feelings. Part of the reason he’d fallen so hard for Blitzø in the first place was how fiery and spirited he was. The last thing he wanted to do was take that away, he just needed a way to test-… No, that felt too harsh. He needed a way to determine if what he felt could be reciprocated.
As much as it would hurt, he needed to give Blitzø the chance to be free from the fate Stolas was still clinging onto, and he could only hope that without it, Blitzø would decide to stay. Please Lucifer, he hoped that Blitzø would decide to stay.
-
Acquiring a meeting with a sin turned out to be the easy part, he hadn’t thought to account for Via running away, or his being kidnapped. But he refused to let anything postpone the meeting, not when he had his heart riding on the outcome.
Stolas had long heard rumours about the king of Lust, how he was the first to remove his soulmarking. But that had always seemed like unprovable gossip, meant to stir up drama and intrigue about one of the biggest names in hell. The same rumour mill that had been churning since the very creation of the afterlife, the one that had already ground him up several times over. He couldn’t imagine being stuck in its mechanisms for millennia.
But still, he couldn’t stop his eyes from slipping to the portrait that stretched across the rear of Asmodeus’s office, wondering if the most recent rumours held some truth. The sin was depicted lounging, and lying atop him was an imp that Stolas immediately recognised from all of the years he’d spent watching Mammon’s clown pageant. The years of hope, and then disappointment.
Fizzarolli had been at the circus the day he’d met Blitzø, when his soulmarking had been sealed. But the way the clown had spoken when Stolas and Blitzø had gone on their… their ‘date’. Stolas couldn’t imagine what could churn up such bitterness from childhood friends.
“So what can I do for you?” The sin asked, and Stolas lingered on the portrait a second longer, on the jester’s robotic limbs, incapable of bearing a mark, before turning back to Asmodeus.
Taking a deep breath, Stolas finally took the seat that he’d been offered and regurgitated the speech that he’d been practicing for this very moment. “Nobody else knows this but… I have a soulmate, he- he's an imp, and I hope you might be able to help him.”
“That feisty imp you crashed my club with?” the king laughed, and Stolas winced at the memory of their ‘date’ again. He’d resolved to give Blitzø his choice, if he chose to leave… That was his decision, and Stolas had to accept that.
Taking a deep breath, he calmly explained his predicament, and then his request. He had to remove the book from the equation, but he couldn’t leave Blitzø without a way to carry out his business. The only way to make that possible was with a crystal. This was his first and only option.
And something like sympathy flashed in the sin’s eyes, as he turned Stolas down, and explained that he wouldn’t go against his business partner’s wishes. Stolas had heard those rumours too.
Even as he felt his heart breaking, Stolas tried to offer a cordial goodbye, interrupted by the last thing he could have expected.
A ransom, from an imp he didn’t recognise, and one he certainly did.
If Fizzarolli was in the clutches of Striker… Lords, with the harm the assassin was capable of committing against a Goetia, Stolas could only imagine what he would do to an imp. At least there was a chance at ransom. Surely, they wouldn’t risk the ire of a sin.
Stolas glanced over to the portrait again, the imp draped leisurely over Asmodeus's chest, and he rubbed idly at his naked wrist. Anything he did now would likely be for nought, if Asmodeus had already kept the secret for millennia, he wouldn't divulge it to Stolas, and if it was true, he would never go against his soulmate and offer his assistance.
But Stolas imagined if the roles were reversed, if he was seeing his soulmate captured by that absolute brute.
The words had poured out of him before he could stop them. “Sire, please allow me to stay, I can offer assistance.”
“Fine, whatever,” Asmodeus had agreed flippantly, far too focused on the task at hand.
It became clear to Stolas in only a matter of minutes (and Stolas would admit that reading people wasn’t typically one of his strengths) that the rumours were true. He'd never seen someone potentially make such reckless, foolish mistakes, all with the goal of keeping one person safe. But he supposed he'd never knowingly been in the presence of soulmates before.
Seeing them together, when all was said and done, only confirmed that the feeling was mutual. The way they ran to one another, still holding on desperately when Stolas eventually left the room to offer them some privacy (and the chance for revenge). They were so undeniably in love that he couldn’t help but smile.
It made his heart ache though, holding his wrist as he trailed out of the sin’s palace and stepped through a portal into his own. Stolas’s words were gone, but so were Asmodeus's if the rumours were to be believed. And yet he'd managed to find his soulmate regardless. Why did he get to-...
Pausing, Stolas took a deep breath before the thought could consume him.
He wanted to be angry, jealous, but he had no right. He knew his duties and had accepted them a long time ago. It wasn’t until Blitzø had come barrelling back into his life that he'd ever even considered that there might be another way to exist.
His plan to learn if that was possible had been fruitless though. He'd walked into the den of Lust and returned empty handed, no closer to a solution.
Which was why it came as such a surprise, to drink himself to sleep and wake the next morning to a message from Asmodeus himself. A brief but brilliant, I'll send a crystal over, should be with you by Friday.
It took several rereads to accept that the message did say exactly what he thought, and he wasn't twisting the words in his favour. Come Friday he'd have a crystal, an alternative, a way to set Blitzø free.
But more importantly, a way to know if his feelings were returned.
-
And so he’d given the crystal to Blitzø.
His moment to prove his affection, to reveal his true intention, to give them both the freedom to fall for one another, unburdened by expectations or deals.
Instead it was a confirmation of what Stolas had always known, that he was naive, a coward, unlovable. And that the only reason Blitzø had stayed was because Stolas had something to offer him.
All Blitzø had wanted from the very start was the Grimoire, and somehow, Stolas had convinced himself that they were soulmates, that the mark he’d had for only a few hours was enough to bind them together for eternity.
Blitzø had confirmed it, when Stolas had tried to sever the deal and form a bond, one where they could be soulmates, without daring to say the words. But he'd been mocked for it. And then, to add insult to his injured pride, he'd learned that he wasn't even the first soulmate Blitzø had turned away.
The party was full of people whose hearts Blitzø had trampled on, but Verosika had pulled him close and consoled him by showing her own wrist. There was a tattoo there now, but she told him about the words that she'd once thought were Blitzø’s, until he'd shown his true colours.
He wasn't Blitzø’s soulmate, but he took a bitter sense of comfort in the fact that he'd seen every inch of Blitzø’s naked body, and knew that there would never be anybody else. It was cruel, he knew it was, but the thought kept him going through some of his worst days, when the hole in his chest started to ache.
He didn’t need Blitzø. He’d survived for 25 years without him, and he could survive until the end of eternity with the chasm in his chest. He could do what was expected of him, put on a mask at parties, act like a begrudging bystander, be the prince his title demanded of him.
And then he could turn in for the night and get drunk enough that nothing else mattered. Maybe if he swallowed enough, he could flood the hole in his chest and convince himself it wasn’t actually there. But it was nothing more than a temporary solution. Every night was the same, downing glasses and yearning in a way that he knew would never be filled, so long as he lived.
All he wanted was to see Blitzø.
But flicking through the channels, watching the imp step towards the hangman’s axe, was not how he wanted to see him.
His heart plummeted, and for seconds his eyes could only scan over the screen. Hoping- no, praying that he was wrong, that his mind and vision both betrayed him and Blitzø really wasn’t laying his head down on the chopping block.
He- He had to do something. He couldn’t just sit by and let it happen. He couldn’t lose his soulmate.
But he wasn’t Blitzø’s soulmate, Blitzø had made it clear that the connection was one way. Would he be overstepping? Was this act too far? Would Blitzø know the truth of their one-sided connection the instant he intervened? Would all of hell know?
…
What the fuck was he thinking?! He couldn’t stand aside and let Blitzø suffer for his own actions, his foolish desperate fantasies.
Fuck soulmates, and fate be damned, he was going to save the man he loved.
⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅
Usually, when Blitzø stepped out onto the balcony to have a smoke and clear his head, he’d look out over Imp City. The lights that still lingered late into the night, the smell of inner-city fumes and stale takeout, the relative quiet, except for the occasional shout or horn.
But tonight, he couldn’t pull his eyes away from his apartment, from the windows that framed the Goetia fast asleep on his sofa. The prince- no, not anymore, just Stolas now. Stolas had been about to put his head on the fucking block, and the only reason he was here now was because they’d settled on the lesser sentence of stripping him of everything. His title, his money, even access to his fucking kid.
It didn’t make any sense. Why the fuck would Stolas give his life for an imp? That was the kind of shit people did for…
Blitzø let out a sigh that lingered in the air, a cold white plume, before finally managing to turn away.
Stolas was his soulmate, even if his wrist was as naked as the day he was born. But was it possible… Could he be…?
No, that was a stupid thought. Stolas’s wrists were blank. But soulmates or not, Stolas cared enough to give his life for an imp. That meant more than some shitty free tattoo.
Taking a steadying drag on his cigarette, the darker smoke he exhaled didn’t settle his nerves as much as he’d hoped it would, but the deep breath he let out with the plume was grounding at least.
The feelings were starting to churn inside him once again, the fullness in his chest sitting almost uncomfortably after months without it. He paused for another moment, inhaling the city air, before flicking the butt of his cigarette over the railings, and trailing back into the room as quietly as he could.
Before he climbed back onto the beanbag that was going to be his bed for the night, he stripped off his work outfit, pulling on something more comfortable, and then lingering in the middle of the room.
Looking over the owl’s sleeping form, he was clearly exhausted, maybe from more than the trial given the bags under his eyes. Blitzø’s fingers twitched, desperate to reach out and smooth the creases that lay under the short dense feathers. But he managed to hold back the feeling.
Blitzø didn’t know how the fuck this soulmate thing worked really, how two guys with empty wrists could be bound together in a way that made his heart feel like it was going to burst out of his chest when he looked at Stolas’s sleeping face pressed against the cushion of his couch. His soulmate, who had been ready to give his life away for Blitzø. For Blitzø. Sure it was a fucking stupid idea, but that little spark of hope that he’d squashed down for almost two decades was starting to burn again.
Fuck, maybe all of that soulmate shit didn’t fucking matter after all. It was only when Blitzø had started caring about some dumbfuck words on his wrist that everything went to shit. He didn’t need a fucking soulmate, he’d never wanted one. What he wanted was Stolas.
And despite everything he'd done, how much he didn't deserve it, it seemed like Stolas wanted him too.
Curling up atop the beanbag, trying to get comfortable without rustling the filling too much, he fell asleep to the familiar sound of Stolas's gentle sleep hoots, the ones the owl had always denied. And Blitzø’s chest felt full for the first time in months.
-
When he woke, he half expected that it had all been some fucked up kind of dream, but the sense of dread he'd felt as he lay his head down on the block was as real as the feeling that still filled his chest. Rolling in his new bed, he found Stolas, facing the complete opposite end of the sofa, like he’d clearly had a shitty night’s sleep, but he was alive. Alive and here.
Trying to keep his steps quiet, Blitzø started preparing for the day, getting breakfast going before Stolas woke, surrounding the sleeping owl in a couple (several) plush horses to keep him company and give him a pleasant surprise when he woke.
At one point Loona emerged, and upon seeing Stolas sleeping in a pile of horses and the state of the kitchen as Blitzø prepared at least ten different options, announced that she was going out to grab breakfast, and would be back ‘later’ (at least that’s what Blitzø assumed her grumble and vague hand gesture meant).
When Stolas woke not long after, Blitzø could feel his heart pounding just looking at the tired owl, watching him plod over to the bathroom to clean up, looking slightly less dejected than the night before. That was a start.
He watched with his brows pulled together though as Stolas dropped gingerly into the seat across from him, holding his wrist. There was an evident bandage there now, one that Blitzø hadn’t put on yesterday.
“You okay?” Blitzø asked, and thankfully Stolas got the message when Blitzø flicked his gaze down to the uncertain hold.
“Oh, yes, I’m fine,” Stolas muttered not at all convincingly. His fingers tightened their hold, but then he let out a sigh and admitted, “I hope you don’t mind me raiding your medicine cabinet. I think I might have sprained it when they threw me out.”
“Want me to take a look?” Blitzø offered, but barely managed to finish the question.
“No!” Stolas cried instantly, the panic in his voice born from the kind of instinct it had taken Blitzø decades to overcome. But Stolas took a small breath, and sounded more measured as he insisted, “I mean, no it’s quite alright, but thank you for the offer. Magic or not I… It should heal soon.”
Blitzø let it go, for now. He served up breakfast, tried to do whatever he could to make Stolas comfortable. The whole time his traitorous little heart was pounding in his full chest.
-
Settling into a routine came more naturally than he’d expected. Sure, Stolas needed a delicate touch, encouragement, and for the first time in his life, Blitzø managed to find it, pretty consistently.
Because he was living with his soulmate. Which was, y’know, fine.
It wasn’t like it had been fifteen years since he’d spent more than a few hours without the hole in his chest, and now it was gone, 24/7. Of course that made sense when he was with Stolas, when he was watching him sleep and dragging him around the city to make sure he was getting fresh air. But it didn’t let up at the office either, when he left for a few hours, the feeling still lingered.
After he’d first felt it with Stolas, he’d wondered how M&M did it, could bear to be apart on missions and feel the emptiness when they spent 99% of their time together. But the feeling barely went away now. Like a charged battery, it depleted steadily, but never vanished, filling up again when he got home and saw Stolas pottering about the apartment.
Things changed in little ways he didn’t really notice for a long time. The way he instinctively picked up the right tea at the store when it was running low, waking up 20 minutes early to make sure Loonie and Stolas could use the bathroom, and Stols would still have time to water his plants and say goodbye to them.
It was comfortable, so of course it could only last for so long.
In the aftermath of Sinsmas, all he could do was… be there.
Even if the fullness in his chest ached, he offered what comfort he could, giving Stolas something stable to lean on when things got too rough, a distraction when he’d burrowed too deep into his own mind.
In the weeks that followed, that usually meant a new plant, and sitting out on the balcony, listening to the sounds of the city, and idle chatter about nothing in particular. But the last few days, Stolas had been even quieter than usual.
It looked like it was going to be another of those nights.
Blitzø had learned early on that asking if everything was alright never got a true answer. He didn’t like being lied to when he could see that Stolas was just trying not to be a burden, and it was clear Stolas didn’t like lying to try and save face.
So instead he stepped out onto the balcony and asked, “Anything I can do?”
Most of the time, Stolas asked for tea, or company, sometimes, he just asked to be alone.
With a sigh he muttered, “No, there’s nothing we can do, I’m just… worried.”
“About?” Blitzø asked gently, resting his arms against the balcony railings as he stopped beside Stolas, recognising the far off look in the owl’s eyes. He didn’t really need to ask. Most of the things Stolas worried about made it back to Via.
Stolas hummed, and for a moment Blitzø thought that was all the answer he was going to get.
“Via will be eighteen next week.”
That explained it. Blitzø had figured it had to be coming up sometime soon given how long ago Stolas had mentioned that she and Loona were five years apart.
Stepping a little closer, it was all he could really do. Any words he could offer would be empty or already said before. So instead he watched, as Stolas nervously ran his thumb over the long sleeve covering his wrist.
It was weird, when Blitzø thought about it, the fact that the owl who’d once walked around the palace in nothing but his feathers was always covered up now. But he’d come to accept it, even if the way Stolas adjusted his clothing to make sure his wrist was concealed every time Blitzø stepped in the room, had him wondering if there was a scar there, something from the assassination attempt he hadn’t tried to stop. Like maybe Stolas was trying to spare his feelings.
“You wanna tell me what you’re thinking,” Blitzø prodded gently. The words sounded too soft for his voice.
Stolas took a deep breath, thumb stilling on his wrist. “Her soul marking. If one appears… I won't be there to stop them if they try to remove it from her.”
“Remove it?” Blitzø asked before he could even take in the full meaning of the words. Soul markings were stubborn bitches. If they could be removed, Verosika would have lasered the words off her instead of trying to cover them up with another shitty tattoo.
Bluntly, Stolas answered, “That's what royals do, if they aren't convenient.”
Blitzø’s stomach clenched at the implication. Soulmate magic was old as balls, nobody really knew how it started or what controlled it. But it ran deep. To strip somebody of that, against their will, from the sound of it… Well, it sounded like something the Goetia would do. Something they’d keep secret too.
If Blitzø had known, when he’d seen those words on his wrist, that it could be taken away, he probably would have done it. Maybe it would have spared him from some of his life. But he knew that was just wishful thinking.
Not as wishful as the voice in the back of his mind that reasoned maybe Stolas knew because—
Blitzø’s eyes snapped to Stolas’s wrist, to the way his thumb still covered it. His question was heavy, stilted, as he asked, “You- did you have a soulmate?”
Stolas huffed out a breath, the sound almost bitter. “Technically I still do. They can remove the marking to stop us from finding out, but they can’t sever the connection.”
The pounding of Blitzø’s heart was in his eardrums. Stolas had a soulmate. He hadn’t always been blank. Swallowing hard, Blitzø managed to ask, “Do you know who it is though?”
Stolas gave a gentle chuckle, and a hum of affirmation. “I do. But I don't think I'm his.”
It ached, the idea that there was someone out there for him. That Stolas knew who it was, and had only settled for Blitzø because he was the one who’d been there. Or even worse, that the words were...
Blitzø caught himself, killing the thought.
When he turned to Stolas, that deep familiar sadness was in the owl’s eyes. Leaning back against the railings Blitzø levelled his own expression, pulling on a smile. He needed to be there for Stolas.
“Why the fuck wouldn't you be his soulmate? He'd be lucky to have a soulmate like you. I mean, you're free now, and there's only one way to find out. You could go and find him…” He had to take a deep breath before he could offer, “I can help.”
“You'd do that?” Stolas asked, but there was no joy or excitement there, expression completely placid.
Blitzø swallowed hard enough that he worried he might deep-throat his own tongue, but he tried to joke, “Yeah of course. As long as he'll treat you right.”
But the words sounded too sincere.
Finally there was the hint of a smile, as Stolas looked down at his wrist. “I wasn’t so sure he would, I learned he’s got quite the reputation. But I thought he was funny, quick-witted, exciting.”
Blitzø didn’t know how much more his heart could take. It felt like Stolas was teasing him. Did he know? The way every word made Blitzø’s stomach rolled with nervousness. Waiting for either confirmation that he was nothing or everything.
“So you know the guy,” he mumbled, trying not to sound bitter or hopeful and somehow failing at both.
Satan, why did hope those words were for him?
At least there was a definite smile, soft, as Stolas answered, “No. I barely knew him at all. I didn't realise that he was also sweet, self-sacrificing, and cared so very deeply.”
Those scarlet eyes were looking at Blitz now, gaze so gentle it made him want to run. Like he'd hung the stars in the sky, just for Stolas. And he would. If he could figure out how, he'd put them all there one at a time.
Fuck he hoped he was reading that expression right, that he wasn't building his hopes up, ready to be dashed. Was it…? He didn’t dare, but he had to know. He just couldn't form the words to ask the way Stolas deserved.
‘Is it me?’ that was all he needed to ask, and Stolas would either gush or let him down gently. But instead he said, “Could you just put me out of my fucking misery?”
Hesitantly, Stolas pulled back the sweater, revealing stark white writing amongst the darkness of his wrist. And Blitzø knew it hadn’t been there when he’d last checked, because it was clear as day. Words. His words. And he cringed a little realising that Stolas had been stuck with his stupid fucking greeting to the audience, his failed attempt at making a balloon horse.
But they were still his words. Stolas was his soulmate. But... he'd checked Stolas's wrists, how had they—
“I’ve been theorising that it was my own magic suppressing it, all of these years. Now that it’s gone, there’s no way to hide it,” Stolas explained quietly, as if he were reading Blitzø’s mind and knew exactly what he’d been about to ask. Soulmates.... “I felt a sharp pain, but it wasn’t until you left me alone in the bath that I realised it had been the words reforming.”
Even with visible undeniable proof, Blitzø found his mind reeling. It couldn’t be real, could it? “I was your soulmate?”
“You still are,” Stolas chuckled sadly, with that far off look in his eyes the barest hint of a smile slipped away, and he added, “But I truly don’t want to tie you to anything.”
“Maybe I want to be tied.” The words were out of Blitzø before he could think.
Stolas’s gaze flicked to him, bright pupils shaking as they searched Blitzø’s features. “To me?”
“Nobody else. If you’d still have me, after everything.”
Nothing else mattered, as Stolas cried, “Yes, Blitzø. Only you. It was only ever you.”
Blitzø barely let him finish before he was closing the distance.
Tugging Stolas down, he pushed his lips to the surprised beak, hungry and desperate. Stolas stiffened, only for half a second, before he melted into it. It was the sweetest thing Blitzø had ever tasted.
Stolas pulled back gently from the affection, and Blitzø drew away, giving him the space. The words came out rushed as Stolas protested, “But I’m not your soulmate. You don’t-…”
“The fuck are you talking about? Before the fire-” Blitzø started, before realising he couldn’t finish the sentence. Being soulmates didn’t fix everything.
“What? What fire?” Stolas asked gently and Blitzø could kick himself for that later.
“We can talk about that some other time,” Blitzø argued, surprised that he’d even suggested talking about it. But he catalogued that for later. “But before then, I-… I got all scarred up and… I thought I fucked it all up. I thought I lost you.”
“No, you wouldn’t lose me. But you don’t have a marking.”
Blitzø pulled back his sleeve to show his white wrist, and slowly he trailed his claw over the memory of the lines. “It was here.”
“It got damaged by the scarring?” Stolas muttered quietly, clearly more of a realisation than an actual question. "What did it say?"
"Yeah, they wrapped me up, and by the time the bandages came off, it was gone,” Blitzø muttered. “It was the first words I ever heard you say. A friend.”
"Oh.” Finally looking up, Blitzø met Stolas’s glassy eyes, and the owl looked away from Blitzø’s wrist too. To him for only a moment, before looking out of the city as he nervously mumbled, “Oh Lucifer, that's actually rather embarrassing. Isn't it?”
"You literally have me flopping in front of a crowd stuck on you."
"It was the first time you made me laugh,” Stolas argued with a smile fond enough to make Blitzø’s chest ache. "So I- I am your soulmate?"
“I guess... I mean, you were, definitely. But I don't really know for sure if the mark’s still there."
"Ah, I suppose you're right,” Stolas mumbled. “For a long time I didn't have a marking. I didn't know if the link had been completely severed. I- I’m glad it wasn’t.”
Blitzø clenched his fist, watching the tendons in his blank wrist shifting, before he let his sleeve fall back into place, covering the pale scar where the words had once been.
“I don’t want it back,” he admitted. “Not if it means the universe or some shit gets to decide again.”
Stolas’s breath hitched. “Blitzø—”
“I don’t want a mark telling me who I’m stuck with,” Blitzø went on, words coming faster now that he’d started. “And I don’t want to lose you just because it’s gone.”
Stolas stilled. His whole body tensed, but eventually he reached out. It was slow, like he was giving Blitzø time to change his mind, and rested his hand over Blitzø’s wrist. Not the place where the words should’ve been. Just him. Warm. Solid.
Blitzø covered his hand without thinking.
“I wanna stay,” Blitzø said, firmer now. The words felt strange in his mouth, but right. “And not because of some deal, or because some bullshit magic tattoo told me to.”
Stolas leaned in until their foreheads touched, breath shaky. “No strings,” he murmured.
“Good,” Blitzø replied. “I’m done owing the universe shit.”
They stayed like that for a while. Head to head, holding gently. For once, Blitzø didn’t feel like the floor was about to drop out from under him.
He’d go back on some of his claims eventually, when he got the words tattooed a few years later, as close as he could remember. But this time he chose them.