Work Text:
Lantern-Nights only happens once a year. It’s a quiet event in Phnom Nonh, and yet it draws travellers from all across the seas. The Inn is always packed, souvenirs fly off the stalls, and the stairs line with people. Eleven has to duck and weave just so that he isn’t trampled, following Erik through the thickness of folk. They find a less cramped spot on the second balcony, near a man who’s packing up his empty stall for the night.
“Never this busy, never this busy! My pockets feel like vaults.” The man jingles his overalls joyously and sweeps away, leaving them alone. Eleven leans against the stone railing, looking down on the square. It’s teeming with people; someone is juggling fire in the corner, and people are already dancing, even in the lightness of the afternoon.
“Never this busy, huh?” Erik joins him at the railing, knocking their hips together. “I can believe that. You ever seen this many people together without someone startin’ a riot?”
There’s a reason, of course, for the huge crowd. Lantern-Nights only happens once a year, and it’s supposed to be a quiet event, but this year, there is one extra-special addition to the usual hubbub.
“Darlings! You made it!” They turn just as Sylv bounds towards them, a dazzling smile in place. Eleven takes a step forward, smiling, just as Erik takes a step back and collides with the railing, emitting some kind of horrified sound.
Sylv skids to a stop and clucks his tongue, affronted. “Oh, that’s so like you, honey. Is that any way to greet your best friend?”
“What are you wearing?” Erik demands, still sounding horrified.
Sylv ignores him, leaning forward to kiss Eleven soundly on each cheek; his lips are tacky with glitter, leaving marks on his skin, but it makes Eleven smile anyway. He’s missed Sylv. It must show in his eyes, because Sylv makes a cooing noise and kisses him again, pinching his other cheek gently.
“I almost forgot how sweet you are!”
“Yeah, yeah, he’s a real treat.” Erik elbows his way forward and bats at Sylv, leaving Eleven to stare bemusedly at the back of his head. “Practically sugar-spun. Seriously, what are you wearing?”
“Well aren’t we the jealous doughnut?” Sylv winks, and then spreads his arms wide and twirls, popping his foot in the air in an effortless display of grace. “Do you like it? I spent weeks with a seamstress - sweet girl, very handy with sequins - and voila, we got it just right. So? Do you like it?”
In Eleven’s humble opinion, the outfit is a walking Solar Flair. It’s gaudy and bright and the only tasteful thing about it is that his nipples aren’t entirely exposed, but it’s so very Sylvando that it still looks good somehow. The yellow feathers around his crotch are a bit much.
Diplomatically, El signs, ‘You look like you’re ready to make everyone smile.’ Then he prods Erik gently in the small of his back, since he’s still being shielded from Sylvando’s grabby hands, to remind him to be kind.
“You look like the sun and a chicken had a baby, and then that baby threw up on you,” Erik says flatly. “It suits you.”
Eleven sighs. Sylvando makes a sort of squawking noise that doesn’t entirely disprove Erik’s point, and then they’re off, bickering like it hasn’t been months since they’ve seen each other.
It’s been months since any of them have seen each other. Months since the world started getting back on track, since Erdrea folded in on itself and then unfolded gingerly, leaving creases in the land. The World Tree stands tall in the sky, and the Watchers peer down from the Heavens.
Eleven’s spent the last two months in Octagonia. It’s not too far from Dundrasil, and they’ve been able to drum up some steady support from the old fighters, and people staggering out of the casino, looking to earn a few coins. Rebuilding is hard, but with Vince shifting the debris and Jade spear-heading things in Heliodor, and Rab’s unfailing wisdom, the relief efforts are in full swing. It will be a while before Dundrasil is back on its feet, but Eleven thinks there might be a chance, by then, that he’ll be ready to stand with it.
“Hey, lay off!” Erik shouts, breaking Eleven from his thoughts. He glances over with a jerk, and can’t help but stifle a grin. Sylv has Erik in a head-lock, brushing through his messy blue hair with vigour.
A loud clamour from the crowd below makes Sylv gasp, and he lets go of Erik in a hurry, slapping a hand over his own mouth. “Oh my! I do believe the crowd is calling for me! Wouldn’t do to miss my cue now, would it? You two boys have fun, and play nice with each other.”
‘Good luck,’ Eleven signs, before waving big and enthusiastically, exactly how Jade taught him not to wave.
Sylv makes another little cooing noise, and dances forward to land a big, wet kiss on his cheek again.
“Enough with the kissing!”
Sylv disappears into the crowd with a high, dazzling laugh, but Eleven doesn’t watch him. He watches Erik instead; Erik, who is doing his best to appear casual, but whose scowl is far too deep and real to be dismissed.
‘It’s just S-Y-L-V,’ Eleven signs.
“I know that. Don't see why he has to be so chummy all the time.”
Eleven beckons him over. Erik slides easily into place at his side, head cocked when Eleven turns to look down at him. His gaze is almost wary, but curious, broken up by strands of hair that have fallen out of its careful up-do. Eleven reaches out and pushes the tips of his fingers through Erik’s fringe, gliding along his scalp, and then down to rest at the junction of his jaw. Erik’s hair is soft despite the tangles; his cheeks are flushed, his scowl gone.
“He messed it up, huh,” Erik says, after a few tries at clearing his throat. “Bastard.”
Eleven tucks another piece of hair behind Erik’s ear. It’s nowhere near as long as Eleven’s, and it’s twice as thick and fluffy, but it still yields to his hands. Then he taps his thumb twice against Erik’s jaw, a lingering touch, just to see Erik’s mouth part, and withdraws.
‘You missed him,’ Eleven signs fondly.
“Maybe. But that’s between me and you.”
‘The way I like it.’
“Fuck.” Erik drags a hand down his face, a small noise escaping his throat. “You’re doing this on purpose now.”
Eleven tries not to laugh at him, but it’s very difficult.
* * *
The thing is, their relationship is new. New enough that it would surprise anyone who’s known them for more than a week. They’ve always been together, in a sense, because from the very minute Eleven might Erik in the dungeon and accidentally irritated him into starting a friendship, they’ve barely left each others sides. Glued at the hip, as Serena puts it. And also by the hands and wrists and ankles and intense soulful gazes and really, boys, glued at the mouths wouldn’t be such a big difference, would it?
Eleven has learned not to ask Serena for advice anymore. She is a hopeless romantic, and ruthlessly pragmatic. The two shouldn’t mix.
But the truth is, it really doesn’t make much of a difference. Eleven is most comfortable when he’s with Erik, so he never bothered to keep himself in check when they weren’t together. He didn't stop himself from reaching out the way that Erik sometimes did. He would take his hand and smile, and Erik would stop looking so out of place in his own skin, and that was worth any uncertainty about where they stood.
“So when did this happen, then?” Veronica says, eyeing them both shrewdly. She has a giant flagon of ale on the table in front of her, and a somewhat unnerving light in her eyes. “You too finally getting your act together, I mean.”
From where he’s leaning against Eleven’s shoulder, trying hard to make it look like a natural, friendly pose, Erik grunts.
“I don't know what you’re talking about.”
“Oh, please. You only have to look at your gooey expressions to know that something’s changed between you. Not that you weren’t gooey before, but now it’s even more obvious.”
“This child is drinking alcohol,” Erik announces, at a slightly louder-than-normal volume.
Veronica hisses, and kicks out under the table. Her very short legs make contact with Eleven’s knee, knocking the breath out of him for a moment. His eyes water, and when he can see again, he sees that Erik and Veronica are both snickering into their hands.
‘No respect,’ Eleven signs, reaching down to rub his knee.
“It’s not my fault you’re so tall,” Veronica says. “Tree legs.”
Erik snorts, slipping sideways off Eleven’s shoulder, and then rights himself.
“Sorry, Honoured Luminary.” Erik tips back slightly in the chair, looking rather smug. “Won’t happen again.”
Eleven tugs chidingly on a lock of Erik’s hair, and Erik’s eyes widen a fraction. He goes silent immediately, blushing to the roots of his hair.
Veronica drags her flagon towards her and says, emphatically, and with enough feeling to fill a pie: “Ugh.”
*
The parade begins at nightfall. A great cheer erupts from the square outside, just as Eleven is polishing off his second drink. They came inside to escape the sudden chill and the hordes of people, but it would be remiss to stay inside now, no matter how warm and sleep he feels. Erik tugs on his sleeve until he rises, and Veronica scrambles down from her chair, barely tipsy despite her stature, and bursts through the Inn doors.
“People of Phnom Nonh!” Sylvando calls, his voice echoing across the square. “Lovely travellers, and gracious guests - and you there with the pretty eyes…” He pauses to wink, much to Erik’s scoffed disgust. “It is my utmost pleasure to lead your delightful selves on a little adventure. Keep your hands and arms inside the parade at all times, don your sparkliest party gear, and keep a tight grip on those little lanterns of yours.” Sylv leaps up onto the float, a startlingly bright contraption made to look like a shooting star, with golden feathers and streamers bursting from the end. “I want to see all of you dancing!”
In a flurry of bells and whistles, and a burst of joyful music, the parade leads the way out of Phnom Nonh. Eleven winces at the noise, but he can’t stop smiling anyway. Everywhere Sylv goes, there’s energy and laughter. He feels someone catch his hand, and suspects it’s Erik until he glances down and finds Veronica staring up at him. He blinks.
“He said you should wait here,” Veronica shouts, tugging on his hand insistently. “I’m going to follow the parade, and see if I can find Rab while I’m at it! He borrowed my spellbook, and I need to threaten him!”
‘Wait here?’ Eleven signs, glancing at the people streaming by, but if Veronica sees it through the crowd, she doesn’t see fit to respond. She lets go instead and grins, ducking under a woman’s arm.
“Come and find us when you come up for air!” Veronica shouts, and then she disappears, no doubt finding his flushed, harried expression hilarious.
The blush recedes as people drain out of the square. He can see faint lights in a few windows, but almost everyone else is following Sylvando and his Soldiers of Smile through the Champs Sauvage, monsters repelled by the blessings of Yggdrasil for one, light-filled night. It’s just him in the square. When it gets cold enough, he rubs his hands together to stir up some warmth, and then heads for the nearest set of steps. He sits on his cloak and huffs, tipping his head back to watch the sky grow darker.
It’s not quite how he imagined the night going when Erik suggested it.
Minutes later, someone taps his shoulder. “Hey.”
Eleven whirls around, reaching immediately for his sword, but it isn’t there. He left it in the Inn with all their stuff, which is why it’s a good thing that it’s Erik standing there, holding his hands up with an easy smile. It’s probably terrible that he didn't hear him coming, but Eleven is too busy sighing and frowning to pay it much mind. Sneak-thieves will always be light on their feet, and that’s something he normally finds attractive. Just not when he’s cold and cranky.
“Mind who you’re trying to stab. Last I checked, we were on pretty good terms.”
‘You left,’ El signs flatly. “I got bored.’
“Did I miss anything good?”
‘M-O-N-Y is my partner now.’
Erik smirks, dropping down until they’re on the same step. “Ouch. That one was a little harsh, wasn’t it?”
‘We’re running away together. Thinking of an Island Union.’
Erik chuckles, stepping into his space to press a kiss to his mouth. Light, coaxing. Like he’s in a playful mood. Eleven finds himself curious despite himself, tipping his head to the side and welcoming another kiss. This one is deeper, hotter, but not longer. Erik draws away after a tantalising few seconds, and chuckles again, a little more breathlessly this time.
“Okay, I’m stopping this before we get carried away. I actually had a romantic, spontaneous plan for tonight, y’know? To stop you from getting bored of me and marrying some bossy Innkeeper.”
Eleven furrows his brow. ‘A plan?’
Erik takes his hand, and Eleven can feel the nervousness running through him, the excitement and apprehension mixed together. It sparks a flame in his stomach. He rubs his thumb distractedly against Erik’s knuckles, waiting for some kind of signal.
“A plan. You’re gonna like it, trust me.”
Eleven doesn’t need words to tell Erik that he always trusts him. He just squeezes his hand, holds on until Erik clears his throat, glancing away like it’s too much to face head-on. Even though they glued at the hip, hands, and mouth.
“Right. Me too. C’mon.”
* * *
“You’re not allowed to laugh,” is what Erik tells him when he leads Eleven up onto the roof. But Eleven can’t see why he would ever laugh at this.
The building is the highest in Phnom Nonh. They have to climb the railings and cling to the overhanging shingles to make it up, but that just makes it more fun. On top of the roof, there are… candles. Candles in little glass jars, flickering gently in the breeze, each one encased in a protective sheen of green magic. There’s a blanket spread out on the flat part of the roof, boasts several platters of delicate, fancy food. There are cakes from Gondolia, little mounds of pink and yellow sugar, and crusty rolls of bread filled with sweet meats.
“Like I said, you’re not allowed to laugh, but I get it, if you want to.” Erik breaks away from their clasped hands to rub his palm over his neck, elbow pointed at the sky. He looks sheepish and unsure. “It’s too much, right?”
Eleven spies a thin vase filled with flowers amongst a pile of cushions. Pale flowers, like the kind that grew in Cobblestone, and only started to grow again last month.
It might be the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for him.
“Even if you don't like the whole blanket thing, you can still eat the cake.” Erik shrugs, like it won’t matter if he does that, like he didn't put time and effort and thought into this. But it’s clear to anyone that knows him that he’s shaky, hopeful, vulnerable - and if there’s one thing that Eleven knows, it’s Erik.
‘You have to make the plans from now on,’ Eleven signs, exceedingly careful with each word, each stroke of his hands. ‘I’m trusting you with every single plan.’
“What?” Erik says, taken aback, just as Eleven places both hands on his face and draws him into a kiss.
He can’t think of the right words for this, but he feels Erik’s eyelashes flutter shut against his cheekbone, the tip of his thumb. They share a shaky sigh. He holds on very gently and kisses Erik as deeply as he knows how, trying to pour everything into the kiss.
When they draw back, they both blink. Overwhelmed.
Then Erik grins slowly, so slowly that it turns into a smirk halfway, and raises an eyebrow. “So I did good?”
Eleven shoves him.
“Hey! We’re still on a roof, you know!”
When Erik has finished dramatically pretend to wobble off the edge, Eleven drags him by the wrist over to the blankets. There’s some sort of stasis spell over the area; the minute he steps through, a wave of blissful warmth washes over him, wiping away the slight chill. The plates are still steaming gently. Eleven drops down happily and crosses his legs, plucking a dumpling from a bowl and popping it in his mouth.
“Oh, don't wait for me. It’s not like I slaved away, getting other people to make this for us. Just let me know if it’s any good, and I’ll lick the plate afterwards.”
Eleven throws him a thumbs-up, cheeks puffed out.
Erik snorts and shakes his head, dropping down to sit beside him. He ends up sprawled along the blanket, one knee propped up while he steals bits of food from where it’s speared on his cutlery.
“Thief,” Erik reminds him, chewing victoriously on a bite of cake. “You’ll have to be quicker than that to get away from me.”
Eleven stabs him in the thigh with a chopstick, then tucks it behind his ear to sign, ‘Quick enough for you?’
“Fine, point for you. We’ll make a pick-pocket out of you one day, your Royal Highness. Here, try the little gold ones. Jade almost killed me to get her hands on one.”
It isn’t until Eleven is sated and full, lying on his back with Erik’s arm tucked behind his head, that he realises this was a date. A date. And it’s not like they haven’t been together, because they have, but they haven’t really been date-ing. Erik came back from his trip around the world with Mia, and fit perfectly back into Eleven’s life like he never left. And he hadn’t, not really; sure, he had been halfway across the sea while Eleven was making bewildered amendments to scrolls in a library, but he had sent letters. And little trinkets. And it didn't really matter how far away he went, because there was an anchor of certainty buried in the seabed of Eleven’s heart that Erik would always come back.
‘This is a date,’ Eleven signs, slowly, the movements rather cramped in his position. He breaks away from Erik, earning a soft “Huh?” and sits up with a rustle of clothes and blankets. He meets Erik’s confused gaze.
‘This is a date,’ Eleven signs again.
“Uh,” Erik says. “Yeah.”
A beat, and then, “Wait, did you not know that?”
Eleven squeaks slightly, waving his hands around as though the words are irritating flies. It’s not that he didn't know on some level, and obviously it was a thing they were doing together as a couple, but he forgot to assign the word ‘date’ to it. He explains it to Erik in a fumbling way, scowling, and only stops scowling when Erik starts laughing.
A distant burst of noise disrupts their cosy quiet. The sky is dark by now, their little rooftop bubble lit by candles, and the first stars bedeck the swathe of deep blue. Not too far away, the Salty Stallion is docked in a nook of the Champs Sauvage, and not far from that, a crowd is gathering near the open water.
Erik clears his throat. Distracted, Eleven drags his gaze away from the ship’s shimmering waves, and finds two lanterns held out towards him.
“I told you I had a plan,” Erik tells him, sounding unsure again. “We haven’t really spent a lot of time together since I came back. Since we got together. Not a lot of time alone, anyway. You’ve been in your head since you started rebuilding Dundrasil, and I wanted to… do something. Make you come back down to earth.” Erik blows out a breath, frustrated, and Eleven leans into him. “I’m not saying any of this right, but yeah. Want to light a lantern with me?”
Eleven reaches for the lantern closest to him. It’s a pale blue, paper-thin lantern, woven with threads of gold. The gold threads form the shapes of petals. It feels like glass in his hands, unbearably light glass.
Eleven places the lantern gently on the blanket, and looks carefully at Erik. His face is blank, the way it always is when he’s nervous.
‘Do you know why they light the lanterns?’ Eleven signs.
Erik tips his head, waiting.
‘Once, there was a type of flower that only bloomed underwater. It would grow on the shore as a weed, and only opened into a flower once the water covered it from root to top. One flower, by the name of Maiden, grew too close to the rocks. The ocean would sweep up over the shore and never quite reach her. Other flowers would be swept away and sink beneath the water. But this one was too far away.’
‘The only one to hear the flower’s cry for help was the moon. She had watched the Maiden’s struggle for nights on end, and eventually she reached out. Her light touched the flower, and eased the Maiden’s pain. She kept her company on long nights. Every day, the Maiden began to look forward to the sky growing dark.’
“The flower fell in love with the moon?” Erik asks. But his voice isn’t dubious or amused; he sounds sort of hushed.
Eleven nods. ‘But the moon could see that the flower was still unhappy. Even though it hurt, she pulled the tides in closer and closer, until the very last night. The flower wept as she was pulled towards the sea, but she did not fight it. She wanted to bloom, and the moon wanted her to be who she was meant to be.’
Erik edges forward on the blanket, holding his lantern close to his chest. “And what happened?”
‘The flower sank beneath the waves, where it was dark and the moon’s light could not reach her. And there she bloomed, and her petals made the shape of a star, and she found herself suddenly not sinking, but rising. She rose up and up, her petals soaring through the air, and she joined the other flowers in the sky. The next night, when the moon rose up, she found a star where there had not been one the night before, and her smile lit up the sky.’
The distant noise from the crowd fades as the first sparks of light flicker to life. Eleven glances up at the sky full of darkness and stars, soon to be joined by hundreds of lanterns. Then he looks at Erik, who is watching him with something akin to wonder.
‘If you’re wondering how I knew all that, it’s because I read,’ Eleven signs, mouth twitching. ‘You could try it one day.’
Erik lets out a startled laugh, nudging him away. “Very funny.”
‘Seriously. I could teach you, if you like.’
“I was going to say something very romantic and loving, then, but you’ve ruined the mood. Now I’m just going to call you a sappy bastard.”
Loving. The word catches in Eleven’s mind like wool snagged on a splinter of wood. ‘I would like to light a lantern with you, Erik.’
He has a sign for Erik's name now. Close to his heart.
“Good, because these cost me a pretty penny.” Erik clears his throat, pulling a box of matches from inside his shirt. “You never actually told me why they light the lanterns.”
Eleven blinks, surprised. But he hadn’t, he realises, and it was important that he did. He waits as Erik strikes a match, watching him with a raised eyebrow, and then signs, ‘If you send a lantern full of light into the sky, you and your loved one will be together even in darkness.’
Erik’s fingers grow still on the match. The flame flickers, and Erik catches his gaze, shadows dancing across his face. Eleven can’t help but love him, right then.
“You still want to do this?” Erik asks. “I snore, according to you, and I’ll be a terrible ruler. I’ll steal from your treasury.”
‘We don't have a treasury,’ Eleven signs. ‘Light it, before you burn your hands.’
Erik kisses him over the burning match. It’s all very lovely, and Eleven sinks into it, until Erik jerks back, yelping and swearing and clutching his singed chin.
The night sky is filled with light. The paper turns to moonlight, and the gold thread turns to the heat of the stars, and the steady stream of lanterns becomes a silver glow that drowns out the darkness.
High above the quiet streets, two lanterns drift apart from the crowd, but never far from each other.