Archive of Our Own

"Fuckin' fuck." Fizz groaned as Blitz guided him back to Chaz's car, limping on a busted leg. Blitz wasn't much better. He'd been grazed by a bullet, which wasn't terrible, all things considered, but now that the adrenaline was wearing off, it was starting to fucking hurt.

"Don't s'pose you managed to grab our phones during the escape?" Blitz asked, helping Fizz into the seat.

Fizz glared at him. "They were in that mafia boss's office, dumbass. We're never seeing those again." His brows dropped as Blitz swung around to the driver's seat, looking into the middle distance. "I hope Oz hasn't done anything stupid."

Blitz glanced once at him, glad the engine was still running. He'd seen how Fizz had talked about Asmodeus. All bets were off on Asmodeus not doing anything stupid. At least for Fizz's sake, Blitz hoped Asmodeus's feelings ran as deeply as Fizz's did.

Fizz leaned back as Blitz tore out of the junkyard. "I just wish I could let him know I'm alright."

"Yeah." Blitz drove the car through a shoddy fence, ignoring the aching in his leg and--everywhere else, too, honestly. "What were you doing in Greed without the rooster anyway?"

Fizz groaned. "I had rehearsal for the pageant."

"For the--you're still doing that thing?" Blitz looked at him askance. "Bitch, you've won that every fucking year--"

Fizz's brows were plunging, and fuck, Blitz wasn't going to start another fight.

"Whatever," Blitz cut himself off, shaking his head. "But why alone?"

Fizz groaned again, sinking further into the seat. "I thought it'd be fine!" he exclaimed. "I didn't... I mean, I thought maybe I'd have to deal with some fans--" Blitz cringed. "--but I guess I forgot that being connected to Ozzie and Mammon is..." He exhaled.

"Dangerous."

"Yeah."

Blitz was glad he had driving as an excuse not to look at Fizz. He sped toward the Elevator. His mind kept replaying that moment where Striker had held Fizz at gunpoint, and his mind kept replacing Fizz with--

"So," Fizz said. "What were you doing in Greed?"

Blitz's fingers tightened on the wheel. "Getting coffee."

"Don't you have a job?" Fizz crossed his arms. "In Pride?"

"I--yeah, how did you--"

Fizz scoffed lightly, but when Blitz glanced at him, he was looking away. "No reason!" Fizz exclaimed.

Probably the same no-reason that Blitz knew Fizz had won Mammon's pageant for the last ten years straight. Blitz wondered if Fizz had seen the I.M.P. ad or if he'd gone looking. Maybe after Ozzie's. Fuck, Ozzie's. What a shit night.

Blitz narrowed his eyes. But this was so new--them not being at each other's throats, and fuck, it was Fizz--

"I gave myself the day off," Blitz said, trying to bridge the gap he knew his defensiveness had widened. Deflect, deflect-- "M&M--my employees, the ones you, uh, met--I let them and my daughter handle the office for the day."

That got Fizz's attention. "You have a daughter?" he asked, and shit, if wind wasn't roaring around the shattered windows, Blitz would have sworn he heard a tremor in Fizz's voice.

"I--uh, yeah. Adopted her when she was seventeen. She's a Hellhound." Blitz smiled. "She's perfect."

"I'm--that's great, Blitz." Fizz's voice cracked, and when Blitz looked over, he was staring at him with something that looked a lot like heartbreak.

"Oh--why are you--fuck--"

"I'm fine!" Fizz said. "I just--fuck, it's just hitting me." His voice wobbled. "It's been so fucking long."

Blitz's shoulders drooped. "Yeah," he agreed. "It has." They really had only seen each other twice in fifteen years, both times in the last few months. Not that Fizz needed to know that the damn roboclown had tormented Blitz through his job at Loo Loo Land. Or that Blitz had burned down another fucking circus and blown up another fucking Fizz.

"I missed you, asshole."

Fuck. Blitz swallowed hard, blinking hard. "Missed you too, jester."

Fizz sighed dramatically. "Who wouldn't?" he exclaimed, throwing a hand over his chest. "I'm a fucking delight."

Blitz's lips twitched. "Keep telling yourself that."

"Asshat--"

Blitz laughed loudly, veering toward the Elevator.

The car's sad engine was sputtering by the time Blitz peeled away from it in Lust, the gas indicator wavering sadly over empty. The pink-tinted sky loomed above them, but Asmodeus's tower was looming, too, growing closer. The car sputtered out of gas just as it rolled to a stop in front of the Tower gates. The guards of the tower stared, mouths open, as Blitz limped out of the car and circled around, offering an arm to help Fizz to his feet.

"Fizzarolli?" one of the guards asked, hand on his gun. He was addressing Fizz, but his eyes were on Blitz. "Who is this--"

"Hey, hey, relax!" Fizz leaned heavily against Blitz, an arm around his shoulder. "This is my, uh--" He glanced at Blitz once, brow furrowed. "My friend. Blitz."

"The O is silent," Blitz said, because he wasn't sure he could cope with acknowledging that Fizz had called him his friend.

The guard frowned. "What O--"

"Look," Fizzarolli interrupted, waving a hand. "Can you just, uh, take care of this car? Thanks, Roger." He turned his head to look at Blitz, all of that exhaustion he'd let slip through in the car tucked behind a perfect performer's mask. It had strengthened in the years apart, but Blitz could still see through it. "Can you help me walk up? Ozzie can fix my prosthetics, but--"

Blitz frowned. "Don't you have other people who can help you?" He glanced up at that glowing tower. He wasn't meant to be here, not really. He was a fuck-up, an assassin, a low-life, a stain on Fizz's side. He might not have ruined him, but it was Blitz's fault he'd gotten so hurt, Blitz's fault--

Blitz went to slide away, but Fizz's hands grabbed at his coat, his eyes wide. Blitz froze. "What?" he asked.

Fizz stared at him. Blitz was acutely aware of robotic fingers gripped tightly into the torn fabric of his sleeves. "Look, you don't have a car, you're injured, Ozzie can open a portal for you, just--just come inside, okay?"

"I'll be fine, Fizz--" He had to remember what he was; there was no room for him here, not in Fizz's new life.

"I just--" Fizz grabbed Blitz's shoulders, staring at him hard. "I don't--you're not gonna vanish for another fifteen years, are you?"

Blitz froze. "Fizz," he croaked, because what the fuck? What was he supposed to say to that?

"Come on, please?" Fizz pouted at him, pulling out those stupid fucking puppy eyes that had always worked on Blitz, and if Asmodeus knew what was good for him, probably worked on him, too. Blitz and Barbie used to joke about how Fizz's puppy eyes could get him anything, and shit, if that wasn't still true fifteen years later.

"Fuck." Blitz scowled, putting his arm around Fizz's waist again. "Fine, but your big chicken is making me a portal straight into my fucking apartment. I'm tired as shit."

"Deal!" Fizz grinned as the gates opened, the two of them hobbling along into the Tower. The place was busy, even at night, crawling with succubi. "'Sides, if you think you're getting to leave without my number, you're dumber than I fucking remember."

Blitz couldn't help the quiet laugh. "Okay, Fizz." Fizz had Blitz wrapped around his finger from the day the jester had stumbled into the circus when they were barely old enough to walk, and apparently, fifteen years of resentment wasn't enough to change that.

"Where's Ozzie?" Fizz asked a passing succubus.

The succubus startled at the sight of them. "I--He's in his office, sir." His eyes flicked over Blitz, frowning. Shitstain, Blitz thought. It wasn't directed at the succubus. You don't belong here, Blitzo. The voice sounded a lot like his father's. It usually did. Him, or Barbie, or Verosika, or Fizz--

"Thanks!" Fizz exclaimed, pulling Blitz toward the elevator.

"Not a lot of imps here," Blitz said quietly as they waited for the elevator.

"It's Lust, what do you expect?" Fizz rubbed his face with his free hand, yawning. "It's weird, I know. Not like Greed or Pride or Wrath. Imps are a dime a dozen there."

"Have you even been to Wrath since the circus was there last?"

Fizz wrinkled his face. "I stay in Lust and Greed. And I only go to Greed when Mammon needs me."

Fucking Mammon. Blitz had shit he'd like to say to that Christmas tree-looking daddy-fucker. Maybe Striker was a supremacist dick on a stick, but Mammon was one royal asshole that Striker was fully correct about.

But thinking about Striker meant thinking about the fact that Blitz had let Striker get away. Again. After he'd sworn he'd track that fucking cowboy down, make sure he couldn't hurt Stolas again, and instead Fizz had almost gotten hurt, or worse--

"Blitz?"

"Hm?" Blitz blinked to see the elevator standing open, cussed under his breath, and pulled Fizz in. Fizz extended his mostly-working arm to press the button--not the top floor, but the second to the top. And because it was easier than thinking about the cowboy or the Prince or the look on Fizz's face when Striker had dragged him away with that rope or Why is it always a sex thing? (because there was a lot to unpack there and Blitz was afraid of looking too closely at it), he asked, "What's at the top?"

Fizz grinned. "Our penthouse. I mean." Fizz's eyes widened. "Ozzie's penthouse, but we're partners--business partners--"

Blitz raised a brow, lips tugging despite himself. "You're not fooling me, jester."

Fizz scowled at him as the elevator whirred around him. "Yeah, well, you weren't fooling me with your bullshit earlier--"

Blitz scowled. "It wasn't bullshit--"

Fizz pursed his lips. "Which is how you know exactly what I'm fucking talking about."

Blitz snarled at him, Fizz hissed back, and the doors opened.

Asmodeus's office was fucking massive. On the right side of the room, pillars with the vague, slutty shapes of Hellborn lined the wall. On the left, past blue candles burning with Lust's blue fire, were two high-backed chairs and a dim fireplace. A coffee table was decorated with an abandoned tea set left beside a mostly empty bowl of candy. A massive, drawn curtain swept across the room, splitting off a more private area, emphasizing how fucking tall the ceiling was. It made Blitz feel even smaller than Stolas's big-ass palace. He was so distracted by the scale that Blitz let Fizz guide them toward the curtain. There was a familiar deep voice, almost yelling, blue and pink flame surging around them--

Fizz pushed out of Blitz's hold and slipped through the curtain, and the growl cut off into a squeal. "Fizzie!"

"Ozzie!" Fizz's voice croaked with tears.

Blitz leaned against the wall, grinning, holding his arm against his bruised ribs. He could just see Fizz and Asmodeus through the crack in the curtains, canoodling or some shit. Fuck, he was beat to shit. All he could smell for a few long moments was blood and smoke that clung to his clothes, then the faintest hint of lavender. It was practically a Pavlovian response, the way Blitz's muscles loosened.

Wait, lavender--?

The curtains fluttered open, and Blitz felt like he'd been shot directly in the chest, because standing there, frozen, beak open, was Stolas, gripping his stupid top hat and all four eyes wide and trained on Blitz.

"Stolas?" Blitz's ears were ringing.

"I--Blitz?"

Owl and imp stared at each other for a comically long moment before Stolas's stupid fucking owl eyes narrowed in on the way Blitz was leaning on one leg, on the arm he had wrapped around his ribs. Blitz watched him process it, watched the way his pupils appeared in his lower two eyes. Stolas inhaled sharply.

"Oh my Lucifer, you're injured, fuck--" Stolas swept in, kneeling before Blitz, hands on his shoulders, and shit--

Blitz hadn't seen him since he'd glimpsed those fucking tailfeathers--

Fuck--

"What happened?" Stolas asked, his hands cupping Blitz's shoulders. "Why are you--" His head turned, as if tracking where Fizz had come from, then his gaze snapped back to Blitz, those white pupils in his eyes giving away every thought on that pretty, heart-shaped face. "What--"

Blitz grabbed at one of Stolas's hands. "I'm--I'm fine, Stols," Blitz said, suddenly too dizzy to really begin processing what was happening. "What--what are you doing here?"

Stolas's eyes widened impossibly further. "Oh, you know, my, er--princely duties." They both ignored the scream from behind the curtain, or the following noises of fright from a demon that Blitz could only assume deserved it. "It's not important. What--why are you injured? Did you rescue Fizzarolli?"

"I--uh--kinda?"

Asmodeus and Fizzarolli emerged from the curtain, rescuing Blitz from having to give a shitty explanation of why Blitz had rescued Fizz and not Stolas, of why he'd failed again, why Striker was still on the loose. Asmodeus's eyes widened. "Blitzo? Froggie, what is he doing here?"

Fizzarolli laughed, cradled in Asmodeus's arms. "Guess he wasn't in the ransom video, huh?"

"The--" Stolas's fingers tightened around Blitz's. "Striker kidnapped you?" And then Stolas was staring hard at Blitz's face, gaze searching.

Blitz stared at Fizz, wide-eyed. The ringing in his ears was getting louder. Fizzarolli's grin turned smug, even as he patted a very confused Asmodeus's cheek. "Yeah. Best time for a heart-to-heart is while you're getting shot at, didn't you know?"

Asmodeus's flames burned brighter. "Shot at--"

Oh, Blitz had so completely lost the thread.

"Anyway," Fizzarolli continued, "turns out that he didn't actually mean to blow me up, and the reason he never visited me in the hospital after the fire was--"

Blitz was going to be sick. He was vaguely aware that his hands were shaking, and that Stolas was probably looking at him, and--fuck--

"--his dickbag of a father told him I didn't want to see him, which I totally did, and then never told me that Blitz tried to visit me. And then Cash fucking Buckzo convinced us all that Blitz blew the circus up on purpose."

He could not look at Stolas. If he looked at Stolas, he was going to do something stupid, like cry, or maybe throw up, or run away, or shout, or--

"Okay," Asmodeus said slowly, staring down at Blitz. "So, you--"

"He rescued me, Ozzie!" Fizz exclaimed. "Oh, well, both of us, I guess. It was some action hero bullshit, I don't know. We got into it on the street in Greed, and some cowboy fuckface nabbed both of us, so it's not like he had any choice." A robotic arm whirred past them, returning to Fizz's lap with a Post-it note and a Sharpie. "Anyway," Fizz sang, writing on the post-it note, then slapping it to Blitz's chest. Blitz grunted, and Stolas's grip on him tightened again. If Blitz had been looking, he would have seen the prince glare at the clown, who was resolutely ignoring him. "You better text me when you get a new phone, asshole." He winked at Blitz. "And since your princie is here, I guess Ozzie doesn't need to open a portal for you."

Asmodeus sighed heavily, glancing at Stolas. There was something in his expression, in the way his two other faces frowned, that made Blitz think that there was an apology in that expression, or maybe a promise. "Okay, Froggie, let's go get you patched up." He stepped around Blitz and Stolas. "You can see yourselves out," Asmodeus called behind him, and then they were gone.

Blitz just stared at where they had gone, shaking, fucking nauseous--

"Blitz," Stolas said softly, and Blitz startled, pulling away, but Stolas's grip was too tight--

"Stolas, I--I can't tonight--I--"

"Oh, darling, no--I-I just want to make sure you're alright," Stolas exclaimed. "I--just allow me to tend to your wounds, then I will make you a portal home, alright? It's--it's not a full moon, I'm not--"

Blitz's ears were still ringing. He had the faint sense that his lungs weren't working properly, a lot like they hadn't worked properly when he had opened the van two weeks ago, when he'd seen all the fucking feathers and blood. "But--"

Stolas released Blitz's hand to cup his face, turning his head, and Blitz had to fucking look at the owl, at the pupils in his eyes. Why Stolas was worried, Blitz didn't fucking know, he was a piece of shit--

"Please, Blitz, this isn't about--about sex, or the deal, or any of that," Stolas pleaded. "Just let me take care of your wounds, and you may leave. I--let me do this for you?" His eyes were wide, pleading, and fuck, Stolas could give Fizz a run for his money on the puppy eyes. Or maybe Blitz was just a pushover.

"Fine," Blitz rasped, his free hand coming up to press against the post-it note Fizz had smacked onto him. He knew Stolas would worry himself all night if he said no, and he wasn't going to hurt the bird more than he already had. Not on purpose. Not now. Not after failing again. Again, again, again, a dozen different voices reminded him.

"Oh, wonderful." Stolas exhaled and picked Blitz up as if he weighed nothing, opening a portal and stepping through it. Blitz's eyes widened. He grabbed onto Stolas's dumbass cape as they entered a familiar bathroom. Stolas set him on the counter immediately and disappeared into the bedroom. He returned without the cape or the hat and went straight for the first aid kit Blitz knew he kept under the sink. Blitz's stomach dropped when he saw the bandage still wrapped around Stolas's shoulder, peeking out from under his romper. "What happened?" Stolas asked as he straightened, glancing over Blitz.

"I, um." Blitz swallowed hard, tearing his gaze away from that bandage. "Like Fizz said. Was getting shitty coffee, got thrown out of the cafe because it tasted like piss and I had to fucking open my mouth about it, Fizz happened to be outside and I got into it with him. Then Striker lassoed us up three stories, Crimson made a ransom video for the rooster, and I broke us out."

Stolas cringed at the word lasso. "Crimson--was that the imp in the video?"

"Probably." Blitz felt a little numb as Stolas carefully unbuttoned his coat, setting the post-it note on the counter.

"If they were keeping Fizzarolli for ransom, what were they planning on doing with you?" Stolas asked.

Blitz blinked a few times. "Dunno," he said. "Probably were gonna use me to get to Moxxie."

Stolas paused, blinking at him. At least the pupils were gone now, though the way he tilted his head was adorable and reminded Blitz of their first few full moons. That adorable intense curiosity had been part of why "real fast" hadn't been quite as fast as he'd planned.

"Ah, yeah--" Blitz looked away. "Crimson is Moxxie's dad." He snorted softly as Stolas folded the coat. "Moxxie the mafioso. Shoulda seen my face when I found that out."

"That is... rather surprising."

"Yeah." But thinking about Crimson and Moxxie meant thinking about Chaz, and Blitz really had no business feeling guilty about fucking a sleazy loanshark for information when all Blitz and Stolas's relationship was--had ever been and ever would be--was a deal, so he tried to shift gears. "Anyway," Blitz said, removing the skull charm before Stolas could. He set it on the counter with the post-it. "I was waiting for the warehouse to be quiet so I could get us out of there, which is why it took so long, because I wasn't gonna try shit while tied up with Striker right there. So I had to wait until he was gone."

"Mhm." Stolas peeled the sweat-soaked turtleneck off of Blitz, inhaling sharply at the dark bruises peppering his chest. Blitz stared into the middle distance.

"We stole a car, so I drove him back, and... yeah." Blitz exhaled sharply, then hissed through his teeth when Stolas's hand brushed his leg.

Stolas pulled back. "Darling, can I remove your pants?"

Blitz tried not to flush. "Don't get any ideas," he warned, and Stolas exhaled. He looked a little disappointed, which Blitz tried not to think too hard about.

"Of course not."

Blitz nodded. He tried not to let it get to him when Stolas unfastened his belt with nimble fingers and lifted him with one hand to tug the pants down.

"Oh, my Lucifer," Stolas swore at the blood-stained leg. "Blitz, you should have said something--"

"I've had worse," Blitz mumbled. "I'll be fine."

Stolas glared at him. Blitz rolled his eyes and looked away as Stolas knelt on the tile with an alcohol wipe in hand.

"What were you doing in Greed anyway?" Stolas asked.

Fuck. Blitz stiffened. "Getting coffee," he said.

Stolas frowned and looked up at him, and shit, if the sight of a prince kneeling between Blitz's knees wasn't fucking glorious--

"You mentioned," Stolas said slowly. "But in Greed?" His head tilted again. "I thought your favorite coffee place was across the street from your office?"

"I mean, yeah, I--" Blitz paused, blinking hard. "You remember that?"

Stolas flushed and looked back at Blitz's leg. "I do listen to you when you talk, darling."

Blitz tried to summon the words to respond to that.

"Why did you need coffee in Greed specifically?" Stolas asked, discarding a black-stained wipe to get another. Apparently, Blitz had bled more than he'd realized. "It's terribly unlucky that Striker happened to be..." Stolas paused, hand hovering mid-air. "Right there," he said after a long moment, staring at Blitz's leg.

"Yeah. Unlucky." Blitz swallowed hard, willing Stolas to keep moving, to stop staring at the wound like he'd just realized something that wasn't fucking true (it was, it was, it was). "Just my shitty luck he'd be in the building right next to a piss-poor coffee shop, huh?" He laughed a little uneasily. "Blitz's bad fucking luck strikes again." Okay, he needed to tone it down. He was overcompensating.

"Blitz..." Stolas's hand was tight around his calf. He looked up at Blitz, and his pupils were visible again. "What were you doing in Greed, really?"

Fuck the bird and his romantic fucking mind. He was too smart, too optimistic for his own good. "Don't," Blitz said, heart pounding. "Stolas, don't--that's not--" I'm not the hero you want me to be.

"Why were you in Greed?" Stolas asked again, voice wavering.

Blitz's mouth opened and closed. "Fuck," he coughed, looking away. "Getting shitty fucking coffee." He should be lying, saying he was meeting a client, stalking Fizz, something, but he'd already cried twice today, and he was exhausted, and everything hurt, and Stolas was here, kneeling in front of him, eyes wide, and damn it, there was a part of Blitz that wanted him to know, to see, to understand, because Blitz sure fucking didn't understand it himself.

"Right across the street from where Striker just happened to be?"

"It wasn't like that--" It was exactly like that.

"Like what?" Stolas began to wrap gauze around Blitz's leg, his fingers barely brushing the skin. "What are you so determined didn't happen?"

Blitz glared at him. "Don't make it a big deal."

Stolas's beak ground. "Make what--"

"You know--"

"I thought that I was wrong?" Stolas challenged, standing, and now Stolas was looming over him, caging him in, and Blitz felt a little bit like a wild animal--

"I was hunting Striker!" Blitz exclaimed. "Is that what you wanted me to fucking say?" His voice shook. "That shitty fucking cowboy was so fucking close, and I let him get away, he's still fucking out there, he could--" He could hurt you again.

Stolas's long fingers framed Blitz's face. "Darling, breathe." Stolas's voice was low, sugary, the same tone he'd used in that shitty studio in L.A.. "It's alright. He won't be coming after me again."

"You can't know that--"

Stolas exhaled sharply. "I do. The hit was called off before he could finish the job."

Blitz stiffened. Stolas's eyes widened, and he recoiled, as if he realized what he'd just said.

"When--when was the hit called off?" Blitz asked weakly. "After--after M&M got there?" Fuck.

Stolas opened his beak, closed it. "No," he said in a small voice.

Blitz pushed Stolas back, ignoring the confusion on his face as Blitz slid off the counter. Blitz nearly collapsed on his leg, but he didn't care, because he wheeled around the counter toward the toilet and threw up all that shitty coffee he'd gotten kidnapped about.

There were hands on his back. "Blitz, darling, it's alright," Stolas was saying, but Blitz was too busy throwing up his insides to really listen. He was seeing those tailfeathers again, the blood in the back of the van.

Stolas got hurt real bad.

He... can get hurt?

It could have been worse--it could have been worse--it was almost--

"I'm alright," Stolas was saying. "We're both fine."

It was not alright. Stolas had not been alright. Stolas had almost--

And Blitz hadn't been there.

He dry heaved, tears burning in his eyes. Everything smelled like smoke. Like sulfur from fireworks and burning flesh and a burning circus. Like demon blood soaked into the seats in the back of his van, like lavender and bile, like antiseptic, like hospitals--

Blitz spat into the toilet, vision hazy. Hands drew him away, lifted him, and he was very distantly aware of Stolas setting him back onto the counter. Then there were fingers on Blitz's face, red eyes hovering close to him, staring, and a moving beak, but Blitz couldn't hear him over the screaming.

Wasn't that the worst part? He'd forgotten his mother's voice, but he hadn't forgotten her screams. Hers, or Fizz's, or any of the other screams he'd heard that night. Hadn't forgotten the way she'd burned--

And it was his fault. He hadn't saved her, like he hadn't saved Stolas.

When everything went dark, it was a mercy.

Blitz woke slowly.

His leg throbbed. His eyes were puffy. His ribs were aching. He was enveloped by familiar silky sheets, coated with lavender and Stolas's scent. He was lying on his side, curled in the fetal position, tail wrapped around his back and knees.

There was shuffling in the background, talons on tile. A voice, fading in and out.

"He's--well, he's not quite alright, but he's not horribly injured." A beat. "Asleep." Another. "I'm really not sure that's a good idea, dear."

Quiet, talons coming closer. A pause. They turned, got further.

"He didn't have a phone on him when he got here, no. I assume he lost it." Clicking talons, a pause. They started again, growing closer. The bird was pacing.

"Yes, Fizzarollli was being held for ransom." A beat. "He said perhaps it had to do with Moxxie? There was an imp in the ransom video, er, Crimson, I believe?"

A longer silence. The talons grew closer, then further. Closer, then further.

"Oh--oh, yes, I can see why that would have been a possibility, then." Stolas's pacing paused. "No, he didn't say anything about that. All he said was that Striker got away."

Blitz could almost hear the shout from the phone. That was Millie.

"Yes, Striker."

A longer silence. The pacing resumed.

"I do believe that is an accurate assessment." A sigh after several heartbeats that Blitz could feel in his leg. "No, he did not." Another long silence. "He--really?"

Blitz had half a mind to sit up and tell Millie to shut her fucking mouth, but he was too fucking exhausted to even open his eyes. Satan knew what nonsense she was spouting.

"Well, while I have you, I did want to thank you two again for the rescue. I--it would have been a lot worse if you hadn't arrived when you did." A silence. The pacing stopped. "Really?" Stolas's voice wavered a little. "I--oh. I see." The bed shifted as Stolas sat, and Blitz's tail tightened around his knees. "No, I wouldn't count on it. I'll call you if anything changes. Or he might wish to speak with you when he wakes." Another long silence. "Yes, thank you again. Enjoy your day." Stolas sighed, and Blitz heard the phone thump onto the comforter by his hooves.

The mattress shifted again; Stolas laying back, if Blitz had to guess.

The memories settled into Blitz. There were bandages wrapped around his leg. Something had dried sticky on his chest and one of his arms--probably that medicinal gel Stolas had. He was still in his boxers, but the feeling of the sheets was raw against his arms and legs. His scars felt oversensitive. They ached a little as the sheets shifted with Stolas's weight.

"Called Millie, huh?" Blitz's voice was low and raspy.

Stolas jolted behind him. "You're--yes." A hand brushed his shoulder before vanishing, and Blitz had to squeeze himself with his tail again to resist the urge to lean back and chase the touch. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I got run over by a fucking train." He'd woken up in a lot more pain many, many times. Blitz didn't give a shit. He rolled onto his back, eyes still shut. "Whatever Millie told you was probably bullshit." There was a pounding against his ribs, the racing of his heart. He fucking hated waking up already deep in the throes of anxiety.

Stolas didn't respond for a long moment. "Perhaps," he hedged. "She sounded worried about you. I'm glad I called her. Your daughter apparently called them when you weren't home this morning."

"This--" Blitz's eyes snapped open, catching the sunlight in the room. He sat up, hissing between his teeth. "What fucking time is it?"

Stolas sat up with him, hands hovering just a breath away from touching Blitz's back. "Careful. Your ribs are bruised."

"I fucking know. What time is it?"

Stolas glanced at the bedside table. "Just after noon."

"Fuck." Blitz pressed a hand to the scarred side of his face, pushing against the skin there. The scars were aching more than usual, and his head was pounding, and his stomach hurt. Mysteriously, his mouth didn't taste like vomit. Stolas had probably used a fancy fucking spell to clean his mouth after he'd passed out. "Shit. I had meetings today."

Which was another lie. He'd cancelled all his meetings for today or shoved them off on Moxxie so that Blitz could focus on Striker, but Stolas didn't need to know that. He'd been careful not to tell M&M anything about what he was doing--he didn't need them asking why he was in fucking Greed, because Millie would have clocked onto his bullshit two words in--but he'd meant to text them and say he was taking the day off if he'd needed it to deal with the cowboy.

"I don't think you're in any state for that, Blitz," Stolas said gently. Blitz didn't want to look at him. He didn't want to see that pretty fucking face or his pretty fucking eyes or his pretty fucking chest feathers fluffed out, or the pretty fucking robe he was probably wearing because Blitz had slept in his room and they hadn't even fucked--

This--this just had to be payback for Blitz's help in Los Angeles. Sure, it was kind of Blitz's fault that Octavia had stolen the book, but also, what could they have really done to stop a Goetia? Blitz had no fucking clue what kind of magic Octavia had, and he would have let her take it if there was a risk of her setting his employees on fire or some shit. Still would have helped Stolas find her, though. It was bad enough that Stolas had kept cancelling the full moon nights.

Shit, was it bad that Blitz had almost enjoyed running around with Stolas that day? It had felt--easy. Like Loo Loo Land but without all the cringe dirty jokes.

And no burning fucking circuses.

"I need to go," Blitz rasped, shifting on the mattress.

"I--you know I won't keep you here against your will, Blitz, but you really should consider--"

"I'm fine," Blitz managed, pushing off the bed, still not looking at Stolas. "I've had worse. This is like, a normal fucking morning. Afternoon. Shit."

"I--I'm sorry."

Blitz paused halfway across the room to turn and face the wide-eyed owl. "What? What are you sorry for?"

Fuck, Stolas looked like he was seconds away from tears. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable with--with the bed." He flapped his hands a little uselessly. "I just didn't--I figured you wouldn't mind if I sat on the bed with you, I promise I didn't touch you without permission except to move you from the bathroom--"

Blitz was back at the bed, grabbing at Stolas's hands. "Stolas." More blubbering. "Stolas." Blitz squeezed his hands, resisting the urge to wipe the tears off his face. Stolas sniffled once but stopped talking, squeezing back weakly. "I'm not upset with you. Stop worrying. I don't care about sharing a bed with you. We do it all the fucking time." I miss sharing a bed with you.

Stolas blinked wetly at him, sniffling more. "I just don't want to make you uncomfortable," he whimpered.

Oh, this stupid owl. "You don't make me uncomfortable," Blitz said. Not since before Ozzie's, at least, but the owl had been avoiding him since then, hadn't he? Shit, it didn't really matter right now anyway. Anything to stop the waterworks. "You touching me doesn't make me uncomfortable. I know you wouldn't do anything weird without my consent." He squared his shoulders a little, offering a leering grin. "I taught you better than that."

Stolas blinked again, and Blitz squeezed his hands once more before releasing them. "Okay," Stolas said quietly.

"You trust me not to lie about consent and shit, yeah? You know I always tell you if I don't like what you're fucking doing. If I didn't trust you not to violate that, I wouldn't have let you bring me here in the first place. Okay?" Emotions might not have been Blitz's strength, but he knew sex. He could pretend this was about sex. That was a safe place for the two of them.

He could pretend they weren't talking about Blitzy or the hands on his face after the fucking human fuckers kidnapped him or the menu at Ozzie's. He could pretend that there wasn't a chasm yawning between them even months later. That's what he'd been doing so far, and shit was fine. Everything was fine. It was not complicated. Blitz did not do complicated.

A weak sniff. "Okay."

Blitz balled his hands so that he wouldn't cup the prince's face and wipe away those tears the way his gut was telling him to. Stolas wiped his own face after a moment, smearing tears into the tiny feathers on his faceplate.

"Thank you," Stolas managed after several seconds. Blitz didn't know why he was still standing there between Stolas's knees, eyes on his face, waiting to see if he'd crack again. He shouldn't care. It was like he'd told Fizz--Stolas just cared about having a rugged peasant like Blitz raw dog him into the mattress. This--tending to his wounds, letting him spend the night, the worry he'd crossed a line--was to make sure Blitz wouldn't break it off. It had to be. Blitz knew Stolas struggled with social situations. He probably didn't want to have to deal with finding a new peasant to fuck. Someone who didn't know Stolas's preferences quite as well as Blitz did.

Right. Blitz leaned back, ignoring the throb in his leg and the burn of his chest.

"Do you want to talk about--about last night?" Stolas managed, still drying tears.

"Fuck no." Blitz had already compartmentalized that shit. He wasn't touching it with a ten-foot pole until he was too drunk to think.

Stolas blinked at him. "Okay," he relented, not moving.

"I need to go," Blitz said, and didn't go. His feet weren't working. He was still in his boxers, and his body was aching, and his leg throbbed, but Stolas was watching him with those big fucking eyes like he'd hung the moon and the stars.

"Okay," Stolas agreed. Blitz still didn't go.

And Stolas--for all his usual babbling--didn't say anything. He just watched Blitz, waiting, and Blitz was thankful for the uncharacteristic silence as he tried to figure out what was keeping him rooted here, between the prince's knees, hands balled at his sides to stop him from touching what wasn't his.

Blitz's mouth opened. Closed. Stolas's brows furrowed, locked onto Blitz's face, even without pupils to show where he was looking.

What Blitz said, but didn't mean to say, was, "I let him get away again."

Shit, he thought faintly, because he just realized he'd never told Stolas about Striker at the Harvest Moon Festival, he'd never--

Stolas tilted his head. "Darling, he's not your responsibility."

He was. He was, and Blitz didn't know how to explain without revealing that he'd known Stolas was in danger and hadn't told him, because he'd been stupid and sure that the bird could handle it, sure that Stolas was invincible, sure that Goetia were untouchable, even to assassins like Striker. Blitz remembered that moment after Striker had slipped away the first time, the way he'd looked immediately to Stolas in the distance, as if Striker would go after him again without his angelic bullets. He'd felt like he'd been about to throw up.

That time had been too close. If Blitz had been a few seconds later, if that rifle had fired...

I'm supposed to protect you, Blitz thought weakly. I'm supposed to be the knight in shining fucking armor. You shouldn't have scars. Not from him. And if he could do that day over again, he would still go with Loona, would still have sent M&M, but it killed him that he hadn't been able to do both. He'd always choose his daughter, but maybe, in hindsight, he could have gotten Stolas to book them a replacement appointment, maybe he could have prevented that bandage on Stolas's shoulder, maybe they wouldn't have had to rely on the fact that the hit was called off before anyone got there--

Stolas's hands wrapped around his upper arms. "Blitz, darling, breathe. I'm alright. You're alright. We're safe."

We're not, Blitz thought distantly. He might kill you just for shits and fucking giggles. Or worse.

"Can you breathe with me? Here." Stolas guided one of Blitz's hands to his chest, and Blitz focused on the rise and fall, half-focused on trying to match his breathing. Slowly, the static in his ears faded out, replaced by the sound of shaky breathing.

Oh. That was Blitz's shaky breathing. And his face was wet.

Fuck.

"Shit," Blitz said, pulling one hand away. "Sorry. I'm sorry." Stolas didn't want to deal with Blitz being an emotional wreck, not after Blitz had failed to rescue him; he was just--fucking nice and kind, and it made Blitz's chest hurt to know that even after he'd failed Stolas so badly, Stolas still looked at him with that heartbreaking gentleness. "Didn't mean to turn into a panicked fucking mess."

Stolas gave him a watery smile. "I was a panicked mess less than ten minutes ago."

Blitz sniffled. "S'different."

"Oh?" And Stolas raised his eyebrow, glancing Blitz up and down, and the sheer brattiness of it made Blitz's chest burst with mirth. His lips twitched, and his tail flicked toward the bird, curling toward his ankle. "And how is it different?"

Blitz had the surreal sense that he ought to be careful with what he said next, which was unusual because Blitz never had that feeling. "I'm a fucking assassin. I don't do emotions." He spat the word out like it was the curse it was. "Sometimes I feel things and then I push them all down, and some day, I'll die."

Stolas flinched at the word die, and Blitz, for once, couldn't blame him. The word felt more real now than it ever had. Stolas had spent so long on a pedestal in Blitz's mind--and really, he was still there--that he hadn't thought he could die. Not a Goetia. But he could get hurt. And if he could get hurt--

Stop fucking thinking about it, Blitz told himself, pushing down all the fucking emotions.

"I don't think that's a healthy coping mechanism," Stolas pointed out drily. One of his hands was still on Blitz's arm, his thumb moving every few seconds in a slow slide, and the burn of it was keeping Blitz grounded in his own body.

Blitz managed a sharkish grin, teeth flashing in the light of the pentagram. "I don't recommend it," he said, because Stolas should have healthy ways to cope with his emotions, and he probably did, like meditation or some shit. "But it works for me."

Stolas gave him a Look. Blitz ignored it and stepped back out of his hold, heading toward the bathroom. He ignored the burn of his muscles. He needed to get away from the Prince before the owl managed to drag up more feelings. Blitz didn't know when Stolas had wormed his way in between Blitz's chest and managed to dredge up--blegh--emotions, but he was emotioned out for the next several weeks, at least.

When he knelt under the sink, there was still a little basket with his deodorant and horn oil and a new pack of the cigarettes he liked, and he tried to ignore the way his stomach dropped inside him as he got the deodorant and stood. Stolas stood in the doorway now, arms crossed, watching him.

Blitz wiggled his ass. "Enjoying the show, birdie?"

Stolas hooted a little laugh, eyes crinkling. It was still obvious he'd been crying earlier, but some of the tension had eased off his face, tension that had been there even last night. Satan, he was fucking pretty.

Blitz applied the deodorant and fumbled with his clothes. They were stacked neatly on the counter--and they smelled like the same detergent Stolas's clothes smelled of.

"I, er, asked the staff to launder your clothes while you were asleep," Stolas mumbled. He was looking at the floor now, head ducked as if he could vanish into his own feathers.

Blitz ran a thumb over the fabric of his turtleneck. "Thanks." He ignored the drag of the ointment Stolas had applied against the shirt, tugging it over his horns and down.

"Doesn't that... hurt?"

Blitz tugged his sleeves down over his wrists. If he thought about it, yes, he could feel the pain, but most of it was just... background noise. He was in pain so often that it only really bothered him if he focused on one thing. Yes, there was a deep-set ache in his ribs, sharp if he bent over too quickly; yes, there was a throbbing in his shoulder; yes, there was a pinch if he bent his elbow too quickly. But it wasn't all that different from the way his scars always ached or the way his joints burned when he thought about them or the way his hips smarted when he woke up in the mornings.

"I guess," he said, shaking out his pants. "I'm an assassin. I get beat up all the time." He had to brace himself against the counter to get his good leg in one of the pant legs, grinding his teeth together. "I'm a big boy, I can take it," he said as he put his bad leg in, ignoring the way his calf stung as he pulled on the scabs with his movements.

"You know I'm not afraid of a bit of pain, darling, but really--"

"It's different," Blitz said. He buttoned his pants, avoiding Stolas's gaze. "I grew up on the trapeze. My joints are fucked on a good day and I've been getting in fights since I was old enough to throw a punch." Blitz eyed his gauntlets on the counter, considering whether the compression on his hands and wrists would help or not. He very quickly decided that the soft leather of the gauntlets was preferable to the brushing of his sleeves and pulled the gauntlets on over them, forcing the fabric to be still against his skin. "And since I got into the killing business, the fights are even worse." He grunted as he affixed his other gauntlet, flexing his fingers. "Now, getting shot, that's a bitch and a half."

"You've been shot?"

"I mean--yeah." Blitz grappled on the top of the counter for his skull charm and the post-it note. "Couple of times. Got shot the day you suggested the deal." He fixed the skull charm to his shirt and then shoved the post-it note into his pants pockets. "Had a sling for a while, that shit's annoying. Bitch got me right in the bicep."

He looked up to see Stolas's eyes wide, pupils visible. Blitz faltered.

"I mean, you know I'm an assassin, Stols," Blitz said, a little too focused on the way Stolas looked like he was the one who'd been shot.

"Yes, I--I know I'm being silly." Stolas clutched the door frame, a hand to his chest. "I just..." He exhaled roughly, like he was looking past Blitz rather than at him.

"I don't know that silly is the word I'd use." Blitz edged toward him, frowning. "You feelin' okay?" It occurred, belatedly, that Stolas had only really had one brush with true violence, and it had been... not very long ago. And Blitz, being a dumbass who was desensitized to violence in the same way he was unruffled by curse words, had been spouting bullshit like an idiot. "Come on, you should sit down." Careful not to jostle Stolas, Blitz led him back into the bedroom and gently guided him to sit on the bed.

Stolas's breathing wasn't exactly even, but he wasn't hyperventilating, either.

"Come on, birdbrain, easy." Blitz took Stolas's hands and massaged his thumbs into the palms, watching Stolas's pinched face. What was it Stolas had said when Blitz had been in the throes of his own panic? "We're both fine. In your room. Sittin' on your bed." Stolas blinked. "That's it, Stols, c'mon. Look at you, breathing like a champ." He went for a watery smile that the bird didn't even notice. "You're alright, Stolas, come on back to me."

Stolas blinked once, twice. His pupils flicked up, focused on Blitz's face.

"There you are." Blitz squeezed his hands. "Back with me, Stolas?"

Stolas exhaled shakily. "I. Yes." He inhaled slowly, then exhaled again. "My apologies. I have been..." His voice was strained, and he looked at a point over Blitz's shoulder. "A little unsettled. Lately."

Blitz might have had the emotional intelligence of a particularly angry piece of sandstone, but even he didn't need to ask to know what had caused that. "That's normal." Blitz swallowed hard. "This kinda... kinda shit will fuck you up. In more ways than one." He laughed uneasily. "I mean, I--" He stopped himself, but the damage was done, because now Stolas was looking at him, wide-eyed. "I mean," he backtracked. "You saw how fucked up I was last night, you know?" Weak smile. There you go, Blitz, really selling it. He cleared his throat. "My point--my point is that it's normal. To be... unsteady. After shit like that."

"Why didn't you visit?"

It was so quiet that Blitz would have thought he'd hallucinated it if he hadn't watched Stolas's beak open. "What?"

Stolas sniffled a little, squeezing Blitz's hands back. Blitz loosened his fingers, realizing he'd been close to crushing those fragile bird bones. "I don't... I understand why you couldn't come to--to rescue me." Another one of those heartbreaking little sniffles. "I--really, I do understand." He flicked his gaze up to Blitz's for a moment before looking away. "Your daughter comes first. But--afterward. You never..."

Blitz's throat was impossibly dry. "Didn't think you'd want to see me."

"Didn't--I asked you to come!" Stolas's head jerked up, pupils flaring.

Blitz pulled his hands out of Stolas's. "Asked me--no, you fucking did the same thing you always do, the uncommitted If you want to bullshit that's just fucking code for I don't want to see you but I'm taking pity on you and inviting you anyway!"

Stolas flinched back. "What? That's not what I meant at all. I was--" He inhaled sharply, digging his fingers into the sheets. "I didn't want you to feel like--like you were obligated to see me, no, but I still wanted to see you! Because you wanted to see me, not just because of the--the fucking grimoire."

Blitz's heart was pounding. He could feel it throbbing in his skull, in his leg, in his chest, like an over-swollen beast that kept beating on his ribs. "You can't fucking mean that. You--you know how you sound--you're--" He blinked hard, ignoring the way the edges of his vision were getting blurry. "You're the one who's good with fucking words."

"I mean it." Stolas was crying, he realized, and wasn't that exactly what Blitz had always known this would lead to? Every relationship Blitz had was inevitably on a collision course with tragedy, and it was his fault the owl was crying, his fault, his fault-- "I love words, but I find I'm rather inept at using them, it would seem." 

Blitz shook his head and stepped back. He needed to leave. He always did this. Always fucked it up, said the wrong thing, and Stolas was crying, and it was his fault.

"Blitz--"

Blitz shook his head again, like he could shake off Stolas's voice. "I'm--I need to leave."

"Blitz, please, I never wanted you to think that--"

Blitz tried to figure out which direction the door was, but his vision was blurry. Fuck. He felt a little light-headed. "I--Stolas, I can't--" He choked on his own words, chest constricting. Fuck. He was not crying. He was not crying again. He wrapped his arms around himself, trying to think through the throb of his chest, his head, his leg.

Stolas's face appeared in his field of vision. He had to be kneeling on the ground to be level with Blitz, but the expression on his face was muted by the blurriness in Blitz's vision. "Blitz. I always want to see you."

Blitz shook his head. "You don't. You can't."

"I can--"

"No, you don't get it." Blitz squeezed his eyes shut, felt his tail curling around in front of him like a shield. "I can't--I'm not a good--You can't." His voice was shaking. "I'm a mean, fucked up, asshole. I know what I'm good for."

"Blitz. Please listen to me."

Blitz wrenched his eyes open at the pain in Stolas's voice. Stolas had sat back on his heels. His face was blurry, but Blitz could see the whites of his pupils.

"I heard what Fizzarolli said last night."

Blitz flinched back. Here it was, the I know what you are, the unveiling of the monster within him that bit when it was cornered, the beast he couldn't tame no matter how often it hurt the people he cared about--

"I understand that--that the things you've gone through--" Stolas made a choked, half-sobbing sound that made Blitz want to cover his face and scream into his knees. "I know you've gone through so much. Survived so much. But you are worth so much, just for being you--"

"It was my fault," Blitz rasped, shutting his eyes again. He couldn't see Stolas. He needed him to know, needed Stolas to cut Blitz off now, before it destroyed them both. "Fizz, Mom--" He shook. "I killed her, Stolas, I'm a fucking monster--"

Long talons wrapped around his upper arms, keeping him from backing up more. Stolas's grip was gentle. "It was an accident."

"That won't fucking bring her back."

"But it means you are not the monster you say you are." Stolas's voice was so tempting. Blitz wanted to believe him, to believe this mirage that he wasn't the worst kind of demon. Wanted to believe this was real and not some kind of fucked up dream. Everything hurt and he was so tired and he wanted to fall asleep on Stolas's feathers--

"I am." Blitz opened his eyes and grabbed Stolas's wrists. "Stolas, all I fucking do is hurt people. Fizz, Barbie, Verosika, M&M, Loona, you--" Fuck, he was going to hate himself even more for spilling his guts like this. "I can't be the person you think I am."

"Blitz." Stolas squeezed his arms. "I don't want you to be anyone except who you are."

Blitz shook his head. "Who I am--" He laughed through a sob. "Stolas, you're so fucking--you're a prince."

"I don't care--"

"Well, I do!" Blitz's voice rose, and he pushed Stolas's hands away so he could stumble back, create more space, give himself space to breathe. "You're fucking--perfect, and beautiful, and smart, and funny, and all the shit I've never fucking been, and you deserve--"

"Blitz!" Stolas yelled.

Blitz froze. He blinked, clearing some of the tears, to see Stolas in the same spot he'd left him, and his anger--

"Listen to me, you dense idiot." Stolas's voice was hard, like when he'd scolded Blitz for getting caught by humans. "Just because you cannot see why we care about you does not mean no one can. I care about you." Stolas exhaled sharply. "Fuck, this is not how I--Fuck it. Blitz, I don't--Fuck."

Blitz blinked rapidly. Stolas was... at a loss for words?

What the fuck?

Stolas wiped his face and took a deep, shuddering breath. "Blitz, I have... I have cared very deeply about you. For quite some time. Not because of sex or the deal or..." Stolas was looking at the ground between him, his face caught in an expression of grief, of pain. Blitz figured it had to hurt, to care about him. "I don't... I don't want to keep you chained to me because of the book. I want you to see me because you want to."

"What?" Blitz rasped.

"I tried to ask Asmodeus for an Asmodean crystal, for you--"

Blitz stumbled back, eyes going wide. "What the fuck? What did I--fuck, please don't--"

Stolas stared wide-eyed back. "Blitz--"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm--"

Stolas was in front of him again, crouching, holding him by the shoulders. "Blitz, please. I need you to hear me. I care about you. Please do not apologize."

"Are you getting rid of me?"

Stolas was crying again. "No. No. But if you want to leave--" He stopped, pressed his eyes shut. "I want you to stay. I always want you to stay."

Blitz stared at him.

Stolas did not open his eyes. "I want you to be free to make your own decisions. I do not want you to have to rely on me to live your own life, because I know how much you--how much you value your independence. But I always want you to stay with me." Stolas took a shuddering breath. "Please stay with me."

Blitz had to be dreaming. That was the only explanation.

"But, but I'm not..." Blitz stared at Stolas as the bird opened his eyes, the pupils large and white and his eyes so wet, it was so wrong for Stolas to be crying. "I'm nothing."

Stolas's thumb brushed Blitz's shoulder. "Blitz, you're everything."

"You can't mean that."

"I do."

Blitz shook his head again. "This--you're an idiot."

Stolas sniffled. "I know."

"What? No--" Blitz shook himself, suddenly running on a surge of adrenaline, thoughts coming back into focus, and grabbed Stolas's face, cupping the soft feathers of his faceplate between his hands. "You listen to me. You're fucking smart as fuck. You're pretty and kind and funny and it has pissed me off since the beginning, because I was never supposed to--" He turned his face away. I was never supposed to like you as much as I do. "You deserve all seven fucking rings. Not my bullshit. All I've done is fuck up your life."

Stolas laughed brokenly. "There was nothing there to fuck up."

"What?" Blitz looked back at him. "I ruined your marriage, your family--"

"My marriage?" Stolas sounded delirious. "Our marriage was arranged for the sole purpose of producing Octavia. Stella has detested me since the beginning. Long before you came back into my life."

Blitz tried to make his mouth move, his brain work.

"As for my relationship with Octavia, well." Stolas sniffled again. "I have been drifting away from her for quite some time, I think. It was just easiest for her to blame you for it. And beyond that..." Stolas laughed again, but it made Blitz's chest hurt, made him want to wrap the bird up in bubble wrap and lock him in this room. "There was nothing left in my life for you to fuck up more than I already had."

"You..." Blitz felt like he'd been hit by a fucking truck. "No. You're always fucking happy."

"Because of you." Stolas's hands wrapped around Blitz's wrists. "Blitz, you were--you brought light into my life again. Even if you never meant to."

He hadn't. He hadn't meant for any of this. He hadn't meant to lose his balance, to fall, to brace for impact--

"You did not fuck up my life. I'm pretty sure you saved it."

Blitz felt like he'd just breached the surface of a pool of wet cement. He stared at Stolas. He wasn't sure he'd ever seen him before. "What?" His voice cracked.

Stolas tried to turn his face away, but Blitz wouldn't let him. Stolas let out another choked laugh. "I don't... I was holding on, for Via. But once she was old enough... I don't know, how long I would have..."

No. No. There was no world without Stolas in it. "If you fucking kill yourself, you ass, I'm going to bring you back just so I can kill you my fucking self--"

Blitz's voice broke on a sob he hadn't realized was coming. He leaned forward, pressing his forehead against Stolas's, eyes shut.

"I won't," Stolas rasped. "I just--Blitz, tell me you understand what I am saying. Tell me you understand. Please."

Blitz wasn't sure he did. "You... want me to stay." He wasn't sure he believed it, but that's what Stolas had said, wasn't it?

"I want you to stay. And I want you to want to stay," Stolas said quietly.

And that was the worst fucking part, wasn't it?

"I always want to stay," Blitz hissed. "That's why I always leave. I was never supposed to--" He grit his teeth, trying to push down all the feelings rising out of him, like a volcanic eruption he couldn't control. The lava was spilling out between his fingers, burning, making a huge fucking mess. "I can't do relationships, Stolas, I fuck them up, I always fuck it up, you heard Verosika, I'm a shitty--"

"Frankly," Stolas said, "I don't give a shit."

Blitz opened his eyes. Stolas was looking at him, and... Blitz couldn't help but look back.

"So you'll fuck up," Stolas said. "So will I. We already have. Both of us."

"I would make you hate me, and I can't--"

"I don't think I'm capable of hating you." Stolas released Blitz's wrists to cup his face.

"Ver didn't think she was either."

Stolas's thumbs brushed Blitz's damp cheeks. "She doesn't hate you."

"Yes, she does--"

"She resents you," Stolas interrupted, "for how your relationship ended. But if she didn't care about you, she wouldn't care about the ending so much. Anger is not the same thing as hatred."

"I don't want to hurt you," Blitz said, the words forcing themselves out of his throat, clawing their way through his mouth. "I don't--I'm scared, Stolas. I don't want to hurt you like I hurt them."

"Not having you would hurt more."

Blitz flinched. "You can't mean that. You don't know what I--"

"Blitz, you've already hurt my feelings before." Stolas held tightly when Blitz tried to jerk away. "And I forgive you. It's as simple as that. And I suspect--I suspect that I have hurt you, too."

Blitz wanted to say he hadn't. That Stolas couldn't. But Blitz... couldn't make himself say it, either.

"So." Stolas cleared his throat. "Blitz. I am sorry."

"Shut the fuck up."

"I am--"

Blitz kissed him.

To get him to shut up. Obviously.

When they came up for air, Blitz spoke into the warm space between their mouths. "Just, just shut up. Please. Let me... Let me process. All of this."

Stolas caressed his face, and in a very small voice, asked, "May I hold you while you... process?"

Blitz nodded, and then Stolas had scooped him up, cradled him against his chest, and was walking. He dropped down. Blitz opened his eyes long enough to see that Stolas had sat on the couch--the couch--then shut them again and buried his face into Stolas's uninjured shoulder, straddling Stolas's lap. His tail wound around Stolas's leg. Just in case Stolas had any ideas about going anywhere.

Stolas ran his hand down Blitz's back, tracing between the spines, eliciting a little shiver even through Blitz's shirt. Blitz realized he'd wound his arms around Stolas's shoulders. He wasn't sure when he had. Maybe when Stolas had first picked him up.

Satan, he was so tired.

But Stolas was so warm, and smelled so good, and Blitz didn't want to let go, ever. Even though he should. But maybe he could accept being a shitty, selfish shitfuck if selfish meant he could justify holding on for just a little bit longer.

Stolas realized Blitz was asleep when he started to snore. The rush of affection that burned through Stolas's chest made him want to pepper Blitz's head with kisses, but he dared not disturb him. He'd had such an ordeal last night, and now...

Well.

Blitz hadn't even been awake for thirty minutes, and Stolas, for his part, had gone through about eighteen different emotions since then. His head hurt. His eyes hurt. His heart positively ached.

He'd known that Blitz had walls up. But he hadn't realized quite how bruised Blitz was underneath. Quite how hurt he was, how deeply his self-hatred ran. He seemed to simply be unable to believe Stolas cared about him. Unable to accept that someone could see all the parts of him and love him anyway. And while Stolas was not quite naive enough to believe after all he had just witnessed that he had seen every part of Blitz, he had a strong suspicion that the rest of him would not change the way Stolas felt.

Stolas had never seen Blitz cry. Surely never seen him sob, insist he was a monster. I'm scared. Blitz did not get scared. Stolas felt like he'd just pulled back a curtain to reveal the demon Blitz really was. How much of their relationship had been built on Stolas assuming Blitz to be unbreakable, unrufflable, that the swagger, his endearing confidence, were the default?

Stolas yawned. He could not blame Blitz for falling asleep. Talking about their feelings--it was exhausting.

If Blitz had woken slowly earlier, he woke very quickly this time.

One moment, he was sitting in Stolas's lap, head pillowed on his shoulder; the next, he opened his eyes, and there were dark shadows in Stolas's bedroom. And--

Blitz lifted his head. Stolas's head laid back against the back of the couch. He made little hoots as he breathed. His eyes were shut.

Blitz smiled.

The smile faded as he inspected Stolas's face. The circles under his eyes, the places where tears had upset his feathers, the way his brow was slightly furrowed as he slept.

I want you to stay. I always want you stay.

Blitz never wanted to leave.

Even in the beginning, it was fear that had him running. Fear of Stolas, of the rush he got seeing Stolas smile, of the way it was so easy to sink into his arms and forget about the rest of the fucked up world. Fear of Stolas realizing how much Blitz did care and casting him aside for some other fucktoy that wouldn't be stupid enough to get attached.

But if Stolas actually...

Not having you would hurt more.

Would it?

Blitz tried to imagine a life without Stolas. It made him feel sick. Not that there was anything left in his stomach for him to throw up.

Anger is not the same thing as hatred.

Wasn't it?

But Fizz had been angry, hadn't he? And he still... after fifteen years...

Blitz felt like he'd been flayed raw, like Stolas had put his hand into Blitz's chest and wrapped his talons around Blitz's heart and squeezed.

Fuck.

He'd been fucked from the beginning. He'd always liked Stolas too much when he was supposed to be using him, liked his smile and his voice. And somewhere in the space between breaking into Stolas's palace and...

When had Blitz...

Blitz remembered the jolt of panic he'd felt when he saw Striker aiming his rifle at Stolas. Remembered the raw fear he'd felt. Not the kind of I'm about to lose the best business I've ever had fear--because he had felt that, too. This was the kind of fear he'd felt the night of the fire. Stolas had been in Blitz's bad trip, too. Taunting him. You don't deserve me...

Blitz didn't deserve Stolas. But Stolas wanted him. Blitz didn't get it. The side of himself he'd shown to Stolas, the way he covered up his feelings... had he really...

Could he actually...

Blitz forced himself to think through their interactions with the assumption that Stolas did care.

Do you want to come inside? He'd heard Let's fuck. But maybe Stolas had meant We both just got publicly humiliated and I don't really want to be alone right now.

I'll be in here for a while, if you ever want to visit. Blitz had read So you can see how badly you failed. Maybe it had really been I forgive you, and I miss you.

All the times he'd...

He'll comment on my photos, and laugh at my jokes, and ask how my day was...

No one does all that for a cheap lay.

Fuck.

Stolas's head shifted, tilting to one side. His top eyes cracked open first, little slivers of red light glowing, before Stolas lifted his head and blinked drowsily at Blitz.

Blitz stared at him. "You meant it."

Stolas blinked again, then nodded.

Blitz sat up on his knees, cupped Stolas's face, and kissed him.

This wasn't the frustrated kiss he'd initiated earlier to get Stolas to stop fucking talking for a second. This was light and slow, slower than Blitz had ever let them go. Stolas whimpered into it, and it just made Blitz want to kiss him until they both forgot why they were both so exhausted. He felt a little high, like Stolas was a drug he'd been trying to escape but could never forget the ecstasy of. And there was something warm blooming in his chest, something he'd been trying to stomp out for the better part of a year and a half, something soft and bright, and fuck, Blitz did have a big gay crush on this bird, didn't he?

They broke apart, both breathing hard. Blitz stared at Stolas, trying to figure out how...

"I don't know how to do this," he admitted, gaze dropping to Stolas's flushed cheeks, the ruffled feathers around his neck, his beak, still slightly open. He meant to say more, but he pressed a kiss to Stolas's faceplate instead, just below his left eye. Stolas trilled softly, his arms tightening around Blitz's waist. Blitz pressed another kiss to Stolas's forehead, between his eyes, then another to his temple, dragging his fingers up through Stolas's headfeathers, trying to memorize the feeling.

Stolas trilled again and pressed his face into Blitz's neck. Blitz kissed the side of his head and carded his fingers through the mussed feathers. "When's the last time you preened?"

Another wordless trill. Blitz squeezed Stolas's leg with his tail and started picking out dead feathers, straightening the others. He'd seen Stolas do it enough times that it was nearly second nature to do it himself. After a second, he leaned back and peeled off his gauntlets, tossing them onto the couch beside them. Then he went back in, focused on the feeling of Stolas's feathers against his fingers. Blitz reached a spot on the edge of Stolas's head and neck, and Stolas shuddered, feathers fluffing again. He shivered, then pulled away, looking up at Blitz with those beautiful red eyes, his pupils huge and adoring. Blitz wasn't sure what he'd done to deserve to have someone look at him like that, but... Shit. He was having trouble reminding himself why he was supposed to stop this from happening.

"Blitz," Stolas rasped. "The--I need you to know, the act of preening--"

Blitz wrinkled his nose. "Shut up and let me do it."

"I don't mind, I just--it's very intimate, it's usually just for partners--"

Blitz ran his fingers through Stolas's feathers again, glaring.

Stolas chirped in surprise, cheeks turning scarlet.

"Did I fucking stutter?" Blitz grumbled, and went back to preening him, fixing feathers he was pretty sure he was just going to fuck up again, because Stolas smelled so fucking good and he was so pretty and Blitz wanted to sink his teeth in and never let go.

"Blitz..." Stolas's voice was pitched high, breathy in the way he usually got when Blitz teased him. "We should, ah, probably talk about--about us--before--before--"

Blitz intentionally ran his claw against Stolas's skin, underneath the feathers, and Stolas shuddered, beak parting in a little gasp. Blitz's heart swelled. He didn't bother stopping the smile as he leaned closer and said in a low voice, "Before what?"

"Darling." Stolas choked, eyes squeezed shut, as Blitz tugged out another errant feather and let his claws drag against Stolas's skin. "It's--I'm a tad sensitive--"

"Hmm. I hadn't noticed."

Stolas opened his eyes, then stilled, pupils reappearing, eyes focusing on Blitz's face, cheeks still red, feathers fluffed. His gaze was locked on Blitz's mouth. On the smile Blitz still wasn't trying to hide, even as his head screamed at him to cover that sappy shit the fuck up, you asshole--

"Oh," Stolas breathed, looking at Blitz like he hadn't just hung Stolas's moon and stars, but like Blitz was the moon and stars, like he was... like Blitz was worth something.

Blitz went back to preening. He felt Stolas watching his face. He tried to ignore him, even as he leaned over to Stolas's other side. "You oughta take better care of yourself," Blitz murmured. "'s important."

Stolas didn't reply.

Blitz finished preening his head feathers, but didn't stop running his fingers through the longest ones as he leaned back to inspect. "Hmm. Better."

His gaze dropped to Stolas's face. He still looked starstruck.

Blitz wrinkled his nose. "What's that look for?"

Stolas shook his head slowly. "You are magnificent," he breathed.

Blitz's grimace deepened. "Shut up."

"But--"

Blitz kissed him. When they pulled apart, Stolas said breathlessly, "Are you going to do that every time you want me to stop talking?"

"Maybe."

Stolas laughed a soft little laugh that made Blitz's tail tighten around Stolas's leg. At some point, it had gone from being wrapped around his lower leg to being around his thigh. Blitz stared at Stolas's face, drank in the softness, the cautious joy there, the way Stolas was looking back at him.

"I don't--I can't talk about... about my feelings, the way you can," Blitz admitted. "It's like my throat closes up." He leaned in a little closer, until their mouths were almost touching. "I'm gonna be a terrible--"

Fuck. Fuck, this was real, wasn't it? Blitz kissed him, to prove it to himself, digging his fingers through the feathers he'd just straightened, swallowing the keen Stolas let out. He sat all the way up, lifting himself over his knees so Stolas had to tilt his head back to kiss him.

When their mouths parted, Stolas gasped, "I don't care."

"You will."

"It's not as though I have any practice, you know." Stolas's voice was breathy and soft. "I've never been in a relationship. A real one."

Blitz shivered. He didn't know what to say. He kissed him again, then mumbled against his beak, "You're gonna have Hell's worst teacher."

The little choked laugh made Stolas's kiss taste all the more sweet for it. Blitz felt hazy, like he couldn't escape Stolas's gravity, like he'd grown roots right here and would never be able to move. Maybe he was drunk. He pulled back a little, face warm and his lips sensitive from contact with Stolas's beak. Stolas gazed up at him. What was that look on his face?

Adoration?

It seemed ridiculous. Fake, pretentious assholes didn't look adoring.

Blitz's stomach growled. Loudly.

Blitz froze. Stolas froze. They stared at each other for a second, and then Blitz cackled, curling forward into Stolas, and Stolas was hooting, arms wrapped around Blitz's back. "Are you hungry, darling?" Stolas asked, his voice light and teasing.

"No," Blitz grumbled, though the effect was somewhat ruined by the way he was grinning into Stolas's shoulder. "'m not."

Stolas poked his side, and Blitz squeaked--fuck him, what the fuck was that?--and jumped, though he didn't get far with Stolas's arms caging him in.

"The fuck?" Blitz crossed his arms, leaning back against Stolas's, scowling at him, but he couldn't make himself look convincing, and he knew it. "That was fucking rude."

Stolas was grinning like an idiot. A handsome, smart, powerful idiot. "You lied. That was rude."

Blitz rolled his eyes. His traitorous lips twitched anyway.

Without warning, Stolas scooped him up, standing. Blitz yelped again, hands snapping forward to grip Stolas's chest feathers. "Some warning, Stols, Christ on a cracker."

Stolas hooted. "My apologies." The fucker did not sound apologetic.

Blitz propped his chin on Stolas's shoulder, staring down the hallway as Stolas walked. "Do you even have any real food in your kitchen? Some shit other than shrews or whatever the fuck it is you eat?"

"The kitchen is always stocked with a variety of food." Stolas chirped when Blitz's tail wound around his waist, squeezing Blitz. "I always keep cheese around, just in case."

Blitz squeezed his eyes shut, swallowing the instinct to lash out at the affection. He made himself feel the warmth that it sent through his chest. "I haven't been here in months," he mumbled instead.

"Well, I replace it whenever it goes bad--"

Blitz jolted up and leaned back so he could stare at an alarmed Stolas. "You've been letting cheese go bad?" Blitz protested, claws digging into Stolas's shoulders.

Stolas flushed and looked around Blitz at where he was walking. "I--"

"Stolas." Blitz grabbed his face, and Stolas's steps slowed. Blitz stared intently at him. "I don't care if we're not talking or whatever. If you have cheese and it's gonna go bad, give it to me."

Stolas's eyes crinkled with a smile. "Of course."

With that matter settled, Blitz huffed and leaned forward again to rest his chin on Stolas's shoulder. "Good," he grumbled. "Lettin' cheese go to waste. Asshole."

Stolas laughed as they entered the kitchen. "My apologies, darling." Blitz resisted the urge to whine as he was deposited on the kitchen counter and the warmth of Stolas's feathers left him. He sat on his own hands so that he wouldn't reach out for him like an impling. Fortunately, Stolas was distracted, rifling through the refrigerator.

He emerged with a victorious, "Aha!" and turned toward Blitz. Six different kinds of cheese were piled in his arms, with three different hot sauces. Blitz's mouth watered.

I love you, he thought, and for a moment it didn't seem quite so terrifying. Blitz reached for the cheese with grabby hands and grinned when Stolas laughed again. While Blitz unwrapped one of the blocks, Stolas leaned one hip on the counter beside Blitz, watching him.

Blitz ate the block in one bite and then blinked at Stolas. "Are you gonna eat?" he asked.

Stolas blinked once. "I'm not particularly hungry."

Blitz squinted at him. "Have you eaten anything today?" He was pretty sure Stolas had spent most of the day in his room, and even if he'd eaten before Blitz fell asleep on him...

Stolas huffed and looked away. Blitz swatted his hip with his tail, and Stolas squawked, head snapping back toward him.

Blitz glared and then pointed at the fridge with his tail.

Stolas scowled and acquiesced, returning to the fridge. It was only when his back was turned that Blitz really thought about how easy it was to talk to Stolas, even without words. How easy it was to be around him. It was fucking terrifying. Especially with Blitz's gooey, gay little feelings exposed. Even if he hadn't said them, he'd sure as fuck revealed them. And the scared beast inside of Blitz didn't like being belly-side up.

Stolas shut the fridge, startling Blitz out of his spiral. Stolas looked pointedly at him and downed two rat skewers, then dropped the sticks in the trash can. "Happy now?" Stolas cooed, arms crossed.

Fuck, Blitz loved it when he got bratty. It was hot as fuck.

"Better." Blitz downed another block of cheese, swinging his legs and letting the vibration of his hooves hitting the cabinet beneath him ground him in this moment. "You need protein to heal properly."

Stolas looked pointedly at the cheese in Blitz's hands.

"Cheese has protein!" Blitz protested. "Besides, I'm not eating your weird fucking rodents." Despite himself, he was still fucking smiling like an idiot.

Stolas rolled his eyes. Without his pupils visible, he exaggerated the movement of his head so that it was obvious, and Blitz's tail flicked out and swatted his leg again when he got close enough. Stolas hooted and planted his hands on either side of Blitz's legs. Blitz hesitated as Stolas leaned over him. The warmth that rushed to his face wasn't his fucking fault, okay? You try having a hot-as-fuck demon prince loom over you with a sexy fucking smirk on his stupidly pretty fucking face--

"What?" Blitz said, pretending like it didn't come out high-pitched and breathy. Stolas's face was close to his, like he was about to kiss him or--

Stolas's hand lifted and opened the cabinet beside Blitz's head. Before Blitz could process what was happening, Stolas had moved away, humming contentedly to himself as he popped open a metal can and went to the stove.

Blitz stared into space, aroused, confused, and flustered. He blinked, then tracked Stolas with his eyes. The damn bird had a smug little smirk on his lips as he dumped something into a pot--

"Is that soup?" Blitz asked when the scent hit him.

Stolas glanced at him, smirk softening. "Yes, well. You need protein if you want to heal."

Blitz's tail flicked. He swallowed. His mouth felt dry all of a sudden. "Come here," he said.

Stolas tilted his head and abandoned the stove. He hadn't turned the heat on yet, anyway, not that Blitz would have noticed if the palace burnt down around them. When Stolas stepped back between Blitz's knees, Blitz grabbed his face and pulled him close enough that he could press their foreheads together again. Stolas squeaked in surprise and put his hands back on the counter so that he didn't fall over.

"How the fuck," Blitz said slowly, staring intensely at Stolas, "am I supposed to function when you're being all fucking cute and shit?"

Stolas's face turned pink. He opened and closed his beak, and when he didn't appear to have anything intelligent to say, Blitz pressed forward and kissed him hard. He couldn't fucking talk about his feelings, so he tried to pour it into the contact. He was rewarded with a muffled moan as Stolas melted into him.

When they broke apart, Stolas gasped, eyes still shut and Blitz's hands still cupping his face. Blitz looked at him, at the little feathers, at the lines under his eyes, at the flush. "I don't--I don't know how I'm going to cope with you being affectionate," Stolas said between labored breaths.

"You think this is affectionate?" Blitz squished Stolas's face and pressed a kiss to the spot between his eyes, getting another startled chirp out of it. "You have no fucking idea what monster you've unleashed. I'm a fucking leech. You'll be regretting this in a week."

Stolas opened his eyes partway, enough that Blitz could see his pupils. Pupils in the shape of fucking hearts. "Somehow, I doubt that."

"You've been warned," Blitz said, releasing Stolas's face. Stolas didn't move for a moment, gazing at Blitz, and then Blitz reached forward and pinched his hip.

"What was that for?" Stolas yelped, retreating a few steps away.

Blitz's tail swished in front of the counter. He tilted his head and grinned. "I thought you were making me soup." He glanced at the stove and then back at the prince. "Do you even know how to cook soup?"

Stolas spluttered as he turned the stove on. "I am capable of heating basic things up!" he protested. "I only have the staff come in half days on weekdays," he said, looking down at the soup and summoning a spatula with the flick of his wrist. Blitz eyed the glowing blue magic that surrounded the ladle, stirring it slowly as Stolas leaned against the counter on the other side of the stove. "So I fend for myself most nights."

Blitz glanced at the stove and then back at Stolas. "You eat instant soup and cereal exclusively, don't you?"

Stolas crossed his arms and pouted. "It's not for lack of trying," he whined. "The last time I tried something more complicated, I nearly burnt the kitchen down."

The words escaped before Blitz realized he was saying them. "I can teach you how to cook."

Stolas blinked. Blitz blinked back. There seemed to be a lot of that going on.

"I mean--"

"Really?" Stolas breathed, and the shocked delight on his face silenced any excuse Blitz was going to cover up his slip with.

"Yeah," Blitz agreed. He managed a weak smile. "Someone's gotta." He leaned forward a little. His ribs twinged. "Can't have a prince eating like a broke college student, can we?"

Stolas's flush was back. "I'm perfectly capable of eating normal food," he said.

"Eating instant soup and cereal doesn't qualify as normal food, Stols." Blitz's tail was still swinging. He was aware of it, of how stupid and sappy it made him look, but he was pretty sure Stolas didn't know enough about imps to understand that Blitz was basically wagging his tail like an excited puppy. "Even for a bird."

Stolas looked away, his arms shifting to be more wrapped around himself than crossed. "I know I'm scrawny, but really, I do try and eat--"

"What?" Blitz hopped off the counter and went around Stolas so he could climb up onto it beside Stolas. "I wasn't fucking criticizing you, Stols. You know you're hot as fuck." When Stolas didn't reply or look at him, Blitz grabbed his shoulders and turned him. With Blitz standing on the counter, he was the one looming, so he dropped to a seated position to be eye-level with Stolas. "You are," Blitz said. "You're fucking perfect."

Stolas's eyes shot up to his. Tears were gathering in his waterline, his pupils little pricks of light. "I'm not," he protested. "It's alright, really, I know I'm--"

Blitz squeezed his shoulders. "Hot as fuck? Beautiful? Sexy?"

Stolas looked away. Blitz released one shoulder so he could turn his head back with a claw against his chin. Stolas didn't fight it, though the tears were bigger now. Blitz wiped one away as it spilled onto his cheek. "Do you really mean that?" Stolas asked weakly.

"Yes." Blitz wiped his other cheek and then pressed a kiss to it. "Shit, Stolas, you're like, eighty feet tall, covered in these great fuckin' feathers--" He ran his fingers through Stolas's head feathers to emphasize his point. "--and you've got pretty eyes and a prettier smile." Satan, who the fuck was he? Had Stolas laced the cheese with some kind of emotional vulnerability potion? "I've always thought you were hot, even at the beginning."

Stolas sniffled and shut his eyes. Blitz kissed his forehead, then tugged him closer, wrapping him up in a hug that Stolas willingly sank into, pressing his face into Blitz's neck. Blitz buried his face in the top of Stolas's head.

"Look," Blitz said after several moments. "I don't know what asshole told you that you're not handsome as fuck, because you are, and they clearly lack brain cells."

Stolas just clung to him. They didn't move until Blitz's nose twitched. He glanced sideways at the stove and poked Stolas's side. "Your soup is burning."

Stolas yelped and burst into motion. When he finally presented Blitz with a bowl of soup, Blitz grinned and took it, slurping loudly, just because it was funny to see the way Stolas's face wrinkled. Hesitantly, Stolas poured the rest of the soup into another bowl and began to sip at it.

Blitz glanced out the windows. "It's gettin' late," he observed idly.

Stolas hummed and lowered the soup bowl. He was watching Blitz; Blitz could feel his gaze, warm and intense and powerful. "It is," he said.

Blitz's tail swung once, twice. He didn't look at Stolas. "Ask me. Please."

"What?"

Blitz's throat closed up. He turned his head. Maybe Stolas didn't want him here after all, maybe he just wanted Blitz to finish his soup and get out of his feathers, maybe--

Stolas's talons clicked against the floor, and there was a soft noise of porcelain on stone as he set his soup down on the counter. He stepped in front of Blitz and tilted his head at him. "Will you stay with me?" Stolas asked, voice hesitant.

Blitz swallowed and glanced briefly at him, then away, unable to look at those big red eyes of his and keep his train of thought on the rails. "Yeah," he rasped. "Yeah, I'll stay."