Chapter Text
He went down the mountain with his reptilian partner, who came down at his own leisure behind him. This type of terrain suited a satyr best; his resilient hoofs were experts at jumping cliffs, making him fast. Claude was simply lazy.
The sky was slightly overcast; though the clouds didn’t let the sunrays slip through them, light was plenty, and the gentle wind swayed the high grass this way and that, making the ground seem fluffy and comfortable to lay on.
It wasn't hard to headbutt the human who stuck their nose into their lord's business, nor to put the blame on a wrong step; the cliffed mountain did the rest of the job for them, and the ocean swallowed their corpse.
He was eager for their descent; to find rest under a tree, preferably with some food to boot. He missed the feeling of wine soothing his parched throat, as well as a good night's sleep.
They reached the foot of the mountain after a while and stepped into the easier to traverse woodland. The shade the canopy of trees provided and the river's breeze brought them some relief from the sultry weather, and a nearby tree offered nourishment in the form of sweet figs, which he was quick to jump for, catching a bunch without much effort. His sloth of a friend didn’t reject the treat; with a content sigh, they both lied in a soft patch where no pebbles would offend their skin, and allowed themselves to cool off. Their task was done, so they could relax.
Or they would’ve done so, had the relative silence not been broken by the noise of something big breaching the water's surface; he lifted his head in confusion to look over the bushes that kept them hidden from view, only to be distracted by the arrival of another anomalous creature whose home was a completely different ecosystem altogether.
Monochromatic scales shone abysmal black, silvery grey and blinding white—wet and glossy, on his back, chest, arms and legs. The messy strands of inky hair stuck to his neck and face, and his dark, alien eyes remained downcast. He clutched his abdomen, panting with evident pain, struggling to walk towards the oak tree nearby.
“Claude…” He elbowed his friend, who was about to start snoring, as he chewed on a fig. “...what's that guy?”
Claude, the reptilian, raised his head as well, lazy—until he spotted the one the satyr was talking about. He woke right up. “Shit!” He cursed, tugging down at him. “Get down, Victor!”
“Why?” Victor inquired innocently, stealing another glance at the mysterious creature once more as he swallowed the piece of fruit; he held onto the sturdy tree, leaning his head back as he gritted his teeth, eyes closed.
“Because it's a goddamn leviathan, and we don’t want him to see us!” Claude warned, surprising Victor.
“Are you sure?” Victor frowned; his friend nodded, reiterating his lack of doubt in the matter. “I thought they went extinct long ago!”
“So did I, but it looks like we were mistaken!” Claude grimaced when, all of a sudden, blood trickled down from between the leviathan's legs; he moaned, as shocked as they both were, confused and aching.
“Is he spawning an egg?” Victor was astonished, as well as weirdly mesmerized by the miraculous experience of watching a leviathan bring life to a little one of its kind.
Claude gave Victor a look. “They're mammals, Victor.” The satyr was baffled by the news. “You can't be serious—!”
The leviathan cut them off by wailing; his legs trembled, and he kept himself standing by holding onto the tree. Two more creatures exited the river shortly after; one seemed too calm for the situation at hand, while the other was near panicking. “Good grief, you're fast!” She complained.
“The one who just talked is some sort of water mutant, but I'm unsure of what the other guy is.” Claude leaned closer to Victor to whisper. "A nymph? A fairy, maybe. Could also be some sort of demon. They have no scales, nor do they smell any particular way."
“I'm pretty sure you're giving birth right now.” The pink-eyed one commented, eyeing him up and down.
“Have you followed me just to state the obvious?!” The leviathan hissed aggressively; his voice was deeper than the nagging guy’s, less melodic. It had an ancient touch to it. “Get lost!”
“I wouldn’t miss this for anything!” The joyful one approached, but the mutant hesitated. "Should I help you stay upright, Vincent?”
“Keep your hands to yourself, you psychopath!” Vincent, the leviathan, rejected his offer outright.
The mutant got out of the river as well. “Wouldn’t it be best if he lays down, Albert?”
“No; gravity is a helper, so is the position.” Albert, the unknown creature, glanced at Vincent. “Unless you’d prefer that?”
“I don't want to lay down!” Vincent growled through gritted teeth, fed up with the questions. “I want it out, now!”
“Alright, alright! Just breathe and keep pushing.” Albert kneeled to check how dilated he was; Vincent tried to move away. “Quit being obtuse!” Vincent acquiesced, lacking options. “...Fortunately, you're almost there, so be patient. Zalmona, will you be a dear and keep your hands out?"
Zalmona, the mutant, did what was requested of her, avoiding the impressive sight of the miracle of life as much as she could. “Birthing is no joke! How can you be so nonchalant about this?!”
“Because I’m not the one giving birth.” Albert deadpaned, stunning her. “I reckon it'll be as slippery as a trout when it comes out, so make sure to catch it.” He grinned; his warning was efficient at making her focus.
“...Well, this is awkward.” Claude commented.
“Should we stop watching?” Victor scratched his goatee. “I feel like we shouldn't be witnessing this.”
“We can't. It's one of those things you can't quit watching, even if you want to.” Claude kneeled beside Victor, parting the bush so that they could observe better. “It's pretty hard for leviathans to get pregnant. This is history, Victor!”
Victor rolled his eyes; Claude loved drama. “We should at least offer to help.”
Claude pulled a face. “Doing what? Occupying space? We'll only overwhelm the new mother by being his uninvited audience.”
“Zut alors! [Darn it!]” Vincent cried out. He looked pale and exhausted. “Why won't it come out already?!”
“It's a child, Vincent. It tends to take a while because it's not precisely tiny.” Albert checked him out again. “I've yet to learn how you got pregnant.”
“It's none of your goddamn business—!” Vincent lost his footing for a moment, dizzy. “...get it out...!” He whined.
“Kneel on the floor. You'll be more comfortable like that.” Albert encouraged; the leviathan complied. “Keep pushing.” Vincent rested his forehead on Zalmona's shoulder, trying to find the comfort that eluded him; he whimpered, face scrunched up in exertion—he suddenly cried out, making the birds in the trees fly away.
Wailing was heard next; the baby was born.
“Oh, god!” Zalmona, frightened, held the bloody creature in her hands. “It's so tiny and cute!”
“And noisy!” Albert added, leaning back in displeasure. Vincent pulled away from Zalmona, panting. “Glad to know it has fantastic lungs!”
Zalmona offered the wailing child to Vincent, who simply stared at it; when she tried to lay it against his chest, Vincent tensed.
Albert took the child from Zalmona, shaking his head silently. He leaned over the edge of the river and scooped water in his hands to clean the baby, then began to check its reflexes, one by one. Once done, he handed it back to Zalmona and focused his attention on Vincent; his aid was unwanted, for Vincent immediately moved away. “I need to check you for any tears, Vincent.” He explained while frowning.
“Forget it.” Vincent was even paler than before, staring blankly at the baby. “No need.”
“You just had a babe. That was no easy task.” Albert kept his tone gentle, but was stern. “You need to heal. You shouldn't punish yourself because the pregnancy was unwanted.”
Zalmona rocked the baby, but it didn't quiet down; its face was red. She glanced at Albert, then at Vincent; the latter, in stupor, laid down on the plush grass, letting Albert examine him at last. The baby continued wailing, grating and irritating, but none of them complained about it.
“It was a clean and quick birth. No tears.” Albert washed his hands in the river's water and stood up. “I should go look for painkillers and food.” He leaned closer to Zalmona to whisper. “Keep an eye on him to make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid.” He stepped away.
Zalmona, unsure of what to do next, stared at Vincent, who just stared back. “...Would you like to hold it now?”
“...Yes.” Vincent accepted the offer, making Zalmona relax. She laid the baby down on his chest, no longer bloody; it slowly became quiet.
Zalmona was happy at the sight. “Are you thirsty?” Vincent nodded. “I'll bring you some water. We have to clean you up too.” She stepped away for a moment to look for some sort of container nearby.
Vincent heard her look around; he looked down at his child. It’s head had fluffy black hair, and it was cuddled against him.
Victor checked his leather pouch. “Now we can help.” He brought out a sack full of pieces of bark and stood up, making Claude sigh. He stepped over the bush, making his presence known to Albert. “I believe white willow bark might be of use to you.” He offered the pieces to him.
“Oh, thank you for your assistance!” Albert beamed, accepting it. “Is there anything you wish for in return?”
Vincent lifted the baby up, but not to examine it; he laid the baby down on the soft grass, careful and gentle. He looked around and quickly found a rock of considerable size—sturdy and heavy. Slowly, he picked it up and hovered it over the infant.
“Nothing…” Victor glanced behind Albert by pure chance. “...it's an apology for witnessing a private moment—” He registered what he was seeing, rushed by Albert and raced towards the leviathan.
Vincent lifted the rock, ready to do what he had to do, dark-eyed and stoic, but he was tackled down by a rushing force; the rock fell and rolled a few inches away from him, unused.
“Why?!” A voice questioned him from above; he looked up to find a very disturbed satyr straddling him. “Why would you do that?!”
Vincent blinked at him, indignant. “You're not entitled to know the reasons.”
Victor was horrified; he looked behind him, at the baby that was once more crying, and saw both Claude and Albert approach. “I ask that you don't scold him for it.” Albert picked the child up into his arms; despite his displeasure at its loud wailing, he was more considerate of it than its own mother. “He's unaware of the weight of his own actions at the moment.”
Vincent pushed Victor off of him. “This is why I didn’t want you to follow me! I'm well aware of why I attempted to kill it!” He snarled. “It shouldn't exist! It's another consequence of what I've had to go through! A parasite! I refuse to take care of it!”
Albert frowned. “I understand that you're in pain and didn't wish for it, but the baby is not at fault. There's other solutions.”
“I want it gone!” Vincent stood up once more, ignoring his physical aches, tired of the psychological ones, and unwilling to hear anything Albert had to say on the matter. “Not just out of my life! Gone, you understand?!”
Albert leaned to the side to lock eyes with Zalmona, who had arrived late to the commotion yet heard everything; she was feeling guilty, having trusted Vincent and having diverted her attention for a second. “We can't take care of it ourselves. It needs his warmth and nourishment.” She laments.
“That’s right!” Vincent smiled, eagerly staring at the river. “It'll die if I just leave it!”
“You know what will happen if you return to the ocean.” Albert reminded him, not needing Vincent’s explanation to figure out why this happened. “Without the baby, at that. You'll also put Zalmona at risk. Be reasonable.”
Victor, kneeling beside a standing Vincent, had an idea. “If you need a space to stay, I have my cabin. It's spacious enough for two people.” He glanced at Claude. “Could two of them stay with you?” Claude shrugged his shoulders.
“I don’t need a place to stay, but these two must remain hidden, and I can’t come by all that often.” Albert looked up, worn-out. “Leaving the baby alone with him is not the best idea, either.”
“This is ridiculous!” Vincent glared at Victor. “We don’t need your charity!”
“It's no longer just your decision!” Zalmona took it for him, yelling over the infant’s wails. “We're staying there, and it's final!”
“I won’t—!” Vincent winced, clutching his belly; his expression turned anguished. “...Okay.” He whined, low and vulnerable.
Victor eyed the baby; his ears hurt. “May I hold it?” He inquired, surprising himself; Albert hesitantly handed it over. He gently picked it up and cradled it. Unexpectedly, the little thing snuggled against his chest and relaxed. He touched its hair and caressed the scales of its arm. “...You’re very cute.” He mumbled. When he lifted his gaze, Vincent was staring at his baby with that vacant gaze again.
⸙
He opened the door to the cabin; it was a humble abode, consisting of a furnace that kept him fed and warm during the cold months, a table, a pair of chairs and a big bed made out of wood that he collected and treated himself. The sheets were simple, the cooking tools were old but durable, and the clay bathtub and urinal were very practical when the weather was not appropriate to fulfill those necessities outside.
He glanced around with the babe still in his arms; the long copper basin he used to store fresh fruit would have to do as a provisional crib. He headed straight for it, letting Vincent enter and examine the place he would live in for an undetermined amount of time; the metallic container rasped against the wooden floorboards as he tugged from its handle and took it out of the corner.
He left the tiny creature on the bed in order to lift the basin with a single hand. He threw the fruit on a smaller but deeper clay bowl and took the basin to wash; using a cloth he wet in a jar full of fresh water and olive oil soap, he left it pristine. He dried it with another cloth and turned around to find the flattest and longest cushion he owned to use as a mattress; he found Vincent sitting on one of the wooden chairs, just thinking. “...You may use the bed.” Vincent turned to him, slow to realize he was being talked to. “You need to rest. I’ll also brew you some tea with the white willow bark to ease your pain.”
“...Alright.” Vincent’s tone was mellow, unsure.
Victor didn’t push him any further; he grabbed the cushion he was looking for and placed it into the basin, then searched for sheets to finish. Once done, he moved the basin next to the bed. He looked at Vincent again. “Are you hungry?”
“...No.” Vincent responded as he averted his gaze.
Victor sighed. “That’s not a convincing response.” He turned and took a jar out of a cabinet; when he took the cap off of it, a vinegary smell wafted off of it. “Do you like pickled herrings?”
Vincent stared at him, dumbfounded. “I…I’ve never tried anything pickled.”
“Well, this is going to be your first time.” Victor used tongs to fish out a few fillets of herring and placed them in a clay plate. He also picked up a pitcher full of water for drinking and brought them to Vincent. The leviathan examined the food curiously. “It doesn’t bite.”
“I’m well aware; it’s been dead for a very long time.” Vincent replied; the joke flew over his head completely. He leaned closer to smell it, and doubted. “Are you sure this is appropriate for consumption?”
Victor simply took a piece and slipped it into his mouth; he didn't drop dead, nor did he hesitate to eat it. “Don’t tell me you’re a coward.”
Vincent frowns. He picked up a piece and imitated Victor; the flavor was strong at first, then turned far softer and herbal. When he swallowed, it felt balsamic, leaving a pleasant taste in his mouth.
Victor watched him, from the way his pupils dilated, to the manner in which his Adam’s apple moved while savoring the bite, and how his taloned fingers gleamed with vinegar. He swallowed saliva unconsciously.
Vincent licked his lips. “...It was good.” He catched Victor staring at him. “What?”
“Nothing.” Victor shook his head. “I’m just glad you appreciate my effort. Do eat the rest while I brew your tea.”
“Aren’t you going to eat?” Vincent inquired unexpectedly. Victor turned to him, as he was about to leave. “I heard your stomach growl.”
“Once I’m done doing my tasks.” Victor turned around and began to feed the furnace with pieces of wood. He checked on the baby; it was out like a log. “I hope it likes the crib…” He pondered out loud, worrying that it got used to the mattress.
⸙
“Leviathan babies grow up fast. It won’t be a baby for long.” Is what Albert had told him, entrusting him with the care of the baby, since he was that eager. Victor knew it was weird that he didn’t consider the idea tedious, but he didn’t find the baby annoying in the slightest, nor did he regret welcoming it and its mother to his humble abode.
Vincent drank the tea a while ago and was now laid on the bed, curled in on himself, while the baby was in the makeshift crib. Its mother hadn’t touched it since bringing it to this world; Victor knew he’ll have to encourage Vincent to feed it soon. He turned to the adult leviathan, aware that he wasn't sleeping. He had lent him a linen cloth to provide comfort as his body released any remaining waste. “Are you in pain?”
Vincent shifted a little, startled out of his thoughts. “No.”
Victor continued carving the block of wood in his hand with a knife. “Are you cold?”
“No. The deep ocean is far colder than winter anywhere on land.” Vincent replied, far more cordial than hours ago. “I’m used to it.”
“You should still tell me if you’re uncomfortable.” Victor insisted. “If you’re having trouble sleeping, I could brew you another tea. Valerian can help with restlessness.”
“No, thank you.” Vincent rejected his offer once more.
Victor left the wood block and his tool on the table and approached the bed, noisily stepping on the floorboards with his hoofs, startling Vincent anew. He sat on it. “Since you’ll be spending some time here, why don’t we get to know each other a little?”
Vincent’s expression shifted rapidly; confusion, annoyance, vulnerability. “I’m just a leviathan. There’s nothing else to say.”
“And I’m just a satyr, but I think there’s many things I could tell you.” Victor beamed. “If you’d lend me your ear.”
Vincent sat up slowly; his messy hair fell around his face. “I don’t feel like facing any further judgement today. Or any other day, for that matter. It’s quite tiring.”
Victor sensed the hidden anguish behind the nonchalant wording. He kept his hand still, despite it wanting to reach out and tuck Vincent’s hair behind his ear. “I’m sorry if I made you feel like that earlier. I was just baffled to see a mother try to kill his child, but I now understand why you feel this way.” He softened his gaze. “I’ve done things I’m not proud of. I have no right to judge you as if I were any better than you.”
Vincent was taken aback by the readiness and sincerity that Victor met his doubts with. He glanced away, at the small bundle of a creature, who was sleeping without a worry in the world. “...I…I was unaware I was pregnant.” He lifted his head; his eyes, alien like a sea creature’s, showed fear. “I’ve never had intercourse with anyone.”
Victor frowned, confused. He decided to tread carefully. “Do you have any idea of how you came to be with child, then?”
Vincent’s eyes were glassy. He tried to find the words, but he eventually turned his face away. “I no longer wish to speak about this matter.” He declared adamantly.
“Then we won’t.” Victor gave him the privacy he seeked. “What do you enjoy doing for leisure?” He attempted to distract him.
Vincent locked eyes with him anew, tense. “I enjoy reading.”
Victor accommodated his hairy legs on the mattress. “Any particular genre you’re fond of?”
“Philosophy and history.” Vincent eyed him warily, expecting mockery. It never came.
“Ah, so you’re very cultured! You’d be a fantastic partner for a conversation!” Victor’s grin turned awkward. “Though I’m afraid I might fall short in comparison to you. You might end up speaking far more than I do, but I’d be a willing listener!”
Vincent was a little flustered. He lowered his gaze. “It’s not that hard to comprehend the literature I read.” He fiddled with the edge of a cushion. “I don’t think you’d be that useless of a conversationalist around such topics.”
“I hope I don’t end up disappointing you!” Victor chuckled.
“Why would it matter?” Vincent still avoided his gaze, frowning. “If you disappointed me?”
“Because I want to befriend you, obviously.” Victor deadpaned, amused. Vincent blinked at him, taken by surprise once more. “Do you not believe me?”
“I thought…” Vincent glanced at the babe once more.
“Pardon me if I’m assuming wrong—” Victor showed patience and empathy once more. “—but I believe you’re going through a terrible moment, and that you’re suffering some sort of ailment that materialized after giving birth. I’ve heard of mothers who’ve needed to be separated from their children, not because they’re evil, but because they have no control over their wrecked emotions. Again, I apologize if it seemed like I was accusing you of being a terrible parent.”
“I attempted to kill it.” Vincent made himself smaller. “I still want to. How could I not be a terrible parent?”
“I think you know better than I do that it’s not so simple a dilemma.” Victor didn’t voice out his suspicions. “And you know you need help. It doesn’t make you weak; a child is a lot of work.”
As if on cue, the baby began to cry, low; Vincent was startled by the sound despite the gentle volume.
Victor leaned down to reach for it and lifted it out of the crib. “What is it with you?” The satyr inquired with a baby voice; the newborn opened its eyes just barely, pausing for a moment, then protested some more. Victor became uncomfortable; he knew what it needed. “...Vincent—”
“I can’t.” Vincent eyed it with a mixture of disdain and distress. “Don’t make me do it.”
“Listen to me.” Victor didn’t raise his voice, nor did he become stern. He talked to Vincent as softly as he would speak to the baby, but without infantilizing him. “I know the idea is unpleasant, but you have to try.” The baby’s cries became louder, and Victor felt desperation creep in. “There’s nothing I can give it that will provide the nutrients of your milk, and it needs them to survive.”
Vincent was very nervous. “Will it stop wailing if I feed it?” Victor nodded. “...Fine. Hand it over.”
Victor moved closer to Vincent and passed him the baby. “Support its head with your left arm.” Vincent followed his instructions, grimacing at the ongoing cries. “Guide its mouth to your chest by bringing him closer with your free hand.” He interlaced his fingers with Vincent’s and pushed the baby closer; fortunately, the baby was quick to latch onto Vincent, growing calm as it drank.
The stressed satyr sighed in relief and released Vincent’s hand, though the leviathan didn’t share his sentiment; what bothered him then was the feeling of the infant feeding from him. “...How long will this take?”
“I’m not sure. It’ll probably detach once it’s done.” Victor could tell Vincent was very impatient to be done with it.
Vincent’s expression shifted; he furrowed his brow and pouted. He pleaded to Victor through his gaze. “...C-could you distract me?” His voice broke, as he was about to weep.
“Once, the fur on my back was extremely matted.” Victor hurriedly began to narrate the first anecdote that came to mind. “Since it’s back there, I just forgot I had to brush it, you know? Claude tried to help me out, but it was no use: chop-chop was the only way.” Vincent stared at him as he gulped. “I had to walk around with a massive bald spot. It was quite embarrassing, and it was still cold around to boot!”
Vincent blinked his tears down, stunned, but ended up chuckling; his grin made Victor’s stomach flip pleasantly. “W-what?” Is the only answer he could give to the absurdity of the satyr’s past conundrum.
“And do you see these hoops?” Victor showed Vincent his ears, which were adorned with silver jewelry. “I dunked my ears in a jar full of freezing water, and with a sewing needle that I’d previously put in vinegar, I pierced myself. I gave Claude quite the scare when he saw them, and in revenge, the idiot told me I had pierced my ears at different levels, very convincingly!” Vincent chuckled once more. “And I believed him! I trusted him! But then I took a mirror and checked, and almost broke it by hitting him with it!”
“But d-didn’t you check them out to be sure you did them right before showing him?” Vincent tried to understand the logic of it. “Why’d you fall into his joke?”
“Listen—,” Victor became serious. “—I did! But when an old friend tells you, with a worried face and a sorry voice, that you just made a terrible mistake, one tends to doubt their own perception!” Vincent chortled in disbelief. “Yeah, yeah, laugh at my expense! He might be an idiot, but he’s right when he says I’m even more stupid than he is!” He leaned closer to Vincent. “Did you know I almost lost a horn by headbutting a gargoyle? I drank the entirety of that church’s blood of Christ, so it had reasons to kick me out, but still…”
Vincent was guffawing joyfully, though his cheeks were red not only from laughing, but his tears as well. His hand remained on the back of the baby’s head.
“Also, I once infiltrated myself into a human guy’s herd of goats, to enter his house and steal; fortunately, he was as drunk as a skunk! He saw me, a red goat with earrings and a very human face, and was like ‘hold on a minute!’. Do you know what I said to him to convince him it was just his imagination?” Victor squinted his eyes at Vincent, who waited for the answer with batted breath. “...Baaaa?” He bleated.
Vincent cackled; in reaction to his mirth, the baby raised a hand and pawed at him.
“He shrugged and went back to drinking, just like that!” Victor smirked. “And when I got in, the mastiff inside barked at me, until I fed it some dried meat and petted it. We became partners in crime!”
Victor continued regaling Vincent with the stupidest of anecdotes for a while, even after the tiny thing in his arms stopped feeding. Sadly, once Vincent noticed, his joy was sucked out of his face. He stared at his own baby with conflicted feelings. “Could you put it back?”
“Of course.” Victor picked the baby up and laid it down on its crib anew. “It’s getting late. How about you eat something, drink valerian tea, and I prepare a bath for you?”
“I could wash up in the river.” Vincent was eager to wash away the discharge between his legs.
“No.” Victor was adamant. “It’s dark, you’re tired, and your blood could attract undesired guests.” He was also wary of what Vincent might do out of his sight. “I think the warm water would also do you good.” He stood up and headed to the kitchen cabinets. “Are you a carnivore?”
“Omnivore.” Vincent stood up and held onto the bed’s wooden frame as he watched Victor plate an assortment of foods; vegetables, dried meats, cheese, pickled anchovies and bread. He came closer to the table, where Victor placed them. “What is that?” He asked, pointing at the first.
“Figs, plums and cranberries.” Victor pointed at the cheese. “It’s cow cheese. The meats are all pork, each cured differently.” He gave Vincent an apologetic look. “I had no time to prepare anything more elaborate than this.”
“No, I’m grateful!” Vincent eyed the plate with curiosity. “But I don’t think I’ll be able to eat this much.”
“Don’t worry about that, I just plated this much because I don’t know your preferences. Just eat whatever you prefer, but as much as you can.” Victor turned to the furnace. “Take a seat and eat slowly. You have the water pitcher there.” He took flint and steel, lighted up the wood, moved it around to enliven the fire and placed a few bigger pots full of water where the flames were the weakest. Then, he hung a much smaller clay pot over the fire, full of water, and allowed it to boil.
Vincent tried the meat first, finding its scent interesting. The flavor, as expected, was not as simple as tasting only raw meat; it had a smoky taste, enriched by spices, and its saltiness was not overpowering. Some pieces varied in color, texture, consistency and flavor, but they were all easy to consume. The cheese was overwhelming at first, as it was strong, but it easily crumbled into pieces in his mouth, and he quickly grew fond of it; he found that the bread, which was a bit hard outside yet fluffy on the inside, paired well with the assortment of food, including the anchovies and the fruit. The latter, he had never tried, but the sweetness was addictive.
He was so focused on eating, having only realized how hungry he was once he started, that time flew by quickly, and Victor was already serving him the tea. “Oh, you ate everything!” He beamed, cheery, though Vincent seemed embarrassed. “Don’t make that face, I’m very glad!” He brought the clay cup closer to Vincent. “I’ve sweetened it with some honey.”
Vincent drank from it; the earthy taste had been masked by the sweetness of the honey well enough that he could easily drink it. As he did, Victor carried the big pots to the clay bathtub and filled it to the brim, then procured two thick linen cloths, a smaller one and a bar of olive soap out of a wooden chest. He placed one big cloth, the smaller piece and the bar of soap on its lid, and the remaining linen on the floor to use as a rug.
“Now that night has fallen, it’s not so warm anymore.” Victor walked towards the bed and, from a different chest in front of it, took a woolen blanket to lay above the sheets. “If you get cold or warm, you may always tell me.”
“Again, I’m used to the cold.” Vincent glanced at the floor. “I’m also used to sleeping on hard surfaces. The floor is fine.”
Victor whipped his head around. “Like hell it is! You’re taking the bed!”
“What about you?” Vincent frowned, setting the empty cup down. “This is your home. I can’t expect you to sleep on the rug.”
“You should expect it, because it’s happening!” Victor chuckled; Vincent was about to protest, so he cut him off before he could. “I’m not having a guy who gave birth less than eight hours ago sleeping on the floor! You can forget it!” He approached the leviathan and offered his hands for support. “Let me help you.”
“You’re doing everything around here!” Vincent lamented, but accepted his aid. “I hope you’ll allow me to partake in the household’s task once I’ve recovered!”
“Sure, sure.” Victor guided him to the bathtub. “Whatever you say.” Vincent was indignant at being brushed off. “Hold onto the bathtub while I take the linen cloth off.” He kneeled behind Vincent.
The leviathan felt useless. “I could’ve done that…”
“You could’ve. But why would you, when you have me?” Victor set the dirty linen cloth aside and stood on his legs. “Hold onto me and enter carefully.”
Vincent lifted his weak leg over the edge of the tub and sank it in the water. “I’ve yet to understand why you’re going to such lengths—” He froze; his pupils dilated.
“It’s not scalding hot, is it?” Victor became alarmed.
“...No. I’ve just never felt warm water before.” Vincent’s muscles relaxed; he put his other leg in, and still holding onto Victor, sat on the tub. An alien sensation coursed through him as the warm water enveloped him. “...This is nice.”
“Told you so.” Victor handed him the bar of soap. “Speaking of what you were saying—” The bar slipped from Vincent’s grasp and jumped into the water; he chuckled as he sank his arm in to retrieve it, and handed it to him anew. “Don’t hold it too hard, or it’ll slip again.” He explained, and Vincent was determined not to drop it again; he found it adorable. “In regards to your comment, I told you I wanted to be your friend, didn’t I?” Since Vincent found it difficult to use the bar, he took it from him, rubbed the soap on his hand and washed Vincent’s hair. “Besides, I don’t have it in me to not help a mother and his child.”
“We were strangers hours ago.” Vincent couldn’t wrap his head around it. Victor’s fingers rubbed his scalp, making him shiver. “You’re doing far too much for me!”
“You’re still going on about that?” Victor smirked, moving onto Vincent’s shoulders; his scales were incredibly soft and shiny.
“How could I not? I feel like you’re my servant, and that I’ve taken possession of your home!” Vincent continued complaining, doing nothing to stop Victor. “I’m not fond of that!”
Victor chuckled evilly to himself. “You don’t have a choice in the matter.” Vincent lifted his head to glare at him; he took the opportunity to clean his face. “I have the impression you’re as stubborn as a mule.”
“I’m being reasonable!” Vincent argued, proving Victor’s point; the satyr chortled. “Are you making fun of me?”
“Yes. You’re quite cute—” Victor shut himself up, while Vincent was baffled. “—or rather, silly.” He corrected himself.
“If you’re going to insult me, I’d rather wash myself without your help!” Vincent tried to grab the bar, but Victor didn’t let him.
“Help? Is that what it is, when I’m doing everything?” Victor jested; Vincent scowled at him. “I’m merely teasing you, my dear. It’s quite fun, you see.”
“Is that the price I must pay for your hospitality? To be humiliated?” Vincent was ready to exit the tub.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” Victor sweetened his tone. “I have a tendency to tease those I’m fond of, but I might’ve taken too many liberties. I don’t think you’re unintelligent by any means, so please, let me continue washing you.”
Vincent squinted his eyes at him, distrustful, but dropped the matter. He was quiet while Victor continued to wash his back and chest, at least for a little while. “Why would you insult someone you’re fond of?”
“Because it’s a joke made between two people that know the joker is kidding.” Victor grabbed a pitcher, filled it with water and poured it over Vincent. “Or, in the case the jest has any truth to it, it’s a way to bring levity to a situation that might be bothersome for the object of the joke. It’s not meant to be offensive.” He poured water over Vincent again. “You were being silly by acting as if a bar of soap, which you’ve never held before, should never escape your grasp despite its slipperiness, because you think awkwardness and clumsiness are weaknesses. A funny moment was all it was.”
Vincent kept his head low. “I felt ashamed.”
“I understand why, but you have no reason to. I’ve held a bar of soap countless times by now, and it’ll slip from my grasp in the future again. I’ve walked many times in my life, and I’ll stumble at some point for any reason.” Victor left the pitcher on the chest and lifted Vincent’s chin. “There’s nothing wrong with being clumsy from time to time.”
Vincent stared up at Victor, taken by surprise; he examined Victor’s horns, his pointed ears, his shaggy and fiery hair, and his silver jewelry against ivory skin. His dark grey eyes were rimmed by amber. He smelt of sandalwood. He was warm, attentive, kind. And interesting. Alluring.
Victor didn’t waste time in inspecting Vincent in return. The leviathan’s eyes were a light gray, striking in contrast with his black sclera. His skin was porcelain, adorned by mirror-like scales. His neck was adorned by closed gills, and his fingers were long and slim.
The moment in which Vincent stood by the tree, suffering through his contractions, came to mind; despite the pain, Victor could only consider the scene a wonder of life, a work of art engraved into his brain. Vincent was unequivocally lovely.
The marine creature skittishly lowered his gaze. “...I can continue on my own from this point onward.”
Victor blinked, disappointed for reasons that eluded him. “Of course.” He handed Vincent the bar of soap and watched him continue to wash himself; he found the way he clutched the soap adorable, and had his eye caught by the shine in his drenched hair, which covered his timid expression.
Even when he left his side to attend to other matters until he was ready to get out of the tub, his movements and the light his skin would reflect his way would catch his attention anew. And when Vincent was out, after he was dry and back in bed, warm and ready to plunge into slumber—as he let his guard down and slept at last, Victor’s gaze still fell on him from his spot on the floor; the thick blanket cushioning his body and the sheets over him felt unnaturally cold and uncomfortable in comparison to the spot beside the leviathan, despite having slept just fine in worse circumstances before.
With a strange emotion, similar to the one he’d felt when he coveted another’s possessions, but not quite the same, he turned his body and closed his eyes; the furnace’s flames danced over his skin, painting shadows on him.