The small, dimly lit room was filled with the soft flicker of candlelight, casting long shadows across the walls, and a gentle orange glow on Cyrus’s face. The silence that engulfed us was intermittently pierced by his quiet hiss and groans as I dabbed the damp cloth against his marred skin. Each sound from him sent my heart plummeting into my stomach. The constant furrowing of my brows from stress and concentration was giving me a pounding headache.

I was sitting on the creaking, worn wooden floor of our living room, my hands trembling as I continued to clean and bandage his wounds. The motion was intended to be soothing, yet every grimace of pain from him only steeped me deeper in remorse.

“You are such an idiot,” I whispered, my voice wavering as I spoke. I didn’t mean those words, not really, but that was all I could manage to say through the ache in my chest.

A faint chuckle escaped him, jarred by a sudden jolt of pain. Cyrus’s back was a mess of torn flesh and blood, the whip marks crossing in angry, raw lines. The wounds were so deep I could see the white of bone in some places along his spine and ribs– the sight of it causing my stomach to turn. His upper arms weren’t spared either, the skin there hanging in ragged strips where the whip had caught him. 

No amount of medicinal ointment could erase the scars he would carry from this.

Cyrus was gently resting his head on my upper thigh, his body sprawled out on the floor in front of me as I treated him. His blonde curls were brushing against my skin and I could feel the flutter of his eyelashes as he blinked, his breath warm against my leg. His voice came out hoarse as he spoke.

“Nemmi… thank you.”

I froze, the bloody cloth hovering over his wounds as I processed his words. My mind was a mess of confusion and the guilt I felt for not intervening.

“For what, Cy?,” I sighed, my voice almost breaking from the threat of tears. “You shouldn’t be thanking me at all– I did absolutely nothing to help you.”

He shuffled his movement, resting his head back to look up at me with his piercing blue eyes. The sadness in them was so unbearable that I had to turn my head and break eye contact.

“Only because I didn’t want you to,” he croaked. “I know you would’ve stepped in to help, but I needed them to see it.” He moved his head into my field of view, forcing me to look in his eyes once more. “I know it hurt you and Dad to watch.”

His words hung in the air, heavy with the truth I didn’t want to face. He had endured the pain, the suffering– not because he had no other choice, but because he wanted to make a statement. The tears that had threatened me finally stung my eyes and my vision blurred, but I tried to push them down. My throat clenched with the pain, and I swallowed to try and soothe it.

“You could have died, Cy,” I whimpered, my bottom lip quivering. I averted my gaze again, knowing my wavering voice betrayed my desire to keep him from seeing me cry.

His fingers brushed against mine tentatively. I instinctively withdrew, wrapping my arms around myself as a barrier.

“Give me your hand, Nemmi,” he entreated softly.

“I can’t,” I murmured, my voice barely audible.

“And, why not?” His voice was gentle but insistent.

I met his gaze again, knowing my emotions were going to betray me. “B-because, if I hold your hand, it’ll make me cry,” I confessed.

Cy’s gaze softened, understanding flickering in his eyes. He calmly reached up, yet this time more firmly, and pulled my left arm out of its shelter. He slowly grazed his hand down my forearm, finally interlocking his fingers into my own. The touch was light, but it was just enough to force out my frustrated sob.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he promised, his voice steady despite his pain. “I’m too damn stubborn for that.”

“You can’t k-keep doing this,” I cried harder, my breathing becoming labored. “Putting yourself in harm’s way j-just to, what– prove a point?”

He didn’t respond immediately and his eyes slowly drifted closed. When he spoke again, his voice was even quieter.

“I’m not doing this just to ‘prove a point’, Nemmi,” he said, opening his eyes. “I’m doing this because it’s the only way I know how to fight back. The only way I can show them that we aren’t afraid.” I turned away from him again, but he tugged gently on my hand. 

“Look at me, Noemi,” he urged.

I reluctantly peeled my eyes back to his. “I promise, I will be more careful so I don’t put you guys through that again,” he muttered.

In the depths of my soul, I know he only meant to reassure me in the moment, but I could hear the unspoken truth in them. Cyrus was never going to back down, no matter the cost– that’s just not who he was. To be truthful, I could never expect him to. The realization sent a shiver of fear through me, but it was tempered by a deep, unwavering respect for him. He was so much stronger than I could ever pretend to be.

I tried to make light of the situation through my tears, knowing that I could never actually hold him to his promise; but at the moment, it gave me a small shrivel of peace. “You better be more careful.” I managed to say out of anger, “Otherwise, I won’t hesitate to step in, Cy. I don’t care what you say.”

He smiled, a small, tired smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. He gently rubbed his thumb over the skin of my hand. “I would never expect anything less from you.”

The room fell into a comfortable silence, the only sounds were the light crackle of the candles and Cyrus’s steady breathing. He had rested his head back on my thigh as I continued to tend to his wounds, wrapping his body in bandages, and trying to ease his pain as much as I could.

As I worked, my thoughts drifted to the future, to the challenges that an uprising against the King would bring. Suddenly, I became aware that Cyrus was still caressing my hand, and it made me think about our upcoming marriage. The realization hit like a bolt of lightning. 

“Oh my God, Cy,” I breathed, the weight of it all settling in. “Do you realize we’re supposed to be getting married in less than three months?” His steady breathing hitched, and he looked back up at me, his gaze intense.

“Oh,” he smiled. “To be honest, I remembered.”

I laughed, a bit nervously. “That’s going to be so weird, right? Us– Married? I mean, I knew it was always going to happen, it’s just so odd being married to my best friend.”

His smile faded slightly, a hint of vulnerability in his eyes. “Is it really that strange to marry your best friend?” he asked, his voice tinged with hurt. “I wouldn’t want to be married to someone I couldn’t stand.”

His new expression felt like a dagger in my chest. “No, I mean– it’s not that weird, I just think– I don’t know-” I fumbled for the right words, struggling to reconcile what I had said. “I guess it’s just odd to think of us as ‘married’. We’ve always been friends, never really… attracted to each other, you know?.”

Yea, that’s the right way to say it!

“Geez, kid. You’re killing it– literally,” Kako’s voice echoed in my head, laced with amusement.

Cyrus’s forehead creased, his blonde brows setting low. “I think you’re pretty,” he stated quietly. 

“What?” was all I managed to say. A small, unfamiliar flutter coursed through my stomach. “You think… I’m pretty?”

“Yea,” he whispered, his gaze steady. “A true Celestial beauty. I mean, you have the most beautiful silver hair and your eyes are really cool, striking even. Your skin is flawless,” he pointed out. “But beyond that, you’ve got a heart of gold. You care so deeply about everyone around you, and you’re incredibly strong.”

I was at a loss for words. I had never imagined that the man in front of me, who could have any girl he wanted– thought I, Noemi Vermisial, was pretty. I suddenly noticed the glow on his face from the candlelight, causing warm shadows that only made him look more angelic.

“But, why would you even want to marry me? I come with issues, Cy. I have a demon– ‘mind stalker’, as you so eloquently put it– and I am from two different bloodlines. I literally killed my own father–”

“You didn’t kill your father,” he replied abruptly. “Kako killed your father. Besides, none of that matters to me. I come with my own issues too, obviously, and I care about you, as more–” his words caught in his throat before he continued. “As a friend. I wouldn’t mind being married to someone like you.”

I coughed loudly, trying to mask my embarrassment. “Well, I think you aren’t so bad yourself,” I muttered under my breath.

Cy smirked, pushing his body up onto his elbows, his face closer to mine. “What’d you say?” he teased, closing his eyes and pursing his lips playfully. “I don’t think I heard you.”

My face flushed and my heartbeat quickened. “I said, ‘you’re not so bad yourself’,” I blurted out, the words rushing out of me. “I guess being married to you won’t be so weird. We’re close, we get along well, and hey, we could have more sparring matches in our future.”

Cyrus let out a deep, hearty laugh, resting his head back down on my lap. “Yea, maybe I will let you win for your pride, occasionally.”

I slapped his arm, playfully, only realizing what I had done when I felt my hand make contact with his freshly wrapped bandages.

“Oww, damn,” he hissed, his eyes squeezing shut.

My eyes widened in horror, “Oh, Cy! I am so sorry, I forgot for a second that you were all banged up!”

“Yea, that’s a loose way to put it,” he grunted. After he gained his composure, he let out a small, “It’s alright…”

When Serf Seraphiel finally returned, his arms laden with supplies, he paused in the doorway, his eyes softening as he took in the scene before him. Cyrus, sleeping against me, his wounds bandaged and clean, and his hand still clasped in mine. 

“How is he doing?” Serf Seraphiel asked, his voice gentle as he set down the supplies and crossed the room to kneel beside us.

“A little better,” I replied. “He isn’t shaking as badly anymore.”

Serf Seraphiel nodded, his hand coming to rest on Cyrus’s head. “He’s tough.”

Cyrus opened his eyes, looking up at his father with a small, tired smile. “I’m fine, Dad. You’re still stuck with me, unfortunately.”

Serf Seraphiel chuckled softly, his eyes filled with the love and pride he had for his son. “Good. I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

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