Lu almost said thank you, instead, he kissed Adon’s knuckles, squinting at the letters, remembering Adon’s original promise or threat or dare, for Lu to outlive him, “is that what this says? Till Death?”

Adon shoved Lu’s shoulder playfully, fully aware that Y had tried her best and that the marred skin of his hands didn’t help, several scars interrupting the fading ink. He looked at his hand and set it against Lu’s ragged face. They were exhausted. People weren’t supposed to start love stories looking like crap, but then, he laughed to himself as Lu’s hand folded over his half-ear, he’d certainly looked worse. Besides, they’d started their love story ages ago. “It says till death Lu-Lu,” Adon jutted his chin flirtatiously, “do you know what that means?”

Lu nodded his head slowly, sliding an arm beneath Adon’s side, supporting so he wouldn’t strain the new wound, curious hand surprised to find new muscle, a dozen scars beveling beneath the thin cotton of the hospital shirt, “are you cold?”

Adon snorted, the drugs dissolved enough for him to register that Lu seemed just as incapable of holding a normal conversation as he was. He shook his head, holding his gaze, watching Lu’s face flicker and twitch at all he was trying to keep from Adon, his warring guilt and glee, unsure how much he was allowed to hope. Still, after a decade apart, Lu displayed aloud all the emotion Adon shoved away. Adon leaned closer, hovering in challenge.

Lu exhaled and closed the space between them, feeling Adon’s smile against his lips, still swallowing his own. His hands drifted gently up Adon’s back, mourning every textured patch of scar-tissued skin, marveling at how it had remained whole, thanking it for keeping Adon encased and not dangling from cages, shredded or collapsed. It would take him years to piece the stories together, but Adon shifted so he was practically in Lu’s lap and he thought maybe a few years didn’t have to be so long, not if they had till death. Not if he could make that death something close to forever, something too far away to worry about anymore, something replaced by yet instead of almost. 

Lu felt something stitch together in him, a healed grief, or fear, something engulfing and hot and dangerously hopeful. He’d never dared to imagine a future where he didn’t burn every part of himself for Adon, prepared for an eternity spent pleading for forgiveness, shackles optional. But here was Adon, kissing away the ashes of his sacrificial pyre like it had always been unnecessary. Lu’s hands stopped fumbling, grateful there were no passing Midders to see his ears burning so red as Adon’s skin ceased to be a patchwork of stories he had to learn, of mournful memories or stubborn survival or anything but Adon himself. Adon who was in front of him, whole and real, in his hands, bandages, scars, even a smile—sharper than before, but still, there was nothing else in the world Lu wanted but to keep it, preferably exactly where it was, against his, easily silencing the fears until the future was nothing more than where Adon’s hand would go next, the present only the breath and balance between them, the past a blanket discarded.   

Lu melted in the thought. He wanted Adon in his bed in the morning, softly snoring, his hair regrown, sprawled and alive. He wanted to bring him breakfast, to watch his face change as he tried new foods and judged the produce market bio-fruits. He wanted to know what voice Adon used to talk to his dogs, to ask confidently about every scar, to recognize him by the smell of his soap, and to build a world of favorites between them until he’d replaced all his hypothetical sketches and worn out memories with the authentic Adon as he was now. Lu was struck so intently by the urge to fold Adon into his pocket and keep him safe at home forever, that he pulled away with a breathless smile and an idea, “let’s bake a cake.”

Adon nodded, if that’s what he wanted to call it. He let Lu pull him to his feet, stretching with a wide yawn and scanning the empty park, adjusting his twisted clothes as his eyes snagged on the two figures staring at them, crouched near a bush. Adon shoved Lu sideways, kicking his feet out from under him but gripping his arm tight with a strained groan so that Lu slid down the boulder toward the water, then jumped down beside him, pulling him into a crouch as a loud gunshot split the air. 

Lu looked Adon over, frantically pulling at his scrubby shirt to inspect the wound, a forearm against Adon’s neck, frowning at the clammy sweat as he measured his temperature, remembering the doctor’s lecture about infection, the ream of print-outs, Adon was sick! He was hurt and sick and Lu had only thought of himself and now there were gunshots? Why were there gunshots? Another cracked, whizzing through the leaves above them.

Adon smacked Lu’s hands away, hissing “fine, I’m fine. Stop it.” He pinned Lu’s arms to his side with a sharp huff, “you stay here. Tell them they did good. Tell them I said they did good, okay?”

Lu nodded but reached for Adon’s hand, refusing to let go, too confused to argue with words. 

Adon smiled sadly, untangling his fingers, “hiding doesn’t work forever, Lu-Lu,” he kissed one cheek, patting the other with a double tap then a harder smack that still didn’t hurt, “eventually  you get found.”

Lu blinked, his arm falling away in the face of his own exposure. Adon had always seen through him, as if Lu walked around announcing every emotion, but Lu thought that in confessing, he would no longer be ashamed. Yet there he was, watching Adon disappear again, his chest tight, gut pitting like a black hole that would swallow him, still hiding in every shadow. Adon wasn’t supposed to see him when he was hiding. Adon had never seen him hiding before, too busy baking cakes and carrying Mess and Aphy. Lu doubted Adon made cakes anymore, and he had no idea where he stood other than on the soggy shore of a Mids river, lips swollen, hands empty, alone. The weight of the future he’d hefted so easily with Adon in his sight fell heavy, crushing, immobilizing, as Lu waited for himself to adjust. Adon had opened a door like a sun lamp, then closed it again, leaving Lu to blink away the after images of all he might have hoped for and curl back into the shadow. He felt weak and unsure and scared as a group of men thundered past. He was supposed to be trusting Adon, but Adon was supposed to stop almost-dying. 

Adon scrambled out from behind the boulder before Lu could tempt him to stay again, sprinting down the winding greenway path, zigzagging between trees and sun lamp shadows, then jumping the railing, dropping into the river chute, and riding the waterfall all the way down the drop to the cistern catch. Four men followed him away from Lu, waving ghost guns like they were on the ground, grinding out orders as Midder sec-offs chased them down with their own weapons and better aim. 

Lu remained hidden as the men ran past, recognizing Troy and Mykos but none of the others. He waited until the sec-offs cleared then climbed up the boulder and followed the path away from Adon, convincing himself that Adon had survived before, so Adon would survive again. Adon kept promises like till death inked in his skin and tallied all the times he almost broke it, sincere to his bones. With that stubbornness in mind, Lu went looking for whoever he was supposed to deliver Adon’s message to, certain he would find some out-of-place grounder, already lecturing himself not to feel any kind of unwarranted jealousy over anyone who might know Adon better, picking at his lip and shaking the sound of Adon’s breath out of his ear even though he wanted to keep it there. He jogged up the gravel until he met a Midder boy weeping on the path, another wrapped around him, obviously a Grounder. They both flinched helplessly at each distant gunshot as the Grounders fought the sec-offs or Adon or both. 

Lu hovered, then slowly understood Adon’s words, his voice hoarse, “Messenger?”

The Grounder boy hugging Mess snapped his head up, snarling as Lu approached. 

Lu held up empty hands, refusing to feel afraid for Adon, ignoring the enticing misery of Mess’ sobbing tears, “he said you did good, Mess. Adon said….” That only made Mess cry harder, the angry boy’s glare doubling. “He said to tell you that. That you did—”

Messenger stood so suddenly, he knocked Euri backwards, “why would he tell you?” He growled, fists clenching in Lu’s shirt collar with gnashing teeth despite their equal height but  Lu’s significantly greater mass. 

Euri jumped up to join Mess before he started a fight he definitely couldn’t finish, watching the stranger’s feet shift subconsciously into a balanced stance even as he let Mess shake him, let Mess scream, and only held his hands out, like he might wrap him in a hug or stop him from hurting himself, but did not retaliate. 

Lu sighed, “don’t fight me, Mess.” He let Messenger get one good punch in, wincing at the unexpected crack and licking blood from the inside of his cheek, “ow.” He dropped his surrendering hands with a growl, “fine. Happy now?” He focused all his attention on Mess, because Adon would either hit his brother himself for hurting Lu without his permission, or else mock Lu for letting Messenger, who had absolutely no training (as evident by his howl as he shook out his hand), hit him at all. “There, I let you get—”

Euri swung next, stepping up for Mess. 

Without hesitation and mostly out of instinct that had been honed by Phaios being every kind of annoying asshole at Arez’ gym, Lu dodged, jabbed at his gut, grabbed Euri’s outstretched cross before he could pull it back, and swept his knees, easing him to the ground. He did not know who the kid was, but he and Mess and Adon wore matching chains, and he didn’t know what that meant, but he knew enough about Adon to know it meant something. Lu let go of the kid’s arm and jumped back, hands back up in peace, grumbling, “I told you not to fight me.”

Mess glared, pulling Euri up beside him, pointing with a thumb, “this is Euri.” He’d come to the same conclusion as Lu, that Adon would kill him for hurting his precious Lu-Bird or never let him live it down when Lu won, and Euri may know how to get hit and throw in a few of his own, but Mess didn’t, and it looked like Lu did. He scowled, still pointing to Euri, narrowing his eyes at Lu, taunting “Kinesias’ brother.”

“Euripidez,” Euri held out an uncertain hand, looking to Mess for clarity on whether he was supposed to be fighting or greeting or making a deez-nuts joke to change the mood. 

Mess slapped Euri’s hand away before Lu could shake it. 

Lu dropped his arms, “no way.”

Euri folded his arms over his chest, waiting for Mess to tell him what they were doing. 

Mess sucked his cheeks until the obligated truth wriggled out. He nudged Euri, snarling out the worst thing he could think to say about Lu, “stop glaring, he’s Gideon’s—”

Mess hadn’t even finished but Euri sprang forward to attack at the barest inclination of Gideon’s anything. Mess scrambled to hold Euri back, surprised by his burst feral rage, catching his hand and whiplashing him around. The hint of fear crossing Mess’ face halted Euri’s momentum as Messenger hissed, “Doni’s! He’s Doni’s first!”

Lu blushed brightly, gaping wide-eyed at the baby Mess, barely an adult, saying such brazen things. How could he even know that?

Euri did not understand, fiddling with the chain at his neck while Mess massaged his hand.

Mess gestured between himself and Euri, elaborating begrudgingly, “we’re his seconds.” He turned Euri to point at Lu, “that’s his first. Adon might actually kill us if we touch him.” He cocked a brow, “he’d want to do it himself. Better wait.” 

Lu swallowed, glancing between them, stifling the strange jealousy of Mess’ confidence that he was Adon’s from warring against the guilt of seeing Adon’s empty emergency contact list.

“Also,” Mess added, seeing the anger still bruning in Euri’s gripped fists, patting him on the shoulder and admitting the information he’d pried out of Nyx and Xeri after they’d downed his flight of practice cocktails, “if you made a tier list of who your brother fucked up the most, besides you,” he gripped Euri’s shoulder tight to him, “Adon would get bronze, Phai or someone we don’t know probably silver, and Lu-Lu here,” Mess tucked Euri into a surprise headlock, proud of himself for getting away with it, the only way he’d be able to restrain him if he didn’t get it through his thick head that Lu was off limits, “Lu would be first. Gold of the golds.”

“Sias killed his girlfriend,” Euri frowned, sneering at Lu, “he doesn’t look murdered. I think she gets gold.”

Lu rolled his eyes at the title. 

Mess tightened his grip while he had it, smiling cruelly, “there was a time I bet Lu-Bird here would have gladly taken murder over another training with Sias, who always brought him home to daddy until there was nowhere to go that Gideon wasn’t already waiting.”

Lu gulped at the flood of memories he kept so carefully locked away, staring at the ground between them, battling the encroaching static of Sias’ blows, Gideon’s laugh fading as Lu’s mind flickered offline. How many times had he died in his father’s hands? How many times had he been dismissed as Gideon’s? How long until he figured out how to be his own. “Don’t call me that,” Lu blinked, his vision and hearing returning to normal, pocketing questions for later: how did Mess know about Sias’ training he hadn’t even told Adon about? Did Adon know? How in the world would Messenger Caldera know Phaios? Had Phai watched Mess grow up while Lu had been searching for them. That seemed too unfair. 

Euri tapped out of Mess’ lock, promising not to attack. Mess squeezed harder, then let go, barking a laugh at Lu, “what, Lu-Bird? That’s your name.”

“It’s not.” Lu inhaled, waiting for his gut to settle. Adon had reminded him that birds can fly for hours, that they didn’t need a flock to be free. Lu could belong to himself, and once he learned that, with his warm home and his ridiculous wardrobe and his embarrassing gallery walls, he could belong to Adon.

“How would you know any of that?” Euri grumbled, shoving Mess off him, leaving the you’re not even from her graciously unspoken. 

Mess shrugged, annoyed that it felt like Euri was choosing Lu like he was a kin-Grounder over Mess who he lived with and saw every day, “Xeri talks a lot more than you when she’s drunk, why do you care?”

“You said he’s Doni’s,” Euri rubbed his neck, confused by the scraps of story, confronting all he didn’t know about his savior, surprised the Finder could have anyone, and reevaluating his understanding of his role model, not in contempt, but in new awe at all they might have in common.