Chapter Text
Credits: the much beloved, talented asyrin
RAINY WHITE
Rainy white was the first thing that Cairngorm awoke to – a startlingly white colour standing out in enveloping darkness.
To the new world of everything that’s too much and that’s what who how, Cairngorm remembers aching to part his lips and screech bloody murder. He remembers – how horrifying it is, to realize he can’t move his body is not moving he can’t get away from here and bristling inwardly, when he felt the faint brush of a sleepy presence that curled up away from him moments later.
The waves crash. Cairngorm’s terrified by the water that submerge and slinks away from him.
Forced to be submerged, forced to bear the darkness, Cairngorm did the only thing he could:
He latched onto single white light curled around his pinky like a halo.
It’s in this manner that Cairngorm drifted off, replaced by the trembling presence that kindly kept its distance from him. (It’s in this manner that he was saved loved.)
.
When Cairngorm next rouses, it’s to the gentle caress against him.
‘Awake?’ Askes the Other Presence within him, less with words and more with fluttery concern.
Cairngorm grumbles and rolls over. The Other Presence keeps its distance, and – oddly enough – he knew it’s observing him. Cairngorm doesn’t give a damn about its concern for him. The Other Presence can take over for all he cares. He needs sleep, damn it.
But when The Other Presence brushes against him wordlessly again, he finds himself unable to shove it away.
Rising to the surface with the unwanted assistance of The Other Presence lifting him up, Cairngorm had blinked away the wetness in his eyes – ‘rain’, The Other Presence filled in – and stared blankly at the world before him.
He is now in a familiar white, white place that is far whiter than The Other Presence and its halo. There are earthy brown things beneath him, hard and polished. And he has been tucked into a fountain of softthings, making it way too hard to move. Locked in his position mimicking a curled up ball, Cairngorm sends The Other the equivalent of a raised brow inwardly.
‘Sleep.’ The Other Presence supplies helpfully.
That doesn’t explain things in the slightest.
‘Others. Same.’ The Other Presence pursues its non-existent lips. ‘Helping.’
Now, Cairngorm doesn’t particularly care who or what the Others are. All that he cares is that neither him nor The Other Presence is once more submit to that pitch, Black, Darkness; that he doesn’t have to gasp for breath under too heavy wavy waves, cry wordlessly and thump his fists continuously deep within for non-existent help –
The Other Presence feels his rising agitation. The Other Presence curls up snugly against his back – or where his back would be, if The Other Presence has a physical form.
‘It okay.’ The Other Presence does the equivalent of back stroking.
Cairngorm freezes.
‘It okay now.’
And… Cairngorm doesn’t know how to answer.
By all means, he should not be listening.
He knows better afterall. Who would, if not him?
But…for whatever reason, Cairngorm sees the ray of rainy white still curled around his pinky. He thumbs it lightly – he can move! It’s still here, even now– and feels The Other Presence shudder, faint confusion ebbing out into disgruntlement, and then back to somehow soothing-comforting. Intrigued, Cairngorm repeats the action, and receives yet another unpleasant shiver from deep within. Does The Other Presence feel that?
Puzzlement bubbles up wordlessly from The Other Presence. Deep rooted confusion, and abruptly, a wave of terror that makes him freeze, eyes wide as it washes over him.
(Dark. Dark. DARK. LOSTSCAREDSOVERYSCARED--)
Immediate regret chokes him upon his stumble on a less than pleasant realization that – confusion. It’s confusion that’s most scary in this huge, new, raw world out here. And he made The Other Presence feel that way.
‘…’ The Other Presence is silent, but that doesn’t make it any better.
Pulling his hand away like a child with hands caught in the cookie jar, Cairngorm retreats deep within and doesn’t come out till The Other Presence nudges at him again.
.
But it’s not just the halo of rainy white – the colour of Ghost, Ghost Quartz, Ghost Quartz, Phantom Quartz, Cairngorm still can’t get used to the name The Other Presence now have, or that it’s he who doesn’t have a physical body, not The Oth- Ghost, Ghost Quartz. – that remains protruding from the appendage they’re taught is a ‘hand’.
There are others, colours that Cairngorm had enthusiastically taken over to learn from Sensei personally.
“Blue.” Sensei said with closed eyes and a flower in his hand. “Is the colour of this plant. White is the colour of what we’re standing on – a colour for quartz, and a shade of you.”
Cairngorm stares with wide eyes at the two lines of blue and one of white curled loosely around his pinky, entangled with the rainy white he’s grown to call Rainy White fondly (The one called Pink called the jellyfishes that). The two Blues extend out to the same direction. White goes towards another.
Cairngorm lifts his hand to Sensei and demands,
“What?”
The much taller presence looks down with soft, indulging eyes.
“This is a hand.” Sensei repeats, ever so patient.
Cairngorm shakes his hand fervently and waves his hand in Sensei’s face. With furrowed brows because – can’t he see this? But Sensei is Sensei, right? – he huffs petulantly, hiding his satisfaction at how Sensei adjusted so simply to the realization that it’s him and not Ghost Quartz.
“Blue.” He states, closing all fingers except for his pinky.
Sensei’s eyes slowly widened.
“White!” He says, and then, slowly, he reaches out to untangle Rainy White from White White to show Sensei.
The result is a sharp jolt from The Other Presence deep within him, following which Cairngorm rushes to roughly pat the non-existent-but-except-it’s-existent back of The Other Presence, murmured apologies ready on his inner self’s lips.
Ghost Quartz unfurls slowly, a sleepy confused, ‘What…?’, but Cairngorm continues apologizing nevertheless, clumsy actions making the supposedly light brushes a hard thump that only makes him angrier at himself.
“…You possess the sight of the ancient creatures, Ghost.”
Sensei lays a hand on his head.
Cairngorm flinches instinctively, but he knows he’ll learn to stop – just like Ghost said he would. (Ghost has always been right till now.)
“Those threads you see are what connect you to the ones you will bond with.”
Sensei squats down and smiles.
“Treasure those bonds you have, for what you have here is a gift.”
.
A gift.
[Definition: A present. A talent. A skill.]
It’s a gift, to be able to see these threads? To have these threads, bounded to his – Ghost’s fingers?
‘What are you thinking about?’ Ghost ponders softly, intrigued by his rolling thoughts.
Cairngorm frowns inwardly at the playful brush against his non-existent (yes it’s non existent) back and grumbles wordlessly, curling in just a bit more on himself.
Privacy is never present when you have a separate entity in your mind. Or is he the one that’s the separate entity?
Sensei had explained, in terms not less than certain, about how they are two gems grown on one – about how Ghost is the one growing on Cairngorm – how this will indubitably be a cause of concern for them in the future (“It may be tough, but let’s work together, to make it easier for you.”).
Cairngorm doesn’t care. He doesn’t give a damn about who’s growing on who, because he’s glad Ghost is there. Full control of body or not, that glowing rainy white thread still linked around their (yes, Yes. It’s theirs.) pinky is bonded to itself, because Ghost is him and he is Ghost. He can’t imagine a life that doesn’t consist of living in between sleepy moments and a teasing The Other Presence, because that’s all he knows of – and frankly, he doesn’t want to imagine what it’d be like if he hadn’t woken up with Ghost with him.
‘Aw. That’s sweet.’ Ghost smiles, both internally and externally.
Not even the sight of the curious older gems gasping and dodging away to whisper – “He’s smiling at nothing again.” “That strange gem.” “Sshh! Don’t say that! He can hear!” – manages to make it falter.
Cairngorm is gruff when he surfaces briefly to snarl at the gang of gossipers.
“Don’t you have anything better to do?” He spits.
Then Ghost takes over, giving a sweet and just slightly apologetic smile, but whispers no actual ‘I’m sorry’s. He doesn’t say thank you when he returns to their shared inner mindscape. No bumps or brushes, or smiles or gestures. But Cairngorm feels that melting warmth in his chest nonetheless – even if he pretends not to feel it and snaps at the other who’s just about to say something.
‘Don’t. It’ll make it awkward.’
BLUE
It’s impossible, as quoted above, to have privacy with somebody literally in your head.
At some point, Ghost is bound to find out.
‘So, these threads that you mention… They are bound to our right pinky?’ Ghost squints hard at his pinky for days after. (The gossipers gossip harder about that. Cairngorm is always quick to fill Ghost’s head with his grouching, because even if they’re both aware they’re being talked about, it doesn’t make it any easier for Ghost.)
‘Yes.’
‘Show me.’
And as part of their new routine, Cairngorm would bristle but nudge up close against the silver of presence deep within, closing his eyes as he works hard to send a memory of the things he’s seeing. Ghost gasped the first time. Parts his lips in awe the second time. And the third and consequent times, he merely observes with wide eyes and a frozen presence, shuddering under the touch of Cairngorm’s soul.
‘It’s beautiful.’ And that. That, he whispers every single time.
They don’t talk about how Blue is undeniably the same Blue that they’re sharing. They never argued about which one of them White belongs to. Because it’s enough, just knowing that there’s someone out there for them, that they’re there for each other. The Rainy White Ring around their pinky is proof of that.
Ghost brushes the pads of his fingers over the image.
Cairngorm knows, even without looking, that he’s caressing the individual beads. The tiny, tiny beads – so small it’s mistakable for dust – that wound together, forming the threaded gems visible only to him.
Blue is Lapis Lazuli. But Cairngorm has known him as Blue for so long, it feels wrong to call him otherwise.
“Think we’ll ever run into him?” Ghost smiles at him. “Blue?”
Cairngorm knows he’s somewhere in the school. Yellow’s ran his mouth off to them – talking about Lapis Lazuli locking himself in the depths of school again, ignoring the passing of days and just – scribbling, his findings, Alexandrite’s findings, everyone’s findings, into books and folders and virtually just recording everything there is under the sky.
Cairngorm hopes Blue is not one great nerd, but really, he knows that’s a futile wish.
Ghost laughs at his thoughts, earning one great look of Ire and many strange looks from old gems with far too much time on their hands.
.
Cairngorm knows it’s only a matter of time before Blue came to them. They both knew that.
“So, if I may ask,” Smiles the Blue Blue Gem with gold sparkles and how had neither of them ever noticed how blinding those gold are? Cairngorm still has his mind blown whilst looking up at the passing gem and his and Ghost’s Blue are threaded into the right pinky of that Blue Gem and Oh god.
He bumps internally into the frozen Ghost. Ghost topples over without resisting.
“Who are you right now?”
An insensitive question, but with all the bluntness that nobody’s ever given them because everyone is too busy whispering behind their backs.
Lapis Lazuli – Blue’s smile is smooth even if sharp with the edges of intelligence.
Cairngorm somehow knows they’ll never have to worry about feeling lost (out at sea) again.
“I—” Ghost’s voice comes shuttered. Cairngorm leans against him inwardly.
‘Good help you are there.’
‘You’re welcome.’
Ghost glares, causing surprise to flicker across their Blue’s face, and then, he directs his huff down at his palms, anxiety playing on his presence deep within.
‘Oh, what if I just ruined things for us?’ ‘Calm down.’ ‘Oh, like you could say anything.’
Cairngorm gives his equivalent of a mental shrug. What can he say? He’s a spectator here, and in some ways, it’s far easier to play spectator than to get involved in feelings. Oh, the horrid things that means his Other Half will always remain an oversensitive darling-
“I’m not oversensitive or a darling!” Ghost yells.
Lapis Lazuli startles.
Then, Ghost lifts a shaky hand to his lips. ‘Oh my god. I’ve most definitely ruined things now.’ Lapis’ face is unreadable, the smile erased without a trace left. Cairngorm shifts, hoping their Blue hasn’t been scared away by them. It’s not just one, but two who flinch when Lapis steps forward, leaning over them and – ‘Is it too late to drop myself in the pond?’ – Lapis reaches out and snags their hand. – ‘I think it is.’ He agrees.
“Interesting.” Lapis states, and all brain functions come to a stop. “It’s interesting – how there’s never been a documented case of two gems born conjoined. And both of you – you’re both cute, entertaining gems.”
Lapis smiles. Tucks strands of gold-speckled blue behind his ear. They watch him, transfixed.
“If you don’t mind, would you join me in your free time?”
‘What.’
‘I don’t think he might be in his right senses, Other Me…’ Ghost starts warily.
‘Sleep deprivation it is, definitely.’
“The effects of duo-presence within a single body is worth studying, in itself. Except, it would of course be tactless of me to suggest using you as an experimental subject – especially given your clear sensitivity towards your circumstances-” Lapis flashes a smile at Ghost’s flush. Cairngorm snorts. “-So, would you join me in your free time? Just so I may observe how you live with your duo personalities?”
“Let me get this straight,” Cairngorm takes over, ignoring Ghost’s mimicry of a strangled, dying chicken. “You can’t outright call us an experiment, so you want us to pretend it’s a socializing session… just so you can observe us, like test subjects?”
He’s a bit miffed at their Blue, unlike the shellshocked Ghost.
Lapis doesn’t even think about it. Just flashes them a huge, wide smile.
“That’s exactly what I mean, Ghost Quartz.” The simple use of the full name for identification stuns Cairngorm into silence.
Lapis straightens.
“It’s not that you’ve got any pressure to accept this. I simply meant that my library would be open to you, whenever you feel suffocated by the… overexcited welcoming of the other gems.” Lapis folds his arms. “If anything, having one is better than having a crowd. With any luck, my studies will hopefully aid any future gems born with your constitution.” Lapis tilts his head, that elegant smile still on his face. “So, how about it? Will you accept?”
…It’s…too much to take at once.
“…We’ll think about it.”
The next day, they still show up at the library. Because strange or not, Lapis is the Blue they’ve been waiting eagerly to meet since a while back. Despite themselves, they agree they’re still hoping to find something in Lapis that’d identify him as their Blue.
.
The first time is spent in total silence, with Ghost awkwardly peering down at a book and Lapis casually keeping his gaze pinned to his work.
“…Aren’t you going to ask any questions?” Ghost asks finally, voice soft with weariness.
Lapis looks up.
“Not unless you want to be asked any questions.” Comes a line with a solemn look that’s filled with far more sensitivity than either of them has ever faced. A smile. “Besides, I prefer to draw my own conclusions from my observations.” Then, of course, Lapis ruins it with an intellectual smartass comment.
Ghost chokes down a protest that rises to his lips.
‘But you’re not even observing us.’
Cairngorm doesn’t deny that same lines he’s thinking, even as he keeps his mind on Lapis, wondering.
“I’d recommend reading the book to your left, if you’re fond of fantasy stories.” Quipped the very source of their troubles.
Ghost jumps. Cairngorm doesn’t fare any better. But Lapis doesn’t laugh even when Ghost is so clumsy, he drops the book. Instead, he jumps to his feet. Picks up the book, and presses it into their hands (so close, the Blue, Blue thread would be non-existent if not for the two knots on either of their pinkies.)
“I really mean it when I said you can relax here, you know?”
Ghost stiffens. But Lapis only offers a fleeting glance, eyes dodging away a moment later. Somehow, Cairngorm observes, Lapis seems ever so slightly smaller before them, shoulders slumped in a defeat for a near nil moment that is quickly erased when he turns away.
“Don’t feel forced to be here. I’ll leave, if it offers any comfort.” And somehow, that line is said so pensively, it feels all the more fucking sad.
It seems then that Ghost reaches at the same conclusion he does, because Ghost reaches out and loops his thumb and pointer finger around Lapis’ wrist. He shakes his head. (Because apparently, Lapis is considerate enough to truly want to leave them some time to themselves. Because Lapis is habitual liar loving to hide his awkward well intentions behind his intellect. Because Lapis is as lonely as them, even though he’s one instead of two.)
“Stay.” Ghost whispers the word Cairngorm echoes deep inside. “Please.”
Lapis stares, for the longest moment. And he stays.
.
“I can’t say I’m fond of how the crowd treats you.” Lapis confesses one day. His grip clenches ever so slightly on the edges of his book (not enough to crease because “It’s a book.” In Lapis’ own affronted words). “We each have our own unique traits. It is the core meaning behind why we’re carved different. I’m not fond –” Lapis’ lips are downturned. “-of how they discriminate against you. Against us, for traits that we should be proud of.”
Ah. Cairngorm turns sleepily in the background. So that’s why.
All of that in Lapis’ language translates to ‘I wanted you here, because I thought you’d understand’.
Ghost has allowed him to bear witness to a couple few of Euclase’s interactions with Lapis. Not the most pleasant, given how it’s just Lapis to be curious about all things in existence, and Euclase appears to take extra precaution against Lapis for his simple nature.
Ghost pursues his lips and rests a hand on Lapis’.
“I never cared though, not about the others one bit.” That’s a lie, Cairngorm wants to point out. But who is he to stop him from comforting their Blue? Ghost smiles, amused. “It’s not a lie, really. It’s enough, just for me to have my Nasty Little Other Self with me. The fun times make it all worth having a voice in my head.”
Is it now? “It is.”
“But you,” Ghost peers at Lapis sadly. “You’re different from us. You’re one, instead of two.” Ghost chews his lip and finally, hesitantly reach out to settle one hand on his shoulder. “It must have been lonely, to be shoved into aside just because you’re smart. Even though you’re so amazing too. They just don’t get it!” Ghost sulks.
Aaaah… and there he goes again. Rambling like a Lapis fanboy.
“It’s true, Nasty! He is smart!” That’s not his name. He reserves all right to not respond. “Hey!”
He’s surprised. They’re both surprised, when Lapis leans into them, resting heavy dangling locks on their shoulder.
“You’re cute.” Lapis makes a sound that makes them doubt their ears. Cairngorm wants to record that sound again. He mentally stores it so they could replay it over and over again. He’s backed wholeheartedly by Ghost. “You’re both cute!”
Lapis laughs again.
WHITE
White is Antarcticite, he’s convinced. White is the gem of Winter Duty – the Winter Soldier.
Cairngorm knows, because after some terrible coaxing (“I’ll give you five days free from my trash-talking.” “Too bad for you, I’m actually fond of your so-called trash-talk, Nasty.”), Ghost had allowed him to stroll and track down the gem on the other end of the White thread. (Cairngorm doesn’t want to talk about how he’s a bit miffed, a bit frustrated, that he’s got to ask permission to take control of a body that’s technically his too. He doesn’t want to break this nice equilibrium they’ve established.)
It led to Antarcticite’s tub.
Still, without paths being fated to cross, he doesn’t meet Antarcticite.
.
It’s winter the day he’s shocked wide awake by a sudden tugging on his chest.
The world is disorientating. Blue is hanging everywhere. White looms over. He sees Bortz being a dangerous freak as always, crashing into the ground far too near to a near perpetually dead Padparadscha. But that’s not the focus, because - - because - - because what?
Cairngorm leaps to his feet. Ghost is silent at the back of his mind. He dashes, even whilst not knowing where he’s going. Just – he snags their scythe on the way. Races out and out and out.
And, his heart plummets when he sees pieces of WHITE WHITE WHITE NO being gathered up from the feet of lunarians – Antarcticite NO.
“NO!” He snarls as he tosses his scythe, cutting cleaning through the few on the ground.
No.
Pieces of Antarcticite crunches under his naked feet when he looks down. He’s still Phantom Quartz on the surface, Smoky Quartz deep within, and he’s still a hardness of seven and – whywhywhy why must they be the hardest out of all the bonds they’ve got? Why must he break Antarcticite even further?
No.
Cairngorm hisses at the cold rush of wind when he races and leaps. Because how dare they take one of his. How DARE them?! He sweeps the scythe across. Slices through the central lunarian easily.
But that isn’t enough. Nothing is comparable against the fright he had, when he thought he felt Antarcticite dissipating and never, ever again. He butchers the lunarians, till they’re completely gone.
Then, he lands. And he gathers the fine pieces of Antarcticite in his naked hands.
“Nononono…” Bits of him falls through the long sleeve Red Beryl had designed for Ghost.
Cairngorm tries to pull him all to him, choking at the white beads of Antarcticite that’s now visible, no longer a silvery long thread of white. Hooked around an empty gloved hand, there’s that mark of their bond, drawn around a limp pinky. Cairngorm chokes on another whimper.
“No.”
.
Cairngorm remembers seeing the threads of the other gems. He remembers, most clearly, the threads that Yellow carries on him – because some of them are the most beautiful he’s ever seen, even if some of them are gone. Obsolete.
Because Padparadscha is always beautiful, just like the threads of wispy curls of padparadscha that are gorgeous even if they’re dull in the light. Because Rutile is depicted in a comical way, little round marbles of yellow and auburn looking painfully innocent in the glint of the light. And Pink Topaz somehow wraps around Yellow twice before trailing off to its owner – as if always offering comfort.
The rest of the threads hanging from Yellow’s pinky limply, aimlessly, are stones. As in, literally.
They’re painted in, dark blue and scarlet red and pastel green – but that doesn’t change the fact that there are stones, right where Sapphires, Rubies, and Green Diamonds are meant to be forming fine threads.
“Thank you, for saving me from there.” Antarcticite’s thanks comes awkward.
Cairngorm stands, limp.
“I’ll make sure to be more careful in the future.” He shouldn’t make promises he can’t keep, Cairngorm thinks. He shouldn’t – he shouldn’t have come and met Antarcticite, when it’s undeniable he’d only be stolen at some point in the future, guarding winter all alone.
But he won’t be alone, if Cairngorm’s here. He won’t be stolen, maybe, definitely, if he’s here.
“Shut up.” Antarcticite pauses, eyes wide, startled and lost and – Cairngorm doesn’t care. “I’m joining you from now on.”
And that’s that.
.
(Except, it isn’t.
‘Nasty-’ ‘Shut up. It’s an arrangement that works for both of us. I get to make sure he’s safe, and you get to have Lapis to yourself for that one season I’m offed.’ ‘You know I don’t think that, Nasty.’ ‘You like him. I like him. You think that’s enough, right?’ ‘…Naturally.’ ‘Well, news check, Ghost, I’m not you, even if we’re two halves of the same coin.’ ‘…’ ‘I can’t – I have more than just Lapis and you and – …I can’t… if he breaks…’ ‘…I understand, Nasty.’
A curl of a warm, constant presence up against him.
‘I’ll set you free for winter. You’ll be on your own then. Be safe.’
‘…thank you.’ He returns, slightly choked. The moving world of his buzzing aura pressed close to by that shimmering warmth conveying more than was possible in those words.)
.
Antarcticite is a fuckton of problems bundled into one. Workaholism is just one.
“What is this?” Antarc-fucking-innocent-and-sad-ticite says, looking blankly at the cards.
“Trump cards. Nobody’s ever taught you how to play?” Cairngorm feels like crying when Antarcticite shakes his head ‘no.’ Why is it that he always got the sad ones? Why can’t he have a happy bond mate, like Watermelon, for instance? But as usual, Cairngorm takes a deep breath and deals. “You’ve got no childhood. Come on, I’ll teach you how to play.”
And oh, let’s not forget Antarcticite’s freaking bad habit of chasing after his own pieces.
Cairngorm whacks Antarcticite over the head when he’s fixed, and ignoring the pain from their bond, fixes him back again later.
“Your life was filled with Sensei, so you could have lost a memory with him. I get it.” Cairngorm folds his arms. “But losing that is still better than, oh, I don’t know, losing you.”
Antarcticite flinches but narrows his eyes.
“My life’s not entirely about the school.” He replies tersely, back locked in that straight posture that’s the same noble winter soldier he’s managed to fool everyone he is. Cairngorm lifts his brow challengingly. “There’s you for one. You’re now in my life.”
That catches Cairngorm off guard, enough for Antarcticite to exhale a puff of air.
“…But you could be losing memories of trump cards for all you know.” Cairngorm states weakly. “I could teach you again if you’re here.”
“…You’re right.” Antarcticite crumples a moment later under his stubborn gaze (even if the winter soldier’s was saying ‘Really?’). “I should be looking forward to better times, rather than clinging onto the past.” Pensively, the noble gem dips his head at him. “I’m sorry for not taking care of myself.”
“You better be.”
It feels uncomfortably intimate even if they’re a feet away. Cairngorm finds himself reaching to Ghost out of habit and catches himself in time.
“…I don’t want to find you broken again anytime soon.”
CYAN
Lapis is stolen in the midst of his summer sleep – right before him, too, because Ghost was fighting to get him back whilst he’s sleeping in his head, Ghost was – indubitably – screaming at him to wake, to help him get Lapis back with any ideas that even now, frankly, he isn’t sure he would have had.
Cairngorm surfaces months later, to Ghost – who’s dead on the inside, all pressed up close against him and sobbing tearlessly. No words come when he winds himself around that familiar, cold, warm presence, even though they both know he could feel everything the other feels, when pressed up to each other like this in the intimacy of their shared mental landscape.
Silent accusations are melded down by prickling regrets.
Bubbling understanding is stifled by mad rage, swallowed by just hollow, miserable emptiness thereafter.
Cairngorm takes over in the privacy that Lapis offered them in his library.
He sobs alongside Ghost on the inside, even if the action wrecks him and he’s breaking both Ghost and himself. Even if they’re both shattering, and he stares at the blue stones hanging limply from his pinky, cut off and just – GONE. And Cairngorm breaks down even more, chest hollow where there used to be filled by Lapis.
Lapis Lazuli.
Blue. BLUE. BLUE.
Lapis Lazuli.
And Ghost Quartz.
.
It happens during one emergency dash to aid Morga and Goshe.
Ghost is injured, an arm broken off. Cairngorm flips and butchers the lunarians like he did that winter day.
‘You Little Monster’, Ghost takes to saying, alternating between fondness, and just flat, toneless, nothing. There’s nothing giving in his tone, but Cairngorm knows what he’s thinking. He knows what they’re both thinking.
If only he could be like that back there, when Ghost is screaming and flailing for help to salvage pieces of Lapis, maybe Ghost’s only bond mate beside Cairngorm could have remained. (But he couldn’t sacrifice Antarcticite. Couldn’t. Wouldn’t. They both know they know that, too.)
.
Ghost allows him some time every day to just be with Lapis and his remains. Cairngorm is half-convinced it’s a punishment, even if he knows Ghost never truly thought of it that way, not till Ghost nestled up against him and realized what he’s thinking. Then there’s just a bit of vindictive action in putting Cairngorm with Lapis, even if there’s more regret and a silent ‘I hope you understand’ accompanied by a brush of warmth against him.
(He does. He does completely, how Ghost feels. Because he feels like that too sometimes. If only he’s a bit stronger. If only he’s awake then. If only he tried to protect them all.
But he also understands that he’s Ghost’s last bond, that Ghost loves him, even though it hurts.)
It’s just another regular routine the day Cyan snaps into place.
Cairngorm’s eyes wrench wide open.
Slowly, shakily, he peers down at the Cyan that’s curled around his pinky, the beads like sparks of the rock candy he’s heard about from Watermelon who in turn heard from Sensei, twisting and curling in their own small little chain.
“…t-this…this can’t…” He gasps and drops his head.
No.
Not another bond mate.
Not when he doesn’t deserve another one.
Not when he failed to protect Lapis, and Ghost, and he’s still got so many to protect.
Cairngorm shakes his head and denies it’s happening. He clings onto Lapis’ head, because – it’d be so good if smart, intellectual Lapis is here to guide them, to put things in perspective, because Lapis’ so good at that. Because the world is still terrifying, like when he’s lost in murky waters, and he still needs Lapis to chase it away for him.
But Lapis isn’t here, because of him.
He practically smashes his face into the box.
That’s how Ghost finds him, when he wakes.
.
Phosphophyllite. His name is Phosphophyllite.
Bonds. Bonds. Bonds all around.
Gold with Sensei. Rusty Red with Cinnabar. White painfully White with Antarcticite. And Black with Cairngorm, tucked beneath the telling rainy white of Ghost. The colours fade half way into sparkling stars of Phosphophyllite. Cairngorm wishes he could tear these eyes out, because if only.
There’s also the blue stones of Lapis, stones, not gems, that hang limply from his pinky, from Phosphophyllite’s colourful pinky, extending to nowhere.
If only.
.
Cairngorm takes a break from Winter Duty.
It’s a long break, because Cairngorm can’t risk it. He knows Ghost still hates Antarcticite for being who Cairngorm unknowingly chose. He pretends it’s Ghost’s fault he can’t face Antarcticite even though, really, it’s because he can’t face him himself.
He can’t face up to the fact that he’s saved Antarcticite, that Antarcticite is worth saving, that no, there isn’t a need to blame anyone and yes, he can hope that it’s really not his fault because really? Really?
It’s his fault.
It’s his fault too when the bond hurts and snaps in the middle of winter. Cairngorm doesn’t arrive in time, even though he had his scythe up the moment he felt that pull on his chest.
.
“We shouldn’t continue to pity ourselves.” Ghost’s voice is soft in the air. “Look, Phos’ trying to pick himself up even though he has lesser time than we did. It’s about time we move on.”
But he can’t.
Not when the colours are so glaringly obvious on his hand, blue and white stones hanging limply from his pinky.
“You can.” Ghost insists. “You’re strong. I’ll show you. When the two of us have our efforts directed in the same place, we can do anything. It doesn’t have to be just for Lapis. We can do it for other people too, starting with Phos. We can do it for us.”
Cairngorm doesn’t want to reply.
“Oh, you nasty little monster.” Ghost sighs, exasperated. “Your pessimism is going to kill me someday.”
It does. It does, and then, Cairngorm’s breaking and shattering and trying to reach out even as he’s falling because – Why isn’t he answering? Where is the warmth that’s been curled around him all this time? Why are fine Ghost Quartz fading to translucent stones on his pinky? WHYWHYWHYWHY—
Oh, it must be Phosphophyllite’s fault.
Nothing good’s been happening since Phosphophyllite appeared. It must be due to him.
Except, Lapis has taught him prejudices get him nowhere. It’s true, that Phosphophyllite shouldn’t have dashed right into danger. But he shouldn’t have let Ghost go after Phosphophyllite. He should have pulled himself together. He shouldn’t have – he shouldn’t have – This is all his fault.
.
“Cairngorm!” Phosphophyllite calls, making a smile that he’s only ever seen afar. “Cairngorm! Everyone, together—”
“CAIRNGORM!” They chime in unison, as though singing a song.
Cairngorm’s bewildered. Was this how Phosphophyllite was before all of this? Is this – Is this because he lost Antarcticite and Ghost? Those stones hanging from his pinky and that one single gold thread, gradually pulling itself apart by tangling itself in a knot – are those what made Phosphophyllite so different today?
For a moment, peering at Phosphophyllite, Cairngorm wishes things could be different.
If only Phosphophyllite had been born earlier, he could have protected Antarcticite in his stead.
If only he had went to Phosphophyllite the moment he’s born, and moved on, so Ghost doesn’t have to leave him with this gaping hole in him and his life.
…But things happen for a reason, and Cairngorm knows, as much as he regrets, what’s done is fixed in stone. All that’s left is to look back, to learn from his mistakes, and do a better care of taking care of his last remaining bond.
.
Watermelon gives them flower wraths.
Phosphophyllite’s smile is not wide and obnoxious, but the fragility of it – the cracks hidden in clear eyes and a tiny, smooth, brittle curve – it’s proof that Phosphophyllite is healing. Somewhere in between battles and hurt and constant griping at each other, somehow, they settle into a routine. Somehow, they become a pair.
Standing side by side, the threads hanging from their fingers reflects black and cyan.
Cairngorm only prays that this moment will last.
.
Giving up Lapis’ head hasn’t been a question at all.
The stones do not change, even if heads do.
.
They arrive on the moon. To learn that all previous gems were ground to dust – it doesn’t surprise Cairngorm in the least.
It returns him hope, to know it’s possible to return gems of hardness seven (Ghost could be returned). It gives him hope, to know gems of hardness five are still salvageable if only requiring more time (Lapis, and all the words and lies said in between). It kills him, to know Antarcticite’s supposed to be given up on. That they’re supposed to let go just because of a couple of words from one lunarian.
(Really? Really?)
“Is it-” Cairngorm asks. Because Antarcticite matters so much more to Phosphophyllite than him. “-possible for you to attach a synthesized outer layer of Antarc onto me?”
Cairngorm furrows his brows in determination, even if he’s giving up his identity. This time, he will do it. He will finally, finally protect the last bond he has.
“I will act like Antarc.”
He knows how. He’s seen Antarcticite with his own eyes. Worked and protected him (futilely).
“…I believe so, but… why go so far?” The lunarian asks.
Why…? Why? Cairngorm is stricken, because – it’s only obvious, isn’t it? Phosphophyllite’s a bond mate. He’s someone precious to Cairngorm’s heart, even if he came at a bad time with all circumstances surrounding him terrible. Because surely, his bond mate must still be capable of smiling and laughing like he did with those other gems if he’s still here. Cairngorm just has to put him back together and protect him till the day he’s happy, somehow –
But Cairngorm can’t answer with that. He can’t tell – can’t reveal, his sight, to uncertain elements. (Lapis taught him that, too.)
“He told me to do that.” Cairngorm lies. When asked who, he answers. “My former self.”
It’s not a lie.
It is a lie.
When the lunarian goes off a tangent and talks about how it’s because of his predecessor being in his eyes, Cairngorm feels like he’s walking on clouds, because – it’s nice, to think he’s still got a part of Ghost in him somewhere, anywhere, even if the urge to be free has always been there, stifled somewhere under the very obvious reminder of their bond, hanging on their pinky. Then when the lunarian speaks – as if he knows – of how his concern for Phosphophyllite is just Ghost projecting his will on him –
First, he felt pissed. Then, he felt like laughing.
“It’s not.” He interrupts the lunarian, tone even as he levels a gaze with the other. “It’s not, just because Ghost wanted me to protect him. It’s more.”
A lifetime of bonds has taught him that.
Every single one he’s been bonded to thus far have been more than just Rainy White, Blue, White, Cyan. They’re them and more and – Cairngorm loves every single one of them, even Phosphophyllite – pesky little troublesome brat who’s grown on him, just like the way Ghost did. The bonds serve as an easy way to identify those he can understand easily, sure, but beyond that – it’s a way of identifying family.
Phosphophyllite just so happens to be the baby of the gang. He’s fortunate enough to be inheriting everything the others have left them.
Lapis taught him to read beneath the lines, because everyone’s similar in some way. Ghost taught him to be strong, to not crumble under a failure or two. And Antarc – he’s taught him –
Cairngorm’s breath hitches. His hands unintentionally ball up by his side.
(Because isn’t he a hypocrite? Even though he taught Antarcticite to treasure himself? Even though he wanted Antarcticite to treasure himself… God, was that why Antarcticite gave him that sceptical look? Was his fighting style really that reckless back then?)
“It’s – fine, if you don’t want to attach Antarc to me.” He exhales in a quick, sharp breath. “Forget this ever happened.”
He leaves, sharp clicks of his feet against cement.
It feels nice, to finally be doing what he preached – to let go of the past, and face the future, even if it’s not the ideal one that he’s been clinging onto since forever. Cairngorm’s grown tired of praying for that future anyways. (This time, he’ll carve his own.)
.
“—and so, I heard you asked to be covered with Antarc last night?” The point is finally reached after tonnes of blabbering he’s got to endure. Phosphophyllite tends to be that way, like Lapis, when he’s got something he’s nervous about.
So, Phosphophyllite somehow wound up hearing of the little misadventure he had in the middle of the night.
Cairngorm’s swears to pull Cicada’s head off his frame, just so that blabbermouth can shut his mouth forever.
Cairngorm peers, at Phosphophyllite’s innocently smiling lips, eyes parted wide on purpose. And he turns away, feet clinking against the rough cement.
“It never happened.” He deadpans.
“Of course it never did.” Phosphophyllite’s indulging him.
“It didn’t!” He spins around.
…Only to be caught off guard, by the arms that are tossed around him, creating a true masterpiece of a hanging koala-Phosphophyllite dangling off his neck.
Cairngorm tenses. Frozen stiff. Ghost would so be laughing at him if he’s here. Phosphophyllite manages to make a laughing stock out of him wherever he goes, for some reason. It’s a real achievement.
There’s a sigh, followed by a nuzzle in his shoulder.
“I’m glad it never happened.” Phosphophyllite whispers, a smooth whisper in Lapis’ voice. His grasp tightens slightly, clinging. “I wouldn’t know what I’d do if it did. I mean, cute adorbs me sure wants Antarc back, but it wouldn’t be any different if Cairngorm’s the one gone instead of Antarc –”
Phosphophyllite blinks, realizing the way his words could be taken, and stammers to fix them.
“- I mean! It’s only good if both of you are here! Together with Ghost, too! You get what I mean?”
“…I don’t.” He lies, because he wants to hear it again.
“Oh, geez~ My Cairngorm’s so stupid. How should I put it in a way that- URK! That h-hurts…” Phosphophyllite hunches over, hugging his poor jabbed tummy, which Cairngorm really can’t give a damn about. “Call the doctor…please…”
“Only when you apologize.”
“Fine, fine~! I’ll apologize!”
Cairngorm knows now not to bat an eye when Phosphophyllite throws himself at him, burying his face into the soft night clothes on his tummy.
“…I’m sorry, Cairngorm. That I ever made you think you’re not enough. Because you are. And more. I don’t know what I ever did to possibly deserve you. Even though I wanted Antarc back so much-” His light tone doesn’t hide the grief in his voice. “-I’m thankful that I have you. And I want you, by my side, till the end.”
Cairngorm… Cairngorm… doesn’t know what to say, to that.
He reaches up without thinking. Puts one hand in the navy gold-speckled locks. And Phosphophyllite lifts his head to aim one large smile at him.
“Did that speech make you cry?” He asks peppily.
Cairngorm tightens his grasp over the other’s skull till Phosphophyllite’s crying out in agony. Still, he tries his best to fight a rising smile even as irritated as he pretends to be. (“OWOWOWOW MY SKULL! You’re gonna shatter Lapis’ head, Cairn—!”)
