Archive of Our Own ^beta

    Watching Nero shoot up through the ranks of The Order has been fascinating. He’s already considered one of the top ranking officers; and you, aching to protect him, must only watch. ‘No outsiders’ had been the decision upon your request to join their ranks and since then, you’ve vowed to watch his back from the sidelines. It’s certainly easy to wax chivalry over it. You do it for Kyrie’s peace of mind. She and you have often spoken at length about Nero’s recklessness, and the worry it causes her. Why else would there ever be a reason to be so damn concerned about Nero’s well being, especially when he’s more capable than most?

    Watching is about all you feel good for most days, despite the strength you house. The strength you hide. No one can ever find out about it, lest you must reveal your now life-long secrets.

    “Aren’t you sick of that old story?”

    You shrug, snapping the book closed. “Maybe I’m just nostalgic right now.”

    “For what?” Nero, none the wiser that you’d actually been staring blankly at the pages and lost in thought, huffs as he leans down, quickly lacing up his boots. “What’s there to be so nostalgic about for orphans? And,” he pauses to stand, tapping the toe of his boots against the floor, “one with amnesia, of all things.”

    “So what,” you counter with a huff, “you think the memories I’ve made since I’ve been here don’t count?”

    “Don’t get all sappy on me.” Nero pulls on his jacket, and you watch him methodically begin on the buckles and holsters.

    “Geez, are you ready yet!?” You stretch out a leg, nudging the back of his thigh. “I’ve been dressed for ten minutes already!”

    “Must be nice to only have civilian clothes to worry about.”

    “That’s your own fault for getting classified as your own special rank, Sir.”

    Nero grumbles about how much of a pain you are, finally securing Red Queen to his back before turning around to face you. “How do I look?”

    “Dashing,” you say with all the sarcasm you can muster. “Why do you care what I think? Go ask Kyrie.”

    “Shuddup.” Nero swats at you, misses when you duck, but doesn’t follow up. Instead he heads for the door, instructing you to hurry up or else you’ll be late—as if you’re the one that’s been getting dressed for the past ten minutes!

    His stride is long, making him quick and you use it as an excuse to fall behind. All official events require Holy Knights to don their uniforms, and even though the knights are seldom seen out of, you’ve yet to grow tired of witnessing Nero’s. So formal and put-together and—

    He wheels on one heel, though doesn’t slow down even as he walks backwards. “What’s the hold up?”

    “Ever consider you move too fast?”

    Nero rolls his eyes and corrects his direction. He still moves ahead of your pace, but you don’t fail to notice the slight decrease in his.

    “I know you’re excited,” you say once you finally match the swing of his legs to keep at his side. Nero puffs, playing the comment off, and flicks his bangs out of his eyes. “But we’re not gonna be late. Promise.”

    Ever a man of your word, you two arrive relatively early. You take your seat first, watching Nero take a cursory survey of the cathedral before joining you.

    You nudge him with your elbow. “Stop fidgeting. You’re more nervous than she probably is.”

    Nero nudges back, folds his arms over his ribs, and throws one ankle over his knee.

    The span of his legs now takes up two spaces, but you figure he’s considered that already and say nothing. Instead, you focus intently on the stage as the lights dim and the curtains draw. The murmuring amongst the pews fades into silence, and out steps Kyrie as she takes her place in the spotlight, center-stage; gaze sweeping the crowd that is surely a mass of shadows. Despite this, her eyes settle on a particular figure, smile growing just as the music begins, and Kyrie lifts her hands, beautiful tone of her voice erupting through the silence.

    At your side, Nero is still, transfixed; had been since the moment their eyes met through the impossible odds. And at his side, you try focusing solely on the performance, regardless of the sting in your chest.

    Kyrie accepts the beautiful bouquet with swimming eyes, unable to contain the burst of happiness as she throws her arms around you in thanks, then does the same to Nero. His suddenly ablaze face would have been hilarious if not for that incessant sting returning.

    It’s thanks to Credo you’re able to survive the momentary eternity of the almost unnoticeable softness that infiltrates Nero’s expression upon the slow surrender of his arms finally curling around Kyrie’s back. He clears his throat, and the two peel away from each other to face him, giving him the opportunity to congratulate and shower his sister in quiet compliments before eventually dragging Nero off with him. You see Kyrie home, the walk soothing and peaceful.

    One would think spending time with the person the object of your affections fawns over would be challenging, but it’s quite the opposite with Kyrie. She’s so kind and considerate, so accepting and caring, you think perhaps everyone is at least a little bit in love with her. It’s completely understandable; sometimes overcome with your own desire to protect her, to hear her laugh, to see her smile, despite the platonic reality of those feelings. The true depth lies locked away within your chest, reserved only for those precious moments alone with Nero. When you’re free to admire the way the sun refracts in the diamonds of his eyes; the way the moonlight halos through his wisps of silver hair; the way starlight outlines the perfect angle of his jaw.

    Your heart skips a terrifying beat, and you snatch up the book, once more reading through its worn pages to remind yourself who you are, and what you can never have.

    Falling asleep while reading isn’t great. Waking with a stiff neck, or back, or locked knees ranks high on the list of Bad Starts; even more so when you’re rudely awoken by someone abruptly knocking your feet off the table they’re propped on.

    “Didn’t the nuns teach you any manners?” Nero grouses, dropping down next to you on the couch after moving passed.

    In the bleary state of sudden-awakeness, you realize your legs had created an obstacle where you sat—one that he could have easily stepped over, in all honesty—now your knees and ankles scream in agony as you carefully bend them to alleviate the stiffness. “Bad day?” you rasp, still tired, and now contemplating kicking his ass.

    Knees still spread wide, Nero stretches his legs out, hooking his hands behind his head as he takes a long, exasperated breath. He doesn’t need to answer, and knows it. It’s enough he’s shown up here in the dead of night instead of going home.

    Another one of those precious moments; when Nero seeks you out in times of stress and agitation. You’d like to think your presence is somehow mollifying for him; something in you he can’t get from even Kyrie. Something that makes you important to him, makes you precious and—you pull up the book from your chest, immediately finding the passage you can recite verbatim. Ah yes, the bit about your wretched timebomb of a heart, should it break. Always the fearful reminder you need to keep the adoration in check.

    “Has it changed, yet?” Nero’s voice suddenly breaks the silence.

    “Huh?”

    “The story. Been reading it so often lately, thought maybe you were hoping it’d be different.”

    “Nah.” It closes with a soft sound in your hand. “Told you. Just been feeling nostalgic lately.” It’s a good cover as any, since the old book was the only thing in your possession when you’d turned up that day so many years ago; claiming amnesia as to why you had no answers to who you were and where you’d come from. The nuns had been gracious enough to bestow upon you a new name to go along with your new life before shoving you directly into the orphanage to be forgotten. You’d hardly needed such care, but to maintain the façade of human, it was easiest to let them believe whatever they’d wanted.

    As if recognizing you were lost in thought, Nero kicks his boot against yours. You shove back, leaving your legs pressed together in a way that he doesn’t move to correct either. “Still can’t remember how you can read it?”

    “No.” The lie is smooth, and easy; practiced. And luckily, so far, it hadn’t been confiscated for study. You’ve often imagined how the people of Fortuna would react to discover it was written in a demonic script. All it would take is the right expert to get their hands on it, recognize the writing system, and suspicion would descend upon you faster than the internal hellfire that threatens to consume your very soul. “Just that I can.”

    “And still haven’t been able to find what language it matches.”

    “Maybe I made it up as a kid and I just don’t remember.”

    Nero finally turns his gaze away from the ceiling, staring down at the book in your hand. “That thing looks older than you or I will ever be.”

    “Maybe I’m not human,” you barely whisper, freezing when his piercing stare snaps up. That was either potentially a very brave, or very stupid, thing to admit to someone belonging to an organization that kills non-humans occupationally.

    Instead of more questions, Nero again settles in place, holding up his hand. You both know what lurks beneath his sleeve and glove as he flexes his fist open and closed, open, closed, open, closed. Faintly, you think you can see its blue glow.

    “Wanna know something funny?” Even though he doesn’t see your nod, he continues, “Every now and then, I get the same sensation in my arm around you,” Nero pauses, turns just ever so slightly to meet your eyes, “that I do when there’re demons around.”

    Cold silence settles around you, grips you from the inside out. Finally a sensation other than burning falls into the pit of your stomach, watching Nero’s hand drop like lead down to his lap.

    “What do you make of that?”

    “Do you think I’m a demon?”

    Not acknowledging his own words angled back at him, his tired stare answers, ‘Yes.’ The proof, there in his mystically obtained arm, is undeniable and you think back through all the time he’s had it; all the time since he must’ve had the revelation about you; and all this time he’s kept quiet about it. “Why didn’t you say anything sooner?”

    “Why freak you out?”

    “And it’s okay to freak me out now?”

    Nero looks down at his hand again. Silently, he rolls his sleeve up, pulls off the glove, flexes his glowing claws once more. “Just thought it might be nice to have a fellow freak, I guess.” When his eyes finally come back to yours, there’s the faintest hint of a golden-orange glow in your periphery, but the tense moment has yours indefinitely trained on his.

    “You’re not a freak, Nero. Not a monster, or a demon. You’re you, and that’s all that matters.”

    He puffs a laugh, slumping forward. “Thanks.” Then, after a beat of silence, “I don’t think you’re a freak, either, if that makes any difference.”

    “Just a demon…”

    “Does that even matter at this point? You’re you,” he says, looking over his shoulder, corner of his smug smirk just barely visible. You fake-wretch, dramatically covering your mouth, and Nero scowls, pointedly pulling his headphones up over his ears and slouching back against the couch again.

    A part of you is relieved. Your inhumanity has hung over you like a weighted death sentence ever since your arrival in Fortuna, and seeing Nero’s frankly boring reaction to it feels like a blessing. Yet a part of you still feels horrible. This lie you’ve continued feeding to him, to everyone, all in the name of running from who you truly are—sometimes it feels like trying to futilely outrun destiny—now stands between you and this greater trust you can feel Nero placing in you.

    “I…” Despite the headphones, you somehow know Nero’s listening. “I’ve been lying…”

    Proving you right, he pulls them away from his ears, letting them rest around his neck, and turns to face you.

    “About the book.” You hold up said book, wiggling it in your grip for emphasis. “It’s not a childhood fairytale.”

    “Then what is it?”

    “It’s old legends. About how loving and falling in love too frivolously is dangerous.” Nero’s brow quirks up and you continue. “It’s not the love, per se, but the heartbreak that can follow. Say if a loved one dies, or leaves painfully…” When you chance another glance, Nero’s staring at the book clenched in your hands. “Legend says the hearts of those heartbroken would end up destroying them from the inside out; all fire and grim and gore, I’ll spare you the sordid details.”

    “Well, that’s depressing.”

    It’s so shocking a response, all you can do is laugh. “Yeah, guess so.”

    “Why the hell would you obsessively read something like that?”

    Why indeed.

    “I know you were indoctrinated pretty young, but isn’t that overkill even for religious guilt?” Nero cracks a wry smile at his own humor; one that you can’t quite match at the moment.

    Your heart hammers in your chest, begs you silently to keep your mouth shut. But all you can think about is Nero’s absolutely benign acceptance of your demonhood. Maybe, you try reasoning with yourself, just maybe, it’s all a sign… “Reminders,” you say quietly.

    “Dunno why you’d need a reminder if you read the damn thing all the time.”

    “Reminders of why I should keep my feelings to myself…”

    That gets his full attention. Nero goes momentarily quiet, eyes flicking up and down between the book and your pensive expression. “What? Embarrassed about believing such a ridiculous story?”

    “Nero,” the words tumble out of your mouth before even registering the sound of your own voice, “I love you.”

    Time stands still. In your mind, in a perfect world, where reality follows the script of your fantasies, Nero cracks a knowing smile—just bordering smug—looks somehow relieved to hear you say it. Finally, his smirk implies, finally you admit it.

    What he actually does, however, is stare through the curtain of his fringe. “What’d you say?”

    “I…” Your grip on the book tightens under his unreadable expression. “I love you.”

    “That isn’t funny,” Nero’s voice drops to a growl.

    “Wait—I’m not—”

    “Whatever.” He stands abruptly, out of reach of your outstretched hand, all but swatting it away as he storms for the exit, “I’m outta here.”

    “Nero, just listen—”

    The response is the loud slamming of your door, sealing you inside alone, left to fret about what you’ve just done.

    Reports of demonic activity follow only a few days later. Unexplainable hellfire ravaging random parts of the outskirts of town, seemingly lead deep into Mitis forest, where very few dare to follow.

    Hiding away had been your goal, hoping the fiery breakdown of your soul was just part of a legend meant to scare the more hopeless younger demons into being more careful. Eventually just disintegrating to nothing was preferable, but as the tears began actually burning your face and the heat unable to be contained within, you knew it was time to flee.

    Despite the knocks and pleas for you to come out and talk—really, your true regret now is never speaking to Kyrie again before the inevitable end—you forgo any notes or letters. Would you have been able to write anything intelligible anyway? Would the parchment have survived the heat of your hand? Would the quill have just melted in your grasp?

    To save the town from yourself, to save those you cared for, the only option was to leave them all behind and face your fate alone.

    In truth, part of you had expected this—really, what were you thinking? Just because he was okay with you not being human wasn’t any indicator he’d want your unsubdued affections. It’d been there in the texts, in faded blood-ink, warnings that you’d read almost everyday of your life, and still you find yourself here. Trapped in the moment you’ve always feared most.

    Another, very tiny part of you finds this worth it. For the briefest of moments on that night, you’d been as close as possible to Nero in every sense. For the briefest of moments, you understood each other perfectly, sharing horrible secrets to the night; seen and accepted, and loved, even if it hadn’t been how you desired. Unfortunately, that small reprieve isn’t enough to stave off the disgusted way he’d reacted to your confession, the anger in his glare. The rejection that pierced your heart and ignited the consequences of your impulsiveness.

    That very tiny part of you likes to imagine this process is reversible. In a better reality, someone would come stop it; Kyrie would have just the right words; Credo the shoulder to help you stand on your own again; Nero would explain it can never be, but it’ll be okay because you still have his late nights, and his secrets, and his trust. He’d call your name from the distance—sort of just like you’re hallucinating right now. But that’s an impossible scenario. You’ve gone too far into the forest, and for that, no one will come.

    The painful realization pulses through you; the heat and the energy and the tears and the fear all erupt at once. And you hear it again—your name, closer now. Oh how cruel your mind truly is. Your only remaining desire is that the fire takes you faster, lest you suffer even longer.

    And, that’s weird. The end strangely incorporates the sound of being shouted at; loud enough to drag you slowly back to enough consciousness to find the ability to peel open your eyes. Following the noise, you’re met with Nero’s angrily worried gaze surrounded by burning trees and the surging fire that radiates from you; flames intensifying. “What are you doing..!?” you shout at him.

    “Saving you, what the hell’s it look like, dumbass!?” he shouts back, shielding his face from a flare of heat.

    “Leave before you get hurt!”

    “I’m not leaving you here!”

    The ground beneath you is nothing but cinders, yet the fresh heat of your tears still burns it as you hang your head. “It’s…all right.”

    “What!?”

    “It’s all right. I knew what might happen.”

    He recognizes the defeat in your tone; the acquiescence. Nero grits his teeth as he struggles to venture closer. Extreme temperatures have never quite bothered him before, but he supposes this is the difference between real hellfire and a harsh summer while in uniform.

    “So just get outta here before it’s too late!”

    He makes it a few more feet, noting the closer he gets to you, the more impossibly hot the fire feels.

    “I’m serious!”

    Nero pushes forward still.

    “I wasn’t joking about the legend!” If only you had the strength to force him away; you don’t know if your legs even work anymore. But seeing him suffer, noting the burns, and the singed spots of his coat, the sweat and the blood dripping down his temple and jaw is more than you can bear. Bracing the ground with your hands and pushing with all your might to stand, you barely make it halfway before your knees buckle under the pressure.

    His boot stomps down, a knee hits the still smoldering ground.

    “Why are you doing this, Nero..?” You jerk back from his hand, hanging your head. “It’s too late…”

    “Turn off the fire-works, would ya? You know how bad my complexion’s gonna be?”

    You’re afraid to look. How badly burned is he now; how much pain is he putting himself through? You’ve always known Nero cared about you, regardless of his intention, but now you wish confessing would have made him hate you. At least he wouldn’t be needlessly suffering this as well. “I can’t stop this, you know…”

    “Well, that sucks.”

    Your throat is so incredibly dry, entire body feeling just moments away from crumbling to ash. “Go back before you’re hurt.”

    “Can’t.” Nero’s left hand moves to brace your shoulder, only to pull away once the heightened temperature of your body reveals it’s too painful. In response, he pushes his sleeve down over his hand, using it as a barrier. His right hand, of course, shows no such issues. “Not without you.”

    “Why?” The heat grows as you meet his gaze again. “I really can’t control it, I don’t know how bad this’ll end!”

    “Kyrie’ll kill me, you know?” There’s a deep turbulence in his eyes, despite the jokes, despite the nonchalance. “Don’t even wanna think about what she’ll do if I show back up without you.”

    Somewhere deep within, a tiny fraction of you would have laughed. In this moment, you can only stare at him; frustration mounting what little rationale there is left to cling to. “Tell her how sorry I am, okay?”

    “Tell her yourself. She’s still pretty pissed at me, so I doubt she’d listen anyway.”

    “The hell did you do to her..?” You figure, in your last moments, a pleasant, casual conversation with your best friend is as good as you can hope for; trusting Nero has enough self preservation to get the hell out of dodge before it’s truly too late.

    “Something about being an inconsiderate jerk to a really good friend…”

    The admission, miraculously, lessens a bit of the hurt. In spite of it all, you shake your head. “You? Never.”

    “Yeah…right?”

    “Sorry. I should’ve just…” Suffered in silence? Ignored it? Prayed it away?? “I’m sorry I did this.”

    He takes a long, tired breath. “Me too. Shouldn’t have…you know. Stormed off.”

    “I knew the risk.” Who would’ve thought your fiery demise would end with some actual sort of closure? “Thank you, Nero…” There’s so much more you want to say. So much more you want to admit and reveal—because what does it matter now? The damage is already done, and your fate sealed. But your energy runs dangerously low; exhaustion creeps from the corners of your mind and pulls at your consciousness every passing moment, so you settle for one final: “Thank you.”

    “Stop trying to sound like your life is over.” He can feel the strength leaving your body; how much more he has to hold you up by the shoulders rather than just resting his hands there.

    Your head involuntarily dips, futilely trying to pull away from his grasp. “N-now leave…”

    Nero refuses to let go, instead pulling you forward until you’re nestled neatly against his chest.

    Your cheek rests against his shoulder as his arms fold around you. You can feel him flinch, can hear the hisses and tiny curses as your scorching body presses close under the weight of his palms. Had you the energy, there was a tasteless joke about having always wondered what it felt like to be held by him. The outside world, the flames, the fear, the regret all ceases to exist in the space of his arms.

    “Damnmit,” he goes on, stringing together a lovely little cacophony of profanities as he tries adjusting to the burning; arms closing tighter the more you try to push away. “You really giving up? No fight? No nothing?”

    “Don’t really got a lot of choices…” Had you the energy, you would’ve shoved him away for his own good. Really, what the hell was he even thinking, hugging you out of nowhere; even if it was likely to comfort you in these final moments. Still, there are about a million worse ways you can think of taking your last breath. All things considered, maybe you should just count your remaining blessings.

    “Such a drama king.”

    “Takes one to know one, jerk.”

    “Just caught me off guard, was all.” Nero suddenly blurts. “Wasn’t thinking. Didn’t think you actually…”

    Again, if there was enough energy left in your body, you might have punched him for that. “Shuddup, don’t ruin this for me…okay?”

    “Wow,” Nero scoffs, “Can’t believe you won’t even hear me out.” When you don’t say anything, when he feels you gradually relaxing more against him, you feel the dig of his fingertips in your back. “Maybe I… Maybe I’m trying to say…me too.”

    Vaguely, you feel a chilling sort of warmth ripple through you; vastly different to the unbearable, overwhelming heat you’ve nearly succumbed to. Hoping you weren’t just imagining things with the last shreds of clarity, you fail to sit up, but can at least hum at him.

    “You heard me…” He feels the puff of your breath against his neck in protest. “So get the hell up, ‘cause we have a lot to talk about when we get back home.”

    “Can’t,” you breathe, “move.”

    “If this is your scheme to get me to carry you, forget it.”

    “..jerk.”

    “Have you even noticed the fire dying down?”

    Your eyes flutter shut. Maybe this is it, then. Maybe your energy and life force is finally all spent, and there’s nothing left to continue generating the flames. Fatigue settles over you; weightless thanks to Nero bearing it all.

    Maybe you’ll dream of him before the end. Maybe you’ll dream of nothing at all.

    Soothing warmth overtakes you, only able to hope Nero’s able to hear you whisper, “I love you.”