Falling Skies

Thirty Six

December can't erase the words, the pain that seeps out of Wren still so close against him. He's stopped crying, hand coming up to wipe away tears mixed with pool water as the boy lets out a pathetic laugh.

"Well that was pretty dramatic." Wren blushes, grabbing at a nearby comb as a distraction. He holds his head under a nearby fountain, water drenching his scalp as he runs the ivory comb through his hair. "Don't tell Ryder about this." His tone is flat, expression unreadable as he fumbles with his hair. "It's just...sometimes it feels like I can tell you things I can't tell him. You've already seen me at my worse so I don't have to pretend to be strong in front of you like I have to with Ryder. I just don't want to worry him." He adds on as an afterthought.

The familiar sensation of December's breaths tightening threatens to come back, eyes adverting from the small boy and forcing themselves to focus on his reflection wavering in the marble floor. This entire day has been odd.

"You do that a lot, you know." Wren pipes up from his spot beneath the fountain, eyes wide and playful as if he hadn't been crying moments before.

December's gaze breaks from the shimmering marble, eyes narrowing slightly in Wren's direction. "Do what?"

"Stare at me." His tone is calm yet his stare never breaks from December as he scans his features for the slightest shift in expression. "Then you turn away really fast like I wouldn't notice. You always have this look in your eye though." By now Wren's voice has dropped, mind elsewhere as his body sinks into the depths of the pool until the water licks his chin, body somehow finding itself placed before December once more. He pauses briefly, brows furrowing as if he's unsure if he wants to speak his next words. "It's like this mix of disgust or..." the next words never come, eyes widening just barely as he scans the boy in front of him.

"Or what?" December quizzes though a part of him doesn't want to hear the response his soul has already answered.

"I think you're confused...about whether you actually hate me or if you only hate me because you think you should."

It wasn't the response he was expecting, breath catching halfway as he struggles for an answer. Wren isn't wrong, it's the easiest way to sum up the way December has felt since falling into the Magie. It's the reason he couldn't decide about the blockers. The reason that Wren's unknowing admittance about his addiction forced bile into December's throat, a nausea overcoming him at the confirmation.

It's the reason he felt sick as he held the being close. The reason his mind burns every time he catches himself staring at the fae from afar, blue eyes in a trance as they trace every nearly-human feature. It's the reason he's flooded with guilt every time he traces that crescent scar or the dotted marks that cover the entirety of Wren's forearm.

December can only let out a short laugh, the action void of humor, just the only sound his body will allow him to make as his mind continues to fight against itself. "Hating you is all I've ever known." He admits. "My mother spent her entire life on Haven and it's ideals. I guess I just never thought to question whether I agreed with them or not." December can't hide the guilt that floods through his words, face ducking in shame at the confession. The confession that he was too weak willed to think for himself. That he was merely his mother's puppet who never had the willpower to question right from wrong.

"And your father?"

"My dad died when I was younger. He was against the idea of building Haven. He didn't believe that humans had the right to say who was superior and who should be killed."

With this Wren perks up, water sloshing between them from the movement. The sun slashes across his face in yellow beams, illuminating the confusion painted clear on his features. "If your father was opposed to your mother's ideas, do you really believe him to be dead?"