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The Truthless Recluse was trying his very best to pretend that he did not care that something was so adamantly wrong about the Sage of Truth, and he was doing a rather pitiful job at that.
The Sage was sitting in front of him, dark circles framing his usually sparkling eyes, which now had gone as cold as the tea he held in his hands, untouched by his lips. The Recluse furrowed his brow ever so slightly. The Sage loved drinking tea, and yet today, not a single drop had yet to go down his throat.
It’s probably your fault, a voice whispered in the Recluse’s mind. You always push people away, it’s about time the Sage tired of you.
The Recluse told the voice to go stick something up there somewhere, and the voice went quiet, at least, for now.
“Sage,” he finally said, breaking the silence that had settled in the air between them. The Sage jolted out of his thoughts, blinking slowly and owlishly. “Is something the matter?” The Recluse fought to keep his tone monotonous, even as his eyes hungrily scanned the Sage’s face for any tells.
The Sage let out a tired sigh, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. His monocle was uncharacteristically set askew, tilted off to the side. The Sage made no effort to adjust it back to perfection the Recluse had come to expect from him. “I don’t know,” he admitted, voice gone as flat as a broken flute. He fluttered his eyelashes closed, settling his cup down onto the table.
Concern flickered its tail deep in the Recluse’s soul. After a brief moment of hesitation, the Recluse stood from where he sat and took place beside the Sage on the sofa. The Sage barely reacted even when the Recluse’s weight shifted the cushions, still hiding his face in his hands.
“…Do you want to talk about it, Sage?” The Recluse wasn’t even sure what “it” was, but he knew he had to say something.
“I don’t know,” the Sage repeated again, his voice cracking around the edges.
Now the Recluse was getting more troubled. He decided to do something he hadn’t done since his days as Pure Vanilla, the warm healer king; he reached out and wrapped his arms around his friend’s shoulders, ignoring the soft squeak of surprise the Sage had let out.
“Recluse, what are you doing—“ the Sage’s words were cut off as the Recluse buried his face into the crook between his neck and shoulder, pressing against him so close their bodies almost melted into one.
“Helping,” the Recluse muttered into the Sage’s dough.
In the corners of his blurry vision, the Recluse could see the tips of the Sage’s pointed ears turn violet. “I- uh, you-“ he stammered, then sighed again. He returned the Recluse’s embrace and rubbed his face against the other’s. “I think we both needed this,” he finally managed. Then, quieter, “I am eternally grateful.”
Something warm bloomed in the Recluse’s chest. He cleared his throat as he suddenly drew away from the Sage, folding his hands into his lap and trying his best to ignore the flush that had come onto his cheeks, flaming and bright red. “Anyways. Do you want to, um, talk about it now?”
The side of the Sage’s mouth quivered downwards, him seemingly saddened that the Recluse was no longer so close to him. He rubbed self-consciously at his arms, not being able to meet the Recluse’s eyes as he murmured, “I already told you, I don’t really know what’s wrong with me right now. Everything is fine, I’m fine, but…”
Perhaps Pure Vanilla might’ve sensed the Sage’s discomfort and stopped there. But Pure Vanilla the Recluse was not, so he pushed, “But…?”
The Sage bit down on his lower lip. The Recluse could see tiny dots of blue blood come up, only to be licked and swallowed quickly by the other. The scent of blueberries was heavy in the air. “I- I’m not sure how to describe it, exactly. But I feel like… nothing is real,” the Sage finished lamely.
The Recluse was starting to form a theory. “Continue.”
Now that he’d gotten over that first hurdle, the Sage began to babble, “It’s almost as if I’m watching a play, and I’m the main character. My body is my own, and I technically control what I’m doing, but it’s almost as if my brain is like a separate entity from my body, and I’m floating above everything, a sole witness to my own failures. And plays aren’t real, but if my life is but a performance, does that mean I'm not real, either? Am I merely a concept, forced to play an actor until my soul is beaten bloody? Am I even a person underneath?”
The Sage’s voice trailed off when he felt the weight of the Recluse’s mismatched gaze on him. He laughed awkwardly, the usually soft sound like nails against the chalkboard. “Ah, but that’s probably just me being silly. Ignore me, actually. Scratch everything, let’s just pretend I didn’t say anything at all.” After that, the Sage buried his face in his hands again, eyes burning with the threat of tears.
The Recluse knew what the Sage was trying to get to. He… understood his other half.
“Ignore you?” The Recluse scoffed. “I will not do such a thing.”
The Sage felt a hand squeeze his arm. He lifted his head, looking up at the Recluse through his messy bangs of white. “I thought you hated me,” the Sage giggled aloud, though there was nothing funny about the situation. His heart was beating so loud in his chest, he was scared it’d jump right out of his cage of ribs. “I thought you wished me dead.”
“I did,” the Recluse admitted. The Sage felt something inside him wither. Then the Recluse reached out to take the Sage’s hand in his, and his breath caught in his throat as the Recluse trailed his finger across his knuckles, tracing each little bump made by his finger bones. “But not anymore.”
“What changed?” The Sage wanted to know.
The Recluse’s gaze, usually so tame, now met the Sage’s eyes like ocean waves crashing against the rocks of the beach. “Does it matter?” He growled, leaning close as he bared his teeth.
Any other cookie with even an ounce of a sense of self preservation would’ve crumbled under the weight of the Recluse’s glare, but the Sage felt his lips lift into the first genuine smile he had in probably weeks. He bopped his finger against the Recluse’s nose, startling the other.
“You look so adorable when you’re all worked up, my darling Recluse!” Giggled the Sage, finally feeling his spirits lift.
The Recluse opened his mouth to say something, but stopped himself when he saw the joy light up the Sage’s face. He turned his head away, though not completely, so the Sage saw the blush dust his cheeks. “Shut your mouth.”
Throwing his arms around the Recluse’s neck, it was now the Sage who intimated the embrace, smiling against the silky fabric of the other’s robes. “Thank you,” he told the Recluse.
He felt the Recluse stiffen underneath him, then, slowly, ease into the hug. “No. Thank you,” he whispered, his words barely louder than a breath.
“What would you ever do without me?” the Sage teased, though the true meaning of his words rang out louder than anything else he could’ve said. What would I ever do without you?
“You forget, I’ve spent millennia alone in my Spire before you ever even showed up,” the Recluse recalled with a grunt, though something a little like fondness crept warmth into his tone.
“Tomato, tamato.” The Sage beamed up at the Recluse, feeling more like himself now. He felt his thoughts of depersonalisation creep back away into whatever dark corner of his mind they had crawled out of, but he knew they’d be back, eventually. Chewing delicately on his lower lip, the Sage asked, quietly, “…Recluse? Promise me, you‘ll be here… next time, too?”
Though the Sage didn’t exactly explain what “next time” was, the Recluse seemed to understand. He simply nodded, as if it were the easiest thing in the world to do. “If you come, I’ll be here.”
The Sage nodded back, relieved. He suddenly felt very tired, sighing again as he leaned against the Recluse. “…I think I'm going to sleep now,” he murmured.
“You should.” Was it the Sage’s tired mind, or was the Recluse moving him to a more comfortable position? The Sage somehow found his head in the other’s lap, the Recluse’s hands unthreading tangled knots in his hair, but hey, he wasn’t one to go on and complain about good things. “The circles under your eyes are so dark, you’d be stopped at the airport for a bag check.”
The Sage laughed softly. “How do you know how an airport works?” He teased goodnaturedly.
The Recluse huffed, offended. “I may be old, but I’m not that old.”
“You are pretty old,” the Sage agreed. He felt his mind grow fuzzier, and he hummed to himself quietly.
His vision grew blurrier, and as syrupy darkness descended upon him, the Sage swore he heard the Recluse whisper, “I’ll be here when you wake up.”
Even if the soft words were a trick played by his traitorous mind, it was a comforting thought that guided the Sage on his journey down to the land of slumber.