98 | shackled; a foreign wanting

The Inky Tavern, where all secrets were exchanged. Kaden cradled a drink in his hands, sat by the bar as whispers danced around his buzzing mind. Reed had ordered him here, stating that his target would appear.

Supposedly, the dragon had a penchant for drinking late at night in this specific tavern. Kaden thought it was foolish to visit a place a carriage ride over simply for alcohol.

The issue with alcohol, see, was that Kaden Chauvet had a weakness in things that helped chase the illusions of his vision away. And alcohol, which blurred both his sight and mine, did exactly that.

There were some who despised the loss of control over their body, their thoughts that spilled from their mouth despite their mind's demands to remain silent. But Kaden found a confidence brewed from the sipping of alcohol.

The aching heat that flowed down his throat, seating itself in the pits of his stomach and lighting his body with warmth.

What was worse was that the dragon hadn't even appeared, and although Reed's sources were very unlikely to be incorrect, something seemed to have deterred the dragon from following his typical routine.

Kaden tipped the remaining liquid in his cup back, swallowing it with ease.

The chair beside him scrapped, and he tiredly tilted his head to peer at the skinny man beside him wearing a loose shirt that was tucked in his narrow waist, but loose enough to mimic fragility.

A flirtatious smile, and a sheen of red dusted over high cheekbones. The young man's eyes curved and Kaden shook his head immediately.

"I'm not open for business."

The young man stared at him for a second with some confusion spilling into his eyes before smiling. "It's my business that I'm selling, not yours."

Kaden squinted, the slightly blurred outlines growing a little clearer. "I'm poor."

"I've seen poor and handsome men, but they don't quite carry themselves like you." remarked the man, ordering two glasses of some unknown alcohol. He slid one glass over. "You can pretend, but you can't fool your own nature."

Kaden sat up a little straighter, feeling a sense of familiarity. But he knew a young man once, who sold himself in this tavern. His memories pieced together in the blur of his thoughts.

Sometimes, one recalled things better when put in the same situation or location where the original memory occurred.

However, that young man did not speak with as much confidence or clarity.

Kaden frowned, accepting the drink. "You've changed." He said finally, turning his head to properly look at the person beside him. The person he could not remember in entirety, but the person he once knew.

The young man's eyes curved with delight, brightness gleaming over his expression. "You remember? I'm sorry, I didn't know how to approach you when you didn't seem to recognize me. It's... been awhile."

The youth continued hurriedly. "I'm doing well, but I haven't heard from you in a while, since back then. The other—your friend, he's visited a few times, and I sometimes see your other friend, ah, but I've been wondering, and—"

Finally, a real smile briefly appeared on Kaden's lips. "Thanks. For wondering."

The youth fell silent in an instant, a genuine flush blooming across his face. He'd wondered for so long what happened to that man, the one who offered him a job and gave him an opportunity unlike any other.

He'd saved up enough to purchase stay in a small, albeit run down, room of a married couple that lived on the main streets. The idealistic life of his youth had become more realistic, closer, reachable.

"Ah, I'm sure they miss you too! They said it's been a while, so they weren't sure about your whereabouts! I'll let them know—"

"Don't," interrupted Kaden firmly, slipping off his seat. He tipped the glass back, drinking the remaining alcohol bought by the young man. "That isn't a request."

"...I understand." The young man's eyes dimmed slightly, and then quickly brightened again. "Will I see you again?"

"I don't know."

The floor swayed underneath him, and he couldn't tell if it was the alcohol or his cursed blessing twisting his vision again. He narrowed his eyes and ignoring the worried questioning of the other man, escaped onto the streets.

The cold night wind brought clarity to his senses, and he didn't know if that made him feel worse or better.

He continued walking, time weaving past him as he continued to wander.

In the distance, a small pulse of life beckoned from the shadows that curled onto the streets. Drawn to the light, Kaden staggered forwards. He'd wandered somewhere along the forest edge, to a house surrounded by swaying trees.

He stopped before an old wooden gate, dark wood creaking. The door beyond was open, an extended welcome to any visitors of the night.

A small cabin awaited beyond an open, rusted gate, the inner gardens overgrown with tangles of weed and various flowers. So filled with life, and yet seeming to have been abandoned for years.

The front door creaked open slowly, casting more light onto the broken stone path.

Kaden feared his own imagination more than the real creatures in the night. Because his—they never went away.

Therefore, in his dazed mind, he walked past the rusted gate, and through the wooden entrance. As soon as his foot landed on the wooden ground inside, a row of candles turned alight, flickering with warmth.

The man's steps froze and his pupils dilated, refocusing on the paintings, brought to life by the sudden surge of light.

Numerous. A canvas covering every inch to the extent it wouldn't be false to call it a wall made of canvases.

Colours, wild and free, shackled and gloomy, intertwining to tell a sacred story known only by one.

In the center of the room, a large canvas depicting a half-human, half-monster sat on a wooden easel. Their fingers curled into their flesh, pulling at their distorted skin as if trying to peel it off.

Large wings spanned the canvas, one curled protectively over their human visual, the other feathered and shedding, plumes of white stripped clear to reveal naked skin.

Behind the creature, a pair of ghostly arms stretched out to grab them, almost touching. Kaden wondered if those arms belonged to an illusion of comfort, or to a long lost warmth.

The creature's shoulders shrunk in, and Kaden wondered if they feared those arms, and why that fear might exist—did they fear that a touch would cast them back into the shadows? He wondered and wondered, but the painting could not answer.

Kaden felt a shadow creep behind him, but the weight of their footsteps told him that it wasn't his delusions playing tricks. A man walked to stand beside him; in his hands a bouquet of red flowers hung.

Silently, he lifted his sharp jaw to the paintings, observing with quiet scrutiny.

"What do you see?" asked the man in a low voice.

Kaden didn't turn his head. "A painting."

There seemed to be a huff of frustration in the steady voice. "More than that." The man insisted, and although Kaden wanted to be obstinate, he couldn't help but oblige.

"I see colours," he decided, his voice softened by the sleepiness caused by alcohol and the haze of the rich evening.

The man waited for him to continue, his low breathing loud in their silence. It was rhythmic, and when Kaden's eyes fluttered close for a second, it was comforting. Of course it was. It was the sound of the music that once lured Kaden to dreamless nights.

How often? How many times was it that he fell asleep to that melody?

He wished he could remember.

"I see anger and madness scattered in the chaotic strokes. A vent of emotions expressed in a singular creature. Is that enough," his gaze flickered. "Stranger?"

"Stranger." The man repeated, as if questioning himself. In the flickering candles, his dark eyes became like mirrors, reflecting Kaden's face as he turned. "Do you like flowers?"

Kaden glanced down at the hanging bouquet, lively and freshly bloomed. "They're pretty, but I don't care much for flowers. What kind are they? The original recipient," A hint of tease slipped into his voice naturally. "Did they turn you down?"

"Mn." hummed the other quietly. "They weren't supposed to leave."

"Weren't supposed to?"

The man lowered his gaze, and Kaden found himself fascinated by the lines and shapes that made his profile, the sharp and narrowed eyes, the angled jaw. The surprisingly plump lips coloured by a faint red, and lightly tanned skin.

The art that surrounded him made him more perceptive to the little details, the shades and colours and shapes.

The sorrows and melancholy in the somber gaze.

"They're red petunias. But I no longer have a need for them. I only hope they go to a person who deserves them."

Kaden scoffed, glancing down. "I don't deserve flowers."

"Maybe you don't," agreed the man. "And maybe you do. Take them."

With the other's insistence, and Kaden's lack of energy to argue over a bouquet of fresh flowers, he accepted them. The dark eyes seemed to gleam, a touch of delight reaching the edges of the sharpened stare.

"I didn't take you for much of a talker, stranger. Looks are deceiving."

"I wasn't. I'm not."

"But you are. See, your lips are moving. Endlessly." smiled Kaden as annoyance and helplessness flickered over the other's face.

But it was a weak smile easily broken, and the grooves of his sunken eyes that carried the weight of his sleepless nights were all the more prominent in the light. The pink-haired man, standing with a straight back and a sly smile.

A man that looked as if he would disappear with a blow, simple as the flickering lights could fade into darkness.

Noah's nails dug into his hand, the sharpened claws drawing blood. How long had it been since that man had a restful sleep, how long had it been since he lived without fearing his nightmares? How much had he deteriorated, all these years? How little had he eaten, how many had he killed?

Exactly how much of Kaden Chauvet remained behind the faint smile and soulless eyes?

Emotions bubbled and boiled in Noah's chest, chasing up his throat in a storm of words he couldn't say. Instead, he stood still, silent, and choked on all the time and frustrations that piled over years.

Noah's mind was cloudy, like the murkiness of a swamp. Anybody who entered would be dragged by the weeds in the dark waters, devoured by the monsters within.

Kaden was alive.

And all Noah felt was resentment.

He was right there, talking with that sly tongue, teasing with that faint delight. But it was as if all their time was erased, even if the time Noah had spent missing him was longer than the time he spent knowing him.

A line drawn, a wall built. They were not the same; they could not be the same. Noah wondered if whatever remained of Kaden Chauvet was the same one he'd chased all these years.

And if it was, what would he do?

And if it wasn't?

Kaden stared at the flowers after hearing no response, his mind elsewhere. The red bloom of petunias brushed against his pale skin, like blooming blood scattered across the plain of white snow.

Red petunias.

For Noah, there was no other person better suited for them than Kaden Chauvet.

"I was once asked to stop somebody if they took a step too far." said Noah quietly, his dark eyes unwavering. The gazes in the paintings seemed to all look towards them, piercing in the chill that swirled around them. "I wondered if it was a request for death. A selfish plea to ask for death at my hands."

Kaden swallowed, his throat rolling. "Was it? A plea to make you a murderer."

"There seems to be a misunderstanding. Killing one person can't make me what I already am. Just as not killing him wouldn't change the fact that I've killed once before."

Kaden froze, and he resisted the urge to spin around. He resisted the urge to ask, to inquire in startled surprise.

The man continued to speak calmly, recounting an old memory.

"When I was a child, I killed a young girl."

"Why?"

"Because I was scared. Because she sliced off my horn and I was in pain." Noah paused, voice betraying no emotion. "Because I thought she was my friend, and I had loved her for it."

He stared at the painting, seeming to merge with the image of the half-monster creature painting in deep, dark strokes. "I am a coward that escaped to the Academy to reject a lonely life. I've killed, and watched others die and did nothing to prevent it, because that was the way of life I'd known."

A breath. "I am foolish, that I'll still ask again even after being rejected. I cannot forgive betrayal—so tell me Chauvet,"

"Reject me because I'm me, not because you want to protect the me I am not."

Kaden, who was willing to sacrifice everything, to protect the heroic, strong and brilliant dragon, destined for so much in life. Kaden, who despite slowly understanding, wanted to save Noah from the darkness he'd lived his entire life.

"Kaden." Kaden squeezed his eyes shut and his mouth felt dry. The next words sounded like an imploring plea, soft and affectionate and begging. "Let's go home."

Home, to where all their family was.

Kaden's throat bobbed. There was the curse that bound his life to Reed's. Then Arlo, who had followed Kaden into that man's grasp foolishly while Kaden had been in a sunken mental state due to the overuse of his Blessing.

Arlo, who Kaden only remembered fragments of, while the boy thought of him as his world. Guilt embedded in Kaden's chest, sharp blades of glass digging deep.

Then Reed's despairing plans and unknown intentions set to bring ruination to perhaps all that he loved and knew. A past that would haunt him until he finally tore away from the tragedy that followed his life.

His hand had raised slightly instinctively, and his fingers slowly curled in, bringing his arm back down with them.

The dragon before him felt both familiar and unfamiliar.

"I'm sorry," said Kaden coldly, and he found that it was easy. "I don't remember you."

A sudden gust of wind rushed into the house, extinguishing all the candles in an instant. The warmth leached from Noah's reflective gaze, and all Kaden felt was the cold.

Noah stiffened, and lowered his hand that had been raised. "If it's an enemy you wanted of me, then I will be that. If it had been a friend, I would've welcomed it. Regardless of the role I play, it will not change the fact that I will always be part of your story."

Kaden didn't respond, and Noah's nails dug deeper into his palms, a dark red quietly dripping from the slits in his gloves.

They were bound by roles determined by their actions and inactions. The inked lines of their stories could no longer run parallel, but darted across the paper to intertwine. What was printed in ink couldn't be undone.

Kaden Chauvet could not go back to the time he hadn't known Noah. Even if he wanted to.

The house creaked as the wind picked up around the old building. The creaking was growing louder and louder—or was that Kaden's hallucination?

Noah's voice was indifferent and flat. "I apologize, stranger. I've mistaken you for a ghost—and I know that dead men do not return."

Kaden's mind was spiralling again, and the shadows spilled, and the walls warped, split by dark crevices that slowly expanded. Illusions of his vision, dark hands that curled against the ground, screams that echoed in the faraway distance. Reality and delusion danced, spotting his senses.

Worms, impossibly long, wriggled from the cracks in the house, and noise buzzed all around him like the insistent buzz of a fly. Dozens of them.

He flinched from the shadows—but they were everywhere, and he could not escape. He took a step forward—towards the dark silhouette of Noah Bellamy, who watched him without moving.

But even in the chaos and madness of his delusions, Kaden Chauvet still refused to rely on Noah. His body shrunk away, crouching in the corner of the room.

A tremour shook his body, broad shoulders that appeared narrow as they curled in, his body shrinking together to escape the delusions.

Kaden could endure the delusions; but before this dragon, all he wanted was comfort.

He still couldn't understand it entirely, the foreignness of wanting. The fragments of his memories slowly piece together, more hastily in Noah's presence, but far too slowly for him to remember the depth of his feelings. If he'd ever understood them to begin with.

Safety, protection. Reassurance. Suddenly, the horrors of his delusions seemed to penetrate his bones and senses more terribly than ever before.

Noah's hand shook, and he saw them too—the blinking eyes that darted around the room, and the monsters beginning to creep behind the paintings and even inside them, tearing the canvas and trying to erupt.

Undoubtedly, whatever Kaden saw was worse—his control could only have worsened over the years.

The red petunias had fallen, scattered across the ground.

Noah turned to leave, but his feet remained planted on the wooden ground. In fact, the dragon in the eyes of his peers was cold, indifferent, and faraway.

He was curious about life, but also indifferent—living unattached to anything. His treasure collection was few, and he could abandon an interest as quickly as he picked it up. That was his coping method; the only way to control the vast lake of his emotions.

There had only been one exception to that rule; one exception that he allowed waves to stir that still lake he struggled so long to control.

He turned again, striding and crouching down before Kaden. He grabbed the man's chin, and Kaden felt the heat of Noah's hands, and the sticky feel of warm blood. The sharp nails that had pierced through the gloves he wore—even if he didn't need to anymore.

"Chauvet," gritted Noah as he asked once more. "Let's go back."

Kaden swallowed, feeling the sharpness of Noah's claws graze the underneath of his bobbing throat. He forced his turbulent mind to calm, faking confidence as he stared into the dragon's eyes.

"I'm sorry," he said once more. "I can't."

The dragon let go in an instant, a serene calm replacing his desperation and anger. He nodded. "I understand."

And then, Noah Bellamy left, and he did not turn back.

———xxx———

Lukiyo says,

I considered this. That if their situation had been switched, what would they decide? I concluded that Noah would likely attempt to achieve everything on his own as well, or perhaps, he would involve everybody with the exception of Kaden. Treasures, after all, are to be hidden and stored for protection.

Kaden's memories aren't entirely wholly, presently (or are they?) and his stubborness and rejection of help in deeply rooted fear of losing the things precious to him are all instinctive; he cannot wrap his mind around the possibility that it could be worth risking another in order to save his miserable self. That, to him, is a fact. And nobody's begging or pleas can change it, even if it sways his opinion.

During his time in the Academy, he could barely come to terms with the fact that there were people who could care for him, who could enjoy his company genuinely.

This little psychanalysis is because I'm frustrated. At Kaden's stubborness, honestly. I figured you might be too. (I also like rambling, though)

Anyway! Hope you're all having an amazing, wonderful day/evening! If it's snowing where you are as it is where I am, drive safe! Stay warm! Much adoration and appreciation to you, today, tomorrow, and forever. ^^