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occasionally-good-authoring · 11 months

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barnacle skin, porcelain lips

@indigothemuse @squishmallow36

tw: child abuse, blood

Keefe has known they were in love with Fitz since the fourth month they knew him. They were watching Fitz study, eleven years old bent over a notebook. The two of them were on the edge of the pond, Keefe’s feet in the water.

Wind tosses his hair around gently, Fitz moving it out of his face every few seconds. He doesn’t even notice Keefe staring at him. They’re happier that way. They’re eleven years old, but they know enough to know they shouldn’t stare at Fitz. Not in the way they are now. Birds sing, animals skitter in the bushes.

They would give anything to draw Fitz in this moment. Capture the way the sun catches in his hair just right, sewing the deep brown—not black, though it almost looks it—with gold. And Keefe knows he’s in love. Right then and there, eleven years old, that Keefe Sencen is completely and utterly in love with Fitz Vacker.

He’s got a wrinkle between his eyebrows. Keefe wants to reach over and smooth it out, smile at Fitz in a way that lets him know what they’re feeling. Lets him know that after three months, Keefe loves him. And maybe they’ve fallen too quickly and much too young; they’ve done it anyway nonetheless. Keefe tucks their hands under their legs, not trusting themself not to. They’re eleven years old and they know it’s wrong to love a boy.

But this doesn’t feel wrong. It feels more right than anything Keefe’s felt before. Love doesn’t feel like it can be wrong. How can loving Fitz be wrong? He’s beautiful. The sun causing a night sky of freckles, so faint anyone who wasn’t looking wouldn’t find them, to paint his face. How can constellation skin be cursed to care for?

Keefe doesn’t feel wrong. Not in the least when they’re with beautiful Fitz Vacker. Fitz eventually looks up, much to Keefe’s dismay. They have to look away then, out at the pond, fish lazing around just underneath the surface.

“What? Do I have dirt on my face?” Keefe just smiles at Fitz. It’s the wrong one. It tells Fitz nothing of what they feel; and it’s better that way. Truly. Because any other way would be wrong, wouldn’t it? “I do, don’t I? Dad’s going to kill me. Where is it?”

“You don’t have anything on your face, just a stupid little wrinkle.”

“God, not you too. Biana noticed it a few weeks ago and won’t let it go. I don’t need this slander,” Fitz says. Keefe notices a tone in his voice, much too tired and true for eleven. It’s a tone Keefe works to keep out of their own words every day. They’d give anything not to hear it from Fitz.

They don’t say any of this. They don’t let any of it show. Keefe just throws their head back in laughter they don’t mean. Some part of it hurts, but it’s a part Keefe is willing to ignore if it means they get to see Fitz laugh along too.

It’s contained, like he’s afraid of anyone seeing. One day, Keefe swears to themself in that moment, they’ll get Fitz to laugh. Really, truly laugh without any ounce of restraint. For now, they’ll have to settle for what Fitz gives them now, small laughs and a smile covered by his hand. Keefe takes that smile, those laughs, and burns them in their brain.

…

They’re thirteen when they find out that Fitz feels the same. He doesn’t say anything, and Keefe doesn’t need him to. The brush of their hands in Keefe’s bedroom is enough. A wave of emotions crashes over them and they’re drowning, water filling their lungs and heart, and it pounds, crashing against their ribs.

And then it’s gone. Fitz’s hand is gone (his hands are so warm, like bonfires on cold nights and Keefe misses him already). Keefe wonders how long it’s been since they’ve manifested. Foxfire’s been on break, and they can’t remember their parents even touched them. Maybe that’s a sort of blessing. Keefe doesn’t think they’d be able to handle knowing exactly what their father feels when the slap comes. Not yet.

Midnight stars shine outside Keefe’s window, and they stare out into them. They can’t bear to look at Fitz now. They can’t trust themself not to say something, and maybe make the drowning they both live in now real. Because the water isn’t real right now, it’s there, filling Keefe’s lungs every moment with Fitz next to him. But it’s not real. No matter how many times they reach through the water, they’ll never find Fitz’s hand in the deep.

It’s only fleeting moments like this where Keefe gets a glimpse of reaching out and finding someone. It’s love all the same. It’s hands brushing at midnight, silk sheets under them but Fitz’s skin is the best thing to ever touch Keefe’s. Love that drowns Keefe, love that makes them want to drown, so long as it’s for Fitz.

“We should probably go to sleep, right?” Fitz says. He’s tired, Keefe knows by his voice. They know everything by the inflections of Fitz’s voice, they know every turn it can make and have it mapped out in their head. They pass over those roads sometimes, when the night lays heavy on Keefe, and the water takes over every part of them.

“Probably. You can have the bed,” Keefe says. They don’t any softness float into their voice, all of the emotions they have, kept behind a concrete wall. A flood ready to spill the moment Keefe lets it.

“It’s your room, Keefe.”

Keefe rolls their eyes and laughs, just like how they Fitz expects them. They do this every time. Fitz always ends up asleep in the bed. “Look at that window seat, Fitz. That, my friend, is a place of luxury. I only get away with it when you’re here.”

“One of these days, I’m going to test that.”

Keefe hands Fitz a wry smile. “That day isn’t today. Thank god for that, am I right?”

Fitz laughs (still restrained, but eventually) and Keefe makes a show of walking to the window seat. The cushion has been worn by years of Fitz staying the night. Keefe outgrew it last year, having to bend their knees the entire night. They always wake up aching, joints begging for Keefe to never sleep there again. They always do.

They always stare out the window for an hour and wait, turning around when Fitz’s sleeping breaths are the only sound in the room. And then Keefe falls asleep to the sight of Fitz. His hair mussed and all of Keefe’s pillow like spilled coffee. It’s the only time when Fitz looks his age, all the years forced onto him by his parents seeping away, replaced by the simple peace of sleep.

Keefe wants to be the reason for that, someday. They want to be the reason Fitz gets to feel thirteen, like a kid.

But Keefe wants a lot of things, and wanting doesn’t mean anything to fear. If there’s anything Keefe has learned from love, it’s fear. Fear that someone will find out that Keefe loves Fitz, hopelessly drowning in it every second they’re awake (and when fate is cruel, in their sleep as well). Fear that Fitz will find out, and he’ll hate Keefe for it. Fear that love won’t be enough and they’ll break apart anyway.

That’s what happened to Gisela and Cassius. They loved each other (didn’t they?). And now they live in a house built from their love (isn’t it?) and feel nothing but hatred.

(They had to love each other, even if it was a long time ago. Keefe had to believe that. They had to have some faith that love could be found, that it could mean something, that it could be real. That what they felt for Fitz could mean something, even if it was never something real.)

…

Sophie is a hammer into the glass of Keefe and Fitz. The gentle glass that let them stay together, tied by fate (their parents, but is there really a difference in the end?) to each other. Held together by the understanding that they only had each other in life. Fitz may have had Biana and Alvar, so maybe that last part was only for Keefe.

Maybe Fitz was all Keefe ever had in the end. Maybe Biana was only there because Fitz was and Alvar was only there because Keefe was. Maybe their parents never loved them and never loved each other. But in the end, at least there was Fitz. There was beautiful Fitz, and there was Keefe’s glorious drowning.

Not anymore. Not anymore because Sophie Foster is here now. And now they’re broken. The glass is shattered. Keefe is no stranger to this feeling, the one that comes when you’ve lost part of your soul (since when did Fitz become part of Keefe’s soul? They can’t know, but he is. He is). They lost their father before. Cassius haunts Candleshade now, a violent ghost that Keefe has learned how to avoid.

So Keefe does what they do best, they go on as usual. They laugh and joke and flirt with everyone (besides Fitz, never Fitz; he’s too good for Keefe’s meaningless words). Sophie is the main recipient of everything, even when it hurts Fitz and Dex every time. Biana too, though Keefe isn’t sure ae knows why. Keefe knows. They know everything.

They know that Maruca still looks over to them all at lunch, and Keefe doesn’t need to be an empath to read the look in her eyes. They know how Marella looks at Biana with something that’s not entirely hatred. They see how Dex messes with a bundle of wires and gears under the table during lessons, terrified of someone seeing xem.

They see this all from Fitz’s side, hands brushing for a few moments. The same wave crashes over Keefe every time and reminds him of just how much they’re loosing. Because even when Fitz’s hand brushes against Keefe’s, his other is in Sophie’s. Fitz isn’t Keefe’s anymore, and hell, maybe he never was. But then why does this feel so much like cutting off a limb?

They join the Biana, Fitz, and Sophie in games of Bramble. They savor the feeling of Fitz’s skin when the run into each other, holds onto the hurricane of Fitz’s love. They’ve given up on the hurricane being real, being anything more than hands brushing.

But then Sophie and Dex are killed. Keefe felt an entirely new type of hurricane, from both themself and Fitz.

“I’m sorry,” Keefe whispers. They’re alone, Sophie and Dex’s planting having just ended. Fitz clenches his hands into fists and slips down to his knees. Keefe goes down with him. “I’m so sorry, Fitz.”

“For what,” Fitz snaps. “You didn’t kill them, did you?”

“I know,” Keefe says. But they don’t mean it. They’ve told a million lies before, and this is no difference. Keefe wanted Fitz back, they wanted Sophie to go home (they don’t, not anymore, they’d do anything to bring Sophie and Dex back). Now she’s dead and Dex too. Dex didn’t deserve this, Sophie didn’t deserve this. Fitz doesn’t deserve this.

Keefe leans against Fitz, carefully putting his arm over Fitz.

“I shouldn’t have brought her here,” Fitz says. Keefe knows the sound of anger in his voice well, and they’d do anything to take it out of his voice now. Fitz shouldn’t feel this way about himself. “This is my fucking fault. She would’ve been safe if I’d just left her in the Forbidden Cities.”

“No,” they say quickly. “Don’t. You can’t blame yourself. Blame whoever killed Sophie, blame Alden for sending you out, blame anyone you want. Not yourself.” Fitz should blame them. They got exactly what they wanted; Fitz is theirs again. He theirs and god, it hurts so much.

Keefe is staying at Fitz’s house when Sophie and Dex come back. They’re pretending to be asleep while drawing Fitz’s portrait on the bedsheets with their fingers. It’s the best way. No one will ever find the invisible marks in the purple satin.

They’ve lost Fitz all over again.

…

“God, I don’t know what we’re doing, Keefe,” Fitz laughs. He’s sitting on the edge of a lake, his feet aren’t in the water. Keefe’s aren’t either. A full moon stares down on both of them, it’s craters the only eyes on them. Everyone else is asleep. They both should be, but Keefe found Fitz out here.

They haven’t done anything like this in a while. They haven’t been friends in a while. Keefe hasn’t had anyone in a while. They missed this, being around Fitz and drowning in him. Drowning in love, drowning in Fitz’s love, drowning in the dam they’ve made to hold all that water. All that love.

“I don’t think anyone does, Fitz. Besides Forkle. That man knows everything,” Keefe says. They offer Fitz the same wry smile they always do. Fitz looks away, his nostril flaring.

“Fuck you, Keefe. Fuck you.”

Keefe scoffs and sits . “That’s one hell of a greeting, Fitzy. Love you too.” Keefe makes sure his love doesn’t sound genuine. This is the closest they’ll ever get to a confession, anyway.

“You always do this. One serious conversation. One serious fucking sentence would be enough. I’m going to sleep, Keefe. Have a good night,” Fitz spits. He stands up, Keefe grabs his wrist. All that anger washes over them, sadness mixed in, desperation.

“What do you want me to say?”

Fitz sighs angrily. “Anything that means something, Keefe.”

Keefe opens their mouth, searching for words that Fitz can accept and not say anything at all. They close it. Fitz closes his eyes and tears his wrist back. Keefe feels empty without Fitz’s storm, even when their own rages inside of them.

Fitz starts to walk away, and Keefe can feel the walls between them grow higher. Their glass shattered even more. Keefe pushes a drop of water over the edge of the dam Keefe’s built.

“I’m scared, Fitz.”

He stops walking. Keefe has never been more afraid of their own words, their own emotions. They should stop, they need to stop.

“I don’t know what’s happening, and my entire life is falling apart. And I’m losing everyone. I’m scared.”

Fitz walks back, sitting back down next to Keefe. He grabs Keefe’s hand, and Keefe nearly vomits at the anger that’s still there, the sympathy.

“You still have me, Keefe. I’ve always been here,” Fitz says in forced softness. Keefe swallows their tears and the call of liar on their tongue.

“I know.”

“Are you going to be there for me?”

“Always.” It’s not a lie. Keefe doesn’t think it’s a lie, at least. They’ve been in love with Fitz for years, and they’d give anything to be the one Fitz goes to. That’s Sophie now, but Keefe will make this promise anyway.

Fitz, Keefe finds out, kisses softly. Like he’s kissing a porcelain doll. Keefe is anything but, they’ve survived years of two hurricanes (three, if you count their father, it’s an entirely different type of storm; a worse one). It might just be fear, and Keefe understands that a million times over.

It’s late, the long reeds that line the lake brushing the back of both of their legs. Frogs and birds sing a melody and this all feels like a scene in a movie Sophie made them watch. This kiss, it’s an accident. They’re both drunk of stars and a few too many late nights, and finally let the dams leak.

(They’re not broken. At least, Keefe’s isn’t. There’s a whole hurricane inside of them, a million emotions and Keefe is kissing Fitz back with control. They want to put every goddamn emotion they’ve ever had for Fitz into this kiss, but not with Fitz kissing him like a doll. Like they’re breakable. It’s fucking laughable. Keefe’s already broken.)

Fitz pulls away, pressing his forehead against Keefe’s.

“I don’t believe you,” Fitz whispers.

…

Keefe misses Fitz more than anyone when he runs away. They know they have to, that there was no other choice. That it was the only choice to keep people safe, but when Sophie’s voice rings in their head, they wish to god it was Fitz.

They explain all their reasons to Sophie, and they explain it to Sophie like she was Fitz. Guilt clings onto the wind flowing over the waters they hold back, a storm building and building. But Keefe has always been good at holding it all back, concrete dams thick and high.

Fitan takes him to the Forbidden Cities, and Keefe feels a million other storms. Every human emotion is one of the most extreme ones Keefe feels from elves. Keefe can hardly handle them. They don’t know what they’ll do if Fitan has them touch one of them to get an even better read. Keefe already feels so much, they don’t know how many more of Fitan’s lessons they can take.

They can’t go numb, they can’t. They want the storm of what they feel for Fitz. They want to drown, to gasp for air, to cough and spit out all the seaweed emotions in the morning. They want to scrape barnacles off of their skin and ignore the way it bleeds. Fitz hurts. His kisses are so soft they hurt, porcelain lips against Keefe’s broken shards. Fitz hurts and Keefe wants to revel in the pain of the storm Fitz brings. They want to open their mouth and let the rain fill their lungs, feeling Fitz’s own storm when Keefe touches Fitz. Hands brush in the hallway and Keefe drowns twice over.

So when they lay at night, Sophie’s voice in their head, they hold on to the storm it brings. Every mention of Fitz sends a lightning bolt into the water, clouds brewing, the water threatening to spill over the edge. Keefe builds the dams higher and takes a dive into the waters.

They’re not numb, not yet. Even when a million storms drown them.

…

Keefe doesn’t need to touch Fitz to feel his anger. He’s controlling it, seeing as all their friends eyes look down on the two of them. Keefe left, and Fitz is angry. Keefe spit up seaweed love and made a noose from it. They swung around and Fitz had to watch Keefe. They ran. It was the right move, but Fitz doesn’t see it as such.

“Are you even going to say something? Defend yourself just a little bit?” Fitz spits. Even in anger, Keefe would love to draw Fitz in this moment. They’re sitting in Foxfire’s library, all around the largest circular table. Keefe and Fitz are the only two standing.

“It was the right move, Fitz.”

Fitz slams his hand against the table. “Like hell it was! You could’ve gotten hurt. You could’ve gotten us hurt! Fuck, Sophie was a mess, Keefe! You did.”

“You don’t understand.”

“I understand perfectly fine. You left. You didn’t think of anyone but yourself. You thought of yourself, your feelings. Maybe you thought you were protecting yourself, but you did what you always do, Keefe. You got selfish.”

“Fitz—” Sophie starts.

“No. I’m done here. I’ll do research on my own.” Fitz storms past the rest of them, stopping next to Keefe for a second. His words a low and for Keefe alone. “I didn’t believe you, Keefe, but I trusted you.”

He keeps on walking then, leaving with a slam of the door. Keefe sits down slowly, swallowing down salt water and kelp. It gets stuck in their throat.

Keefe drowns for the rest of the day. They want nothing more than to lay down and let it wash over them until they’re some semblance of above water. They don’t get that chance. But when the research session ends, Biana gives Keefe an offer they wish they could refuse. They wish they had the strength to say no.

“Do you want to stay the night? If you don’t want to go to Candleshade.”

Keefe has a place to stay besides Candleshade. They should say no. They really need to say no. But Biana’s hand on their arm reads of nothing but sincere love, not the storm that comes from Fitz. A gentle wave on a beach, flowing over Keefe’s feet. There’s no sea water for Keefe to spit up, no seaweed emotions to choke on. Just gentle water and seashells under their feet.

“Just for tonight,” they say. “We don’t want your parents getting any ideas, right Bee? Look at what happened to Romeo and Juliet.”

Biana rolls aer eyes, but seems to have forgotten aer hand on Keefe’s shoulder. Ae’s still worried for Keefe, that gentle love washing over their knees now.

“I think you and Biana are on very different pages there, Keefe,” Marella laughs. “We all know who Romeo really is, Jules.”

Dex chokes on xyr water, gripping Marella’s upper arm and shaking cer. Sophie stifles a few giggles. Even Biana and Linh laugh a bit. Only Tam and Stina stay blank faced. Keefe, they swallow lungs full of salt water. Kelp and seaweed catch in their throat, wrapping around their stomach. The barnacles that normally sit on their skin in small clusters cover them completely, locking up their muscles.

But they can’t go doing that, so they throw on a crooked smile. They reach into their pockets, finding an old chess piece (it’s Fitz’s, Keefe would pretend they didn’t know how to play just to have Fitz teach them). They bend down on one knee in front of Marella.

“Oh, Romeo, shall thou be my betrothed, for I have waited years for a love such as ours,” Keefe says. They force a laugh into their voice. Dex laughs even harder and shakes cer even harder. Sophie breaks into full out laughter. Biana’s covering aer mouth and shakes.

“Careful, Juliet, I don’t think my girlfriend appreciates this,” Marella laughs. Ce nods to Stina, stony faced still. Tam isn’t anymore, just a small smile pulling at the corner of his mouth, even as he’s fighting to keep it down. Keefe isn’t sure if they’re thankful for her seriousness or nervous about what it means.

“Your love has always been forbidden,” Dex cackles. Sophie breaks down completely and Tam finally lets out a small snort. Biana’s shaking aer head. Ae pulls Keefe up off the ground gently, aer love closer the sand between Keefe’s toes than water. Good. Water is too emotional, too messy.

“Come on, Loverboy, I’m exhausted and you’re coming with me.”

“Wait a second, Bi, I want to talk to him,” Stina says. She stands up and doesn’t wait for a response before pulling Keefe into Foxfire’s hallway. A million emotions come from her contact, and Keefe knows she feels a million in turn.

Keefe plays it as usual, leaning against the wall with the same smile they always have.

“What? Mad about Marella, Paris?”

“You’re full of shit, Keefe,” she says. “I don’t need to be an Empath to see that. Or then again, maybe I do, because it looks like you’ve got everyone fooled. Maybe just entertained.”

Keefe feels the seawater climb up their body. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“My hand’s still on your shoulder.”

Keefe looks down. Stina’s hand is resting softly on their shoulder, psoriasis splattered on her fingers. Keefe doesn’t want to drop their walls for Stina. What other choice do they have, though? Stina already knows. Of all the people Keefe thought to find out, it was never Stina. But her face is kind enough and her hand is soft on their shoulder.

“Don’t tell anyone.”

“I won’t, but you can talk to me, Keefe. Call me when you need to talk, I’ll have Biana send my Imparter number to you. I can’t make you do anything, but I’m here. If anyone gets Empath emotions, it’s me.”

Keefe looks away. “It’s not just Empath’s that feel like this. Humans do.” Stina draws her hand back and nods. She knows they have more to say, so she just waits a moment. “Fitz does.”

“Call me, Keefe. You don’t keep this shit inside,” Stina says softly.

Biana knocks on the door of the library before sticking aer head out. “Okay, I’m actually five seconds from falling asleep, so yeah. Keefe, you still coming to Everglen?”

“Yeah. Let’s go.”

They see Stina nod as they walk away, hand in Biana’s.

…

Keefe doesn’t mean to run into Fitz that night. Maybe it was unavoidable. Maybe it was the reason they agreed to go to Everglen in the first place (maybe that’s more than a maybe). Keefe, after all, might just be a boy made of maybe’s. Maybe they could’ve been better. Maybe they could’ve been something other than an Empath. Maybe they could’ve been the son their father wanted.

But one thing that’s never a maybe is Fitz’s anger. They’re in the kitchen on the first floor, far away from everyone asleep in the house. Fitz was baking, Keefe doesn’t know what they were doing. They never do, Keefe thinks, on the late nights.

“I see Biana still forgives too quick,” Fitz says. He doesn’t even bother to look up. Keefe doesn’t say anything, just watches Fitz roll dough into balls and place them on a cookie sheet. They’re a few feet from Keefe. “Would it be too much to apologize, Keefe? To feel fucking sorry? You said you’d be there. I lost my fucking brother and then you were gone too.”

“I’m sorry,” Keefe chokes out. The words get caught on the kelp in their throat. Fitz tenses his muscles before letting them go, like he’s stopping himself from something.

“No, you’re not. I know what you’re apologies sound like.”

“No, you don’t,” Keefe says quietly. They don’t know why they say it. They don’t know why. Maybe they want Fitz to see just a glimpse of how utterly fucked Keefe is.

“Yeah and that’s an improvement. Fuck you, Keefe. Go back to Biana’s room.”

Keefe walks closer to Fitz, sitting on the counter next to Fitz’s cookie sheet. “Maybe I want to spend time with you.”

Fitz scoffs. “I don’t care what you want right now, Keefe. You left. You don’t get to come back and act like nothing’s wrong because you want it to be normal again.” Fitz’s voice gradually gets louder. “There’s no more fucking normal, you made sure of that.”

“I don’t want it to be like it was, Fitz.” Another lie. At least before Keefe ran away, Fitz kissed them. It was dangerously soft, Keefe’s broken pieces cutting into Fitz’s soft lips. Now, Keefe’s shattered to fucking dust and Fitz is cracking. Pressure doesn’t always make diamonds. Sometimes, it just breaks you.

“I needed you. I’ve never—I don’t need people. Maybe I trust them, talk to them. I don’t fucking need them. But I needed you. Alvar—he was my fucking brother. My older brother. He taught me everything I knew. How to deal with Alden. Fuck you, Keefe, I fucking needed you. For the first time and you left me.” Fitz finally looks up, staring Keefe dead in the eyes. Keefe drowns. “We’re not going back. We’re never going back.”

Keefe looks right back at Fitz. They toss a few drops of water over the edge of the dam they’ve built. “I was scared, Fitz. For you. For everyone. For me. I needed a way to get rid of it, at least a little bit. I’m not sorry I left, but I never wanted to hurt you.”

“Yeah, well you did, Keefe.”

They look away, fingers gripping the edge of the counter tightly. Keefe doesn’t break eye contact with Fitz. Hoping that maybe, he’ll look through the dam and see the hurricane drowning Keefe.

“I know.”

Fitz looks away. “That’s it? You know?” Fitz stares down at the nearly empty bowl of cookie dough. “He was my brother, Keefe. I’ve only had three people in my life. You, Biana, and Alvar. That’s it. Alvar’s fucking gone, he played me. He used me. And what did you do?”

Keefe looks down to their knees.

“Tell me what you did, Keefe. I need to hear you say it.”

“I did what I needed to. It hurt you, and I’m sorry for that, but I won’t apologize for leaving,” Keefe says. They grab Fitz’s hand. It’s sticky from cooking spray and sugar, and Fitz doesn’t look over at Keefe.

“Fuck you,” Fitz whispers angrily. His words burn Keefe, and they’ll never forget the hatred that drowns Keefe. This time, the salt water burns their throat as it pours down their throat. He looks up to Keefe. “Fuck you.”

“I’m not leaving.”

Fitz swallows, seawater slamming against Keefe in waves of anger. In a split second, he’s kissing Keefe. There’s no softness in this one, only Fitz’s anger. All his hate, all his hurricane emotions. It all pours into Keefe’s lungs, both of their lips getting cut on each other’s broken pieces. They’re both bleeding with bruised lips when Fitz pulls away.

“Get out of my house, Keefe. I don’t want you here.”

“I know,” Keefe whispers. And they kiss Fitz again. He pushes Keefe back, cabinets digging into Keefe’s spine. Fitz’s hands are on Keefe’s sides, keeping them right where they are.

These are the kisses Keefe deserves. Bruising and angry, no emotion other than the crystal in Keefe’s back and the water in their lungs. It’s drowning. It’s a seaweed noose. It’s fear. It’s anger. And hell, maybe it’s some twisted kind of love. What else could ever come from two boys as broken as they are?

…

When the Shadowflux seeps through their skin, all Keefe can think of is how it feels to drown. They’ve drowned before, a million times, but they’ve never felt it like this. Every inch of their body is on fire, and Sophie’s in their head.

Desperation burns through with the pain. A hurricane builds in his chest, a million words swirling around. They all spill out into Sophie. They’re not made for Sophie. They look around desperately for Fitz, delirium spreading over their mind. Fitz isn’t here, but Keefe yells to him in their mind.

I don’t want to leave. Not this time. I had to leave the last time but I don’t want to leave. I’m sorry. Please, don’t make me leave. Don’t let Gisela throw me away. I don’t want my legacy. I want you.

Keefe fights against the Shadowflux as it takes over their vision. They search the throne room, knowing that Fitz isn’t there. They want Fitz to hear them. They want one last goodbye if this is it, if the price of Keefe’s legacy is blood. But Fitz isn’t here. Sophie’s the one listening and the eyes they find are Tam’s.

His read of an apology. Keefe doesn’t want to know what theirs read of, they just know that it’s gallons of water spilling over the dams. Then the Shadowflux takes over their vision, every part of Keefe fading out.

I love you, Fitz. I’m sorry.

And then it’s all gone.

…

They wake up a weapon. A sword in anyone’s hands if they try hard enough. Keefe’s already lost control, how could they trust themself not to hurt anyone? Dex says they’re not dangerous, that they’ll learn. Elwin’s got the same (foolish) trust in them.

Keefe runs anyway. It’s safer. For everyone, so long as Keefe stays away. Even when they have to fight to stay drowning when the tides threaten to recede, leaving Keefe breathing fine for the first time in their life. They might have to run, but they want to keep the memories of Fitz’s hurricane.

They want to keep the feeling of Fitz and Keefe’s broken parts grinding against each other. Shattered and ground into dust. It gets stuck in Keefe’s skin, drawing blood, but they relish in the feeling. They’ll never get real love from Fitz, so they’ll take the pain.

But it fades. The waters recede. The cuts scab over. The seaweed stops coming up in the morning. Keefe’s not drowning anymore and there isn’t even enough water left for them to miss the feeling. Keefe knows he should be sad, that they should miss them all more.

They don’t. Because after years of drowning, the water’s gone and Keefe’s numb. Or maybe they’re still drowning, but they just can’t feel it. Maybe the barnacle memories are forming armor on their skin and the seaweed is forming a noose. They can’t tell which it is, and they don’t care to check.

Keefe spent years drowning. They reveled in the feeling and maybe they miss it. But can you blame them for wanting a breath of air? To remember what it feels like to breathe, truly breathe (it’s a lie; they know that, but god, for now it’s close enough)? Keefe hasn’t felt this way in years, not since they met Fitz.

This feeling is childhood in Candleshade, before it all fell apart. Cassius was distant then, until he wasn’t and Keefe was bruised. But back then, Gisela still pretended she cared. She wiped away the aches and was there. It was a lie. Of course it was, but sometimes Keefe misses it anyway.

They miss their mom and they hate it. It was a goddamn lie and the barnacle memories are stuck on their skin, bleeding whenever Keefe rips them off. They always come back, but Keefe picks and tears and scratches but they always fucking come back.

But they’re fine. Numbness is fine, because they’re not drowning. For once, they’re not drowning. And that has to be okay. What would they do if it wasn’t? This is a blessing, it has to be. Keefe has to keep themself in check now, loosing control could get someone killed. They’re numb. They have to be. And they have to be okay with it.

…

Tensions are thicker than the barnacles crusted on Keefe’s skin when he comes back. Keefe’s still numb but the air gets stuck in their lungs, drowning them anyway. Fitz is the worst, all anger and sadness, though Keefe knows he’s burying it down.

After all, they know a lot of things now. Sophie’s in love with Biana and thinks Biana would never feel the same. But Biana is even deeper for Sophie, and even more convinced Sophie doesn’t feel that way. Keefe swears to make them realize someday.

They know Dex always feels like xe’s watching them all through glass. And how sometimes xe feels like xyr banging on it and no one can see xem. Keefe wants to promise that Keefe sees xem, that everyone does. That none of them wanted to make xem feel like that, and they’d do anything to take that away.

That’s Linh’s angry enough to rival Fitz and just now showing bits of it. Linh, Keefe finds, chose to make herself soft. To look at the world trying to break her down and love anyway, care anyway. But they know that Linh’s angry, and sometimes it gets hard to keep it all inside. So she lets it out with all the control she had saving Atlantis. Measured. Never enough to flood anything. Keefe wants to tell her how much they admire that.

That Tam wants to save this wretched world. That he knows it’s fucked, a million times over, but no one else is doing anything. Keefe wants to tell him that he’s right, and that they’d help. Tam is right. This world is worth saving.

Marella, Maruca, Wylie, Jensi, Stina. Keefe knows everything. All of the emotions they bottle up, the ones they don’t show. The ones they don’t show all of. They hate it. No one should know these things but goddamnit, Keefe does. They know all of it.

And now, as they lay under the stars, they wonder if this was what Gisela wanted. Keefe would be the perfect spy, with all that’s given. They wouldn’t do that. Gisela couldn’t make them, could she?

They’re lost in everything when anger washes over them. It’s an anger they’ve felt a million times before. A storm they’ve drowned in a million times before. Keefe opens their eyes, watching Fitz get closer. Every step lets Keefe convince themself they’re not numb anymore, drinking in the water of Fitz’s hurricane.

Salt washes over their tongue and they know just how much they missed this. Fitz sits down quietly next to Keefe. Keefe doesn’t say anything, just takes in all they can from the hurricane next to them. For however long they’re allowed to.

“I swore this time I wouldn’t miss you, Keefe,” Fitz spits quietly. “I did. I missed you, you asshole.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I want you to apologize and mean it. I need to hear this from you, Keefe.”

“Why?”

Keefe can feel something else in the storm, something they know they’ve felt before. It’s terrifying.

“When you apologize. Don’t lie to me.”

Keefe considers it anyway. They’re numb, but everything they learned is still there. Keep it all inside and that’s how you stay alive, especially in Candleshade. But this isn’t Candleshade and Fitz’s storm is safe enough. Keefe holds their wrist out for Fitz, who takes it without a word, fingers on their pulse.

“I’m sorry, Fitz. I-I was scared of what I could do. Of what people could make me do. So I ran. I’m sorry.”

Fitz drops Keefe’s wrist. He nods.

“Why?” they ask softly.

Fitz’s storm is only half angry now. The other half fills Keefe with fear they didn’t know they could feel anymore.

“I love you. Maybe I’m wrong and I hate you. I remember how you talked about the similarities between the two, but I think I love you.” Fitz looks Keefe in the eyes as he says this. Keefe can hardly breathe.

Keefe can’t think of a word to say, or maybe they just don’t trust themself to speak now. This isn’t numbness, it’s dangerous. It’s love, Keefe knows for sure, even if Fitz doesn’t. They can’t speak now.

So they lean forward, hand on Fitz’s cheek.

Keefe?

Tell me to stop.

Fitz doesn’t. Keefe leans closer. Their lips ghost over Fitz’s, waiting for Fitz to tell him to stop. He never does. And so they both drown in each others storms, getting caught on each other’s broken edges. It isn’t soft, it isn’t angry.

It’s storms and love and drowning and the summer sun on their skin. They’re both broken. They’re both drowning. But at least this time they aren’t angry.

#this took me so long #keefitz #keefe sencen #fitz vacker #stina and keefe should be friends fight me #biana vacker #sophiana #sophie foster #dex dizznee #tam song #linh song #marella redek #redheks #stina x marella #stina heks #kotlc #keeper of the lost cities

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