[semi-open] i change shapes just to hide in this place

[scowlish]

Who: onni hotakainen; open
When: throughout octeuril
Where: various
What: catch-all and open prompts for the month
Warnings: tba in subject lines



❄ Open Prompts

❄ i. Magic Practice

Practicing, leveling up spells, open to coaching other Witches. Content warnings: n/a, tba if needed

❄ iv. Wildcard

Write me a random starter or contact me by PM or on Discord at coffee #6251 or private plurk or ping at caffemisto

Comments

❄ Magic Practice

[scowlish]

[To anyone who's frequently in the Coven training halls, Onni has probably become something of a fixture. Whenever he isn't working odd jobs or constructing the sauna in the backyard of the cottage he shares with Reynir, he's at the Coven practicing magic, determined to get back to the level of skill he'd had at home. Since he's gone through the Bonding ritual, magic has become much easier to cast, his mind is clearer and it comes more quickly, it's easier to channel into the forms he wants it to be in.

It's thanks to the Bond that he's found himself able to do more technically advanced spells, ones that he's found in texts and ones that he's mimicking from spells he knew at home.

Taking a deep breath, he closes his eyes, lifts his hands and focuses hard, just for a moment, before he starts to speak. Voice carefully controlled, a little deeper than it usually is when he speaks normally, he chants in that familiar metre, rising and falling with a practiced ease as he feels the magic building up in him. He can feel it, the presence of his luonto, the shape of an owl that comes to embrace him, like a physical presence despite being invisible. Calling upon that spirit, and bringing up in himself the emotion he associates with this spell - wanting to be somewhere else, anywhere else - he lifts his hands, palms upward, and then drops them down and outward.

A light, pale blue and slightly glowing mist surrounds him for a moment, and then he's gone, reappearing a moment later across the room. Breathing hard, chest rising and falling heavily, he squares his shoulders, and though he's not quite smiling he's certainly pleased with himself.

It's only then that he realizes he might have had an audience.]

Ah. It worked.

[A pause, and he looks around thoughtfully. The room is certainly big enough for two people to practice, and he's always thrived by practicing with others. After all, it's how he'd learned magic in the first place.]

Did you want to practice with me?

[closed to Reynir] ❄ aftermath

[scowlish]

[Onni is quite used to dealing with a little pain, particularly after exerting himself and fighting as he has been. In the military at Keuruu, he hadn't really hurt himself often but there had been accidents; in the Silent World he's been much more careful in order to keep his skin intact and his body uninfected. So, while he is used to dealing with pain and keeping a straight face while he does so, he's also hasn't done it in a while. He's...rusty at it, you could say.

But he's managed quite well in the couple of days since he'd been injured - a cut and a possibly cracked rib aren't really all that big a deal, if you didn't make it one. He doesn't exactly realize how bad he looks, his skin washed out and pale, dark smudges under his eyes, every movement a little delicate in order to avoid the pain that comes with twisting his body in the wrong direction even a little bit. But he manages his chores around the house, albeit slowly, washing dishes and mending things and sweeping, though he doesn't work on the sauna like he usually would.

It's the third day after the injury, and he's just finished changing his bandage, a sloppy job because of the weird positioning of the stupid thing, so he's feeling a little light-headed as he mops the kitchen. Leaning forward a bit, he puts pressure on the handle of the broom, gritting his teeth as his ribs shift inside him and he feels that grinding flash of white-hot pain. Gasping slightly through grit teeth, he's suddenly leaning on the mop to try to keep his balance as his vision goes momentarily dark and his ears ring and he's quite sure he's going to fall over. Squeezing his eyes shut, he forces himself to breathe, hands clutched around the mop handle, clinging to it for balance, but the light-headed dizzy vertigo is difficult to work through.

Thanks to the mop, he doesn't fall, he just closes both hands hard around the handle and slides down it carefully until he's squatting with his feet under his rear end, eyes still shut, sucking in breath through his grit teeth.]

[braidmage]

[ Reynir's not an idiot; of course he's noticed that something is wrong with Onni in the last few days. There are plenty of things he's not all that smart about, but he is observant and he has a lot of familiarity with the way Onni moves and holds himself. He's noticed that Onni is slow and sluggish the past few days, that he's pale and that he's moving very gingerly.

However, partly because the first sign he'd noticed was that Onni seemed to have lost his appetite, he'd incorrectly assumed the problem was some other kind of internal complaint. He just assumed Onni was having some rather unpleasant digestive issues and he was at least respectful enough of Onni's privacy not to pry about it. He'd even congratulated himself on that, on respecting boundaries and doing his best to accommodate Onni's slightly more delicate sensibilities.

That is, until he comes into the kitchen, some letters in his hand, saying: ]

This came for you today, I think it's from -

[ He doesn't get any further than that, because he sees Onni's teeth gritted in pain, face chalk-white as he sways, dangerously close to falling over. He just squats down instead, head bowed and eyes closed, but Reynir can see how precarious it is, that he's in serious pain. And that definitely doesn't look like just an upset stomach. ]

Onni! Oh, gods, okay...

[ Reynir flings the stack of mail aside into the living room and rushes to Onni's side, hands moving restlessly from Onni's shoulder to his back to his side, touch light and frantic with worry. He doesn't know there's anything to be avoiding, and so he presses a hand right over Onni's wound. Reynir feels something beneath his shirt - a thick bandage - and it's like someone has dumped icy water over his head. He pulls his hand away quickly like he's touched a hot stove, but he can tell he'd caused Onni pain. Something's wrong, he's hurt, and Reynir hadn't known...

Heart pounding, instinct takes over. He loops an arm around Onni's back, pulling Onni's arm over his own shoulders so that he can lift Onni to his feet, supporting as much of his weight as he can. He isn't light, but Reynir is no stranger to lifting heavy things, and Onni is nowhere near as uncooperative as a sheep would be. So Reynir gets him into the living room and deposits him gently onto the couch, crouching in front of him, hands on Onni's knees as he looks up at him. ]

What happened? Do you need a doctor? I should get a doctor...

[scowlish]

[Of course this is right when Reynir would walk into the room brandishing mail. Onni is crouching on the ground, trying to regain his composure through the grinding pain in his ribs when he hears Reynir's voice, calm and casual and then changing immediately to alarm when he says Onni's name and 'gods' and comes rushing over. Onni can feel his concern through the Bond, and it's a little dizzying to have the mismatched emotions in himself - his own irritation at succumbing like this, his frustration at not being able to do what he usually does, his embarrassment over being seen like this.

Reynir's hands move over his back and shoulder and side, and when one settles against the thick bandage over the bandaged cut just behind where his rib is cracked, halfway between his side and back, he sucks in a little breath through his teeth. Immediately he knows Reynir felt what was going on under his clothing because he can feel that jarring shock feeling. Letting out a soft grunt of discomfort, he manages to lift his head and look up as Reynir loops an arm around his back and helps him get to his feet. Onni isn't completely useless, he has strength in his legs but lacks balance, so Reynir's solid presence allows him to mostly support himself without falling over.

Once he's sitting down, his head stops spinning quite so much and he lifts a hand to rub at his face, taking carefully measured breaths to avoid jarring his ribs again.]

I don't need a doctor. I saw one already, and it's not serious. My rib might be cracked, I have a cut on my back. It's just annoying.

[braidmage]

[ Reynir feels as if he has missed a step going down the stairs; there is an awful lurch, a feeling that the ground that ought to be under his feet is suddenly not there. Onni had already seen a doctor. He has a cracked rib, a cut large enough to need the kind of bandage he'd felt. ]

Since when? How?

[ The first isn't hard to answer, of course - since he had started acting strangely, moving so gingerly. Reynir feels another awful sinking inside him. He should have asked, should have realized. He had thought he was being so good, not to mention it, but he'd been so wrong. He'd been stupid. ]

Why didn't you tell me?!

[ He reaches for Onni's side again, the place he'd felt the bandage. This time, he applies no pressure at all, just resting his hand along the spot, feeling the bulkiness of the bandaging beneath Onni's shirt. Feel... how lump and uneven that bandaging is. ]

Did you do this yourself? It feels all twisted up.

[ And he starts gently tugging at the bottom of Onni's shirt, lifting it to get a look - and no, he isn't asking first, thanks. ]

[scowlish]

[There it is again, that sense of shock coming from Reynir when he asks when he'd been injured and how, and Onni closes his eyes, rubbing at his forehead, feeling exhausted and sore and maybe a little defensive. Something about the way Reynir is constantly worrying about him makes him feel strange, not good or bad, just uncomfortable in a way he can't put his finger on.

The pain from his rib is distracting, though. Shaking his head, he glances up.]

When I was out on that mission. Someone looked at it when I was out there.

[Exhaling softly, he lifts his head and looks over at Reynir as the younger man looks at him with that worried expression, his brows furrowed up and his mouth pouting slightly.]

Yes. I changed it just before I started sweeping, but it's hard to reach...I hadn't changed it yet and I don't think it looked very good. So I got light-headed. I didn't tell you because it wasn't a big deal.

[A pause, and he takes a few rough breaths, shaking his head again before admitting, his voice slightly hoarse.]

I probably would have asked you to look at it tonight.

[When Reynir starts pulling his shirt up, he shifts enough to help, wincing again as he lifts his arms a bit to help Reynir get the clothing off of him, a movement that hurts more than almost any other way to move. Once his shirt is off over his head, it becomes obvious where the injuries are. Half of his side is vividly blue-black with bruises, radiating outward from the spot where the bandage is - the fact he'd been injured by an impact that had broken his skin is obvious from the shape and placement of the wound and bruises.

Glancing down, Onni frowns a bit, then looks back up at Reynir.]

It's not as bad as it looks.

[braidmage]

[ Listening to Onni's excuses - he always has so many of them at the ready, doesn't he? - Reynir feels his worry start to be laced with irritation. After all, this isn't the first time they've had this argument. Or the second, or even the third. It's starting to become a pattern for them: Onni, recklessly putting himself in danger because he doesn't value his own life, deep down where it matters; Onni, lying by omission because he's too stubborn and too guarded to want Reynir to know something is wrong; Reynir, finding out later and feeling like an idiot for not knowing and a fool for baring himself so completely to Onni when Onni doesn't do the same in return.

He could almost, almost believe Onni hadn't really thought it was a big deal - until Onni gets his shirt off and Reynir sees that constellation of bruises running across his ribs. Reynir's stomach twists in nausea and anxiety. He had been this hurt for days and Reynir hadn't known?

At that point, all the irritation bleeds from him, leaving him worried about Onni and sad in a way that goes right down to his bones, makes him feel heavy and listless. ]

Oh...

[ He hears Onni saying it's not as bad as it looks, but he doesn't believe him. He'd seen how pale Onni's face was as he struggled not to fall. Seen the grimace of pain. And he's seen Onni hurt in little ways before - tiny unavoidable accidents, in the kitchen or building his sauna. He isn't a man that flinches easily. So Reynir knows how much pain he must be in. ]

You're such a liar.

[ Reynir means the words to come out joking, relieved, friendly. But somehow they just come out flat and sad. Reynir shakes his head, like he could dislodge the crawling, unpleasant feeling in his stomach, and squares his shoulders. ]

I'm re-dressing this, now. And I want to clean the wound. Come on.

[ He gets to his feet and offers a hand to help Onni to his feet. His eyes keep going back to those bruises, the vivid color of them, how much of Onni's skin they cover. ]

[scowlish]

[Onni can feel it, the irritation creeping into the edges of Reynir's worry, and he feels a spike of guilt about it. He knows just as well as Reynir does that they've had this disagreement more than once, that Reynir wants to take care of him and draw him out of his shell and heal him, but he doesn't know how to do any of those things or accept any of what Reynir wants to offer him. Doesn't know if he wants to. Lately he feels, so often, like he's being held together by the most tenuous strings of restraint and there's something about Reynir's worry and coddling that threatens to undo him.

While Reynir's frustration bleeds away, Onni's pain and guilt start to be laced with a bit of fear, fear of being pulled apart by compassion and unable to hold himself together. Reynir calls him a liar, then, and the irritation is easier to deal with than the compassion, but he's still feeling that spike of guilt.]

I'm not. I thought it might be infected.

[It comes out defensive, cagey, but he does mean it. And when Reynir offers him a hand to stand up, he takes it without complaint, exhausted and afraid and guilty and anxious and hurting and follows him to the bathroom. He doesn't protest when Reynir insists that he's going to clean his wound and re-dress it, he just sits down heavily on the closed lid of the toilet, wincing and letting out a soft exhalation of pain.

He doesn't mention it, the fact that he can tell Reynir is irritated and unhappy with him, but he tries to ease some of Reynir's discomfort by keeping himself from hiding his pain. He lets it show on his face, doesn't choke back the little noises as he shifts and feels the crackling pain from his ribs.]

I'm sorry.

[It's quiet, but genuine.]

[braidmage]

[ Reynir pulls their first aid kit from the cabinet, setting it on the edge of the sink and flipping up the metal lid. He doesn't have the most experience with things like this, but Mikkel had taught him a little, over the course of their two expeditions together. He turns on the sink and starts to wash his hands, thoroughly. The rush of water breaks the silence in the room, and that makes it easier for him to speak. ]

I believe you. That you were gonna tell me this evening, if it kept hurting. And that you convinced yourself it wasn't a big deal, even though it, like, obviously is.

[ Something inside Reynir softens when Onni apologizes. He knows it's not the easiest thing, for Onni. And he knows, too, that Onni hadn't meant any harm by any of it. He's just... got a lot of bad habits, and no one has been around to question them for a long time. When Lalli and Tuuri were younger, Onni must've learned to hide any injuries from them, to not worry them that they were going to lose the only scrap of family they had left.

Sighing, he shakes the water from his hands and pulls out some gauze to clean the wound with, soaking it in antiseptic. The smell is sharp and awful, but Reynir wrinkles his nose and ignores it. He sets the gauze aside and turns to Onni, starting to remove the messy bandage that he'd so poorly applied. It's at such an awkward angle, there on his back. He really ought to have asked Reynir for help right away.

He exposes the wound, as gently as he can. There's something shifting around in his head, half-formed. If it were anyone else, Reynir would leave it unspoken. There are some things it is easier to just not talk about. But considering the pattern between him and Onni... considering Onni must be able to feel his sadness... perhaps he should be direct. ]

I should probably tell you... it sometimes makes me feel. Not very good. When people hide stuff from me.

[ Reynir crouches down and starts, carefully, to dab at Onni's cut, not putting too much pressure, but trying to clean it as well as he can. It doesn't look too bad, apart from the bruising. A little swollen, but not very red or very hot. Probably not an infection, thank goodness.

It's good, to have things like that to look for, so he can keep talking and not overthink himself into being silent. ]

I know that nobody likes being lied to or whatever, of course, and not everything's my business and I wanna give you your privacy. I mean, I noticed you were in pain the last few days I just assumed - well, something else. And it's hypocritical because I hide stuff, too, like when I'm sad or whatever, we've talked about that. And I know that I might be expecting too much. I just.

[ Reynir pauses, chewing at his lower lip as he looks for the right words to explain to Onni. It's surprisingly hard. ]

When people keep stuff from me, intentionally and... specifically, it makes me feel... dumb.

[scowlish]

[Reynir's sadness sits heavy in the air between them, coursing through the Bond, and Onni is quiet while Reynir gets out the first aid kit and then washes his hands before speaking quietly. He admits he thinks that Onni would've told him if it had kept hurting, accuses him of of having convinced himself that this wasn't a big deal rather than it not actually being a big deal.

Onni is about to protest that when he shifts himself slightly in his seat and a spike of pain shoots through his side, taking his breath away for just a moment. Glancing down, he sees the way his side looks, mottled blue and purple and grey and yellowish around the edges, and he sees it for how it must look to Reynir. When he thinks of it that way, it seems awful, and he can understand why Reynir thinks it's worse than he's treating it. Maybe it is.]

I haven't been able to change the bandage since it happened. The inside of it didn't look promising.

[It had been sort of disgusting, honestly. But he doesn't want to elaborate on that much. Pale eyes flick to the soaked ball of antiseptic and then back to Reynir's face as the younger man explains that it makes him feel bad when people hide things from him. Onni is about to reply when Reynir takes the soaked gauze and starts to dab it against the wound. Hissing a little with pain, he grits his teeth as the sting of it in the open wound, and also with the pressure of lifting his arm to try to make room, which jars his ribs abruptly.

Swallowing hard, he glances up and watches as Reynir explains more, about how it isn't just about being lied to, about how he knows that Onni needs his privacy and that he'd done his best not to invade it. That it's hypocritical of him to talk about hiding things because he does it. When Reynir finally gets to the point of it all, Onni is still watching him, his face pale and eyes smudged dark underneath, his expression grave.]

Ah.

[For a moment, Onni processes that. That he's made Reynir feel stupid by not telling him what had happened. It's difficult to articulate how much Onni didn't intend any of that without being probably just as hurtful - he simply hadn't thought of telling anyone about it, not out of pride or stubbornness or evasiveness, but because he's just so accustomed to dealing with this sort of thing on his own. He's been taking care of himself by himself for so many years that the concept of asking for help with it just hadn't really occurred to him.

Thinking about that from the perspective of Reynir, a person who so obviously and so badly wants to take care of him and tend to him and soothe all the hurts and scars that are so embedded inside him, he can see why it would hurt so much. Frowning a little, he looks down at his lap and nods.]

I understand that. But I didn't intend any of that. I wasn't lying or consciously trying to hide it from you, it wasn't private or anything, I just didn't think of asking...or telling you. I've always done this by myself, it seemed...normal. To keep doing it that way.

[After a moment, he looks up at Reynir again, his expression still solemn.]

It wasn't as if I hid it from you and told other people. It wasn't personal. I just wasn't thinking.

[braidmage]

Well, I don't think it's infected... although it might have been, by tonight.

[ Reynir's hands are gentle, but merciless. He keeps cleaning the wound, even as he hears Onni hissing in pain, sees the way his muscles tense and his jaw clenches against it. He's hurt himself enough times around the farm to know just how much it must sting; he's even bruised and broken ribs once, too. But he doesn't let him, keeps cleaning out the wound, thorough as he can be. They'll both be grateful if he can prevent infection now, even if it means causing Onni some pain.

He has to keep his eyes focused on his work, but most of the time it only takes one hand, and he uses the other to grip Onni's bare shoulder, a reassuring and bracing touch.

It's good, having somewhere to keep his gaze focused and something to do with his hands, when he explains why he's feeling the way he is to Onni. He can hear the genuine regret in Onni's voice, and what he says totally lines up with what Reynir had guessed. ]

Yeah. I know. You're used to keeping stuff to yourself, because you didn't want to traumatize Tuuri and Lalli. You only had yourself.

[ Reynir tosses the now-bloody gauze into the trash. He pulls open a sterile packet with a fresh dressing and presses it gently over the wound. His hands are shaking as he unrolls the bandage to secure it in place. The bruises look worse, from up close. They're so dark and so widespread, and he can't stop his mind from conjuring up images of Onni tossed here and there like a ragdoll, bleeding and curled up tight in a ball in pain and still not thinking to reach out to anybody for help.

He blinks back the sudden rush of heat to his eyes, the way his head has started to throb painfully with pressure. He isn't going to cry. Onni is hurt, but he'll be fine, and the rest is just stupid.

But his voice has that hoarseness in it, when he speaks. ]

I- I know. But. You've hid other stuff and so I- just wanted to. Explain.

[ He finishes wrapping the bandage, sighing shakily. Reynir tries to tuck his own feelings aside, to focus on what matters - on making sure Onni takes care of himself and gets better. And that means rest, and pain relief. He pulls some painkillers from a little bottle in the medicine kit and holds them out for Onni to take. ]

Onni, we're Bonded now and... I know we did it because we had to but that. Means something to me. I want to be someone you ask. For little idiotic stuff like getting you more nails for the sauna when you're running out, and - for big stuff.

[ Huffing a shaky laugh, he adds in a somewhat stronger voice: ]

So don't even think about touching a broom or mop or laundry basket, you hear me? You need to lie still and rest, and let me do the damned chores for a few days.

[scowlish]

[While Reynir continues to clean the wound, Onni grits his teeth against the pain, his muscles tense and his side aching from the tension of muscle pulling against bone. He listens to what Reynir is saying, explaining back to him what he thinks the reasoning is for Onni's hiding it from him, and the reasoning is correct. Frowning a little bit, he exhales and nods. When he speaks, there's a tone of admission in his voice, like he's exposing something he wouldn't usually.]

Yes. That's true. I didn't want to upset them, and there wasn't really anyone else to look at this kind of thing for me.

[Still frowning, he squeezes his eyes shut when Reynir presses a clean piece of gauze against the wound and starts taping it in place. The gash isn't far from the spot where his rib is broken, and even the slightest pressure hurts. Reynir goes on again, explaining that Onni had hidden other things and that being Bonded means something to him. That he wants Onni to ask him for help with the things that are difficult in his life. Onni nods, not able to look over at the younger man for a few moments.

It's there again, that fear of being undone by what Reynir is offering, what Reynir wants from him, and not knowing why he wants this from him. Lifting his head, he lets his eyes flick up to Reynir's face as if he could read it on his face, but he can't.]

I didn't expect it to be like this. The Bond, I mean. I didn't expect to get so much from you or for you to get so much from me. It didn't sound like it would be that intense when they talked about it.

[His gaze is down again, pale lashes shading his eyes, and he shrugs a little, wincing when the muscle shifts against bone again.]

I'm not used to this. I don't know how to give you what you want, but I'll try.

[braidmage]

[ Reynir feels the echoes of that fear, and the confusion underneath it. At the very least, even if Onni is perplexed by someone wanting to take care of him, he knows that it is genuine, that Reynir aches with sadness seeing him flinch.

And then, almost as if Onni really could read his mind, he's talking about the intensity of their Bond, the extent of emotional bleed between the two of them. It's something Reynir's thought a fair amount about, in the last few weeks. Because he's got friends, in the city. Friends with Bonds of their own. He was bound to notice the discrepancy. ]

I don't think it is this intense, for most people. The two of us - we were already linked when we arrived. So the Bond must be building on - on whatever was already there. Or something like that. Maybe people from our world are just... different. There's lots of explanations.

[ He draws up short when Onni looks at the floor and says he doesn't know how to give Reynir what he wants. The phrasing leaves his stomach twisting in guilt. Is he pushing too hard? Asking too much? ]

You don't need to- it's not- like that.

[ Shakily, Reynir exhales, and tries to rephrase in a way that might help Onni to understand: ]

I just want to be on your team. For you to think of me as... an extension of you, that can help you. The way you'd think about one of your hands or a runo you know.

[ Once Onni takes the painkillers from his hand, Reynir draws away. He had been intending to pack up the med kit and bundle Onni straight into bed. But then he notices... something dark, in Onni's hair. Frowning, he leans closer, fingers coming up to brush the smear of dark in his ashy hair. ]

Onni, is this...? Do you have dried blood in your hair?

[ Reynir can feel how unwashed Onni's hair is as soon as he touches it, and there is more, too, now that he's looking closely. Flecks of mud, more splatters of blood. Gods, he looks like he's been through hell. ]

[scowlish]

[It's true that he can feel from Reynir exactly how genuine and heartfelt his concern is, but that doesn't make it any easier to understand, and the confusion lingers. When Reynir explains that he thinks their Bond just is more intense than other people's, whether it's because of that strange connection they'd had before they even got here or some other explanation, Onni blinks. The truth is, he hasn't really talked to many people about how their Bonds are or anything like that.]

Ah. I didn't realize it was different from how other people have Bonds.

[That's worth thinking about, what the meaning of it is and what the explanations might be. A puzzle he can work his mind around, which is far easier to deal with than any of the other emotional things they've been talking about over the past few weeks. It's honestly more talking about his feelings or his past or his inner workings than he's ever done, and it's exhausting. Even if his side weren't aching and his head pounding, he would be exhausted.

Reynir's protest and further explanation has him looking back at the younger man again, his head cocking to the side just a little bit.]

No. I'm not going to think of you as an extension of myself. You're a different person. I know what you mean when you say you want me to ask you for help and all of that. But when I say that I don't know how to give you what you want, it isn't just asking for help. You...

[He stumbles over his words for a moment, thinking with his brows furrowed about how to word what he means.]

You want to know what I'm thinking or feeling, or how things affect me. To be more open, and to let you help me. That's...I don't know how to do that.

[Frowning, he keeps his gaze down, and his fingers fidget together for a few moments.]

But I'll try.

[When Reynir picks at something in his hair and frowns at him before sticking his fingers further in, Onni winces a little because he knows his hair is disgusting, even for him.]

Probably. Among other things. I haven't been able to wash it since before I was injured.

[braidmage]

[ For once, Reynir doesn't have any handy advice in mind, doesn't know what to say at all. He watches Onni fidgeting, promising he will try. Try to change, to be more like what Reynir wants. And the hard thing is that Onni isn't wrong. Reynir does want those things - but are they what's best for Onni? Or is he letting his feelings for Onni get in the way of his altruism.

Voice gone quiet again, Reynir says: ]

If I'm ever... pushing too much... I- I don't want you to think I'm gonna... go away, or anything, if you can't. If you're not more open.

[ Reynir is almost overwhelmed by it, how intensely he does not want to hurt Onni. What if all this trying to get Onni to open up, talk about his past, connect more - what if it's only hurting him more? What if he's wrong about all of it -

With that very comforting thought, Reynir focuses deliberately on what he does know will be helpful. It makes sense that, injured as he was, Onni hadn't been able to take a proper shower since the mission. Nodding to himself, he says: ]

Okay. I'll wash it for you. Here...

[ He pulls a hand towel from the cabinet, setting it against the edge of the tub and then patting it. ]

Sit on the floor and rest your head back here. That way I won't get the bandage wet.

[ He reaches for the tap, starts the water flowing. It heats up quickly, sending curls of vapor into the air even as Reynir takes off his shoes and socks and rolls his pants up past his knee so he can sit on the opposite rim of the tub, feet in the water, Onni's head in front of him. ]

[scowlish]

Okay.

[Onni says it while looking at Reynir in the face, his expression still a little solemn, his sincerity obvious in his voice and face. He can feel that fear in Reynir, but he isn't sure what it is - fear of Onni not opening up, maybe? Or something else. Onni knows that not all of Reynir's feelings relate back to him, of course, but right now it makes sense that they would.

There's no use in trying to parse it out, though, because he can't sense Reynir's thoughts, just his feelings. The train of thought is interrupted, though, when Reynir offers to wash his hair. For a moment, everything in Onni balks at the suggestion, because he can take care of himself, but he takes a breath and then nods. He'd promised to try to let Reynir do this sort of thing, and he doesn't intend to go back on his promise.

Reynir sets up the side of the tub and Onni stiffly gets to his feet and sits down slowly on the floor, using his legs to do most of the work so he doesn't put too much pressure on his rib. Once he's settled in place, he tilts his head back with a little hiss of pain at the shift in position, and tries to relax. Reynir is inside the tub, sitting on the opposite side, and his knees are on either side of Onni's head. Onni looks up at him, upside-down, and then speaks, his voice a little awkward.]

Thanks.

[braidmage]

[ One thing that Reynir is good at - whether through practice or some innate skill or some combination of the two - is finding a way to dredge up some cheerfulness and focus on it until whatever was making him angry or sad is only a vague murmur in the background. He works on doing that, now, as the bathtub fills up with water and he plucks down the products he's going to use in Onni's hair. It's not dishonest, not denying the sadness, just... intentionally redirecting, to something calmer, more optimistic.

When Onni thanks him in that stilted, sweet way of his, Reynir grins. He shifts, adjusting his long legs so his knees are lightly pressing against the outsides of Onni's bare shoulders. ]

Mmmhm. Well, I'm counting on you to do the same if I ever mess up my ribs, so, you might not wanna thank me yet.

[ And he flips his braid forward, draping it down on top of Onni's shoulder (keeping it from dangling in the tub, and also, making the point of the joke - that his hair is a lot more effort to upkeep. Once there's enough water to work with - just a few inches deep - Reynir shuts off the tap and leans forward, snatching a cup from the sink. Normally it's just for drinking water, but it'll do for this.

He dips it into the hot water in the bath and, carefully, begins to pour it over Onni's hair. He makes sure not to get any in Onni's ears, and there's a kind of soothing, hypnotic nature to it, the rhythm of scooping up water, pouring, massaging it into Onni's hair, down to the scalp. As he continues rinsing, the blood and mud and even a few flecks of - tree bark? sticks? - flow from Onni's hair. It's not much, but it's enough that Reynir pulls the plug from the bath, draining it to fill anew.

While he waits for that, he squeezes some shampoo into his palms and begins to work it into Onni's hair. He works it into a thick lather, pulling gently on Onni's hair as he does, blunt fingernails scraping across Onni's skull in soothing, aimless patterns. ]

[scowlish]

Mhm.

[It's a simple agreement, but when Reynir lifts his braid and drapes it over Onni's shoulder, he lets out a little huff of air that isn't quite a laugh at the implication that he'd have to do a lot more work to take care of Reynir's hair than Reynir is having to do for his. Frankly, Onni isn't convinced of that. Even more than usual, his hair is more like the coat of a wild animal than anything else. The texture has always been coarse, but for most of his life he's also not bothered at all with spending time or resources on taking care of it - he uses bar soap or cheap shampoo, doesn't even consider conditioner or oil. And so now, his hair has the texture of straw, rough and dry and uncooperative.

Reynir's hands in it are gentle, though, despite how rough and dirty it is. Onni isn't exactly ashamed of it, but with Reynir's braid draped heavy on his shoulder, he can't help but think of the difference. Lifting his hands, he idly picks up the end of Reynir's braid in his right hand, brushes the thick curl of red hair at the end of it against the palm of his left, and exhales a soft sigh. Reynir's hair is soft and surprisingly smooth considering how long it is and how much of it there is, and it feels nice against his skin.

It feels nice to have Reynir massaging water through his hair too, and when Reynir empties the tub (it must have been pretty disgusting, if he's doing that) and starts working shampoo into his hair, it feels even better. Reynir's fingers are clever and firm and his nails scrape lightly at Onni's scalp, he pulls slightly on the strands of hair and his fingertips press into his scalp, almost massaging. Onni lets out another long huff of breath, a sigh of contentment, and lets his eyes fall shut while he continues to fiddle with the end of Reynir's braid.]

Are you using your shampoo? It smells like it.

[After a moment of quiet, he speaks again, his voice a little sardonic.]

It seems like a waste, considering how my hair is.

[braidmage]

[ Reynir swallows when Onni starts idly playing with the tip of his braid, running it against his palm. The gesture is so familiar, so comfortable, so effortlessly intimate. It doesn't mean anything. Of course it doesn't, and he knows that. But all of a sudden the last lingering shadows of sadness at Onni keeping this from him are gone and it's like there's a tornado of butterflies in his stomach, flitting around. He is glad he's sitting behind Onni, mostly out of view; his cheeks have gone rather pink.

He focuses on his hands and working the shampoo into Onni's hair, giving him a proper scalp massage as he does. Reynir is good with his hands and he's been involved with... a few guys who liked having their hair messed with, and he knows for a fact they'd had nothing to complain about. He decides this is going to take multiple shampoos and begins rinsing Onni's hair once more, careful and gentle. ]

I am.

[ Reynir doesn't speak for a few moments, focusing on rinsing Onni's hair and then working more shampoo into it. Hearing Onni sigh like that, seeing him leaning more languidly against the tub... well it is rather gratifying. ]

There's nothing wrong with your hair. I can feel that it is healthy. And pretty thick, too.

[ Experimentally, he pulls a little harder at Onni's hair - not sharp pulls, and nowhere near hard enough to hurt, but enough to see if he likes a little more pressure. ]

The only thing making its texture like that is what you're putting into it. Hair - needs treating with the right materials. Like- like waterproofing leather boots. You have to use wax. You can't just - smear some cooking oil on them and then say 'there's something wrong with my boots, they aren't keeping the water out!'

[ Reynir smiles, scrubbing at Onni's temples, behind his ears, the back of his neck. He might not be able to help him heal any quicker, but he's going to take the opportunity to make him feel as nice as he can. ]

[scowlish]

[Onni can feel it, that subtle shift in Reynir from sadness and disappointment to something else. Not relaxed, exactly, but a sort of pleasant anxiety, which is weird because in Onni's experience, anxiety is never really pleasant. But Reynir also tends to feel and think differently to how he would, so he lets go of any judgement for now. There's some curiosity, but he's so comfortable now when he hasn't been comfortable at all for days, and so he doesn't question it, just rests and is quiet and enjoys the way Reynir's hands move through his hair.

Idly, he gently twists the tuft of hair at the end of Reynir's braid around a finger as if to improve the curl of it, then presses it between his fingers, flattening it to feel the smoothness of it as he gently tugs it between fingertips. It isn't anything he's consciously thinking of, just enjoying the physical sensations of it. Reynir goes back to rinsing his hair out, and Onni lets out a tiny grunt of satisfaction at the warmth of it against his freshly massaged scalp, then Reynir goes back in with more shampoo.

When Reynir tugs on his hair a little harder, Onni makes another little satisfied grunt and a long sigh, letting his eyes sink shut again and some of the tension goes out of his shoulders. Listening to Reynir talk, the lilt of his accent alongside the rhythm of his hands in Onni's hair, Onni feels a little mesmerized, perhaps. Or maybe just relaxed. If he didn't know better, he'd think Reynir was working some kind of magic, but Reynir is a Faun, not a Witch. It doesn't occur to him that it's just been a very, very long time since he actually relaxed and that's why it feels so strange and foreign.]

I guess you have a point. Though it was still coarse when I washed it with the stuff my mother gave me, to be fair. Like my father's. My mother and Tuuri both had much softer hair.

[It's strange, to be able to say that, and only feel a pang of pain and longing and sadness instead of being swamped with it like he usually is. Strange and relieving and incredibly guilty all at once.]

[braidmage]

[ Reynir knows that Onni must be exhausted and hazy from the pain, that he's not really thinking about it as he twirls Reynir's hair between his fingers, runs it over his skin just to enjoy the feeling of it. It's not even that there's anything about the continued contact that is particularly intimate or meaningful. It's that Onni is comfortable enough to just do that without even thinking about it...

And of course, his brain is unhelpful, tossing suggestions in the form of fragmented images and sensations - Onni undoing his braid, Onni running his fingers through all of Reynir's hair, how much more of it he would let Onni touch if only he asked.

If only that were something he wanted.

Reynir forces himself not to think too hard about those contented, low, lovely sounds Onni makes as he pulls his hair a bit harder. He rinses out the second round of shampoo, not speaking, not letting his mind wander. Then, he pulls over a bottle of his conditioner and puts a generous amount into his palm, begins working it into Onni's wet hair. ]

Some of it's probably genetics. But it needs conditioning, too. This - well I'm not gonna pretend to know the science behind it. I just know that it helps. And it feels nice. So why not?

[ There's no real need for him to spend this much time on it; the conditioner is already well distributed through Onni's hair. There's so much less of it than the amount that Reynir's used to dealing with.

But he's enjoying this, and he knows for a fact that Onni is, too. It's good for him to be sitting, resting, relaxed. So Reynir keeps massaging the conditioner into his hair, giving it a good long while to sink in.

For once, when Onni mentions his family, there isn't that immediate, overwhelming, yawning sadness. A twinge, yes, but not an awful pit. Reynir keeps his hands moving, takes note of that but doesn't say anything. He has some tact, after all. ]

I always had different stuff for my hair than my brothers and sisters. Theirs is so different. Their stuff just made my hair frizz up and get huge.

[scowlish]

[While Reynir keeps rubbing and massaging his scalp, tugging at his hair, he keeps making soft little hums of contentment at the feeling of it. There's also a certain pleasant emotion he can feel vaguely through the Bond that sends a sort of subtle buzz through his body, even though he can't put his finger on what emotion it is exactly. So he listens to Reynir talk about genetics and the use of conditioner, that it feels nice so why not try it, that he'd had different stuff from his siblings because their hair had been so different, and relaxes his body as much as he can without hurting too much.]

Hm. I can't say that I've ever really thought about bothering to condition my hair. It didn't seem very important, I guess.

[A soft sigh, and he opens his eyes to look up at Reynir upside-down, meeting his eyes for a moment. The way Reynir's hands move through his hair is comforting, the conditioner feels nice on his scalp, and he can't help but admit to himself that it does feel good to have something moisturizing on his scalp, though he's sure the texture is probably like oily straw to Reynir. Unpleasant.]

It does feel nice.

[A pause, and then he goes on.]

Probably because of how you're doing it. Though I can't imagine it feels very nice for you. Thank you.

[braidmage]

[ A different day, with a different sort of mood, Reynir would bring up again this idea of taking care of himself as important. But he doesn't feel like an argument right now, or even a minor disagreement. So he merely sighs, fond and exasperated and teasing, and keeps massaging Onni's head. ]

It does feel nice for me. I like doing this. A lot.

[ And he leans a little into that feeling, for the Bond, like he's showing it to Onni, underlining it so it's easier to read. The feeling of working the conditioner into the damp hair is enjoyable as a tactile sensation; Reynir enjoys the smell of his product and the water in the bathtub is warm and comforting on his feet. Besides, there is the satisfaction and affection that he feels, being able to help Onni, be near Onni, touch Onni. ]

So if you ever want your hair washed, for injury reasons or no reason at all, you can always ask. I'm pretty sure this is just as fun for me as it is for you.

[ Onni might not be able to see Reynir, looking forward like he is, but the smile on his face is audible in his voice. ]

You know what is important, for sure? Resting enough that you can heal properly. If you push yourself, you could make your injury worse, or prolong the amount of time you're gonna be in pain. So I really really really mean it when I say - please, try to rest for the next few days. You can still be productive. I'm sure you got - loads of books about magic you can be reading. Just be productive in some way that involves sitting still. Okay? And I'll pick up the slack. I'm happy to do it.

[nau]

[Stumbling out of a mirror into a strange, unfamiliar city is not exactly on the list of thinks Lalli was expecting or hoping for. What he was hoping for at the moment he wound up here in Aefenglom was... Well. To get back to the group and get the fuck away because Sturma was there and was a clear and present danger.

And then, maybe, find Onni.

That's not what happened, though, and everything that followed finding himself in the room full of mirrors doesn't quite feel real. There were so, so many people, dressed oddly and some that looked more like beasts then men, and there was talk of magic and monsters and the quick dismissal that he, too, was a monster. A fear wedged itself in his gut that hasn't quite left, but it all was too much that now he just feels numb. It feels like the city is passing him by, that he's not quite there, and he just wishes he wasn't alone. He wishes Emil was here. Or anyone. He'd even take Reynir or Sigrun if it meant there was a familiar face here, if there was somebody safe.

He wanders the city without direction, but a very vague goal. He wants... Out of the city. He wants to get away from all the noise and all the people and all the monsters and he just. Wants out. But the city is confusing and overwhelming and he keeps finding himself turned in circles, which never happens and he just finds himself getting more and more frustrated. Just when he feels like it's all just too much too loud too crowded he sees pale, coarse hair that's almost painfully familiar and maybe it's a naïve hope but it doesn't stop him from calling out.]

Onni>

[But how could it possibly be Onni? There had been that strange dream but he had written that off as, well. A dream.

It can't... Really be Onni, can it?]

[scowlish]

[It's been a few months already, and Onni is...adjusting. It isn't easy, particularly with how things have been lately. Still, being in the city reminds him mostly of Mora, and he'd learned to tolerate that - this isn't much different, and at least the Cwyld is a lot less threatening than the Rash is, since an infection isn't assured death, and so the forests and area outside the confines of the city are more accessible.

Still, it isn't home, and there is always that little spark in the back of his mind, never quite extinguished, of worry about Lalli. It's always there. It had been there when he thought of Lalli while he wove the memory wreathes, it's almost always there, weighing him down, keeping him awake, a persistent source of anxiety that flutters in his chest when he pays too much attention to it.

So when he hears that familiar voice, quiet and soft-pitched as always, it immediately catches his attention. It's an instinct honed over many years of having to listen for Lalli's voice or Lalli's soft scratching instead of knocking, he's had to pay attention because Lalli isn't the type of person to demand. Tuuri had been loud and demanding when she needed things, and Lalli had faded and tried to take care of himself, and so Onni is immediately attuned to Lalli's voice. And even moreso, to Lalli's voice when he's in distress.

Turning, he looks around, his eyes a little wide, scanning the crowd, his heart in his throat, his chest heaving a bit in a way that jars his ribs just a little. Then he sees him, with his pale hair and his big eyes and his skinny limbs and his sharp face.]

Lalli.

[For a moment he's frozen, and then he's moving toward him, lifting his arms as if he could pull him into a hug. He falls still before he does, though, because he knows that a hug would only be to comfort himself and wouldn't do anything for Lalli. Swallowing hard, he just looks at him for a moment, then reaches out and puts his hand on Lalli's shoulder, careful, as if his cousin might bolt away from him. Squeezing carefully, he reassures himself that Lalli is real and solid and warm and present and alive and suddenly his eyes are stinging and he can barely breathe past the lump in his throat, let alone say anything else.]

[nau]

[The first thing Lalli feels is relief - it's Onni. It's actually Onni. But the reality of the situation hits him again - they're far from home, Lalli is a monster, and Onni... Onni lied to him. Onni went off into the middle of danger for reasons unknown and the only proof Lalli has that Onni was alive was the owl figurine left behind.

He needs to know why he left, why he didn't bring Lalli with him.

He tenses when Onni lifts his arms - he doesn't like being touched, being hugged, being trapped, but his cousin goes, instead, for a hand on his shoulder and Lalli relaxes by inches. He gives his cousin a long, long look. He looks... As he always did. His hair is a bit longer, now, and looks maybe just a little bit softer, which is odd. But he looks... Healthy. No signs of a lingering injury, he's not gaunt or paler than he usually is. He's just Onni, with his ashen hair and cheekbones just like their fathers and his eyes that give everything away.

It feels like he should say something. There are things he wants to say, questions he wants to demand answers too, but Lalli's never been good at talking when his mind is buzzing with thoughts and emotions. It's just like meeting in Reykjavik all over again, consumed by guilt and grief and wanting a distraction, wanting to push everything down so he could move on, the same as they always would. Later, then. He'll say the words later, when Onni isn't looking at him as if he's seen a ghost. Instead, for now, he just presses his lips together, adjusting the rifle on his back as Kitty weaves between their legs. Onni won't expect words from him, anyways. He knows him too well.]

[scowlish]

[The way Lalli looks at him, through him makes something in his gut twist up unpleasantly, and he knows they're probably going to have to talk later. He can feel the tension wound up in Lalli's skinny body, and he can also feel how it slowly loosens as Onni simply squeezes his shoulder instead of hugging him like he so desperately wants to.

He can also feel the words and questions that are sitting between them, so pointed and intent that they're almost tangible. Dropping his hand from Lalli's shoulder, he squeezes his hands into fists and takes a few deep breaths, trying to fight back the stinging in his eyes. This isn't ideal. It isn't how he'd wanted to confront Lalli about his lie or about Lalli following him when he'd made it so obvious he didn't want to be followed. He feels like he's at a distinct disadvantage because he's so overwhelmed with emotion. Because this place is calm and quiet compared to home, despite the events that have transpired. Between the fights and attacks and trips to talk to ghosts or seeing visions of his past, it had been too quiet, had left too much space in his mind to ruminate over the things he'd lost and the things he's afraid of losing. Reynir hadn't helped with that either. The Icelander's soft touch and constant compassionate presence through the Bond has only made it more difficult to grit his teeth against all the vulnerability in him.

So Lalli looks at him like that, with questions and demands and anger and tension written in his body language and the hard line of his mouth and the hard look in his eyes, and Onni feels a little defenseless. Swallowing hard past the lump in his throat, he speaks, voice a little rough.]

You're actually here, then.

[nau]

Mm.

[He remembers the odd dream, and he can recognize bits and pieces of this city, but it’s different with all of the people milling about in the streets. It’s... Worse, somehow. More overwhelming.

Lalli presses his lips together, searching Onni’s face for a sign. A sign of what, he’s not quite sure yet, but... Onni has always been someone he could look to, that he could trust and rely on and that was smart and strong (physically and magically, at least, if a bit sensitive) and that’s... That’s gone, now. Onni lied to him. Onni ran off to Finland and didn’t tell him or take him along and Lalli doesn’t know why. He doesn’t know why he would go back to Saimaa and why he would stay. He made a grave for Tuuri, but what else was he planning?

He takes a breath through his nose, releasing it slowly before his gaze slips away.]

I am.

[And it seems like he’s going to be sticking around, this time.

So maybe he can get answers, finally, even if it’s not the same as it would be back in Finland.]

[scowlish]

[When Lalli says that yes, he is here, it isn't much, but some of the tension in Onni's body relaxes. That much is true. Lalli is here, where he can see him and touch him and know that he's safe, and that is truly a comfort. Less worrying about whether Lalli is being hurt back at home, in danger in the forest while Onni is here in this place. Reynir has told him that time doesn't pass back home while they're here, but it's still impossible to turn off that worry that sits in the back of his mind.]

I'm glad.

[He pauses, takes a deep breath, still feeling vulnerable and at a disadvantage, glances around to see if anyone is looking at them, and then exhales his breath in a long sigh.]

Reynir told me that you followed me with him and that Swedish boy and the rest of them. I'd rather have you here where I can see you, than back there in the Silent World.

[A pause, and then, quietly but emphatically.]

I don't know what you were thinking, doing that!

[nau]

[Lalli nods, shortly, not sure what to make of Onni being glad. Well, he supposes Onni will always be glad to keep Lalli within his sights, where he knows where he is. He supposes, because Onni left him, alone, and he can't say he's glad to see him here when he did that!

A scowl crosses his face, and he crosses his arms, shrugging Onni's hand off his bony shoulder. He looks up at Onni with narrowed eyes, before scoffing.]

You left without saying anything, going off to where you could - get infected and die and you didn't say anything! I could have helped you, stupid.

[He feels his heart in his throat at the thought of - of Onni getting infected, just like Tuuri. He can't... Lose him, too. Not like that. Not when if Onni had brought him along, he could have helped.]

[scowlish]

[When Lalli suddenly scowls at him, crosses his arms and pushes his hand away, and actually yells at him, Onni blinks and takes a step backward, instinctively. It shouldn't be surprising, he knows he deserves the tirade, but at the same time his logic in doing what he'd done seems so obvious and so correct that it's a little difficult to believe Lalli could be this angry at him for it. He'd known, of course, that this whole thing would hurt Lalli and that Lalli would be angry at him for the lie and for leaving him behind. It just hadn't occurred to him that it would affect his cousin this much.]

I didn't want you to help. I wanted you to stay with your friend and go do something safe and live your life! I didn't need help as much as I needed you to not be killed. I had no idea if I'd ever be coming back, and the last thing I needed was for you to follow me out into that and end up in the same situation.

[nau]

[He huffs, gripping his biceps with his arms tightly. It's grounding - he knew seeing Onni again would be... Would be a lot, hearing what he has to say for himself would be a lot, but.

He still needs something to ground himself into reality again, and his nails - blunted by his gloves - digging into his arms helps.]

Stupid. You're so stupid, Onni!

[There's more he wants to say, more he should say, but he can't think of anything except but how stupid Onni's been. He's a fool and a martyr and Lalli can't believe he thought it would better if he just went off and died.]

What do you think would have happened if you went off and died?

[scowlish]

[It's not unusual for them to call each other stupid, so at first Onni just snorts a bit and looks away. But there's something in Lalli's tone that says more than that, that this isn't just the usual way they express concern for each other. It's something more. When Lalli asks him what he thought would happen, Onni looks back at him and makes a noise in his throat, a little confused, a little resigned.]

I thought you would be upset for a while, but then you would be okay. You've never seemed like you needed me so much. And you had a friend to be with, who would look out for you. You like that boy a lot, don't you? I thought you would be safe, and after a little while, you would be okay. That's what I wanted. For you to be safe and okay.

[Everything hurts, right now. Lalli hadn't ever seemed to need him, not like Tuuri had...though in the end she hadn't needed him either. She'd been off and independent and alright until she wasn't anymore, and Onni doesn't want that for Lalli, wants him to be off and independent and to stay alright.]

[nau]

[Lalli pauses, looking stricken for a moment before he tries to school his impression.]

Emil is... He's not... [He makes a frustrated noise, not sure how to articulate what he feels. They don't talk about their feelings. They never had. Lalli's never enjoyed it, probably got that from Ensi, and after joining the military and them all having to find their ways to prove themselves...

Their feelings were always something to push aside, push through, because the world is cruel and cold and they just need to keep going, going, going.

But the ache of losing Tuuri is still there. The ache of losing his parents, losing his grandmother and aunt and uncle and their entire village is there, even if it's gotten easier to ignore with time.

He looks away.]

...

[He presses his lips together. He needs Onni, has always needed Onni. Onni kept him safe - was strong, was someone he could trust, even if he was so afraid of everything, but the words are hard to say.]

It's different, with Emil, but... Not safer.

[scowlish]

[More than anything else Lalli has said or done, that stricken look when Onni explains himself hits home, like an arrow to the heart. Usually Lalli doesn't show a lot of emotionality, doesn't let what he's thinking or feeling show on his face. But this is raw and vulnerable and hits straight to his core, makes him regret his choice more than anything else has yet.

Swallowing hard, Onni lets his eyes sink shut for a moment, trying to push through it. They've never really talked about their feelings, it hadn't been something most people in their family did - admittedly, his mother and Tuuri had always been better at it, and he feels a sudden ache that somehow springs both from missing his mother's hugs and Tuuri's casual 'I love you.'

They're both suffering, and he knows it. He knows they're suffering for the same reasons, and he knows that neither of them can speak about it directly right now. Part of him knows, too, that the problem for Lalli is that Onni is the last of his family, and that to lose him would be to lose the last of his family. Onni understands it, but he can't accept that it would be better for Lalli to come along, to be in danger, to be at risk just because of Onni. He can't accept that it would be better for them both to die than for Lalli to continue living. Someone living can recover. Lalli can't die.]

I see.

[His voice is a little choked, and he feels his eyes stinging again, but exhales slowly, shakily, and manages to hold it back.]

But wherever you would go with him would be safer than where I'm going. I didn't want to leave you, but you can't die too.

[nau]

[The way Onni says that, like he fully expects that he's going to die... It unsettles him as the same time as it makes anger flare up in his chest. He's already given up.

For the first time, Lalli realizes that maybe Onni never planned to come back.

(Which just makes him feel more sure in his decision to chase him down, to follow him back to Saimaa, because at least that means he got to see him again.)]

Neither of us are dying.

[He huffs, taking a moment to square his shoulders.]

We can't do anything about it here, but I'm going to drag you out of there alive.

[That's a threat, Onni.]