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There hadn't been any expectation of further contact. Life continued in a regimented, strict routine of work, strongman training, Negaverse training, and 'patrol'. The 2-3pm block was still during regular weights and endurance. Fabian Mazur's Turnt Up tones interrupted with a deep drum reverberation of a text message right into the deeps of his ears. Björn snapped the ear buds out of his ears while the chill finished working its way along his shoulders and then down to the base of his tailbone.

The message swam uncomprehended through the radio silence of losing just what number of reps and cycle he'd been on. The disruption to one day wasn't going to make a detraction to his own health or wellness for the projected 'battle' planned. No one would miss him at the gym. Björn left the training floor, showered with boot-camp efficiency, then painstakingly pecked out a reply on the tiny phone buttons:



In case it was a short timeframe, he started on his way to the theater district while waiting if a reply would come. If it wasn't to be that day, it wouldn't be a wasted trip since he could scope out what the best way was to get to the roof relatively unmarked. He had a few ideas in mind from the layout and stairs of the place. What does he want to talk about? Maybe about my being at the practice. He might be angry and say not to do that. It is deserved. It is a weird thing for an Ex. I don't want him to feel trapped. Or stalked. Gail must have asked something and it let him know I was there? Or someone saw me. It was a risk I knew. He deserves to be heard. At least I will get to see if he is any better for rest.

Getting across town was a chore of time rather than effort, and with the reply that Colin was already waiting it made sense to brave standing in the aisle of public transportation. The roof was too short, and the aisle not wide enough, but there were enough people on the downtown lines anyway that even smaller humans were mooshed into physical touching whether he was there or not. It was a faceless intimacy foreign to Negaspace, the Rift, the loading door of the Tea Shop, or the gym. Twenty minutes and five before Björn was cresting the stairs form the delivery entrance. No witnesses is better. Known contact limited.

He'd been to the roof before, maybe once or twice, as Colin's date at some Opening or Closing party when their schedules had aligned. It looked the same- plush cuddle spots and spaces to stand and speak while holding a drink. Colin was plain on the swing, the only person and in motion beneath the shade of the swing canopy. Björn stepped out from the stair door and slowly made his way over to stand next to the swing. "Hallo, Colin. "

The dancer still looked poorly, compared to his prime of health when he'd returned from England. It felt like Colin had shrunk, with how much thinner and more angular he was- but weight was different than height. Presence was a mixture of both, and force of personality which seemed equally subdued. There was no music playing from an iPod and Bluetooth speaker, and Colin wasn't cavorting about the space with uncontainable energy. Maybe he still does around other people. It might just be me.

The usual small talk seemed dumb- he could see Colin wasn't very well. He'd known it in seeing him dance. Being close up instead of a stage away, even a week on, just reinforced the fact. Mentioning the weather had a similar problem of being disingenuous and idle. They were on a roof and could see and feel the hot breeze, traveling clouds and heavy damp of an unusually rainy summer. "It is a long time. Six is a show tonight? "

The slap didn't really hurt. There was no surprise, rather a familiarity to it all the more once it was followed by thocks of small fists on his chest. The initial speech was business, inconsequential except for logistics- he hadn't considered the matter of actually sending the postcard against not knowing Colin's new address very heavily. It was a known fact, but the impossibility of doing so when he'd made the adjustment to the plan hadn't occurred until very recently. Colin had realized it, too, so it would work out. The tears were more important.

Colin's health and safety were important. The secrets and pain of cut ties had been to that purpose. The anger is that I didn't say hello? Not that I was there? Don't ex's get angry when their old love hangs around like a leech on their life?

Arms wrapped securely around Colin's shoulders and drew him still and close. Shoulders and neck drew forward over so that Björn pressed his mouth against the over-long curls of gold. "I missed the sun."

"Shadows have to dance opposite the sun. I did not....want to make trouble for you. Gail didn't know. " You haven't told anyone. It would have been awkward if they expected things from you. "Some things are too much pain to act. I didn't want to make trouble. "

Titan to hurt me? A terrible lie. It could protect him a little while. It is an explanation, that there is some reason the Negaverse hunts me. Or say nothing at all. It could do as much harm to say that- he came with fists at me in uniform. It is not wise without power to face the Negaverse. Finally, Björn's steadying grip relaxed to let Colin move as he wished without being hugged close.

Many people reduced to intolerable existence in the lack of a romantic love. They still had nature and art and poetry, but for whatever reason those greater things paled. Colin especially, who lived in those things as both (too much) work and enriching hobby had them in abundance. If that bounty and the Earth itself was not enough, what was? For whatever reason, to the human heart, loneliness and degrees of fear overtook everything, and were only balmed by a state of romance. The act of living became overwhelming in its demands as an act of courage, and the greatest intention and consolation was not to die, but to go until the human machine was swallow or gave out. A passive, but somehow frenetically active, indifference to life and hope for its end. It was horrible and felt akin to the banality of the Rift. It couldn't all come connected to Metallia. There seemed some nature of it as a part of people. Björn didn't know if there was any real answer out there if there was a duality to every soul, black and white, or chaos and order. Maybe something else. Maybe a different combination? It seemed like it should be the explanation. An outside person could not, truly, protect someone from themselves. There was a limit to what could be done. A good heart could try, by quiet proximity and application of care to show a different path- like drawing Obsidian from the Rift to slowly remember life and satiation away from starseeds. If, in some small way, Obsidian hadn't chosen to go along with it, or at least not resist it, the effort would have failed.

With Colin, who he had broken the heart of, he had no right to be that person. Nor was Björn convinced, the longer he spent out of his daily routine, that there was enough still there of a heart to help heal others. But who else is there?

Björn followed with a quiet nod to the couch, letting the deflection to the ankle hang between them for a few minutes. You haven't told any one here. Any of your friends. If there are good friends, they can't help you if you hide the wound. A wounded heart needs care. Have you told your family?

No, so many questions is hear like attack by wounded. Even if true. What can I say? I cannot say 'you need to do this-' or something. Not me especially.

"We eat to survive and refuel our body. A heart needs refuel, too, not just all work. Friends are good energy, at a celebration or-" The word escaped. Funeral was the primary that came to mind, but it wasn't right to the more general intention of the idea. It wasn't right the way wedding wasn't compared to celebration.

" a ...mourning. I'm not worth throwing yourself away, Colin. Maybe...not that. Maybe it is the future, the past, lost. That was worth so much. You are stuck in mourning and stay stuck more by hide it. I....don't know. I hope that it is some good things fall apart so better things can fall together. It is not rushed, but attacking one of them. It is a close thing. You can't heal that way. You can't keep dancing in that risk. They don't always kill. If your muscle was cut or bone was broken...it could end your dancing. " Of all things that truly seemed like being without that could kill Colin, being without a boyfriend had not been one of them. Even a lover, lifemate, or husband. Mischance happened, life was cruel, and love ended in many ways. But dance? Dance was different. An regular injury may eventually take Colin from the stage to the classroom, but it was still possible to dance. The Hammer Titan carried was a different case. Blades, hammers, bows, lassos, and the engines of war were worse. "You have to dance."

The weird, not quite middle ground between them was proving more like a no-man's land between trenches in the Great War than a gulf that could be bridged in some other sort of relationship. Not all breakups ended in friends. Most didn't, with hurts too deep and some parties with instincts too bitter to rebuild different trusts or different hopes no matter how much the other parties had been solace or muse when they'd been a romantic interest. The strongman couldn't tell if this was turning out to be a too-soon try at showing care or a not-even -possible. It was only clear that speaking at all had been a mistake. 'Sometimes worse comes along.' Is that me as well? Your smiles say so. They are ugly grins.

Björn stared out without answering for long seconds, then shook his head slowly. When advice, or honest care expressed, didn't matter then neither did small talk about anything in his life. It was just as likely to be twisted and used in some sadomasochistic emotional torture.

It was a mistake to have come. Both the other day and today. It was a mistake to make the offer to send the note. It was a mistake to try to be kind, instead of making it quick, brutal and with some greater, lying finality that painted himself black. People preferred to hate their exes cleanly and without wondering why beyond calling them profanities and forgetting. "I am alive."

He got up from the couch, careful not to spill it this way or that. "Maybe no time will be enough. I am sorry, Colin."

"I should go."

Cold eyes, silver blond hair. She spoke in rhyme.
What he lacked in personal experience, Björn had heard rumors and made himself familiar with what few ranks there were in the SpecOps. One officer stood out that matched the description exactly- a general he'd only seen in passing at operations and at the Dark Kingdom. 'Caught' was it's own separate horror. What interest was the ballet to have garnered attention from that General Schörl? The woman's weapon had lent itself to the interrogations, rather than open battles or civilian harassment. Was it possible to discover if there was a plot to utilize or infiltrate the ballet in some fashion? He prayed not. Not that there are gods any longer that listen. There is no greater thing out there except the shadows and dark. No great light to face Metallia as an equal. Trying to offer support, or advice is what set him off. Cannot give either, then. Recognizing the General gives too much away. I do not like it. I do not like to leave it at nothing, saying nothing, doing nothing. He has been in danger, real danger, facing an officer that wasn't just my stupidity.

The strongman paused, flatting his hand over the wrinkles in his shirt that had been only just let go of by the ballerino. "I don't mind on my own- I don't want to stress you with anger or hurt. Your hurt is right to feel. I hurt you. I do not mind paying for it. I don't want you to have to keep paying for it inside..."


"Hate is...death to the heart..." The crest of the Hersir of Nærøyfjord, hatr er hjarta dauði. It was strange how coming for the purpose of that quest came around to itself in conversation. He wondered if it had any portent like the dreams.

"I miss you, Colin. " Björn hoped the like admission was taken well, a commiseration of mourning, rather than something ill. Not saying it seemed as like to cause bitterness. Colin probably missed Colin. Björn didn't miss himself, not the same way people usually did, since it would mean a return to ignorance of the purposes of the Negaverse and its Queen. He wanted to ask if Colin was still sure he wanted the contact, the information, the invitation. The atmosphere seemed to charge for it to be wise to gainsay or second guess anything Colin expressed. "You mentioned your new address?"

Is making a spectacle of emotion the only way others will accept it as true? I hope not, but he says he is relieved. The missing hole in life isn't dulled the way so much else is. It feels twisted, amplified into some other wall of despair to match the prison of the Rift, the fallen throne, the dreams...like they're all deserved and ashes. These are things I have done and not done. It tries to turn to swallowed forgetting. Is it possible, is it true? Will the Knight forget Colin? It seems impossible. As impossible as forgetting a family, Björn took the address, looking it over rather than lifting his eyes to Colin again. It made no difference- the danseur's handwriting was as familiar as the curve of his jaw or the swell of his shoulders against the narrow set of hips. Each letter form was familiar, comfort and wound at once. Björn had never guessed to realize or rue lack of handwriting. Months of not hearing someone's voice or finding their scent on a pillow was predictable. Handwriting was outdated as it was in the digital age, however-much he preferred it. His mind distracted itself perforce to the mention of living near friends- it was a more pleasant consideration. An actual friend, hopefully, instead of the ballet-sort that were climbing ladders and saving face. A converted house into apartments was more of a community than the barracks. The friend would probably notice if Colin stopped going outside to work, putting out the trash, or if the water usage for the building seemed off.

"If things continue as they are, I will send the postcard with word. If you do not receive one- " Whether interrupted by death from execution by another member of the SpecOps, being made a youma, or falling at last in soul as much as body to the venous, black and whispering chaos. He didn't manage to finish the statement. There didn't seem a politic way to do so without giving everything over and making the situation worse. "It is all dangerous. "