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We can't keep meeting like this--

The thought was sharp, crystal clear, a dua-lipa song blaring in the background of his mind telling him how, yeah, he had rules - he'd counted them - he needed to follow the ******** through.

He couldn't keep hurting her heart, his husbands, his own -- but seeing her there? A ballet of careful steps, pink wings gliding over a reflection that filled the sky like an aurora. His eyes lit up with he sight of it, his ears with the crystal clear tint of her laughter. Nectaris was ******** beautiful, exactly like that, everything Sylvite had been, everything Alexa had wanted in her life. Right there. Perfect pink moonbeams and sugar-coated grace.

Albite wanted, for a brief, black, searing flash of a moment, to burn the world around him for taking her from his grasp. He wanted Ganymedes perfect slender neck in his hands, his starsisters stunning last gasp, that lovely light leaving her eyes. He wanted everything exactly the way he wanted it, his way, not someone else, not theirs -- <******** his --- and he sobbed a gasp of startling cold because the world didn't work like that. People, didn't work like that.

Acceptance was a bitter tonic that made the longing for what he could not have even more harsh.

It didn't stop him from stepping out though, from finding the end of the lake and taking it quietly; long splays of dreads scraping lines in the ice behind him, weaving a haphazard pattern as he stepped off on sure heels on the ice.

He was a fool. He was a traitor. He was in love. He was lying to himself rudely, because no matter how any event played out -- he wasn't about to leave his own world behind to join hers -- This wasn't Lysi, or Nembus, or -- they couldn't be friends. They could talk though, couldn't they? He could steal his moment's n play pretend for all that he'd ache more fiercely for entertaining the idea of it.

He had questions about the ghostit notes.

He had questions about a lot of things.

Maybe he'd ask them tonight, or maybe? Maybe he'd ask Alexa to skate with him, one more time. To make up for the way he'd failed to communicate back then, a month ago, right now.

Maybe she'd say yes!!

And he could keep that memory too -- selfishly -- all quiet like and on his own. Albite sighed for settling with being okay with that, breathed a plume of white into the clearest of brightly lit skys. It was maybe a terrible idea, but it's beauty was too irresistible a treat to not try for.

“Hey.”

He didn’t deal in poisons like Fafnir, or daggers like Borax. He looked at all the ways his love with Alexa had waxed n waned - won and failed - and knew deep down that the only way they’d be each other’s ends was on order…

He knew whose orders it would take. That he’d falter enough to let someone else be that decisive blow. That he’d mourn her all the more than he had that first time he’d realized she’d left but not really died. At least not the parts of her he’d treasured the most.

“That’s just his love language, yanno?” softly spoken mirth, for all that there was some truth in it. Faustite had tried to burn his face off once or twice, outta love, outta hate, in the haste of trying to have a good time. He’d never hold it against his elemental beau to be that way - fiery tempered and all ablaze for eternity - whether he was more smitten with the man or the monster was up for grabs, hard to tel when he couldn’t make a distinction between either at all.

“Those ghost-it notes though, they were spooky as ********. Even got a laugh outta him,” snickered into thr still air as he matched her baby deer steps, so careful on the ice, “nearly scared me! But —- you’re forgiven…”

For scaring him, for the kiss, but it was hard to explain the nuances of what she was and was not forgiven for from Faustites perspective. From the negaverse own.

“He wanted me to pass along that it wasn’t the kissing he minded,” and he pinwheeled momentarily, arms out as he caught a breath on finding a particularly slick patch of black mirrored reflection, if he looked down — she was even prettier that way, all warped n strange in the ice, “though knowing what it could’ve been…” he shrugged, not sure if he wanted more details, or less — or just to watch her fabric wings spread out stunningly behind her.

He flushed softly at being called cute, held her hands, curled his fingers around her wrists until he could hold her forearms steadily, all soft smiles and a head tilt. Even if it was sad -- he couldn't keep the smile off his face for her -- even as he tilted his head n pondered over the endless questions; the way they tugged at his own feelings like a bow vibrating over string.

It was interesting to consider Faustites love language, it's meaning, because maybe his husband was worried he'd leave him? That Nectaris would somehow steal him away and make him leave Faustite behind? Waru wouldn't dare to call the thought silly, it was rational, emotional, everything he'd been working on with his boy. His husband. All those feelings and the ways to feel them strongly-- though maybe with a little less of the setting people on fire?

He couldn't pretend he was ignorant of what would happen if -- when -- the people who were Nectaris's enemies, the people that sat above him and around him and had every right to want to seek retribution in their own ways. When they finally got a look at her and took her to ground -- took their shot -- the myriad of deadly ways that would happen. He'd warred over the idea. Dog on a bone, if the bone was his heart and squeaked funny every time he bit down hard enough.

As much as he loved his girl for doing what was right for her. For believing in her purpose and saying ******** it all to the consequences!!

He believed too that the others deserved a head, a starseed, a heart on a pike. Afterall, he'd gone along with the mission, hadn't he? Had ******** helped the whole way across until the end and well beyond. Ganymede should've died in that cell. Jet should've been avenged his suffering -- Senshi got an eternity, afterall. Could come back ten times over again and re-win what was lost. Jet? Jet just got this one go around maybe, and Aqua? Aqua too! They didn't deserve the duress they'd gone through up till now......

Not the injury. Not the capture. The look on Aquas face at that meeting, and if it'd been Faustite in Jet's place, would he be so kind now? If it was anyone but Nectaris. Sometimes he could surface above his own tumultuous feelings for long enough to acknowledge exactly how biased he was.

"I know he liked you when you were -- well -- before? Right. Cause he didn't have any problems with you then. N'ya gotta know, sometimes when a person you admire leaves, maybe you feel cheated outta that person's continued existence, betrayed n such? N maybe it's abit that he's not so mad about the kissing -- as he is afraid of me n what I'd do for more of those kisses...." and his sigh became a chuckle, a breath of cold fog into the chilled night air.

She shouldn'tve been crying because of him, because of herself? He tugged her closer out of instinct, spread his feet and looked down into her shimmering sad eyes while biting his lip less he joined her.

"Shh, it's okay. I did find you this time, didn't I! So breathe little moonbeam, m'not here to drag you back. I'm hearing you, Nectaris. N what that means? That means--- that means I'm respecting your choices, n in the same breath of doing that? I'm respecting the consequences you knew you'd face for making those choices. It's the kinda consequences both me n you'll have to deal with someday -- there's no universe I can imagine where they don't exist. Course...that doesn't mean we cant enjoy ourselves afore facing 'em, yeh?"

Cause she wouldn't come back, and he wouldn't go out, and they *couldn't be together like this* -- but he had his wild cards, his outs, his clever-but-not reasoning which he could throw up in defense like tossing tissue paper into a hurricane.

"So don't cry--you look too beautiful to cry to night. Skating all on your own!"

“Heh, we were fighting, I slipped, you caught me with your lips—“ anything to not have a pretty girl cry, to wipe that scrunched, pained look off Nectaris sweet face. There was all that disconnect between, what he wanted to say, what he didn’t, what he had the mental capacity to explain in words that made sense.

He was terrible at making sense.

Nectaris wasn’t dead — but she was mortal — her end was a foregone conclusion to him, her eternity a vast and gaping unknown. Algebra had never been his thing, he couldn’t solve for X and come up with a past life that would remember these moments even fleetingly. Hell, he didn’t even have the slightest clue on how knights worked! What made them so different from Senshi if they were really different at all? He’d never sat around and asked anyone before, not even the knights.

He did sound sure she would die though? Didn’t he. Maybe it was because deep down he knew he would’t do anything to prevent it, that all the choices he’d made had led him here. Standing across from the most lovely girl, and choosing violence, darkness, bloodshed. Not because somebody made him, but because it was *easy*. It felt right enough to do for him, it was fun most of the time.

Maybe he wasn’t a good person? Not as good as Nectaris was - had been - would continue to be without him to try n drag her back into their gritty, messy, mire.

“So I accidentally kissed you on purpose— and it was a total accident. Didn’t undo the notes promise at all,” maybe just the one more kiss this one more time. He’d told Faustite he didn’t have a problem with addiction, not in the traditional sense. He wondered if that were untrue? Could people become something one got addicted to? Was kissing his friends — however traitorous — an addiction? He’d need a class on it, a patch, a pill. Right now though? He was smiling into Nectaris and closing the gap, finding her petal soft lips easily and meeting them with warmth — chaste until it wasn’t because maybe this wouldn’t happen again? The kind of rare meeting where she could hold him up for a little while and encourage him to misbehave—-

She was very good at games. She was the strongest.

It was him who wasn’t. Who couldn’t compare.

If Faustite asked again? If Jet came to him. If Aqua—-he didn’t know if he could withstand it enough to rear up and say no, to justify the half truth and half lie of seeking info through a giving contact.

A loving one.

No, he knew he couldn’t. Her life was foregone because he would give it up. He played that game with Cybele often enough, respectably, with a deep sort of understanding. He loved her so much it seemed a kindness to let her die; a thrill to watch her fight and win in spite of what could happen. It hurt him far less than it would with Nectaris, because the lines with Cybele were clear and unmuddied.

If ever the day did come.

“You’re the sweetest to kiss —“ and it couldn’t hurt to hug her a little more tightly as he cast a long shadow over her in his embrace, “I love you and your letters, and even the way you cry…I don’t want you to die either. Not even from old age, but? Violence on both sides exists— you’re just as capable of it as me— you as you were, you as you are. You’ve got these amazing abs for what? Baking cookies?” the idea in and of itself was laughable, Nectaris maybe just had an amazing body — Alexa had — surely — she took care of herself, made cute outfits, made props for plays at school. She was vibrant and warm in the best ways, but also had a deadly, magical knife that could wound to kill with barely a kiss of its blade.

He’d held it once. He’d loved that aspect to her. Just like he loves her wings and the knowledge that she could lay him out from muscle memory alone.

“The Negaverse won’t forget the soldier you can’t quite remember — just like I can’t blink away you in black lace, feeding buttons to swirls, telling me not to steal from a Clair’s. You’re the same person, except for how you’re not, because you as Nectaris would *never* forcibly corrupt Cybele outta — god knows why, but *you* did that Once. So?”

She could be herself while having changed, she could be Nectaris while losing the parts she liked the least of Sylvite, the parts maybe others admired and encouraged and enjoyed — that she would no longer want for.

“I get you Nectaris, I really, truly do. But you are not exactly the same as you were. If that was the case you would’ve never left to begin with. Wouldn’t’ve needed to save a Princess knowing then what it would mean for ********’ brave as hell that…but there’s our difference yeh? Me, I woulda just snapped Gany’s neck n been done with the whole mess, but you?” and he sighed like he’d been stabbed, cradled her face gently so he could swipe at the tears that’d stained her cheeks with his thumbs.

If she was going to cry it sure as hell shouldn’t have been over him.

“You just keep being better n brighter than us, kay? I believe in you.”

He believed in everyone.

He was chuckling, breathlessly, because holy ******** Cybele!? Of course she would've laid into Sylvite -- Nectaris then -- probably with no explanation -- or maybe a lengthy one? Or maybe she'd just hit n runnnn -- Yep, hit n run. He was shaking his head 'no', even if he couldn't stop shaking with pent up snickers; not at what had to have been Nectaris confused pain in the moment, but for the look he could imagine on Cybeles face!

Indignation, rage, shock? ********, but he would've paid all the money he'd never have to have been present for that! For five whole seconds of it even!

"Never told me a damn thing, lookit you, keep'n secrets haah -- no worries Nectarine' my friends c'n take a hit or two, whatever you dish out, you just serve it right the hell up," he met her gaze with open mirth, with endless curiosity, ran on past the thought of hurts becoming harms becoming dead ends -- cause Nectaris was sooo soo sooo soft and warm in his arms. Cause he was glad to have these moments too, quiet little thing tucked away from all the rules of the world. Lookit them, how damn accident prone they both were? Who could fault them for falling into each other when the ice was so slick---

Albite couldn't, wouldn't, not just then.

"Me too," sobered from a fit of smiles, spoken just as softly as he leaned in to press his forehead against hers. Hoping only for time. He'd put his blinders on and ignore reality for as long as he was given the chance to. Would abuse the scant opportunities stolen late at night---

Especially for all the knowing that lay the other side of it. Knowing that there would be an end, someday.

Just not tonight.

Tonight was for him, n her, n them. He could hobble round with her in the lead across the iced up bit of pond, and pretend every tear he'd made her shed was just -- one more bit of snowfall -- an icy part of a star.