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Bazzite was sleeping a dreamless sleep, as he was accustomed to. The darkness of the Rift was never-changing, electrical storms the only weather the youma experienced. Skittering and chittering the ferals roamed in pairs or packs across the landscape, regarding each and every human entering the Rift as their next possible meal. The General's energy signature sedated them, the ferals screeching to one another, giving the blonde a wide berth. It wasn't quite respect, but a healthy dose of fear that kept them from attacking the General.

A tug on what might have been his heart - or perhaps, his soul - awoke Bazzite from his slumber. Ears twitched and the locust beast scrambled from his makeshift bed, a pile of stale and threadbare linens wrapped into a birds' nest. Clawing his way down the tube that served as both entrance and exit from his hovel buried deep in a crystalline mountain, the youma's hands met floor and he was off in a flash, seeking his beloved General.

It wasn't long before the eerie and anxious quiet of the darkness was pierced by a metallic cry of something that sounded like joy. "Beni! You made it. What have you got with you?"

The youma made haste towards the blonde, bearing down upon him like a dog who dearly missed his master, eager to greet him. Leaning down, Bazzite lovingly nuzzled the blonde's forehead in something akin to affection (at least, as much as any youma could muster). "It's good to see you again, Beni."

The youma seemed perplexed, his excitement waning as confusion drew across his features. Bazzite tilted his head, stepping back from the blonde for a moment. "Birthday? Is it your birthday, Beni?"

He had no concept of time, and hadn't the slightest idea how long it had been between visits. The creature could really only guess, looking down in a pseudo-loving way upon his General's face. Without the necklace, he was incapable of true affection, but the youma learned to mimic it as best he could. Tender touches, the softness of voice. "Oh, no, it isn't." came the realization, the feeling of confusion dissipating. "It's... my birthday?"

Kneeling down to sniff the bedding, he could hear the thrum of pulsing souls in the form of starseeds. They were in greater quantity that Benitoite's usual feedings. This was indeed a special occasion. Wings vibrated briefly as Bazzite considered this realization.

Looking up at Benitoite, the youma seemed concerned. "Beni..." There was something almost touching about how much the blonde cared for his creation, and the youma absently reached for the necklace that would grant him the ability to appreciate this fact. Its pulse was quick, cold and calming. Bazzite closed his eyes and his body softened. Opening them again, he presented a human visage, just for his General. "...thank you, Alex. You... didn't have to do that for me..."

"Alex..." His voice was quiet, contemplative, almost anxious. It was as though Jonathan was hesitant to know the answer. "....how old am I?"

He was still seventeen in appearance, never having aged a day since his fateful youmafication. Jonathan ceased to grow or change from that point forward, bond to serving someone he loved deeply. The boy only had vague recollections of his life before being confined to the rotting, unchanging Rift. The smell of Alex's hair, his kindness, his fondness for plants and painting and fancy things.

The scent of lavender wafted to his nostrils, mixing with the fresh and warm scent of laundry. A scent he never appreciate more than now. It tickled the edges of his memory, hazy dreams brushing passed his consciousness before fading away to the depths of his psyche. "Alex, it smells like you. I like that... I miss you. Thank you.... for coming all the way down here, for remembering my birthday, even when I don't."

His voice cracked, emotion thick, churning and threatening to spill over the walls. "Even if I don't remember, the old me still lives inside of you. How old are you now, Alex?"

Rising to his feet, Jonathan stepped very close to his General, soft and false flesh of his fingers gingerly tracing the tapered jawbone of the blonde. "...you look older, Alex. I guess... I didn't really notice it before."

Bazzite's demeanor drooped considerably when his true age was revealed. Shoulder slumped, lips turned to a frown, eyes cast downward. Indeed, he had found a fountain of youth in a sense, but at grave cost. Continuing to age and meet those milestones set by human society were two things Bazzite could no longer do. There would be no school graduation, no college, no apartment to call his own. No driver's license, no dating life, no midnight runs to the nearest greasy fast-food joint.

Things most people took for granted as happening for everyone.

"Old enough to legally drink." he finally replied, voice subdued.

Closing his eyes, Bazzite leaned in to place a cool, chaste kiss to his General's forehead. The man's skin tasted like salt and warmth and life, a sharp contrast to the unchanging, cold and hellish landscape of the Rift. Benitoite, in his own way, was a ray of sunshine to his youma. "I remember... you always smelled like flowers and earth." A long-fingered hand rose to gently caress the blonde's scalp and hair. He was soft, serene, though Bazzite could all but smell the anxiety coursing through the blonde. "...it's... like a perfume, I guess. I don't think I was ever... poetic, not like you, Alex. Not like you."

It was in Alex's heart and soul that the boy who came before the birth of the youma still lived. For that, Bazzite was thankful. "Thank you, for remembering. You're not old, Alex, but I can see..." False flesh traced Alex's chin and gently lifted it upward. Jonathan always was just a little bit taller than his blonde General. Gazing deeply into Benitoite's gray eyes, the creature sighed deeply. "...I can see a weariness, Alex. You're not ugly. You were never ugly."

I'm the ugly one.

“I don’t know if I would have drank alcohol.” came a cool reply, the expression on the creature who wore human skin was murky, unreadable. “I don’t remember very much of my life with you, before this.”

Listening intently, blue eyes were cast to the ground, Bazzite gently holding his General’s hand in his. Though the flesh was false and a monster pulsed just beneath the surface, the youma enjoyed these quiet times together. He could bask in his General’s sight and scent, reminisce about things only the blonde could remember. It was a story of someone else’s life, someone Bazzite did not recall. He was standing outside in the cold dark, peering through a foggy window at someone he couldn’t quite see.

“Is it all pain and sadness, Alex?”

Looking down upon Alexandre, Bazzite’s breath hitched in his throat. His body, though human in appearance only, seemed to desire the release of weeping. This youma didn’t cry, couldn’t cry, lacking the physicality to do so. The best the boy could muster was a close approximation. No tears could fall from his eyes.

The cost I’ve paid.

“The cost we’ve both paid, I think, Alex.” He felt the General nuzzle his face into cool, soft skin. Despite his desperate wish, Bazzite could not generate his own heat. He was always cool to the touch at best, and frigid at worst. “Even though I don’t remember much of my life with you, I know it’s gone. It will always be… gone. Birthdays don’t mean anything. I can’t age. I appreciate the sentiment, though, even when this me isn’t here. I just wear this skin to please you. I know it’s not real. It will never be… real.”

Most of the time, it wasn't all pain and sadness. There is a reason for all of this, a reason for the high cost and the agony they must endure. Pain for power, power for more pain.

Somehow, something within Bazzite had stirred, and he swallowed thickly. He didn't agree. To him, in this new and dangerous world of self-awareness, the cost was simply too much to continue to pay. Nuzzling a cheek against Alex's forehead, he held the blonde close.

"Yes, I only do this to please you, Alex." Lying was never something Bazzite enjoyed doing. Even in life, perhaps, he was truthful. That memory was destroyed forever with the birth of Bazzite, though, unbeknownst to him, some of the original's personality carried through the transition. "I don't like to wear this suit, because it's a lie. But I know it makes you happy, to see the me that isn't real anymore. I know it makes you upset, but I can see it makes you happy, too."

It kills me every time I wear this suit... it's a reminder of things I can't have. It's just a taste.

Bazzite knew, instinctively, he could very well end himself. It was the fear of what might become of his General that was the only thing holding him back from suicide. The thought of release, blissful freedom, even in death, was incredibly tempting. To be seared into oblivion at the hands of a royal senshi was a thought that frequently passed through Bazzite's mind while the necklace had its grip tight on his psyche. But the pain that would cause Benitoite... it might be too high a cost.

But wasn't Bazzite dead as he was? The creature had no life, had no hopes or aspirations and was forced into servitude when Generals demanded his obedience. Even this pseudo-immortality meant nothing when the simple pleasures of skin and warmth were torn from him.

"I think," he finally breathed, pulling away from Alex with a forlorn and weary expression. "...I think I'd like to go to sleep now, Alex. It... hurts too much."

It hurts so much and I cannot cry...

“Sorry, Alex.” he breathed, savoring the scent of shampoo and surface air in Benitoite’s long strands before pulling away. “I’m… very tired.”

Truthfully, having become accustomed to a much shallower psyche made processing emotion incredibly exhausting. He was tired from being unable to cry and release pain and tension, tired of holding in a much larger and alien form, tired of… being a monster. But he couldn’t tell Alex that, not without an order for more information. Benitoite knew he could order his youma to do anything. And yet, the blonde seemed to refuse.

The offer to accompany Bazzite back his nest to exchange the bedding was appreciated, and Bazzite nodded in response. “Yes... I’d… I’d like that. Maybe you can tuck me in.”

The youma took a few steps back from his General and hunched over, the skin of his back stretching like a taut balloon before ripping at its seams like pale cloth. Blue mottled skin lurked just beneath the surface as the human visage was torn away, skin flapping in sheets, a threadbare suit. Bazzite shivered from the release, wings buzzing in triumph and freedom. It was incredibly uncomfortable to don the human guise, even for a few moments. Being pressed into a small box for Benitoite’s sake… he’d continue to do so over and over, until ordered to stop.

It brought a smile to Alex’s face, however brief.

Moving to scoop the blonde into his beastly arms, Bazzite knew travel by youma would be faster. Claws could dig into dirt and rock, wings could be used to soften the descent after a jump. Youma could traverse the Rift faster than any human.

Darkness rushed passed the pair as they made the brief journey back to Bazzite’s carved nest. He’d taken it from its previous occupant and clawed markings into the earth and stone to guide him back. Without a sun to lead the way, and only a pulsing, sickly purple light that was tenuous at best, sound and landmarks were the best method of discernment. Bazzite’s clawed feet skidded to a stop over a rolling crystalline slope before arriving at the hole in the side of the mountain where the nest had been carved. A tunnel leading straight up into the body of the hovel itself, chewed from the crystal and rock that made up the mountain. Only those with sharp claws could make the ascent.

“Are you okay, Alex? I’ll take you up, if you want.”