Feo blinked rapidly, his thoughts still scrambled from the heat pulsing through him, the ache lingering in places he didn’t want to think about right now. The sudden shift in Lucius’s energy was almost disorienting. One second, he was smug and teasing, pushing every single one of Feo’s buttons with frightening precision. The next, he was standing there, all concern and focus, acting like he hadn’t just sent Feo into a downward spiral of absolutely shameless thoughts.

Feo forced himself to straighten, swallowing thickly. He needed to get it together.

His wings twitched once, then flared open again, stirring another gust of warm air before they settled awkwardly at his sides. His face was still burning, his body still too hot, but he forced himself to push past it. He needed to function again.

“I—” His voice cracked, and he immediately cleared his throat, trying to salvage what little dignity he had left. “I’m—yeah. Better. Fine.” He ran a shaky hand through his hair, still struggling to shove away the phantom sensations Lucius had burned into his brain.

Then, as if Lucius’s concern wasn’t already difficult enough to process, the bastard had to touch him.

Feo stiffened the moment Lucius reached out to help him up, his fingers brushing his wrist, his palm warm and solid against his own as he was pulled up. The contact sent a sharp jolt through him, and he bit down on the inside of his cheek, barely suppressing the embarrassing noise that threatened to slip out.

He was not going to humiliate himself any further.

Not right now.

Feo forced himself to focus on the question. That was safe. That was something he could actually manage without falling apart completely.

"The wrap’s helping," he admitted after a moment, glancing down at his side as if that would somehow help him focus. "Still stings a little, but I’ll live."

He hesitated, then let out another small, breathy laugh, still slightly dazed from everything that had just happened.

"Not sure if it’s the wrap working or if you just distracted the pain away," he muttered, finally looking back up at Lucius, his eyes still blown wide, his lips still curled in a half-nervous, half-amused smile. "I—I think you might actually be dangerous."

His wings flicked again, still restless, still fighting to shake off the lingering heat crawling under his skin. He lifted his hands to his head, fingers moving with practiced ease as he undid the tie holding his hair back. A cascade of black curls tumbled over his shoulders, some strands catching the sunlight in deep blue highlights. The weight of it was familiar, comforting. It was something to do—something to focus on—rather than dwelling on the lingering heat simmering under his skin.

His fingers trailed absentmindedly down to his jaw, brushing over the rough patches of stubble beginning to grow in. It wasn’t much yet, just a fine grit beneath his fingertips, but it was enough to irritate him. Another few days, and it’d be noticeable.

Would Lucius like him with a beard? Would he prefer it? Would he dislike it? Would he not care?

As he ran his fingers along his jawline, his gaze flicked toward Lucius, who was busy grabbing the suitcase. Feo watched him carefully, something unreadable flickering behind his bright eyes. His mind was still too cluttered with everything Lucius had done to him in the last few minutes. Every teasing smile, every smug comment, every touch.

And yet, Lucius was back to being... Lucius. Acting like none of it had happened. As if he hadn’t just cracked Feo open and sent him spiraling.

Feo clicked his tongue, rubbing at his jaw again, the roughness beneath his fingers grounding him. Unbelievable.

"So, what, you’re just gonna act normal now?" he mumbled, mostly to himself, shifting his weight and flexing his fingers. "Like you didn’t just—" He cut himself off, groaning slightly as he turned his face away, his hair shifting with the movement. "Ugh. Never mind."

His wings flared slightly again before tucking back against his back. He felt too much all at once. Too hot, too restless, too aware of the man standing just a few feet away.

With a deep breath, he let his head tip back, eyes slipping shut for just a moment as the wind ruffled through his hair. Maybe the fresh air would cool him down. Maybe it would shake loose whatever had wormed its way under his skin.

Feo tried to scowl, tried to keep his face in something other than the soft, stupidly lovesick expression he knew was creeping onto it. But gods, it was impossible. Lucius made it impossible.

His hands clenched at his sides, jaw tightening slightly as he tried—tried—to hold onto some level of composure. But the moment he looked into those bright sapphire eyes, he felt himself unraveling all over again.

The way Lucius spoke, so confident, so sure, like he had everything planned out. Like he could see every possible future and was determined to make the best one happen. Feo had spent his entire life seeing every worst possibility, every dark and terrible outcome. And here was Lucius, blazing like the sun, shoving every single shadow out of the way like they were nothing.

He wanted to grab him. To hold onto him, press their foreheads together, and let him feel how much he meant.

But he hesitated.

Instead, his fingers twitched, and his wings fluttered slightly, stirring the air. His heart pounded in his chest, his stomach twisting itself into knots. He swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry.

"Florida, huh?" His voice was rough, unsteady. He lifted a hand, rubbing at the back of his neck, fingers brushing against his hair. "Sunburns and sand in uncomfortable places. Sounds great."

He meant it as a joke, but there was no bite to his words. If anything, they came out far too soft. He hated that. Hated how easily Lucius stripped him down to this raw, trembling thing.

His wings twitched again, and he exhaled sharply. His hand dropped back to his side before curling into a fist. He was going to combust at this rate.

After a beat of silence, he took a slow step forward, just enough to close some of the space between them. His hands hovered at his sides, unsure. He wanted to touch, wanted to feel Lucius there, but the hesitation still clawed at him.

Instead, he gave him a lopsided, nervous grin, his fangs flashing again in the sunlight. His voice dipped lower, almost teasing, but with a flicker of something far softer beneath it.

"You just gonna keep pulling me around the world, huh?" His eyes stayed locked on Lucius's, burning with something too big for him to hold. "Dragging me from place to place, makin’ sure I don’t fall apart?"

Like he didn’t already know the answer. Like Lucius wasn’t already proving, over and over again, that he wasn’t going anywhere.

Feo’s ears twitched at the distant rumble, the rhythmic clatter of steel wheels against the tracks reaching him through the thick summer air. His wings fluttered again, a restless motion, stirring up more dust as the warm wind carried the low, haunting whistle toward them.

His gaze flickered away from Lucius, just for a moment, drawn toward the train’s approach. The sun gleamed off the metal beast as it rolled closer, slow but inevitable, a stark contrast to the erratic pounding of his heart.

He exhaled sharply through his nose, dragging a hand down his face before letting it rest against the stubble on his jaw. Annoying. He had to stop touching it before it really started to piss him off.

His fingers lingered there as he tilted his head slightly, still listening to the train.

It was grounding, in a way. Something real, something solid, something always moving forward.

Kind of like Lucius.

His throat tightened. His eyes shifted back to the Greek, watching the way the wind tousled his hair, how effortlessly he carried himself despite everything weighing on him.

The train was almost there now.

Feo let out a breath, quiet but steady, and tightened his grip on his own wrist, willing himself not to tremble.

Feo clenched his jaw, dragging his fingers once more across his stubble as the words settled over him. The weight, the control—Lucius spoke of it like it was something that could simply be wrangled into submission with enough sheer will. Maybe for him, it could. Maybe he had the kind of mind that bent without breaking, that could be forced into compliance through sheer stubbornness.

But Feo wasn’t so sure if his mind worked like that.

Still, the warmth in Lucius’s voice had done something to him. Had untangled some of the knots in his chest, loosened the sharp hooks of everything weighing him down. There was an undeniable pull there, something magnetic, something that had his wings twitching at his back, the restless flickers betraying his need to move, to do something.

The train rattled past, wind whipping against his face, catching the loose strands of his dark curls as they tumbled over his shoulders. Feo tilted his head slightly, eyes tracing the long line of cars disappearing into the horizon. The war effort. Supplies, bodies, weapons. The things that made up a battle, the things that fed into the chaos.

He exhaled slowly.

If Lucius could decide to be in control, to be the king of his own mind, then Feo could try, too.

His fingers dropped from his face, hand falling to his side as his wings flared just slightly, stretching against the wind before folding back in. He let his gaze drift back to Lucius, the golden sunlight catching on his hair, making him look almost ethereal in the glow.

He couldn’t hide the softness in his eyes, the unguarded affection that crept into his expression before he caught himself. Before he smothered it down, tucking it back into the safety of his ribs.

His lips parted slightly, as if to say something.

But he hesitated.

Instead, he gave a small nod, rolling his shoulders as he turned slightly, watching the seemingly endless stretch of train cars rumble by. His fingers twitched at his side, resisting the urge to reach for Lucius, resisting the need to pull him closer.

Not yet.

But soon.

Feo had watched the train pull in, listening to the heavy groan of metal against metal, the hiss of the brakes releasing air into the wind. His gaze followed the slow deceleration, traced the jagged scars left behind in the land where the earthquake had ripped through Garden City. It was a ruin now. A husk of what had been.

He forced himself to look away, shifting his attention back to Lucius and his small, determined struggle. The way he analyzed the jump, the way he hesitated just slightly, knowing full well that one wrong move could send a fresh wave of pain through his already injured arm.

Feo sighed through his nose, stepping forward without another thought.

He bent slightly, arms curling under Lucius’s legs and back as he lifted him with ease, cradling him against his chest. His wings spread wide, catching the air before pulling him upward in a single, effortless movement. The wind stirred up dust from the gravel below, but Feo hardly noticed as he landed lightly inside the train car, setting them down as if Lucius weighed nothing.

The train car was cavernous, its interior filled with the faint scent of rust and old wood. The floor was scuffed and marked from years of cargo being dragged in and out, and Feo could make out discarded ropes, splinters of broken crates, and a few stray chains hanging from the walls where goods had once been secured. The walls rattled slightly as the train settled into place, the occasional creak echoing through the empty space.

Feo barely acknowledged any of it.

His focus remained solely on Lucius as he carried him to the far side of the train car. He nudged the suitcase up against the wall with his foot, shifting just enough to settle down beside it. His grip on Lucius didn’t falter, didn’t loosen. Instead, he pressed his face into the soft strands of Lucius’s blond hair, breathing in deeply, letting his scent fill his lungs. It was warm, familiar—something he could cling to, something that tethered him in place.

The stabbing pain in his back pulsed sharply, a reminder of the strain, of the exhaustion still coiled in his muscles. He ignored it. It was secondary.

For now, all that mattered was this moment. The quiet weight of Lucius against him, the steady rise and fall of his breath, the fleeting sense of peace he could pretend would last forever.