Feo’s chest tightened as Lucius’s words hung in the air. The small touch to his arm made his heart stutter for a moment, the warmth of the gesture almost too much to bear in the quiet after everything. He wanted to say something, to explain that the space hadn’t been about not wanting to be near him, but that the weight of everything—his overwhelming feelings, the fear, the exhaustion—had pressed him into making a choice he hadn’t been ready for.

“I didn’t want to leave,” Feo muttered, the words quiet and raw. He swallowed, the lump in his throat heavy. "But it was like I couldn't stay. Not when I... didn't know what else to do."

He felt the sting of that, even as the words slipped out. Feo had always prided himself on handling situations, on keeping a clear head, but last night had shattered that, leaving him fumbling, uncertain of his footing. He had left because, in his mind, it had been the only choice left. To give Lucius space, to give himself space. But he could see now, even in this silence, that it hadn’t been what Lucius needed.

What had Lucius needed? What did he need now?

Feo’s gaze flicked to the side, but it felt almost like he couldn’t quite look Lucius directly anymore. There was something in the way his words had been said—calm, but with an edge—that hit Feo harder than he would have liked to admit. The ache in his chest tightened at the reminder of the fine line they had walked.

The stubbornness, the control. They both wore it like armor, but Lucius had made it clear that they couldn’t always keep hiding behind it. Feo’s lips parted as he opened his mouth to speak, but the words tangled in his throat. He didn’t know how to say what was eating at him. That constant fear of being too much, of wanting too much, of stepping over lines they had never even agreed on.

“I’ve never really been good at… sharing space,” he finally admitted, his voice quieter now, quieter than it had been for days. "Not with anyone, really. Not like this." His hand gripped the edge of his shirt, fingers pulling at the fabric almost absentmindedly. "I don’t know how to just… be with someone all the time. It’s not easy, Lucius. And I know it’s not for you, either. I can feel it."

There it was. The honesty he had avoided for days. The fear of being too much, of taking up too much space, of needing too much. But it was there now, in the open. Feo’s eyes closed briefly as he let out a long, steadying breath, trying to collect himself. It was harder than he expected.

“Maybe… maybe I need more space than I thought too.” His voice cracked as he said it, and Feo almost immediately regretted the words, but he couldn’t take them back. “I’m not saying I want to be away from you. But… it’s different now. And I don’t know what I’m doing half the time.”

It was so easy for him to lose himself in the idea of doing right by someone else. In wanting to be the person they needed, the person who always had the answers, who could fix it all. But Feo had learned long ago that he didn’t have answers. Not all the time. Not for this.

His heart still pounded too fast. His head still ached with the weight of everything they hadn’t said, everything they hadn’t figured out yet. He needed to fix it. He needed to make it right, but how? How did you fix something like this?

But Lucius’s voice—steady, calm—was the anchor. The reminder that maybe they didn’t have to have all the answers now. Maybe all they had to do was keep trying to figure it out.

He wiped a hand over his face, trying to clear the haze of fatigue that had clung to him since the night before. "I don't know what else to say, except that... I’m sorry. For everything. For not... knowing what the hell I’m doing."

But that was the truth. Feo didn’t know. He didn’t know what he was doing anymore.

He didn't know what else to do. That was alright. They didn't have to know exactly what to do. He took in a deep breath and let it out again, rubbing the back of his neck with his good hand.

"... I don't really know either, yeah. I mean, it's one thing to have had roommates but this... this is different. But--no, I understand. It's not that I want you to leave or I want to leave or that... I don't love you. But I think we both need to be alone. That's not a bad thing--it's not permanent, it's... it's a refuel of sorts. A... you get the idea. Sometimes, we just have to be ourselves."

Lucius lowered his hand to his lap again, looking toward Feo. "It's alright, you don't have to know. I mean, good grief, I don't even know half the time. I just.... go for it."

Lucius leaned back into the pillow and blankets. He offered his arm, gesturing to the rest of the bed. "If you want--and maybe it could help--a shower and then come rest. We can talk after we wake up. Is that alright with you?"

Lucius scanned his face with sapphire eyes, hoping it was the right thing to say. There was something in his eyes, some skeletons still there. Maybe Lucius couldn't get all of them out, but he'd try to get most of them. After all, bones...? He could handle bones. Even broken ones.

Especially broken ones.

"I'm sorry.. for not talking--about the right things," he said quietly. "For keeping it in and ... and jumping to conclusions."

He did that very well. Perhaps he even flew to conclusions instead of jumped.

That was a "skill" of his.

The young man leaned his head back, looking up at the ceiling. "Maybe you'll feel better in a new pair of clothes--after you've showered. I don't know... I... I'm just throwing things out now."

He admitted openly. He knew some people said they felt better afterwards. Maybe that was part of their issue, they didn't feel quite normal yet. It was a mixture of running away, running towards something and running in circles all at the same time. Exhausting. That's exactly what it was.

He realized he felt exhausted, Feo looked exhausted, their room? Well, it was kind of a refuge. It was also kind of ... stale. In the sense that Aera knew where they were, the stale safety had waned and now they were on edge.

Perhaps she had wanted that. But she hadn't been prepared for Lucius and Feo to actually... talk it out. Probably.

Lucius closed his eyes for a few moments, waiting to hear the bathroom door close behind Feo. Briefly, before it did, the soft touch along his hand had his eyes sliding open to look up at the demigod.

He could thank him all he wanted. But Lucius knew after he got some rest, he'd be doing the talking. Lucius had determined that he wouldn't hide anything now and that meant... the scars. Feo hadn't really seen them, hadn't... felt them. But he knew they were there, it was about time he finally explained the connection between the injury and why he mentioned wings all of the time.

Not that it was too... confusing. But it needed to be said. It really did. It was going to suck but it was going to have to be a conversation they had to have. Hopefully, it would help Feo understand that Lucius knew how to handle it... and help him understand why he had formulated the plan the way he had.

Avoiding violence until he absolutely couldn't. But that was an idea for later, at that moment? He wanted nothing more than to just sleep and sleep for a very, long while.

The sound of the shower going had him relaxing just a touch. It was all going to be fine. He had food, he had medicine, he was tired. It was time to get some good solid sleep without worrying. No worries.

None whatsoever.

That was all he needed.

He really hoped he was going to get some and if not, he hoped that it was Heimdal showing up so he could rat out Aera. That witch of a woman could go and burn for all he cared.

She was the reason most of this had happened! If it weren't for her, they would've left yesterday. ... today.

Who knew.

If it was anyone else, he was going to throw hands. Dream self couldn't break arms.

His chest lifted slowly and carefully before exhaling and settling into some semblance of vague sleep. The bed was warm and more or less soft. He had nothing better to do. Feo looked tired.

But he wasn't prepared for the look of the woman in front of him. Her shoulders were squared and broad, looking down on him with a warriors glare.

"Little owl--"

"... how about you do a little thing for me and piss off, eh? I want to sleep, I want to actually sleep. I do not care. I really don't. Take whatever cryptic message you have, send a telegraph or, better yet, keep it to yourself."

Lucius waved one hand and turned around. The woman let out an indignant noise, almost a squawk of surprise. "You dare--"

Lucius slapped his hands to his ears. "I'm not listening!" He shouted over her. "Piss off, let me be-e-e!"

He stirred briefly as the dream ended but gladly went back to sleep to finally rest.

Feo let the water run over him, his arms braced against the wall as he hunched under the freezing stream. At first, it felt like a relief—a sharp contrast to the warmth of the room, grounding him in the moment. But the longer he stood there, the worse it got.

Lucius wasn’t mad. He didn’t hate him.

But Lucius didn’t remember all of last night, either.

Feo squeezed his eyes shut, his grip tightening against the tiles. That should have been a good thing. It should have been better that Lucius had forgotten the worst of it, that he didn’t have to relive the way Feo had failed him. But instead, it only twisted deeper into his chest, curling inside him like a parasite. If Lucius did remember, would they even be having this conversation? Would he still look at Feo the way he had just now, with understanding, with patience? Or would it be different?

Would he still want him here?

Feo sucked in a slow, shaking breath and pushed himself upright. He started scrubbing his skin with a force just shy of punishing, washing away the grime, the sweat, the feeling of last night clinging to him like a second layer of filth. He washed his hair twice before he even realized it, but it wasn’t enough. He still felt unclean. His skin still crawled with something he couldn’t name, something that wouldn’t be rinsed down the drain no matter how hard he scrubbed.

By the time he finally shut the water off, his body was cold and exhausted. The aching weight in his limbs made him sluggish, but he barely dried himself before throwing a towel around his waist and stepping out into the room.

Lucius was asleep.

Feo’s breath left him in a slow, careful exhale, his golden eyes lingering on the steady rise and fall of the other man’s chest before he turned away, stepping toward their suitcase. He crouched beside it, flipping the top open, and—

His stomach dropped.

The gun sat right on top.

Feo swallowed hard, his fingers ghosting over the cool metal. His hands twitched, then curled into fists before he could be tempted to pick it up. The weight of it, the reality of it, sat there in the dim light, staring back at him.

He let out a slow, controlled breath through his nose and carefully lifted the gun, setting it on the nightstand. His hands were shaking, even though he willed them to stop.

It didn’t matter. He had things to do.

Feo pulled out a clean set of clothes—a white button-up, a black vest, sleek black pants. The outfit was fitted, not comfortable, but that was the point. He wasn’t about to get caught off guard looking like some half-dressed fool if something went sideways. He grabbed his boots and carried them to the other bed, sitting down on the edge with his back to Lucius as he changed.

Once dressed, he laid back against the mattress, his damp towel folded behind his head.

Lucius had told him to sleep.

Feo stared at the ceiling. His body ached, his mind was a mess, and yet, sleep wouldn’t come.

He didn’t have time to sleep.

There was too much to do.

Food to get. A way to Florida to figure out.

A Lucius to take care of.

Aera to kill.

He could sleep when it was done.

"Why won't you listen?"

The woman's voice was far less hard now and much more exasperated as she crouched down. The white silky fabric gathering around her feet on the floor. She held a golden staff in one hand, balancing herself with it.

Lucius sat on the white and gold marbled tile his wings curled around himself. Why wouldn't he listen? Gee, he wondered.

"Because you're going to give off some cryptic garbage or tell me I'm stupid or insult Feo. It's always the same thing over and over and over again. You gods are useless and I'm tired of it," he growled in return, a low snarl in his voice. "Where were you when Atlas showed up? Where were you to protect Feo when he was young? Why didn't you save Iven? How come I had to scrounge for families and bits and pieces? I thought you guys had titles and points of reign or whatever. Why didn't anyone stop Aera? We're not doing anything, we're just traveling around to learn how to blend in with mortals. So why don't you take whatever high and mighty puffed up petty pickings and shove it up your nose."

The goddess leaned back on her heels and stood up again. She didn't say anything else, just let the silence linger. "We were alerted you weren't on campus--"

"Yeah, because campus sucked. It was full of fights, this side, that side. Picking fights, who your heritage is, fighting to be seen--it is a mess. You want us back there, fix it. You want less trouble, fix yourselves. You want to actually survive long enough to see the next century?"

Lucius leapt to his feet, staring up at the woman.

"Do better."

At that last sentence the woman stepped back. "You--wouldn't."

"I would," Lucius responded, his voice wavering with tears. "Because I'm tired. We're all tired. We're tired of fighting for a loving parent, we're tired of being forgotten. We're tired of having to fix each other with broken pieces of ourselves. The skeletons in our closets that you never helped with... it's--it's not because we want your power. It's because we want to stop the cycle."

The woman looked back at him. "You have something."

"What? The wrap of Apollo? Well, it wasn't Apollo's, it was blessed by him... some collector guy gave it to us. He was a demigod of Clio--"

"No, that was Thoth."

"... shut up it was not--"

"That was Thoth!"

"... there's no way. I know a godly presence when I feel it because I get mouthy. There was no way," Lucius responded, glaring up at her. "You're a downright pest--"

The woman shook her head vehemently. "You are in danger."

"Can't go anywhere, busted my arm. So by all means, what danger?"

"... if I come down there--"

"Who are you?"

The woman paused and sighed. "My name is Soteria. When I come to the door, I am Tetra, understood?"

"Sure whatever. Just don't get mad if Feo stabs you. Or if I do it."

"He is a good protector," the woman mused, fading into the darkness as Lucius stirred. Reluctantly his eyes slid open, looking around the room for a moment. Danger? Yeah right.

The name was ringing faint bells. Soteria. Soteria... where had he heard that name before?

Feo lifted his head slightly at the sound of movement, eyes flicking toward Lucius as he stirred. He had been lying still for what felt like hours, his body heavy with exhaustion but his mind refusing to shut down. His thoughts ran in circles, colliding and twisting in ways that only made his headache worse. The cold weight of responsibility sat on his chest like a stone—Lucius was hurt, they were trapped in this city, Aera was a threat, and time was slipping through his fingers like sand.

He ran a hand through his damp hair, the strands clinging stubbornly to his forehead. His fingers trembled faintly, a lingering side effect of too much thinking and too little rest. The dim light filtering through the curtains barely illuminated the room, casting long shadows that stretched along the walls. It felt still—too still, like the eerie silence before something terrible happened. The quiet gnawed at his nerves, setting his teeth on edge.

The fingers running through his hair slowly shifted into scratching his own scalp, which he tried to lean into, his eyes fluttering closed as he tried to find —at the very least—halfways soothing about the touch. Feo sighed and gave up, his hand dropping back down to his side.

Instead, he tapped them against his knee, restless energy building beneath his skin. He had been trying to convince himself to sleep, to just close his eyes and let himself breathe for a few hours, but his body refused. There was too much to do. Too much to plan.

Feo's gaze drifted toward Lucius again, watching as he slowly pulled himself from sleep. His face was soft in the half-light, exhaustion still clear in the lines of his features. Something about the sight made Feo’s stomach twist—Lucius shouldn't look this tired. He shouldn't have to be this worn down. And yet, here they were.

Feo wanted to say something—anything—but the words sat heavy in his throat. What was there to say? That he still felt guilty? That he hadn’t stopped thinking about last night, about how he had made things worse? That he wished he could just fix everything? None of it would help. None of it would change what had already happened.

He exhaled slowly, stretching his shoulders, trying to shake off the stiffness that had settled into his bones. His mind fought against the idea of pausing, of letting himself rest, but it wasn’t just about him anymore. It wasn’t just his exhaustion or his problems—Lucius was hurt, and he had to make sure he was alright. He had to make sure everything was alright.

“…You need anything?” His voice was rough from disuse, quieter than he intended. There was a weight behind the words, an unspoken I don’t know what else to do, but I can do this. Feo wasn’t sure if Lucius could hear it, but maybe that was for the best.