[ Sorry for the delay, there is a lot going on >.> ]

~

Feo felt Lucius shift against him, felt the way his body tensed with something unspoken, something unsettled. It was different from before. The teasing, the breathy words, the weight of heat and longing—those were gone now, replaced by something colder, something that gnawed at the edges of the moment like a slow decay.

Lucius wasn’t still. Not in the way Feo was. His stillness was different—forced, like a caged bird trying not to show how much it wanted to spread its wings.

Feo knew what that felt like.

Lucius thrived in motion, in chaos, in the thrill of always having something to do, something to chase. His restless energy crackled under his skin, an undeniable force that made his stillness now feel unnatural. Feo could feel it pressing into him, a silent scream wrapped in the quiet shift of Lucius’s breathing.

But Feo didn’t let go.

He should have. He knew that. Holding onto him like this wasn’t what Lucius needed, not right now. It was selfish—maybe even cruel—to keep him here, trapped in a moment that wasn’t meant for him. Lucius wasn’t made for moments like this. He was made for movement, for action, for the kind of reckless, stupid courage that made Feo’s chest ache.

Still, his arms didn’t move.

He kept Lucius close, listening to the sound of his breath, the faint, restless tap of his fingers against the fabric of Feo’s shirt. He could feel the tension rolling off him, barely restrained, like a horse fighting against the bit. Feo should have let him go.

But he couldn’t.

Because if he let go now, if he let Lucius up and gave him the space to move, then Feo would have to face the fact that he was still drowning.

He didn’t want to acknowledge it—not yet. Not now.

Because if Lucius ever figured out just how deep the water had gotten, how far Feo had already let himself sink, then Feo knew exactly what would happen.

Lucius would try to pull him up.

And Feo didn’t know if he had the heart to tell him that it was already too late.

His fingers twitched slightly, flexing against Lucius’s back before finally, finally, he let his arms loosen—just a little. It wasn’t much. But it was something.

Feo didn’t want to let go.

But Lucius needed air.

So Feo exhaled, long and slow, before murmuring, “Go ahead.”

His voice was soft, rough at the edges from exhaustion, but there was no anger, no frustration—just quiet resignation.

He didn’t want to let Lucius go.

But he wanted to see him breathe.

[ Ah. Watch my dumbass forget about this, thinking I already responded. Just lovely. ]

-

Feo barely felt Lucius shift against him, barely registered the subtle movements beyond the slow, steady drag of his own exhaustion. He wasn't sure what he had given permission for. Maybe it didn't matter. Maybe he had been saying it more to himself than to Lucius. Go ahead. Keep running, keep reaching, keep trying. Keep pretending like you aren’t as lost as I am.

But he knew the truth.

Lucius was running out of patience.

It was there, pressing against his skin like the warning sting of an oncoming burn, an irritation that Feo had been expecting but hadn’t wanted to acknowledge. The same frustration he had seen in glimpses before—on the road, in the chaos of movement, in the pauses between every crisis where Lucius had time to think. Time to realize.

Lucius was tired of him.

Not in the way Feo had feared—there was still warmth in his touch, still a flicker of something softer beneath all that tension—but it was undeniable now. Lucius had spent so long throwing ropes down into the water, trying to pull him up, only to realize Feo wasn’t climbing.

Feo wanted to tell him it wasn’t his fault. That some things couldn’t be fixed, that some things weren’t meant to be. But he knew Lucius wouldn’t believe him.

And he wasn’t sure he wanted him to.

Because if Lucius gave up, if he stopped trying, then Feo would have to face the fact that he had nothing left tethering him to the surface.

He exhaled, slow and quiet, feeling the drag of exhaustion settling deeper into his bones. He had given Lucius the space to move, but he hadn’t moved far—not yet. Feo could still feel his warmth, still hear the measured rise and fall of his breath. That was enough. For now.

Lucius was thinking. Planning. His mind had already moved ahead, already set its sights on something beyond this moment. Feo could see it in the way he shifted, the way his breath came just a little sharper, more focused. Something had clicked into place.

Something dangerous.

Feo didn't ask. He didn’t want to know—not yet. Because he knew Lucius, knew the way his mind worked when it latched onto something with that razor-sharp determination. And if he had already made up his mind…

Well.

There would be no stopping him.

Feo closed his eyes, just for a moment, just to breathe in the scent of him, to savor the feeling of warmth against his chest before Lucius inevitably slipped away.

He would let him go.

He just hoped that, when the time came, Lucius would let him go too.