[ It comes out quiet. The words could get lost so easily if he weren't paying attention, if he weren't so focused on this moment and the weight of having Felix at his fucking back. Ephemera barely breathes, holding perfectly still. Part of him expects a blade to the back of the skull, or drawn right across his throat. Protect yourself, he can hear the sergeant hissing, you stupid motherfucker, protect yourself.
She was brutal, the sergeant. Once, when they were both drunk, she told him she liked killing things with her knives. That whenever she had the chance, she'd do it with a blade and not a gun. Things slot into place, she said - bleary-eyed and solemn - and you know. You know.
Know what? he'd asked, but she'd waved him off. Ruffled his hair and told him to get some rest. And then she sobered up and roared at them all through the next morning's drills, and it became this thing they didn't talk about. Confessions were like that. Half-secrets. Things got lost in the war. But there were supposed to be lines.
Even at the end, there were supposed to be lines. But she told him the answer once, stone cold sober in yet another aftermath. Then you know, little brother.
In the middle, in the scrum, that's when you know what you are.
This would be easier if they fought, Ephemera thinks bleakly. He twitches, uncertain of what he's meant to do now. What he's supposed to be. Felix rests his head against Ephemera's back and Ephemera lets it happen and it just -
no subject
She was brutal, the sergeant. Once, when they were both drunk, she told him she liked killing things with her knives. That whenever she had the chance, she'd do it with a blade and not a gun. Things slot into place, she said - bleary-eyed and solemn - and you know. You know.
Know what? he'd asked, but she'd waved him off. Ruffled his hair and told him to get some rest. And then she sobered up and roared at them all through the next morning's drills, and it became this thing they didn't talk about. Confessions were like that. Half-secrets. Things got lost in the war. But there were supposed to be lines.
Even at the end, there were supposed to be lines. But she told him the answer once, stone cold sober in yet another aftermath. Then you know, little brother.
In the middle, in the scrum, that's when you know what you are.
This would be easier if they fought, Ephemera thinks bleakly. He twitches, uncertain of what he's meant to do now. What he's supposed to be. Felix rests his head against Ephemera's back and Ephemera lets it happen and it just -
Hah.
Ephemera tips his head back. He breathes out. ]
What was it?
[ His voice is soft. ]