Crossings At Dawn

Oneiron’s heels clacked against the pavement as he trotted down the silent streets of Ailinn City, his short silken robe swishing as he went.

With a magnificent yawn, he paused to snag a cigarette from a slender brass-container in his purse — peppermint blend to wash off the taste of the last customer from his mouth — lit it up and took a long hard drag that stung, blissful, to the very roots of his being.

Oneiron turned sharp around the next street corner, headed to his house. The embers of rising sun bled into the neon lights of downtown — a car slowed down next to him, but he waved it off. His bed and a huge cup of hot mugwort coco were calling his name.

A homeless person sagged against a wooden cart by the street lamp. Oneiron fished a bill of 20 from his purse and got a radiant toothless grin in return. He answered with a flying kiss, feeling lighter than he had in days. It felt good to be able to share.

The night had been lucrative. A gaunt, well-dressed older man —a regular from the ‘Magnanimosity’ club where Oneiron danced, sometimes— had paid Oneiron handsomely for coming home with him to play the part of his salacious, bratty apprentice, and they’d been at it for the better half of the night. The elder’s stamina had been impressive, softened by conversation and refreshments in between. He was a good catch, well-behaved and reliable. Oneiron’s coffer was filled, but the longer-than-average session had worn him off. He was satisfied — the ‘teacher’ had been happy at his performance, tipping like only rich men did. Oneiron hoped that he might come back for more. He’d have to put a time limit for their sessions in the future, though.

Finishing the cigarette and flicking it off, lost in thought, Oneiron crossed the street.

A car stopped to wait for him to pass, and he waved his thanks absentmindedly.

Many of the cars nowadays had dark windows, but this one didn’t. Perhaps that was the reason Oneiron’s eyes turned to the driver — or perhaps it was the Fates, turning his head, messing with him. Or warning him.

The world, the moons and the thirteen planets stopped for a staggering breath. Oneiron flinched in apprehension, a gust from his past ruffling his fuchsia fur coat.

He’d know that shiny black hair and that serious, heart-shaped alder brown face anywhere. From the car, the golden-green eyes of Faune, Oneiron’s palace play-friend, blinked at him, darting to his glaring outfit, his ankle-long braid —now tinted a peachy pink hue— and along the span of his fishnet-covered legs.

The skin of Oneiron’s back flushed hot and cold at once. A massive stone weighed in his belly, the rest of him clenching around it.

His body jerked into motion. His heartbeat echoed in the street, its ragged thump in sync with the wooden clack of his high-heeled sandals. He didn’t stop and he didn’t look back, although part of him burned with a desire to run up to his childhood friend and explain everything.

But the better, prouder part of him only hastened his steps.

There was no doubt that Faune was but a pawn, the Citadel’s lackey. Him being here was no coincidence. Perhaps he hadn’t recognized Oneiron after all — Oneiron held his breath and slowed down, to not be so obviously running away. Again.

After a few gut-wrenching moments, a soft whir of an engine sounded behind him, vanishing into the night like a dream. Good or bad, he wasn’t sure.

Regardless, his chest stung with yearning, sudden and bittersweet. It stopped him, sent his gaze to the rear lights.

Faune had been his once, only his. But those days were gone.

Oneiron turned and hurried down the alley.

Faune was circling the Misan neighborhood of Ailinn City for the third time that night, frustration and anxiety droning in his bones. “Find him, even if you have to unearth half the continent,” the general-commander of the Royal Guard had urged him. “Find him, and bring him back.”

He did as he was told.

It had been two weeks since, and Faune’s search had lead him here, into this busy coastal town in the Northeast.

But now that he was closer to his goal, he found himself more afraid of succeeding than failing — which was saying a lot, since he was, if nothing else, dutiful and loyal to the crown. Yet, the thought of meeting Oneiron after all these years nearly paralyzed him. Maybe that’s why the runaway crown prince had evaded him so far. Faune wasn’t all that serious about finding him, the coward he was. He exuded mixed feelings like a warning beacon.

He made a left turn and studied the raw blush of dawn that bled across the sky form the west, eyelids heavy.

A part of Faune still couldn’t bring himself to believe what he’d heard about Oneiron’s current occupation. It was that innocent part that found the prince’s ethereal beauty so precious and divine that surely it was anyone’s highest duty and honor to protect it at all costs. Faune’s mother had been the queen’s handmaiden, and because they were the same age, Faune had ended up as the Oneiron’s playmate as a child. It was that desire to protect that had set him on course for the Royal Guard in the first place.

He could remember watching Oneiron sit by the lily pond at the palace courtyard in his royal purple robes, lost in his forlorn daydreams, his long silver hair pooling down. He’d looked pristine and bittersweet as pear blossoms bathed in half moonlight.

How Faune had thanked the heavens for the chance to be close to him. He’d adored Oneiron like the moon itself — radiant and unreachable.

A part of him still did.

So, truth be told, the thought that some unworthy, leering men might be laying their hands of that unassailable, sacred beauty for money had filled Faune with nothing short of white-smoldering rage. It throbbed underneath the matrix of his emotions, still, bristling his spine.

But Faune had decided not to let it surface, knowing how pitiable and self-righteous that anger was. Oneiron was no fool. His body was his own — this was the message his actions carried. It would be a betrayal of their years together for Faune not to acknowledge that.

For another part of him saw exactly how the path of a street-prowling courtesan was one Oneiron might choose to travel down, if only to spite his father and the cursed exalted blood of his royal lineage. And perhaps, to experiment. To solely rely on his personal charm instead of his family name, for once.

Growing up beside the crown prince, seeing his struggles and delights up close, Faune had soon realized that behind the silks and jewels was a real living-and-breathing person. A thoughtful, sensitive person with feelings and dreams and fears much like any other. A person with a fierce appetite for life, along with all its pleasures and turmoils. Someone whose soft exterior harbored an iron-clad will, and an endless curiosity — a combination Faune had grown to love hopelessly. A silver falcon in a golden cage.

The palace had always been too small for someone like Oneiron.

A large part of Faune’s reluctance to fulfill his duty spun from the fact that no matter how unsavory Oneiron’s new trajectory might seem, the fact remained that he clearly preferred it to the Citadel’s gilded choke hold, the bejeweled bondage of his station, one that he’d been cast into against his will.

Faune was ready to call it a night. Maybe wash off his sorrows with a few drinks at the hotel bar — then his attention fixed to a fuchsia tear in the fabric of reality that was walking down the street. Could it be him? The hair was the wrong color, but Oneiron could’ve dyed it.

Faune slowed the car into a crawl, heart bucking under his collarbones.

He peered at the artfully painted face with all his might, but he still couldn’t be sure. The build of Oneiron’s adult body was unfamiliar to him when not veiled by layers and layers of flowing silk. The night queen at his sights waved him off with a flick of his hand, and Faune’s face flushed hot as he realized he’d been mistaken for a potential customer.

His eyes fixed into the rear view mirror, watching as the streetwalker stopped to hand money to a beggar.

Heart pounding, Faune drove around a block —forcing himself to slow down, be quiet— to meet the tender-hearted owner of the fucshia furcoat eye to eye, further down the street. Faune stalked closer until the magnificent tall silhouette in his headlights took form, its features clear as day.

Moonlit pear blooms had turned to bright cherry blossoms under neon lights.

Oneiron tossed the slim cigarette he’d been smoking and turned right towards Faune, whose breath folded into his throat — he choked and hardly noticed it. Instead he stopped the car and stared, heart aching at the familiar radiance, now tenfold and polished into fierceness, tired yet more alive than ever under this rosy hush of dawn, against the cold dark pavement of the streets. Faune was helpless and fixed to place before this sight.

For a second, the agent of the Royal Guard was no more.

Only the lovelorn boy remained.

Their eyes met. Oneiron’s wide pearl-grey eyes were lined with spring green, and Faune breathed in his every feature, new and exciting and forbidden. But perhaps, not anymore? The thought pierced him like hot steel. They were far away from the palace, and the Citadel’s grasp only held them if Faune let it do so.

Here was Oneiron in his dubious newfound glory, having cast off his birthright, short fuchsia fur coat as his wings. He wasn’t unreachable anymore.

But the spell vanished as Oneiron turned his eyes from him and fled.

Faune’s chest collapsed with panicked disappointment, a giddy nausea. He remained, frozen, gazing at the swing of Oneiron’s peach-hued braid while clutching the wheel with stiff fingers.

In a daze, he drove off. He was halfway down the street when he remembered that it wasn’t him that Oneiron was fleeing from. It was the Citadel.

From the rear view, he saw that Oneiron had stopped and was looking towards him, face shadowed by the lamp light. Faune’s pulse staggered once more.

Oneiron slipped out of sight around the corner, and Faune brought the car around, a strangle buzzing calmness settling to his limbs. He knew exactly what to do. He parked near the corner and followed Oneiron on foot, the turbulence in his soul pushing his body to move, quick and silent like a direfox.

Oneiron stormed the last few blocks to his door in rising panic. From the roar of rushing blood in his ears, he wasn’t sure if the car had truly followed him, or whether his frayed nerves and tired senses were just playing their tricks.

Would Faune really pursue him, use force to take Oneiron back with him? It was a hard thing to believe. But in his current job, Oneiron had learned that safety was best gained by expecting the worst.

He dared a glance over his shoulder — and Faune was already there, monstrously quiet.

Oneiron’s body jammed in shock.

Faune raised his palms up. “I just want to talk,” he said softly.

Oneiron eyed him suspiciously, but some of the tension slid off his shoulders. As did his coat, partly, the perfect ally. One could see Faune swallowing arduously from a mile away, his gaze flicking to the artfully cut up fabric below and the pale skin peeking through. Oneiron’s mouthed twitched into a tentative smile.

He crossed his arms over his chest, his confidence renewed. “And here I thought you came to drag me back to the Palace.”

Faune’s eyes darted sideways. Ha. So easy to read. How did he manage to become a Citadel agent again? Or maybe it was just Oneiron’s particular influence — the thought filled him with smug tenderness. He’d always been able to see right through his broad, sincere knight.

“I was ordered to,” Faune admitted, meeting Oneiron’s eyes with strange intensity. “But I’m still deciding whether or not I should.”

Convince me not to. Was that what he was saying?

Oneiron hesitated, studying his situation while holding Faune’s open gaze. It could be a trick. They’d sent Faune after him exactly because of their history together, because Faune could get under Oneiron’s skin, tug at his heartstrings. But standing here before him, Faune looked heart-wrenchingly earnest. The possibility that he might cast away his loyalty to the crown out of love for Oneiron was suddenly overwhelmingly real, and impossible to resist.

Biting his lip, Oneiron turned the key in the lock and opened the door slowly. He turned to Faune who remained still, waiting for permission. Gods, how pretty he was. He certainly had the physical upper hand, but Oneiron had some tricks up his sleeve. This would be interesting. Very possibly messy.

But when was Oneiron’s life not?

“Come on in, Faune.”