Fandom The Reunion [clostridium & Soul_]

[clostridium]

Light filtered in past the dust motes in the air, streaming in through the grit-stained window. Ominis Gaunt stood facing away, soaking the warmth into the skin of his back. He kept the other windows covered; he got concerned, on his worst days, that someone could be standing outside looking at him. The one in the kitchen stayed uncovered specifically for this. Now that he worked overnight, he needed some opportunity to be touched by the sun.

When his wand was on the table, his apartment felt emptier, as if all of the furniture had disappeared into the empty black. That was why he tried to move around in his own space without it at all times. It provided an excellent excuse for how miserably isolated he had become. How he felt when he was alone, or having to exist in any place that was meant to be a home, was not something he wanted to address. The only good thing about how far he had separated himself from other people was that no one would force him to acknowledge it.

The bad thing was how frequently he thought about Sebastian.

Sebastian, who had insisted that Ominis share his tiny home, not because Ominis did not have one of his own but because he was miserable there. Sebastian, who, for so long, never pressed him like others did into divulging details he didn’t want to share about his family, his blindness, and the Dark Arts. Sebastian, who flipped out of a desperation born of misfortune, born of love, and tore his fragile trust into shreds. The trouble with Sebastian, one among many, was that Ominis could not shake the belief that he still cared. While his family ignored his existence or harassed him with letters at seemingly random intervals, Sebastian had taken it seriously that Ominis couldn’t bear the thought of hearing from him and had drifted away completely.

Stupid, Ominis told himself. After all that happened, it was stupid to miss him so damnably much. But then…Sebastian had welcomed him into a home full of kindness, tolerated his stilted, icy mannerisms without complaint, and acted, always, from love, never from caprice, even while spiraling down a path that Ominis could not forgive.

On and off, he spiraled into this train of thought - he wanted to speak with Sebastian, damn all the pain, damn his resolution to himself that what his friend had done was wrong in ways that could never be repaired. It was only today that he broke. He summoned up a roll of parchment, a quill, and ink into the air in front of him. He would draft a letter, just to get out all of his feelings, so that he could burn it afterward.

“Hello Sebastian,” he began. His voice quivered in the empty air, and he felt incredibly small. “I know that it has been a long time, at my behest. I was hurt in ways that I still do not know how to justify or describe. But that does not outweigh our years of friendship, or the kindness that you showed me, asking nothing in return. I have agonized over every choice that I have ever made regarding you, but the simple fact remains: I miss you. I worry about you, about where you are, how you are feeling now, where your life has taken you. I hope that you are safe, and as happily that you can be now.”

Ominis paused and ran his hand through his hair. His lungs deflated in a long, sustained sigh.

“…I want to see you. I would like to speak with you face to face again. Sebastian…I want to hear your voice. I am living, now, at 1220 Legault Road in Bexhill-On-Sea. If you would like to…well. If you drop by in the early morning, we could…catch up. That is…all. Hah - Ominis, you’re being a fool. You cannot send this.”

He shook his head and ended the transcription. His stomach flipflopped, and he wiped his watery eyes. He pressed his lips together and was gripped painfully with a desire to hear Sebastian speaking again. In a fit of overwhelming impulse, he called down his owl, Eileen, and affixed the little scroll to her leg. Before he could change his own mind, he opened up the window and allowed her to fly.

It was about thirty seconds before he was overwhelmed by regret. His heart hammered in his throat, and he shut his eyes tightly, then sunk down to sit with his back against the wall. What was he doing? What was wrong with him?

For the first time in at least a year, Ominis’s shoulders began to shake, and he broke down sobbing.

 

[Soul_]

Sebastian had long since accepted the silence, out of hope that Ominis would forget about him. Years had passed—enough time to dull the sharp edges of guilt, though never enough to erase them. Now it felt like a constant dull knife, a reminder.

Ominis' absence had become a constant, a quiet echo in the back of his mind that he learned to live with. There were no more letters. No more arguments. No more late-night walks filled with whispered debates about simple things, favorite candies, the perfect plants, and everything in between.


Sebastian had crossed a line, and Ominis had drawn his. Now Sebastian was forced to live with it.

Not that any of it worked; he had lost everything: family, friends, everything in the end. Now he was on the outskirts of towns, unable to stand the old empty house in Feldcroft. Even though it was small, it felt large, too large, and yet too empty for him to live alone or be near at all. Now he jumped between jobs, taking on as much as he could to stay busy.

Looking at what he had to show for his work and sighing, Sebastian was about to leave his small house when an owl came in. One he didn't recognize, and he gritted his teeth, opening the letter, fully expecting some kind of summons or something. Then he blinked, staring at the writing, not reading it yet. Falling back, he stared. No, it couldn't be, was all he thought. The writing, the swoops and swirls, something he thought he'd never see again, here it is.

Finally looking over what it read. Sebastian would freeze, the world seemingly now off-kilter, feeling as if he might fall. Ominis shouldn't apologize. I did wrong, not him. Sebastian flinched as he reread that. He was the one who broke the blonde's trust; he himself did wrong. No, wrong wasn't anywhere near strong enough. Yet, Ominis never told a soul what he did; that was what made everything so much worse for Sebastian. Even after he lost, Anne, Ominis never told a soul.


Standing there, Sebastian remembered everything he said to defend himself; while true, it was all hollow, all wrong.

Finally, after reading and rereading just the first part, he continued. See me? Now? Thoughts swirled in his mind of wanting to see him again, even if it was to be yelled at, even if afterwords Merlin himself would come to chastise him. Then again he wanted to stay away; all he seemed to do was cause more pain for everyone around him anymore.

His brown eyes sparkled even if just for a moment at the hope of seeing Ominis again made him feel things he hadn't felt in years. He could finally have an updated version to think of and not the young, hurt Ominis that plagues his mind. If he did go at least he would know what Ominis looks like now, right?


At some point, the man sat down at an old desk, getting a paper and a quill to write, but nothing. He sat there; the paper remained blank; no matter how hard he tried to write something, he was stuck at the start.

Dear Ominis, Not right.

Ominis, is that how you write someone after so many years?

Mr. Gaunt, no.


So many pages, so many burned in the fire, till he gave up on writing. Not like I could write much for the rest of the day and night; that was the thing he thought about. What would I say? Sebastian hardly slept that night, just tossing and turning. Until finally, before the sun even came up, the man would get dressed and grab the letter. His hands were shaking as he went to address the letter.


Sebastian must have looked like a crazy man, pacing around mumbling to himself, going between leaving and facing what he had done to his best friend. He felt clammy, causing him to shake his hands. When he did arrive, the sun was up, though it was still early morning. What if this was a joke? Well, I deserve it. Besides, I'm just here to knock! Damn you, Sallow, move! He cursed himself, unable to move, just staring at the door. Before fighting, he knocked softly on the door. Praying he didn't wake up Ominis

 

[clostridium]

Ominis didn’t have much hope that Sebastian would actually respond. He didn’t know if Eileen would even find his former friend. It wasn’t like there was any way he could ask her. He was probably an unwanted reminder of the worst period of Sebastian’s life, even if he had got the letter. Besides, he didn’t remember what he had even dictated. It was probably utterly humiliating. After all, while he was putting it together, he had never intended for anyone else to read it. It was an impulse in a low moment that he should have burned.

Ominis had just returned home in a rush of Floo powder, exhausted from the heavy social toll that the office exacted even when he worked overnight, as well as how draining the math and the magic were together. He was making himself a cup of tea, still in his shirtsleeves, when there was a knock at the door. He froze. He didn’t know when the last time was that he actually opened the door. He did not get visitors, and he did not open it for solicitors. His neighbors had no interest in making his acquaintance; they were well-suited for one another, because he didn’t want to have to be acquainted with them, either.

Mildly apprehensive, he took up his wand and strode over to the door. He opened it. His brow was furrowed, and his hair was a bit mussed. The hall was pitch black behind him, and he had a bit of ash smeared on his cheek and his rolled-up sleeve from his trip through the network. He looked exhausted, and a bit too thin, as he had been when they had met rather than when they had parted.

“Yes?” he asked in a cold drawl. His wand pulsed, and shock overtook his expression. His mouth fell open, and he stood, the low thrum of his wand quickening as he tried to take in the scene. This couldn’t be real - but clearly it was. He recognized him immediately, past any change the intervening years had brought. His mind short-circuited completely, and he stood in silence for nearly thirty seconds before he spoke again. When he did, his voice was a hoarse whisper.

“…Sebastian?”

There was a sickly, creeping hopefulness to his tone. His grip on his wand had gone so tight that his nails were digging into his palm. Stiffly, he moved away from the door to allow him to come inside. He indicated Sebastian forward with a vague little wave toward the darkness of his apartment.

 

[Soul_]

Sebastian doesn’t look like the cocky, sharp-tongued boy he once was. The charm is still there—buried somewhere under the weight of time—but it rarely surfaces now.

His once-neatly-kept brown hair has grown longer and messier. It’s often tied back in a loose, careless knot, though most days it simply falls in front of his eyes, as if trying to hide him from the world. The light in it has dulled, and thin strands of grey have already begun to thread through the brown—early, undeserved, the kind born of too many sleepless nights and too many regrets. The bags beneath his eyes are heavy and dark, deeply etched into his face like ink stains that never fade.

breath, thought—it all paused. A heavy fog settled over his mind, thick and unrelenting. His eyes tried to take in the image, but his brain refused to accept it. Because this wasn’t the Ominis he remembered.

The Ominis before him was... disheveled. Tired. Changed in ways Sebastian didn’t have words for yet. His usually pristine robes hung looser on him, creased and travel-worn. His blonde hair, always so immaculately combed, was slightly tousled, and his normally composed expression seemed... worn down. It twisted something in Sebastian's gut.

Finally, after a moment, sounds came rushing back to Sebastian.

“ Ominis, I—” Sebastian looked to him as he walked into the house. Every word seemed to vanish as he couldn't say anything in the moment. He blinked, trying to get his eyes adjusted to the newfound darkness. His hands clenched into fists at his sides as he took a deep breath, Sebastian would look to the blonde. Though he would focus on something in the distance. "I've missed you." It was shakier than the brunette wanted. As soon as those slipped out, his eyes looked away to the ground. Because if there was pain there... if there was hate... Sebastian wasn’t sure if he could bear it.

 

[clostridium]

Ominis was reeling. He wished that he could go numb with shock as other people described; when he was in shock, he was feeling a hundred things at once, all so intensely that he couldn’t drum up a response to any one stimulus. He wanted to pull Sebastian into a hug at the same time he wanted to back out and disappear so he didn’t have to endure this conversation. There was only one thing about which he could agree with himself: he wanted to see him. The pulsations of energy at the end of his wand were unusually quick, echoing the pounding of his heart. His mouth had gone dry, and he didn’t know if he could speak if he tried. The last time he had seen Sebastian, he hadn’t been able to imagine a world where his closest friend didn’t end up in Azkaban. Some nights, he still obsessed over his own hypocrisy - a Gaunt through and through, tossing out what’s right as soon as it doesn’t align with what you want - but he knew that he wouldn’t have been able to live with himself if he had betrayed him to that degree.

To the same degree that he himself felt betrayed, even now. The edges of the wound in his heart still felt ragged, and the pain, hearing Sebastian’s voice, still cut sharper than he could have predicted was possible after all the years in between. He stared at Sebastian like the man had struck him rather than spoken to him - or worse, like he expected him to.

In lieu of an immediate answer, he locked the door and stood with his back to Sebastian, trying to quell the trembling in his hands. He knew that his voice would sound strangled and tremulous, and it made him furious with himself. Finally, he turned around, swallowing the lump in his throat.

“You look terrible,” he faltered. If not for the choked tone, for a moment, he could have been his old self. “…I’ve missed you, too, Sebastian. I was beginning to—“

From down the hall, the kettle started whistling loudly. Ominis winced.

“Follow me. I’ll get you some tea, we can—we can speak properly.” With that, he strode purposefully down the hallway, unable to cope for a single second longer with the high-pitched squealing at the same time as his stress about Sebastian. The hall was barren, free of decorations. In the kitchen, the window was uncovered, so the room was more visible. Everything in view was strictly utilitarian, organized for efficiency and nothing else. The home seemed to conceal everything it could about the personality of its occupant. The one thing that it could not conceal is how deep his isolation had become - clearly, it had been so long since he had another person in his living space that he had forgotten that other people needed sources of light.

 

[Soul_]

Sebastian didn’t move at first. The words hung in the air like something sacred and fragile, something that might shatter if he even breathed too loud.

A small, dry laugh left him before he could stop it—one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. He hadn't realized how much he'd missed Ominis’s voice until he heard it again, cracked as it was, barely holding itself together. The sound of it scraped something open inside him, deep and old.

The words landed harder than he was ready for. For a second, it was like nothing had changed—like they were back at Hogwarts, like Ominis hadn’t walked away, like Sebastian hadn’t ruined everything. But then the kettle screamed from down the hall, a piercing, mundane sound that snapped them both back into the present. Ominis turned, retreating, and Sebastian followed, each step feeling heavier than the last.

The hallway was narrow and bare, almost surgical in its emptiness. There were no photos, no clutter, not even a misplaced quill or coat—just shadows clinging to the corners and silence stretching between them. Sebastian swallowed against the knot tightening in his throat. This was Ominis’s home now. Though to Sebastian it seemed more like a house empty and hollow, a home was warm, not...this.

Once the two were at the kitchen, he paused at the doorway, as if he wasn't allowed to enter the room. He watched as the other would pour some tea. Every moment made Sebastian wish he could melt into the ground and rewind time to change this horrid outcome. That this tired, broken version of Ominis never existed.

Instead, when he finally spoke, his voice was low—hoarse, like it hadn’t been used in days. “I didn’t know if you’d ever want to see me again.” He wasn’t looking for pity. It wasn’t self-pity, either. It was just the truth, and it sat heavy in the air.

“I deserved your silence. I know that. And I don’t expect forgiveness. Not really.” He paused, his gaze flicking down to his hands, which had curled into fists again. “But when I saw your letter..." That was all he could get out before losing what he was going to say. Swallowing hard, he forced himself to walk into the room, though he wouldn't dare sit until Ominis sat anyways

 

[clostridium]

“Stop it,” he snapped, voice clenching into a strangled little rasp. He had to stop pouring the tea; he was going to spill it. He blinked rapidly to clear his misty eyes, then finished serving both cups. He crossed back to the table and set them down, then lowered himself heavily into the seat, shoulders slumping. His head hung, and he took a deep breath. “I…I am sorry. I’ve been…I just cannot stand to hear you say that right now. Ignore me.”

Ominis’s pale, spidery hands knitted together, then parted to draw his mug up against his chest, where he clutched it tightly. All of his movements were faltering and staccato, like nothing came naturally to him any longer. He wasn’t quite sure how to exist around people anymore outside of a professional context. When emotions were involved, he felt as if his mind had been reduced to a barren wasteland, incapable of producing anything worthwhile.

“I…did not think that I would ever contact you again, Sebastian. I assumed that our last meeting would be the last meeting. But I…truly, I could not stand for that to be the end.” Ominis sipped his tea and winced; it was far too hot to drink, and he scalded himself a bit. “I…do not know if I will forgive you, either. But I could not stand to give up on you. I intend, at the very least, to try.”

Ominis hated how small and how hollow his voice sounded. He felt, sometimes, like the pale echo of a real person - the sort that went out in the day, who had friends, a family, and the capacity for passion instead of a yawning abyss where his heart should have been. The only feeling that seemed to break through was how desperately badly he wanted to hug Sebastian, but that was a feeling that he would need to resist. It would be foolish, and he couldn’t stand to make a fool of himself in front of Sebastian any further.

It was disconcerting to have his wand resting on the table, so he couldn’t sense Sebastian’s position. It used to be natural to sit like this. It had been so relaxed between them that he hadn’t felt any need to keep himself apprised of the other’s position. This was unusual for him. Everyone else in his life had to be tracked at all times - it wasn’t unusual that he thought that way; in fact, it was more unusual that he had an exception. Most people could see everyone they sat around, after all.

 

[Soul_]

Sebastian went still at Ominis’s sharp words. The snap of it wasn’t cruel, but it hit him like a lash all the same. His jaw tightened, and for a moment, he just stood there—silent, watching as Ominis blinked away the sheen of tears and resumed pouring the tea with shaking hands. Oh, how he wanted to just run over to say it would be okay, but Sebastian no longer had the right to do such things.

He didn’t speak as Ominis shuffled to the table, nor as he dropped heavily into the chair like it had taken all the strength he had just to sit across from him. The vulnerability—the sheer effort it took for Ominis to be here, now—spoke volumes louder than anything he could have said.

Sebastian moved with slow, measured steps to take the seat opposite him, careful not to scrape the chair too loudly or knock anything over. The mug in front of him steamed gently, untouched.

His hand twitched like he might reach across the table—but he stopped himself. He didn’t trust his hands. Not when they’d once cast spells he could never take back. Not when they’d been part of the reason Ominis had walked away to begin with.

"If it helps, I'm glad you did write me." Sebastian finally spoke after Ominis had finished talking. He wanted to act as if nothing was happening, but he couldn't. Besides it feeling wrong, Sebastian had forgotten how they used to be. Ominis feels like a ghost. Not because he is pale and dramatic—though, let’s be fair, he always was—but because to Sebastian, he had been mourning the blonde for so long.

“I don’t know how to do this either,” he admitted, quieter now. “I don’t know how to be someone you can let into your life again. But if you’re willing to try... then I will too.”

He took a long breath, looking down into the steam rising from the tea. "I won't ignore you anymore, Ominis."


Ominis couldn’t see the expression on his face, but maybe it was better that way. Because if he could, he’d see the guilt splintering through Sebastian like glass. The way his jaw clenched like it might keep his emotions from spilling out. The way his hands, scarred and calloused, trembled in his lap, just like Ominis's had moments before. Finally he reached up and took a cup to drink. His hand still unsteady, causing a clink to be heard from the cup hitting. the tea plate.

 

[clostridium]

Ominis listened to him hungrily, drinking in every word. Perhaps it wasn’t the words that mattered but the sound of his voice. It was an incredible relief to hear Sebastian’s voice, as shattered as it sounded. He wished that he could hear him laugh, as unlikely as it sounded. Sebastian had always had such an infectious laugh; even when Ominis was in dire straits with his family, or they were buried in endless scrolls of term papers that barely seemed possible, Sebastian could light up his heart in a way that Ominis no longer felt capable of experiencing. He winced when the dishes clinked, and his hands clenched around the mug. In school, he had become inured to unexpected noise, but as time dragged on he had returned to flinching when exposed to unexpected sounds.

What was he supposed to say?

I won’t ignore you anymore, Ominis.

It was all he had wanted to hear, all he had begged for at Hogwarts. His terror and his trauma had been glossed over, and he had been treated like he was dramatic, a buzzkill, or, worse, like he didn’t care about Anne at all. The secrets that they had shared had been betrayed, and he had been replaced with someone who would be more compliant. The wounds had compounded, and Ominis had reached his breaking point long before he had showed it. Watching the torture - having his will crushed into nothing - Sebastian killing his uncle - he had felt like he had returned to his home, like he was helplessly witnessing horror after horror and was completely unable to change the course of what was transpiring in front of him.

Was it true, or did Sebastian just know what he wanted to hear?

I won’t ignore you anymore, Ominis.

Whether it was calculated or genuine, it has shattered one of many barriers. Stiffly, Ominis extended his hand across the table, palm up. All of a sudden, he felt cold. He was being odd and needy. He didn’t know what he was doing - how was Sebastian supposed to? Maybe he was the only one who desperately ached for contact. Maybe that was for the best. He didn’t know what he would do if Sebastian wanted to be close as badly as Ominis did.

“I think that I am glad, too. That I contacted you. …I…needed to hear it. Sebastian…I do not know what to say. I truly…it has always been you that has known what to say. I relied on you for this, when we were children, you know… I simply…I…” Ominis trailed off, and his head hung. A few loose strands of hair fell into his face, and he took a little gasp of breath. He blinked rapidly; his eyes were growing misty again. When he spoke again, he sounded completely hopeless. “…I do not know what to do.”

 

[Soul_]

He froze when Ominis moved.

Sebastian didn’t quite know what he expected—maybe silence, maybe distance, maybe for Ominis to flinch or withdraw entirely—but it wasn’t this. It wasn’t the soft, tentative shift of Ominis’s hand resting on the table, left open and unguarded. An unspoken invitation. Or a challenge.

Sebastian’s own hand shook as he reached out, hovering in the space between them. He hesitated—fingers twitching, uncertain. Almost afraid to touch him. If he did… something might break. Ominis might pull away. Might change his mind. Might shut this whole moment down and lock it behind the cold distance they'd lived in for years.

But still, he reached. A ghost of contact at first—barely there, his fingertips brushing Ominis’s hand like he wasn’t sure if either of them were real. His own skin was rough with calluses now, the kind born from years of manual labor, of wand work, of hard days and harder nights. His hands were no longer those of a student—they were a man’s hands. A tired, worn man.

He nearly pulled away again but didn’t. Slowly, cautiously, he let his palm settle over Ominis’s. Loose. Ready to withdraw at the first sign that it was too much. But needing it. Needing him.

"I am sorry; I was such an ass to you. I know it's far, far too late, but I am. I truly do not know how, or why, you tolerated me for as long as you did." He tried to chuckle, but it was hollow and lifeless; what was there to laugh about in all this? Two traumatized men and one who made the others lives so much worse. One who was selfish, so selfish.

"Well, crying is always a good start, yeah?" Sebastian's attempt at humor of any kind fell flat as he shook his head as if that would solve something. It didn't. He glanced down at their hands—his thumb barely moving over Ominis’s knuckles, as if memorizing the shape of him all over again. "You...you always know what to say—it isn't always the easiest to hear—but it's what needed to be said. And I ignored it. I'm sorry." The silence afterward felt heavy to him as if it might crush him from the weight. Yet it was a weight he needed to be reminded this was real, not some fever dream Sebastian was having.

"I know that you don't want to hear 'I'm sorry' that it does nothing, but I needed to at least say that." He swallowed hard. His grip on Ominis’s hand tightened—not forcefully, but with intent. As if it was the only thing anchoring him to this moment, to this reality where Ominis was in front of him, not just a voice in a memory or a name in a letter never sent.

“But I needed to say it. I needed you to hear it. Even if it changes nothing.” Looking into those misty eyes and for once being unable to stop the tears from falling. " gods, have I missed you-"

 

[clostridium]

The moments before Sebastian’s hand settled atop Ominis’s were silent; Ominis didn’t even draw breath. If his bid were rejected, he would be rudderless again, and he didn’t know if he would be capable of anything but falling apart, and he was depressingly certain that it would be permanent this time, if it did happen. He had been slowly falling apart since the end of school - hell, he had been falling apart as a kid, before Sebastian had decided that the cold, prim, distant boy had been was meant to be his friend and set about reassembling him again.

Sebastian did take his hand, though, and the relief was crushing. The lifeline had been secured on both sides. They would try, damn the pain, damn the time that separated them. Maybe it made him pathetic, Ominis thought, but he needed to believe in this. He needed to believe in something, and, as egregiously as he felt he had been betrayed, he still believed in his friend. Friend - was that still what he was? It seemed like too much to grant, and far from enough to describe the breadth of feeling that existed between them.

As Sebastian spoke, Ominis’s other hand abandoned his tea and rested atop Sebastian’s and began to trail lightly along his skin, exploring the changes that time had wrought. His own hands were, well, gaunter - and still smooth, since he did his work verbally. It was his voice that ended up ragged and hoarse at the end of a long day. His head was pounding, as it always did at the end of work, from the constant noise of the dictation spell he had relaying him the tables, usually six overlapping voices at the same time clashing against one another, and to all of which he had to pay attention.

It was easier to focus on his skin than on his words. His little attempts at humor - his apologies, tumbling out in a waterfall - they were overwhelming, and he didn’t know how to respond, or how to think about any of it. His cool fingers explored Sebastian’s skin, taking in the shape of his hand. Years ago, Sebastian had been endlessly delighted by the fact that Ominis had been able to tell his hand apart from any other by touch alone. Now, it was unpleasant to think that he probably couldn’t, that this hand was mostly unfamiliar to him.

Ominis could hear him crying, and it was making his own glassy eyes brim with tears. He kept trying to blink them away, but they tracked silently down his cheeks instead.

“I believe you,” he finally said. “I believe…that you are sorry.”

His words floated in the air between them. He opened his mouth to speak again, swallowed the words, and had to fight to bring them up in his chest again. The problem was that he knew that Sebastian would say yes - but Ominis didn’t know if he wanted him to.

“…May I see you?” Ominis rasped softly. He lifted one of his hands in a vague indication, but he knew that Sebastian knew what he meant. He wanted to touch his face, to know the changes in the details that his wand didn’t show him. He didn’t know how he felt about touch, about any of this…but he supposed that how he felt mattered little.

 

[Soul_]

Sebastian didn’t move at first when he heard Ominis’s voice, soft and unguarded. “I believe you.” Three words, spoken so gently they might’ve shattered him more than any furious rebuke ever could. He closed his eyes, the sound echoing in his head, wrapping around his ribs like warmth in winter. It felt undeserved. It felt like grace. And it broke something open in him.

When Ominis’s fingers trailed over the back of his hand—tentative, searching—Sebastian held his breath. That touch, so careful, made him feel like a stranger in his own body. It was a map being redrawn. A language they hadn’t spoken in years. His hand twitched under the contact, not from fear or shame, but from the sheer weight of being known again.

He didn’t speak. Not yet. He didn’t trust his voice.

Then Ominis asked, almost too softly to hear, “May I see you?”

Sebastian’s chest rose sharply. That simple request was more than a question—it was a reaching out, a plea, a risk. And the way Ominis lifted his hand, unsure but brave enough to ask—it undid him completely.

It undid something deep in his chest. Not in a violent way, but a quiet, slow untying of the knots that had lived there for years—guilt, shame, longing, all so tightly wound he had forgotten what it was like to feel anything but their pressure. And now Ominis was asking, softly, tentatively, as if the answer might still be “no.”

Sebastian leaned forward before his voice could catch up. His hand—still trembling—guided Ominis’s gently upward, pressing his palm first to his cheek, then letting it roam freely. He closed his eyes, exhaling a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, and leaned into the touch. There was no grace to it, no bravado, none of the sharp-witted charm he used to wear like armor. Just him, raw and real and worn thin.

“You can,” Sebastian whispered. “You can see me.”

Ominis’s fingers brushed across his features—his brow, the scar that cut through it, the curve of his cheek, the shape of his jaw now sharper with age and wear. Sebastian stayed completely still, eyes closed, allowing himself to be read like Braille. Every touch, every pause, said more than words ever could.

"I have missed this," Sebastian whispered like a soft-spoken prayer. If it had been laid louder, it might have never come from his lips and would have been lost to time.

 

[clostridium]

And suddenly, Ominis could see him, in his own way. The tentative way Sebastian guided his hand, the tremor in his voice…he was afraid that he would say or do the wrong thing and it would tear Ominis’s olive branch into sinew. But hadn’t they misspoken and hurt one another a hundred times before? Seeing Sebastian stumble, even a major misstep, was nothing. Not when he was trying - and he was, Ominis could do nothing but believe it.

It was nothing short of magical to touch him again. It was like coming home, in a way that Ominis could never have applied to his own family. Sebastian had been his safe harbor, his defender, his confidant. Ominis liked to think that he had been the same, although he could not be certain.

Gently, Ominis wiped away the tear tracks on his cheeks. He knew that his own face had to be just as wet or worse. Tears had been flowing on and off since the other man appeared at his door, and they showed no sign of stopping. Maybe they didn’t have to. Sebastian wasn’t going to call him whinging or pathetic or worse - he never had, not even when Ominis had said so himself. That didn’t mean that they hadn’t been plenty rude to one another sometimes when they argued, each just knew what was a bridge too far for the other and refused to cross it.

Each contour of Sebastian’s face deepened Ominis’s sorrow and his gratitude in equal measure, and the pain was visible on his pale, drawn features.

Why had Ominis been cursed to remember it all so well? Everything that Sebastian was and had been was preserved within a special chamber of his mind like a dried rose under a glass cloche, eternal and ephemeral and untouchable. Suddenly, he could draw upon the memory with the full force his mind possessed, and he felt every difference. The shape of his jaw, the scarring, the line of concern worn into the set of his brows. All of this was new. But his lips felt just the same under the feather-light caress of his thumb, and the way his eyelid twitched when the heel of Ominis’s hand passed across his closed eyes was as familiar as breathing.

“I have missed you. Sebastian, I…” Ominis trailed off and swallowed hard. He couldn’t say half the mangled little sentences that tried to claw their way out of his throat. They were too much. Ominis himself was too much, like a star going supernova, collapsing in on itself in nature’s supreme act of self-destruction. His breath hitched, and his other hand tightened around Sebastian’s. Every few seconds, he gasped down a shuddering lungful of air as he rode the line between crying and all-out sobbing. “Sebastian…what’s happened to us?”

 

[Soul_]

Sebastian didn’t answer at first. He couldn’t.

There was something sacred about the way Ominis touched him—reverent, almost, as if he were trying to preserve what little he could of the boy he remembered. And maybe he was. Sebastian could feel it in every light sweep of his fingertips, in the way Ominis clutched his hand like he might slip away again if he didn’t hold on tight enough.

Sebastian swallowed hard, his throat tight with all the things he wanted to say but didn’t trust himself to speak aloud. Not yet.

When Ominis wiped the tears from his cheeks, it undid him. He didn’t flinch—he didn’t have it in him to—just let it happen, let himself be seen like this, cracked open and ruined by the weight of everything they hadn’t said for years. He leaned slightly into the touch, like he was chasing warmth, like he’d die if it ended too soon.

He leaned into Ominis’s touch like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to the world. His hands were cold and steadying, and Sebastian welcomed the contrast to the heat building behind his eyes and in his chest. Every part of him felt stretched thin, like the wrong word might unravel him completely. But Ominis’s presence—fragile and furious and still here—was the only balm that reached that depth.

And when Ominis finally spoke, when that broken voice asked, “What’s happened to us?” —Sebastian felt the question rip right through him.

He didn’t answer right away. How could he? How do you respond to something like that when every piece of the truth is made of knives?

His fingers curled slightly around Ominis’s hand, grounding himself in the contact before closing his eyes. His brows drew together in a subtle, pained expression, the weight of all the years between them crashing down at once. Then he reached up with his free hand—hesitant at first, then bolder—to cup the side of Ominis’s face. His thumb brushed a trail along his cheekbone, just as gently, just as reverently. Gently, he wiped away the blonde’s tears with a shaky hand.

“I... don’t know,” he whispered. “I wish I did.”

The words felt inadequate. Everything felt inadequate. Sebastian had always relied on his sharp tongue, his quick wit, and the way he could talk his way into or out of nearly anything. But none of that could save him here. With Ominis, it never had. There was no spinning things, no clever little tricks to ease the tension. All that was left between them was the raw, aching truth.

He took a breath, steadying himself, and gently placed both hands on either side of Ominis’s face. His thumbs rested just beneath his cheekbones, and he stared into those misty, storm-worn eyes like they were the only stars left in his sky.

“I messed up and pushed you away... I hurt you so much,” he said, his voice cracking. With a deep breath, Sebastian gently placed a hand on each one of Ominis’s cheeks, holding his face and staring into those misty eyes. Sebastian blinked away his tears, trying to just focus on the man before him. gently wiping Ominis' tears away.

 

[clostridium]

Ominis tensed for the space of a single instant when Sebastian’s fingers found his cheek. He had fallen out of tune with the other man’s movements, and he hadn’t expected it. His lips parted, and he went perfectly still. His cloudy eyes stared straight forward into Sebastian’s, gazing through him and into him all at once. They almost seemed to focus for a moment as Ominis’s brow tensed, but the illusion dissipated as he relaxed into the touch. The soft warmth of Sebastian’s hands drove everything else from his mind. When his calloused fingers settled softly into his hollowed cheeks, his lip started to tremble, and he let out a quiet, strangled little sob. A torrent of fresh, hot tears ran down the planes of his face for Sebastian to wipe away. Ominis hated crying, and he hated crying in front of people above all. When he was a child, he had bouts of crying at random, for no cause he could identify. Later, he learned that he rarely ended up crying in the moment, just built up tension until he broke down with little warning. The last time that he had cried like this had been several years ago, the very first time his father had harassed a workplace of his until he was let go. He had been completely hopeless, and he had broken down crying so bitterly and for so long that it had hurt to breathe for days afterward. This was something different. It hurt, but it was cathartic, like pulling an aching splinter free, not like crashing against a door slammed in his face right when he felt the warm light of the sun.

Ominis kept his own hand cupping Sebastian’s jaw, and his thumb stroked slowly back and forth across his cheek, constantly reassuring Sebastian that he was there, that he was listening. The sun shone through the window, warming them both, casting shadows across their faces as the orange glow of dawn began to give way to the paler light of day. Ominis realized only then, feeling the warmth pass across his forehead, that he was exhausted. Whether it was half physical or purely emotional he didn’t know, supposed it didn’t matter. A yawn rose in his throat, but he fought it off. Sleep was there for him every day, after all. This morning was too important and too fragile to be touched by petty, everyday discomforts.

“You were hurt. You were hurting, too. Nothing excuses…nothing, I…it would make me a liar if I said that I could…but I…I miss her, too. I know.”

On some level, Ominis felt wrong for even remembering her aloud around Sebastian. Would it wound him, or would it be a comfort? For Ominis, in particular, it was fraught. The three of them had been joined at the hip - but beneath Sebastian’s insistence that he had to do what needed to be done for Anne was the implication that Ominis’s lack of willingness to delve into dark magic meant that he lacked commitment - that he just didn’t care deeply enough to sacrifice anything. It had been all too easy in isolation for Ominis to imagine that Sebastian still blamed him; even now, sitting together in the sun, a flicker of fear and discomfort showed in his face, gone so quickly that it could have been imagined.

“I am…I am simply glad that we have not lost one another completely.”

 

[Soul_]

Sebastian froze, just for a moment, when Ominis said her name. Her. That was the first time Anne had been remembered like that—so plainly, so bluntly, without the cushion of metaphor or avoidance. It hit him like a blow to the chest. Of course, Ominis would remember her. Of course, he’d grieved her too, in his own quiet, private way. Somehow, Sebastian had convinced himself he was the only one who truly carried her memory like a cross on his back. That no one else could understand the scope of that loss. But hearing Ominis say it—“I miss her too. I know”—it tore something open in him he hadn’t realized was still locked away. He took a long, ragged breath, blinking hard as he sat there, cupping Ominis’s face, the warmth of his skin beneath his hands grounding him more than he could ever say.

He’d spent so long sealing her away, like some unreachable ideal, so that he could survive the wreckage of what he’d done. Anne had become more myth than memory, a ghost he shaped to justify the choices that had shattered his life. He forgot that she was real—and that Ominis had known her just as intimately as he had. Maybe not as a brother, but as someone who had sat beside her, worried over her, and laughed with her. Loved her, too, in a different but no less important way.

Sebastian’s eyes fluttered shut as he leaned forward slightly, the warmth of the rising sun brushing over both of them like some soft, unseen hand. The hush between them was so complete that he could hear the tiny hitch in Ominis’s breath before he yawned, trying so hard to suppress it. Even exhausted, even crying, Ominis still refused to let go of the moment. Sebastian understood. He felt the same way.

When he opened his eyes again, Sebastian’s voice was low—raw and a little unsteady, but clear. “I forgot,” he said. “Forgot that you knew her too. I push your fears and emotions away like they were nothing. I know it's wrong now; I know you miss her. I know." After he finished talking, his voice was so shaky. Sebastian thought for all the years that if anyone spoke of his sister, he would unravel at the spot that he'd break down, but no. An emptiness and dull ache, yes, and a heavy heart. He kept gently wiping away the tears. "I am glad that I am here," he smiled a very awkward smile, well, tried anyway. It didn't quite work.


"Maybe one day, we could play again? Well, you slap my hand when I annoy you," he whispered as he remembered how Ominis would play a piano and always got frustrated, so Sebastian would press random keys to earn a few slaps. That was until Omins would laugh and start to forget whatever plagued him. Well, how he remembered it anyway.

 

[clostridium]

For the first time in a very long time, Ominis actually laughed. The sound came out as an unnatural, ragged bark, like a protesting creak from a door whose hinges hadn’t been oiled for the past decade. The smile that came with it set him aglow for a second’s time until the dim, undecorated room drank away his radiance and left him ashen again. Sebastian was utterly ridiculous. At the time, it had occasionally been infuriating, but no worse than the times that Ominis had pretended that Sebastian and only Sebastian was invisible to his magical echolocation so he could knock into him, all but daring him to accuse him of faking it and risking someone else in the common room telling him off.

Ominis hadn’t touched a piano in years. He used to be rather good, he thought, but he didn’t allow himself much free time anymore, and he certainly didn’t have the funds to purchase something like that, not unless he accepted a position as part of his family, which was anathema to him. He hadn’t even realized that he missed music. His empty flat was as soundless as it was drab, a suitable home for a ghost refusing to live in his own life. Pretty things had always made him happy - sculptures with shapes that were broad and sweeping enough for him to identify, music, and compelling textures had enthralled him in school, when he was still seeking beauty in the world. That was one of many things that fell away from his life at the same time Sebastian had.

Ominis released Sebastian’s cheek and rested both of his hands on top of Sebastian’s instead, pressing them a bit harder into his cheeks. It was his substitute for the crushing, desperate hug that he couldn’t initiate. He had always been a bit baffled by how easily Sebastian and Anne had been physically affectionate toward him, toward one another, toward anyone - hugs, pats on the shoulder, mussing each other’s hair - was a shock to him that he never fully inured himself to, although he had enjoyed it.

“I’m afraid that I’ve not kept up my practicing. My playing might sound terribly close to your interfering.” There was a warmth beginning to creep into Ominis’s voice; his tone was no longer quite so hollow. “I…have a hearth here, I think. I have not lit it as yet. But, if you would like to sit and speak there…”

 

[Soul_]

Sebastian blinked in surprise at the sound of Ominis’s laugh. somewhat rusty, unmistakably a laugh, unmistakably Omins, and it seized something deep in his chest. It was such a strange, beautiful sound, so at odds with the damp sorrow that had soaked his life for years, and the room. Now lifting up even just slightly. For a heartbeat, it made Sebastian grin, wide and stunned, like he’d stumbled across something impossibly rare and didn’t quite know how to handle it.

He watched the moment flicker across Ominis’s face—how that smile, brief as candlelight, made him glow like he was sixteen again and hiding some dry remark behind a too-polite smirk. And then, just as quickly, the light vanished again into the dim walls of the room, and Sebastian felt that absence like a drop in pressure.

Still, the laugh lingered. It meant something.

Ominispressing Sebastian's hands into his cheeks , like he was trying to absorb the contact, like he couldn’t say what he needed to in words. He didn’t have to. Sebastian understood. That small gesture, that holding on—it said plenty, if not more than words ever could.

He didn’t move for a moment. Just let his hands be held; let them be an anchor. Then he slowly moved one hand from Ominis's face. With that same hand, Sebastian grabbed one of Ominis’s, just slightly, so he could thread his fingers between Ominis’s. The motion was quiet and careful, like he was afraid to startle him off again. It wasn’t bold—it was reverent. A reminder that he was still here and that he wasn’t letting go. A beat passed in silence before Sebastian spoke, voice lower and more settled than it had been.

“You still play better than me, I’m sure,” he murmured with a small smile. “Not that the bar was ever particularly high.” Sebastian chuckled—not quite the hearty chuckle from all those years ago, but still it was something. He hesitated when Ominis mentioned the hearth. The invitation was simple, but the weight of it hit hard. Sebastian nodded gently, the motion slow and grateful. “I’d like that,” he said. “More than you know.” And for the first time in years, Sebastian didn’t feel like he was reaching back into the past.

He felt like he was reaching forward. He was trying to move one and hopefully repair the one that he had broken.

 

[clostridium]

Ominis tightened his grip around Sebastian’s hand. He wasn’t particularly strong, but his grip was firm and insistent. He had to force himself to relax so that his nails wouldn’t dig little half-moons into the other man’s skin. Anxiety rose and fell away in him like waves crashing against the shore and then dissipating out into the open sea. He was struck by a desperate urge to know exactly what Sebastian’s face was doing. That was one of the few things that made him wish he could see - scenic vistas that made others breathless, and knowing other people’s feelings from their eyes. The windows to the soul, some said. He had to believe that this was overdramatic or it would be maddening. People behaved differently when they were observed, and even more differently when they were touched. His hands could never pry the truth of another person’s feelings out of their expressions. All that you touch, you change.

But there was plenty of truth in Sebastian’s hands, in the strange and worshipful way he moved, like he expected Ominis to shatter or take a heel turn if he moved too quickly or stepped out of line. It was probably truer than he wanted to think. As much as Ominis liked to consider himself calm and rational, he couldn’t deny the existence of a shredded, terrified scrap of himself imprisoned in the back of his mind that wanted to howl at Sebastian to get out of his flat, to leave him alone, to let him fade away into the infinite gray on his own to protect himself from being torn to pieces again. He despised this part of himself, and he always had, but it held an undeniable sway over him. After all, it was why he had refused to contact Sebastian for so long. But he couldn’t stand to live in a permanent flinch, waiting for the next blow to fall. He wanted to live like a real person - he hated isolation. He was certainly more introverted than Sebastian, and had always been choosy about who to spend time with, but that didn’t mean he wanted no one.

“Oh, Sebastian…” he sighed, savoring the sound of the name in his mouth. He wanted to say it a hundred times so the warmth that honeyed his tone would fill the vast emptiness of the desolate little flat. Instead, he kept their hands clasped tight, but stood, pulling regretfully away from the hand that still cupped his cheek. He kept his hand entwined with Sebastian’s and pulled him along softly toward the hearth in the small living area in the next room, catching up his wand with his other hand. The room they entered was totally black. There was a little table with a stack of unopened letters and a few untouched packages, and there was a rug in front of the fire, as well as a couch so old that it must have come with the place. With a quick spell, he shut the grate and lit the fire. It surged high, lighting up the room and revealing the dismal state it was in. There were burnt little shreds of paper here and there on the floor from letters he had torn up and burned into nothing. Ominis stood in the firelight, which cast strange shapes across his hollow face.

“I hadn’t realized…it was cold in here,” he said softly, meaning a thousand more things than he said. He looked down, and his loose, disheveled hair fell around his cheeks to frame his haggard face.

 

[Soul_]

Sebastian, that made his heart sing as he heard his name from Ominis after all this time. Still, nothing could compare to it. Making his chest tighten and heart fly. Sebastian followed quietly, the weight of Ominis’s hand in his own grounding him with every step. If this was how Ominis steadied himself, then he’d bear it gladly. As he was guided along, Sebastian used his free hand to give himself along, though he still stumbled along. So many times before, Ominis would give Sebastian a surprise or prank in a dark room, and every time Sebastian would think, How does he do this? Even now, as stupid and childish as it was.

He watched Ominis cast the fire spell and light the hearth, the sudden burst of flame throwing long shadows across the walls. In that moment, Sebastian could see just how bare the flat truly was—not just in its furnishings, but in how it felt. It wasn’t a space lived in. It was endured. The unopened letters, the untouched parcels, the torn remnants of what must have once been hopes or regrets... it told a story without needing to be read aloud.

And yet, in the glow of the firelight, Ominis stood like something out of a dream—fragile, yes, but not broken. A ghost who hadn’t quite let himself disappear. The flicker of flame danced across his pale skin, highlighting the grief carved into every line of his face, but also the stubbornness underneath it. That same stubbornness that had once marched them both down into the depths of the Undercroft, hearts thudding against stone, daring the world to tell them no.

He glanced at the fire, watching it snap and shift in the grate, then turned his eyes back to Ominis, watching how the flames licked shadows across his face. “You always made things feel warmer,” he said, voice barely more than a whisper. “Even when you were pissed at me. You had this way of making a room feel…safe. Even now." And maybe that was it—maybe that was the thing he’d missed most. Not the laughter or the bickering or even the long nights in the Undercroft. But this: the quiet hum of safety that Ominis had always carried with him, like some invisible cloak he draped over the people he loved, even when he was hurting.

He reached out slowly, his hand trembling slightly as he brushed back a lock of Ominis’s disheveled hair, revealing the full plane of his face. He wanted to see him—really see him. The shadows, the wear, the faint red around his eyes. All of it.

He stepped closer, hesitant at first, like every inch was its own kind of apology. Then, with hands that trembled just slightly, he reached up. One hand, slow and reverent, brushed along Ominis’s cheek before gently tucking a loose strand of hair behind his ear. The motion revealed the full line of Ominis’s face, the angles and quiet devastation of it—the exhaustion, the beauty, the remnants of something still so achingly familiar.

Sebastian didn’t say anything else right away. Didn’t have to. Instead, he just stood there, hand still half-raised, gaze steady.

 

[clostridium]

Ominis’s breath lodged firmly in his throat and his lungs refused to expand or contract. Sebastian’s touch was so light that it Ominis had to fill in the gaps with his mind, and the space in between seemed to ache. It was so faltering, so tentative - it was a lifetime away from the confidence that Sebastian had exuded in his youth, when touch had come easily to him. Ominis had always been careful with his appearance and afraid of appearing sloppy, so, of course, Sebastian made a sport of ruffling his hair unexpectedly from behind to surprise him. It had been a reminder delivered frequently in the Undercroft that he didn’t have to be so poised and obsessively, eternally correct while they were spending time together. This was the opposite - a gentle acknowledgement that he had fallen apart. A nervous offer to help put him back together.


They were so close. Ominis could feel Sebastian’s warmth radiating into his skin, somehow twice as comforting as the warmth of the fire. He made Sebastian feel safe. Safe - Sebastian, who he had depended on completely for his safety, both physical and emotional, felt safe around him. It had been hard to put things in perspective when they were younger, that Sebastian had needed a safe harbor, too. He had been so embroiled in his own constant fear that no one else’s could soak in. But Sebastian had a lot in his life to be afraid of, more than most people.

He was glad that he had been able to lend Sebastian that aura of safety, although he would have vehemently denied he had such a thing if he had been asked before today. He had felt fortunate to be his friend, at the time; not only did he feel fortunate, he had frequently felt unworthy. Sebastian had been so social - he could have been the center of any room, but he chose to linger around the edges beside Ominis, keeping him company. The guilt had made it exponentially more difficult to stand up and oppose him when he began to delve into dark magic. He had done so anyway, because he had no other choice, but it had not been easy, and it had hurt. And it had all been for nothing.

Nothing could ever be forgotten. Forgiveness was debatable. But he didn’t need either to care for Sebastian. He had cared for Sebastian quietly even when they did not speak. Even in the aftermath of everything that happened, he had cared for Sebastian. Now, perhaps more than ever before, he felt an overwhelming level of care for Sebastian.

“…You are safe,” he said quietly. Ominis fought past his own paralysis and stepped forward, closing the distance. He wrapped his arms tightly around Sebastian, one looping around his waist and the other coming up between his shoulderblades. He tucked his face down against the other man’s shoulder and clung there, completely silent aside from the quiet hitching of his breath as he fought away tears. He was a good bit bonier than he should have been, and his body was rigid with tension, but he needed the contact and he couldn’t stand it any longer.

 

[Soul_]

Sebastian didn’t move at first—not because he didn’t want to, but because he couldn’t. The moment Ominis stepped into him, wrapped him in a grip that was both fragile and desperate; it was as if the breath had been punched clean out of his chest. All at once, the room fell away. The burnt letters, the cracked silence, the years of distance—they all flickered out like the embers behind them. Ominis was hugging him.

That simple fact flooded Sebastian’s mind like water breaching a dam. He hadn’t realized how long he’d craved this exact thing. Even now, Ominis’s body was wound tight as wire, trembling just enough for Sebastian to feel it in his bones, and it made his heart twist. He hadn't thought he'd ever be allowed this again. Not after the shouting, the heartbreak, the stubborn silences, where Sebastian no longer belonged. But here they were. And Ominis was clinging to him.

"Thank you," Sebastian exhaled shakily, arms coming up around the other man with gentle certainty. He gathered Ominis against him like he was something precious. His fingers splayed across Ominis’s back, steady and warm, holding him—not tightly, not possessively, but with all the patience of someone who would stand there forever if that’s what Ominis needed.

He could feel the sharp bones of his spine, the tension in his shoulders, the tremble he was trying so hard to stifle. It made something old and fierce rise up inside Sebastian—something protective, something utterly devoted. For so long, Ominis had been the one to pull him back from the edge. The one who had stood in the storm of his grief and fury and stayed. His calm in the chaos. His constant. His lighthouse. Now, finally, it was Sebastian’s turn to be his.

And still, some part of him couldn’t stop the ache. The part of him that wanted to press rewind on the last few years, to tear up time and remake it into something gentler, something that never put this distance between them in the first place. But there was no time turner for regret. There was only this—this fragile, burning moment—and Sebastian wanted to wrap his whole life around it.

How could he just move on from this moment? When this was all he ever wanted. He swallowed hard, and his voice came out hoarse, barely more than a whisper. “This is okay, right?” he asked. His hand tightened just slightly at Ominis’s back, grounding them both. “Do you feel okay in my hands?”

He hated how the words sounded out loud—uncertain, exposed. But he couldn’t help it. He was terrified. Terrified that he’d misread this, that he was holding on too tightly, too long. That even now, when Ominis hadn’t pulled away, hadn’t let go, that he might still say the one thing Sebastian couldn’t bear to hear. That he didn’t feel safe anymore. Not with him.

 

[clostridium]

Thank you. Sebastian’s words echoed through Ominis’s chest, and he took a shaky breath, trying to formulate a response that wasn’t just breaking down further and faster. He had been so miserable and so afraid for so long that he had forgotten that something could feel purely good. The moment, for certain, did not. There was enough bitterness tainting the sweet that it couldn’t be called pure. But their embrace was perfect. The way Sebastian’s hands spread across his back, not keeping him in place, just keeping him steady, the warmth they shared, the way Ominis could rest his head on the other man’s shoulder and it fit like it belonged there - all of that was without flaw.

Ominis didn’t know how he felt in Sebastian’s hands. Guilt boiled in his stomach at the idea that he was enjoying the closeness. It was a betrayal of himself, wasn’t it? Without question, it was a betrayal of Solomon Sallow, who had allowed him to take up space in that tiny home in Feldcroft. When he was a child, he had thought that it was simply because Sebastian had badgered him into it, but as he reached adolescence he became desperately grateful for the way Solomon never asked him why he only ever spent holidays and summers with his friends, never with his family. Without being asked, he had coordinated getting all of the school permission forms signed by Ominis’s father, so the two rarely had to speak. And Sebastian…had killed him. How could he ever come to terms with that? How could he sink into this embrace, hoping it could stretch into infinity?

How could he not?

Sebastian was so gentle, so consumed by the moment, so concerned with Ominis’s comfort. It was captivating. It was irresistible. It was good and he couldn’t deny that to himself, damn the guilt, damn his sense of responsibility for it all.

“Yes, Sebastian. Yes. I…please do not let go. I need you to…to stay. If you would. If you…would like to.” Ominis’s soft voice was muffled against Sebastian’s shoulder, but the yearning in his tone was unmistakeable. His fingers curled in the fabric of the other man’s shirt, so tightly that his hands trembled. Did he feel okay? No, he was far from it. He was utterly ecstatic and completely bereft, drowning in loss and pain but unwilling to release his white-knuckle grip on the slim thread of hope that dangled in front of him in the endless haze of gray.

 

[Soul_]

Sebastian felt Ominis’s words like a jolt—quiet, nearly lost in the fabric of his shirt, but sharp enough to strike straight through the fog that had settled in his chest. “Yes, Sebastian. Yes.” It was a whispered surrender, not to him, but to the moment, to the ache and the truth of needing someone. Needing him. The way Ominis said please do not let go rooted Sebastian’s feet to the floor. There was nowhere else in the world he could be but here.
A thousand things raced through his head—memories, regrets, words he wanted to say and words he shouldn’t—but none of them mattered more than the warmth of Ominis clinging to him like a man who had gone too long without the sun. That trembling, desperate hold—that was what shattered Sebastian.

His hand slid up between Ominis’s shoulder blades, fingers sifting gently through the hair at his nape, grounding, soothing, just being there. His other arm held him more firmly now, not to trap him, never that, but to assure him with quiet insistence: I’m not going anywhere. The lump in Sebastian’s throat burned. He didn’t care. He didn’t care if he was unraveling right alongside him.

“Then I’m not letting go,” he murmured, not quite trusting his voice. “Not unless you ask me to. Not unless you really mean it.” He leaned in, his cheek brushing Ominis’s temple, and closed his eyes. “I want to stay. I’ve wanted to for so long, and I’ll stay as long as you let me.”

“You don’t have to decide everything tonight,” Sebastian said, voice hushed but steady, speaking into the fire-warmed dark around them.His thumb traced a slow circle where it rested on Ominis’s back. There was still a storm inside him—Sebastian had never been good at stillness—but for once, he could stand in it without needing to run. He pressed his forehead gently to the side of Ominis’s, anchoring them together like a tether between two frayed souls.

“You feel like… like… home in my arms,” he said softly. “And I’m not letting go… not yet anyways.” The quiet tremble in his voice was more honest than anything he could’ve said aloud. Not yet was the most he could promise—for now, it was everything.

Then, almost instinctively, his body began to sway—slow, gentle, like they were caught in a rhythm only they could feel. It wasn’t dancing. It wasn’t meant to be. It was comfort, it was memory, it was grief and longing and healing all bleeding into one soft, unconscious motion. Holding Ominis this way made Sebastian feel like maybe, just maybe, there was a future waiting for them beyond this broken night. And so he swayed, back and forth, cradling him like a lullaby in a house that had forgotten what warmth felt like—until now.

 

[clostridium]

Ominis absorbed every word like parched earth drank in the rain. Every phrase was tender and brimming with quiet emotion. It was difficult for Ominis to imagine that other people actually thought about him when he was not around, that he wasn’t just a feature of people’s minds when he was around that disappeared when he was not present. The idea that people missed him when he was gone was unthinkable to him…but with every word that Sebastian spoke, he hammered home that he had. He hadn’t just disappeared from the mind of his friend when he broke their bond. Sebastian cared about him. He hadn’t stopped. He had never stopped caring - never.

Home…what was home? Home had certainly not been the manor. It had not been Hogwarts, although he had enjoyed much of his time there. He didn’t think that Feldcroft had been his home, either, although he had been welcomed there with the utmost kindness. This flat had been no home to him. He slept here, that was his only connection to this place. He had never felt like he fully belonged anywhere, except the late nights he spent talking about everything and nothing in the Undercroft with Sebastian. That…and now, in this moment, being rocked to and fro in Sebastian’s gentle grasp. The way his fingers traced through his hair, the slow, circular movement of his hand at his back…he wanted to melt into nothing where he stood.

“Then—please stay here. For now. Stay…home. I cannot…stand the thought that I could wake and never…if I could not see you again, I could not…I am so tired, Sebastian, I am exhausted…I need… I simply do not know anymore.” Ominis’s voice quavered as he spoke, so quiet that it was barely audible over the crackling of the fire. Bit by bit over the course of the morning the shell he had built around himself had shattered until the burning core of his heart was laid bare.

What was he thinking? What was he feeling? His own mind was completely opaque to him. He couldn’t understand why his desperation to keep Sebastian at his side kept increasing by the second. He certainly couldn’t understand why his mind was screaming in two different directions, begging him to run and lock himself into the permanent haze of isolation and to squeeze Sebastian tighter and never allow them to part again all at once.