Stolas woke to the shrill sound of clinking bottles.
He was slow to rise, eyes crusted shut from possibly the deepest sleep he’d had since the night of the trial. For a moment, he could imagine that the past twenty-four hours were merely a nightmare, that he still had a chance to reconnect with his daughter and find a way forward. But sure enough, there was Blitzø cleaning up the remains of the Glut-Honey that had taken every ounce of Stolas’ self-control to resist during the party last night.
Sinsmas had seemed like a quaint little holiday, something he probably would’ve liked to try celebrating with Octavia if given the chance, but, well… that was very much not in the cards anymore. Stolas felt like a selfish child and a sap on the joy of those around him all at once. What right did he have to drain Blitzø and his family of happiness and resources just because he couldn’t function on his own?
“Hey Stols,” a gentle, quiet voice said from right in front of him.
Stolas blinked in surprise; he must’ve zoned out again. He couldn’t muster the energy to speak quite yet, so instead he gave what he was sure was a pathetic little smile in return.
Blitzø took his hand with a bittersweet look of his own, coaxing the bird to his feet and towards the imp-sized kitchen table that they sometimes shared.
“Sooo,” Blitzø started cheerfully, drawing out the word, “I didn’t make anything for breakfast yet, ‘cause honestly I think we deserve something greasy as fuck from that place down the street after staying up so late. But Moxxie left these cookies for you, so help yourself while I finish fixing this shit up!”
The imp placed a Pupperware container on the table, and with finger guns and a wink, he slunk off to gather the last of the party trash littering the apartment. Stolas just sat there, trying to find the motivation to be even a single morsel more than this dull, emotionless void of nothing.
It was a state he had grown rather used to over time, but it’d started feeling noticeably hollow as soon as he moved in and had someone there who actively, unfailingly tried to engage with him. Before, at the palace, he could waltz around like a ghost for days at a time while Octavia was with her mother, and no one was the wiser. But here, in an apartment that was bustling with life, he couldn’t bear to continue burdening its inhabitants as such.
Sighing, Stolas finally lifted the lid off the container. He could at least start by doing what Blitzø had asked of him.
Nestled inside were two cookies shaped like horses, decorated with details that were clearly meant to look like him and Octavia. His was iced in purple with what appeared to be his royal hat atop its head and an elongated neck — most definitely Blitzø’s influence. The other one was slightly smaller and adorned in a lighter shade of lavender, but unmistakably sported Octavia’s crowned beanie.
Stolas could not say how long he stared at the cookies until his vision blurred and sobs wracked his body in deep, harrowing heaves.
The bathroom door slammed open, and distantly he could hear Blitzø come flinging himself over the half wall in alarm. How wretched Stolas was, worrying the man when he had only tried to do something nice.
“Hey, hey,” Blitzø said in an attempt to soothe. “We’ll get her back, I promise. We’re not letting your cunt of an ex or that icy queen bitch get in her head any more than necessary.” He paused, then continued with, “Sorry if giving you the cookies was a bad idea. Mox just— he means well, y’know? Made our whole little family and somehow turned my stupid horse doodles into some damn good Sinsmas cookies. He was going on about—“
“He made these?” Stolas asked in a trembling voice, cutting off Blitzø’s rambling.
“Yeah, that’s what I said, silly bird.”
“But— but these, Via and I?”
“Uhhh, yeah?” Blitzø replied. He gnawed on his lip in deliberation before speaking again. “Look, I know you’ll eventually go back to your big fancy palace and your big fancy life, but… for however long this lasts, you’re part of our family. Both you and Via, if you want. Always will be, I think, even when you move on.”
“Oh, Blitzø,” he cried, and suddenly the man in question had an armful of sobbing bird.
Pushing the cookies aside, Blitzø sat on the table to better reciprocate his embrace. It wasn’t uncommon at all anymore for the imp to console him, but some part of Stolas always wondered why he allowed it to reach that point in the first place. His father would undoubtedly have something to say about him spending a whole month crying his eyes out, though he supposed that thought was futile by now; Paimon had rarely been around in his younger years, and he would certainly not bestow any time or effort on a fallen prince. What he said simply didn’t matter anymore, and what a freeing idea that was.
After an indeterminable amount of time, Stolas lifted his head from Blitzø’s shoulder. Normally he would apologize for getting tears all over his shirt, and Blitzø would assuage his worries, and they’d move on like nothing had happened. But this time, Stolas thanked him. He didn’t have the words to expand upon it, to tell Blitzø how incredibly fucking wonderful he’s been, but he didn’t have to.
“I know, birdie,” Blitzø said. “I know.”
He placed a delicate kiss between Stolas’ top two eyes and then hopped down from the table, hand stretched out in invitation with a hopeful grin on his face.
“You wanna go toss this trash and then head out for a nice, dirty grease-a-thon for brunch?”
The bag of empty bottles actually sounded rather like wind chimes, Stolas thought as they took the stairs down to ground level. Hand in hand with the man he loved, homemade cookies shaped like part of their family waiting back inside for later — it felt like a new beginning.