Stolas knew the slap was coming, but the addition of the talons slicing his cheek was still rather new. He could do nothing but take it and keep his head turned from where the strike had forced it, hoping his aggressor would leave soon now that she had taken out her anger.
He wasn’t so lucky.
Stella instead grabbed his chin, grip painfully tight, and wrenched his head towards her.
“Look at me,” she spat. “Fucking look at me, you decrepit waste of space!”
It was a challenging thing, having to avoid rolling his eyes. But slowly Stolas raised his gaze to meet hers; he may as well get it over with. There was a defiance in him that had begun building in recent years. For better or for worse, it was getting more and more difficult to simply take the abuse without snarking back.
He didn’t know what his expression looked like, but it was enough to piss Stella off even more. She let go of his beak harshly, then clawed at his face again with a fierce swipe and a guttural shriek, as if she were the predator beast of the two.
“You have a duty to complete, Stolas,” she asserted. “See to it that you get it done one of these nights instead of fucking off to wherever you go and not showing up to bed. We wouldn’t want to get your father involved, would we?”
With one final parting glare, she clutched her skirts and stormed off down the long hallway to leave him to his misery.
The minutes passed by outside of Stolas’ notice, blood dripping down his face to the tiled kitchen floor as he stood there motionless. Eventually he gathered his wits and began to move, quickly glancing at a nearby clock. If he could manage to get away without anyone noticing, he should still be able to make his meetup in time. It probably helped that the staff often made themselves scarce whenever Stella had one of her… less than becoming moments.
With nothing on his mind but what awaited, he took off the opposite way, winding through the palace and its absurd layout, built to be masterfully tricky for anyone but its inhabitants. The idea was, quite frankly, ridiculous; what person needed that much space? No one was ever even bold enough to breach the premises uninvited. Well, no one except…
Finally Stolas reached his destination: a hidden door, carved into the wall behind a specifically placed houseplant. He always made sure to bring a snack for her whenever she needed to be shifted, but ashamedly, he had forgotten this time in the dissociative haze of his encounter with Stella.
“I’m so sorry, my dear,” he whispered, lightly petting the plant’s large, bulbous head. “I assure you I’ll fetch something as soon as I’m back, hmm?”
The plant leaned into his caress, eyes closed in contentment at the promise of extra food. Soon the vase was carefully pushed to the side and the hidden door unlocked. Stolas trilled at how close he was, then got down to his hands and knees. The opening was small towards the front, and he always felt terribly ungraceful crawling through the damned thing with as long and lanky as his young body was, but the end result of getting to see his friend was always, always worth it.
A candle from the first wall sconce he passed lit the way, making him feel like the lead in a time period drama, sneaking away under the cover of night to a clandestine meeting with his illicit lover. That feeling wasn’t even too far off from the truth, except for the fact that the man was regrettably no more than his friend.
Alas, there was no time to dwell on the downsides — not when he was so close to reaching the right alcove.
Just a few more steps, and then…
-
“Hey, pretty bird.”
“Blitzø!”
The imp in question slipped out from where he was hidden, eyes still adjusting to the relative darkness as they roved up Stolas’ body, talons to crest.
“What has your princey ass been—“
Blitzø’s words were cut off by a choked sound, followed by him rushing forward, large hands reaching up to cup Stolas’ face.
“The fuck happened?! Don’t tell me it was that bitch again, Stols, or else I’m gonna fucking kill her.”
Stolas simply looked away, cheeks reddening under his feathers as he tried to make himself smaller. “It’s nothing.”
Blitzø sighed and slid a hand down to grab Stolas’ own, gingerly leading him to the seat built into the alcove. It was far deeper into the wall than the rest and was near a rarely-used outdoor entrance, making it the perfect meeting spot for them. They’d tried meeting directly outside the first time, but they had too close of a call with a roaming hellhound guard to be at ease. Stolas’ discovery of their current space was truly hellsent.
“Didya do your soundproofing bullshit?” Blitzø questioned, nudging the bird’s shoulder as he plopped down next to him.
With a fancy wave of his hand, Stolas prevented their voices from carrying. The movement was at odds with his slouched posture and dark eye bags, but he still looked just as beautiful as ever. Blitzø was honestly lucky he still spared even a single glance his way, especially after what he did.
Someone as sweet and kind as Stolas, giving a rugged little imp the time of day? Even after he ruined his best friend’s body and destroyed the livelihoods of all his fellow troupe members? Surely that generosity had to run out at some point.
But it hadn’t stopped Stolas from providing him with support, the best hospital care he and his family had ever received, and a cozy little apartment to move into, where long nights were spent crying out of guilt in bed with a too-big owl curled around him.
Stolas had insisted that he wouldn’t get in trouble for wasting funds or sneaking out, but Blitzø refused to be the reason that powerful family of his did anything to him; he managed to convince Stolas to keep the extravagant handouts to a minimum, and it was hardly a chore for Blitzø to sneak to the palace himself instead. Cash may have considered him the worst in their old circus, but no one could beat the training out of him.
Nothing would ever feel like enough to repay Stolas for all that he’d done, and continued to do. Blitzø had seen the way rich demons used the lower class all his life, treating them like charity cases at best, offering a lifetime of lavishness if only they offered up grueling services of their own. Hell, he had been in that position when he first met Stolas. But that lonely little fluffball was not his father, and when Blitzø was contacted by one of the servants for another playdate soon after, with no strings attached, he didn’t have it in him to say no. He’d had a fun enough time once his shitty given mission was over, and the experience was far from the worst a royal could do.
Now, he refused to let any negative thoughts ruin his brief time with Stolas. They plagued his mind often enough throughout the rest of his days; he could tell them to shut the fuck up for the few nights he spent here.
Stolas jolted at a soft touch under his chin, Blitzø using it to gently guide his friend to face him.
The cuts seemed like they were already nearly healed, but the blood had crusted onto his face feathers, marring the pure white until it became a horror scene that should never be anywhere near his bird.
Blitzø licked his thumb and then went at the dried blood, trying his best to wipe it away the same way his mother did when he got messy. It also had the unintended, but not unwelcome, reaction of making Stolas laugh.
“Blitzø! What in Hell are you doing putting your— your saliva all over me!” he got out in between giggles.
“Cleanin’ you up, birdie, what’s it look like?”
Hooting, Stolas replied, “It looks like you’re being a menace.”
He was met with a glare, but there was no real heat behind it. Blitzø gave up on his half-successful attempt at cleaning that feathery face off and leaned back against the stone wall behind them, grabbing one of Stolas’ hands again to hold in his lap. His tail curled around the thigh that was pressed next to his, too. The warmth was appreciated, and he took a moment to just breathe.
From the corner of his eye he saw Stolas’ wide smile melt into a smaller content one, and then into a tired frown.
“You’re safe here,” Blitzø said, voice low and tender.
And as if the words were magic themselves, Stolas let his head fall onto Blitzø’s shoulder. His body had to twist to make it work, but he had confided to Blitzø once that it was still the most comfortable he’d ever felt. Comfortable enough for him to shed silent tears, it seemed, because soon enough he was trembling and wetting the thin fabric of Blitzø’s shirt.
“There there, baby bird.”
“I am not a hatchling,” Stolas replied, carrying with him the lighthearted bitchiness that Blitzø was searching for and loved.
“Nah, just my big bird.”
Stolas sniffled and shuffled closer, resting his thin arms around Blitzø. Even without the soundproofing spell, all that would’ve been heard was the sound of them breathing together, hearts beating in tandem.
Blitzø was gonna get him out of the palace and out of that Satan-awful marriage one day, mark his words. But for now, he’d simply cherish the trust he had somehow earned, and put every ounce of his energy towards making life more bearable for them both. He’d make damn sure his bird was happy.