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The first sign is when Humphrey’s back goes rigid. He tilts his head to the side in a mimic of a Stashe’s confused puppy look.
“Where are you?” Humphrey asks the air.
And Clive knows.
Jason is here. Jason is close.
More than the recording crystal, more than watching Jason’s face projected on his wall, more than listening to Jason repeat his name over and over on an artificial loop, listening as Humphrey’s tone ticks up into the familiar Jason-induced annoyance makes his resurrection feel real.
Energy thrums under Clive’s skin, nerves tingling as he cranes his neck over the side of the boat. The architecture of Rimaros is complex. Rich. Buildings with curling roofs and twisting spires, colored in a myriad of blues and greens and oranges, somehow both lording over and blending into the vibrant fronds of the tropical wildlife. It’s gorgeous, but Clive ignores it. He’s not looking for anything blue, or green, or orange.
He’s looking for black.
But even with silver-ranked vision, Clive sees nothing. Jason is too far away. Still just out of reach.
A hand lands on his arm, giving it a light squeeze. Clive turns to see Belinda.
“You look constipated,” she says. “And we don’t even poop anymore. Save it for when you actually have something stuck up your ass.”
Belinda waggles her eyebrows and next to her, Sophie stifles a laugh.
“Lindy!” Humphrey scolds.
“Yeah, leave him alone,” Neil says. “The man’s boyfriend just came back from the dead. Plus, Jason’s always struck me as more of a bottom.”
Clive’s brain stops at the word ‘boyfriend.’ The comment smashes through the seal on the team-kept secret that no one, save Humphrey, had tried to broach with Clive. It leaves Clive speechless for a few key seconds.
“Except when he’s with Clive’s wife,” Taika adds. Neil snorts, raising his hand for a high-five.
“I don’t have a-” Clive starts. “I mean, Jason’s not my- I don’t-”
Belinda’s giggle breaks the tension and the rest of the team laughs as Clive flushes.
The gold ranker, Trenchant Moore, gives a red Clive an assessing look.
“Jason Asano sleeps with your wife?”
The boat is too slow as it drifts towards the dock. Jason is standing there, bouncing on the balls of his feet with a smile bright across his face. It’s genuine. Happier than Clive remembers seeing him since they entered the astral space.
He’s changed. Clive had seen, had catalogued, the physical differences from the recording crystal. His changed eyes, his less pronounced chin, the slightly added bulk to his shoulders and the sharpening to the angles of his face. But it’s more than that.
Even with the excitement, there’s a heaviness that drips from his shoulders. It goes deeper than his expression, deeper than his aura. Like an exhaustion that has seeped into his bones and merged with the marrow. Concern itches at Clive’s skin.
The boat is too damned slow.
Stash seems to agree and is the first to launch himself into Jason’s arms the second Humphrey’s grip on him slips. Jason catches him, laughing— gods, how Clive missed that laugh— and he complains about the weight of the growing dragon without any real sincerity. Humphrey follows and Clive glances to Trenchant Moore, whose expectations had always seemed low for their team, before opening a portal.
Gary sprints through it before Clive gets the chance, but when he does, Clive can feel it. The weight of Jason’s aura. The strength. Clive’s control slips and his aura automatically reaches out, brushing against Jason’s and meeting the tightly controlled, impenetrable wall. Curiously, he drags his aura along the polished sides, not finding a single crack.
Jason turns to him, eyebrow quirked up, but not commenting on Clive’s rudeness.
“Clive,” Jason greets, dragging the name out into a single, pleasant syllable. More genuine— happier— than the recording. Clive’s stomach flips.
Clive holds out his hand, feeling stiff and awkward with tension. Jason snorts, taking it before pulling him in. Jason’s arms wrap around him in a bear hug, hands flat and warm on his back
Clive melts. He shudders once, a shiver running down his spine as the nerves that had been prickling at his skin quiet.
“I am glad to have you back, Jason,” Clive whispers, although it feels wholly inadequate.
“Glad to be back,” Jason says loudly, brightly, but when he pulls back, there’s a shine in his unnatural eyes. An added layer of refraction over the orange and blue nebulae.
Jason goes to greet the rest of the team, still smiling, still laughing, but Clive thinks of those eyes. And the unshed tears that Jason shouldn’t even be capable of having.
Clive leans against the railing on the balcony of Jason’s cloud house, hands digging into the plush of the clouds that make up the handrail.
The floating islands loom at the edges of his vision. They stand imperiously over the raging waves, a zenith of celestine construction that casts long shadows over the sea’s surface in the late afternoon sun. Life teems below, millions of fish, mammals, and monsters, all subdued under the shadow of Rimaros.
But past the islands, past the point where airboats become dots in his vision, Clive can only see the immensity of the ocean as it curves with the planet. Unbroken and unending. A vastness beaten only by the cosmos and the astral beings who rule it.
He had left the team downstairs after dinner. They’d discussed bargaining a road contract and Clive had no objections, leaving once plans had been made and the topic had turned to politics. Princesses and marriage and plots. Clive has no interest in any of it.
Although Jason clearly does.
Clive's hands tighten on the railing, his palms becoming damp as the edges of the cloud construct turn to mist. They reform under his hands almost instantly. He stares off into where the clouds in the horizon are beginning to light up orange with a sunset.
There is no real way to sense Jason, not within the cloud house, where his aura permeates the air like moisture on a humid day, but a tendril of his aura taps at Clive’s own in greeting before Jason joins him.
“That,” Jason says as he leans against the handrail, back against the horizon and face turned up towards Clive, “is how you politely touch another person’s aura.”
Clive gives him a flat look and Jason chuckles. He tilts his head back, stretching out as he takes a long breath. A sea breeze ruffles his hair as deep shadows play across his skin, highlighting the dips and ridges of his face and neck. The patches not cast in shadows look golden in the setting sun, making him look more like a statue. Sculpted by a master, made for a museum.
Jason holds the breath for a minute before releasing it and straightening.
“This seems to be a popular spot,” Jason continues, voice light despite the wariness it carries. “Is it your turn now?”
“No,” Clive says. “I have questions, but they can wait.”
“They’ll have to,” Jason says, and he turns, leaning over the handrail until they’re shoulder to shoulder. Centimeters of space exist between them, and Clive can feel every one of them. His aura trembles with the need to reach out. “Although I did see some amazing things, land transformed into mirrors of other worlds, traversing in the space that defines reality…”
“It’s really nor fair when you say things like that,” Clive complains, earning another chuckle from Jason. They’re silent for a moment, staring out into the space between the cloud islands, before Jason breaks it.
“I heard about how you were treated by the magic society these past two years. I’m sorry I wasn’t there to help.”
“You did help, in a way,” Clive says, looking sideways to Jason. “Before I met you, I probably would have accepted that treatment and done my work quietly. You remember how I was.”
“Yeah, you were kind of a pushover, weren’t you?” Jason teases. “You let that wife of yours sleep with the whole city.”
Clive snorts.
“You have to stop telling people that. The first thing Taika said to me when we met was that he slept with my wife. He even made a joke about it on the airship. I shudder to think of what that gold ranker thinks of us.”
“Trenchant Moore?” Jason asks, voice rising with amusement. “He must think that wife of yours is a harlot.”
“I don’t have a wife, Jason. Please be serious.”
“I’ve had enough of being serious,” Jason says with a sigh. “I’ve been too serious for too long.”
Jason’s eyes are fixed on some distant spot on the horizon, where the ocean and sky meet. His hands are clasped together in front of him, knuckles bleached white with the force he’s using to grip the other hand.
Clive gets the urge to reach out and place his own hands over Jason’s. To tangle their fingers together and release the tension gathered within them.
Instead, Clive falls back, a cloud chair catching him at the last moment. Jason stares at Clive with wide eyes.
“What are you doing?”
“Sitting.”
He waves the empty patch of deck next to him, as though inviting Jason to sit on air.
With an eyebrow raised, Jason complies. Another chair rises from the deck beside Clive.
“Did you know that you were the first real friend I made in Greenstone?” Clive asks.
“You didn’t name your pens? Have intimate documenting sessions with them?” Jason asks, a teasing smile playing across his lips.
“Jason,” Clive warns.
“You’re right, you’re right. I’m sorry,” Jason says. “I was really the first?”
“Yes,” Clive confirms. “I was too wrapped up in my research. Outside of Landemere Vane, Lucien Lamprey, and a few functionaries, I never had a need to talk to anyone. And when I did, no one cared. But then you appeared and accused me of sleeping with your wife.” Clive gives him a pointed look. “You saw the worst of me, the me who had escaped into myself and my work, just waiting for things to get better, and you coaxed me out. You freed me.”
“You seemed pretty free on the skimmer,” Jason points out.
“The skimmer that you forced me to drive.”
“Point taken.”
“What I mean,” Clive says, “is that you’ve seen me at my worst. And then you stood by me, helped me. You reintroduced me to the adventuring world, Jason. I’d almost forgotten why I became one in the first place. Then I met you.”
Clive turns to meet Jason’s galaxy eyes, speckled with blue and orange starlight. They shimmer in the cloud house’s shade, even as the horizon begins to turn red and orange and pink around the outline of the floating islands.
How long would it take to map out all the constellations in them?
“You don’t need to feel ashamed of your own worst when talking to me. Whatever happened back on Earth, I am here when you are ready. I will support you unconditionally. You are my friend, my first friend.”
“Have you been taking speech-giving lessons from Humphrey?” Jason asks. His voice is forced light, but there’s a fragility within it. One that Clive had noticed back at the dock. Even as Jason’s aura remains solid, Clive feels like one good blow could break it.
“No.”
“From his mother, then. It has to be a part of some required Geller leadership course. I mean, the way Humphrey-“
“Jason,” Clive cuts him off, voice soft. Jason takes another breath.
“My worst” Jason says, not meeting Clive’s eyes, “is really bad. I did things. I made allies to betray and kill them. I became someone. Someone who had to go further and do worse than the next guy to reach my goals. I killed a lot of people, and I don’t regret it.”
Jason’s eyes remain focused on Clive’s chest, as though scared of what he might read on Clive’s face.
“No matter what you did, the man before me is still Jason Asano. My friend, and my teammate. Nothing changes that. The team won’t leave,” Clive says gently. Then more firmly. “I won’t leave.”
Jason’s head shoots up, the black expanse of his wide eyes like the depths of the ocean. Jason’s teeth dig into the pink flesh of his lip, staining it red as blood rushes to the surface.
In his lap, his hands are clenched into fists, his nails breaking into his palms. Blood wells around them, thin red lines falling down towards his knees. This time Clive does reach out. He shuffles his chair over until the armrests are touching and rests his palms over Jason’s knuckles.
Jason flinches, Clive immediately retracting his hands, but releases his fists. The cuts in his hands fade quickly, fading until only smears of blood remain. Clive keeps his face even, tamping down the emotion in his aura. He feels Jason’s tremble.
“There’s something…” Jason takes a deep breath, and Clive wonders if all these reactions, the tears and the watery eyes, are the subconscious remnants of his pre-essence life or a conscious choice. Something done in a world lacking in magic to seem less alien. “There’s something I want to show you guys. You’d love it- I actually thought of you when I got it,” Clive’s heart clenches, “I thought of you a lot. Some of the things I saw… I could have used you.”
Clive’s fingers dig into the cloud stuff of the chair.
“And this thing,” Clive prompts.
“I’m not ready.” Jason is looking down at his lap, where his hands are splayed out, flat palmed, on his knees. “It’s nothing dangerous, but when my family…”
“That’s alright,” Clive says. “I can wait. I am dying to know, but I trust you.”
Jason laughs once, short and watery.
“Thank you,” Jason says, his eyes meeting Clive’s again. “Sometimes I don’t think you know what you say means. To me, that is. Just…” Jason’s voice breaks. “Thank you.”
Clive reaches out again. Tentatively. Slowly. Like he’s approaching a wounded animal. He doesn’t know what his goal is, just that he has the urge to comfort, even if he doesn’t know how. Clive’s hand rests on Jason’s shoulder and he doesn’t flinch this time. He leans into it, falling over until his head rests on Clive’s shoulder and Clive’s arm slips behind his back.
“Is this okay?” Jason asks, and if it weren't for Clive’s silver rank senses, he wouldn’t have heard him.
Clive’s aura smooths itself along Jason’s, trying to convey warmth, an invitation for Jason to relax. The hard shell of Jason’s own finally begins to soften, a gradual acceptance more than a breaking as it spreads, surrounding Clive’s in a way much thicker and sturdier than the cloud house’s latent aura.
It’s protective, benevolent and possessive, engulfing Clive’s aura as if to assure both Clive and Jason that they are safe.
“Of course.”
Dampness seeps into the shoulder of Clive’s shirt and he tightens his arm around Jason’s shoulders. The armrests between them disappear as the two chairs turn into a couch. Jason shifts, turning until he’s laying down, head on Clive’s lap.
In the warmth of the sunset, Jason’s hair shines. Impossibly smooth in the way only magic can make it. Unable to resist, Clive’s hand finds its way to Jason’s head, brushing the hair from Jason’s face. His nails lightly scrape against the other man’s scalp and Jason makes a pleased noise, leaning into it.
Satisfaction, warm and pleasant, glows in Clive’s chest. It radiates out into his aura, and he knows Jason can sense it. That Jason can read his emotions as easily as if Clive had announced the feelings himself.
“It’s been a while since I’ve seen a sunset,” Jason says, voice still wrung out. “There’s always a storm on the horizon when I check.”
“It’s because we’re in a high magic zone,” Clive explains, continuing to thread his fingers through Jason’s hair. Jason pushes into the hand like a cat. “The area’s prone to storms due to the geographical location, but these storms will suck up the ambient magic like a dry towel, supercharging themselves, and then wring water and turbulent magic over us. A drizzle becomes a downpour, and a downpour becomes a hurricane with lightning strong enough to stun a gold ranker.”
“Farrah said something like that when we got here.” Jason yawns, another unconscious and unneeded reaction.
“She’s a talented magical researcher.”
“Not as talented as you.”
Clive’s hand freezes, for just a moment, before he continues petting Jason’s head, to his shoulder, to his arm. Goosebumps rise in the wake of his hand.
“Thank you,” Clive whispers.
There’s no response, and they sit there, Clive playing with Jason’s hair as the sun continues disappearing behind the curve of the planet. When Clive finally looks down again, he sees Jason, eyes closed. Asleep. Wet tear tracks still line his cheeks, a puffy redness around his eyes that starts disappearing as Clive watches. Using his thumb, Clive wipes away the salty water, skin catching on one of Jason’s many scars.
The mark of a man unwilling to bend, even to the Builder.
A man close to snapping in that refusal.
Clive conjures a blanket from his dimensional storage. He is unable to make himself move, unable to extricate himself when he has Jason, warm and alive and in his arms. And as the last of the sunset fades, Clive is still there, holding Jason, letting him rest. Perhaps for the first time in a while.
Humphrey comes at some point, not saying anything when he sees the two of them, a grim concern etched across his face. A few minutes after he leaves, he comes back with another blanket, this time wrapping it around Clive’s shoulders.
“He’s fragile right now,” Humphrey whispers, watching the rise and fall of Jason’s chest. Clive nods and Humphrey rests a hand on Clive’s shoulder. “Watch after him, Clive.”
“Of course.”
No one bothers them after that, and eventually, once twilight had faded and the stars and moons hang bright in the sky, Clive’s own eyes droop closed.