M!Pen/M!MC

A/N: This is a longer story than most of the other shorts. The person who commissioned me is part of the Gatekeeper tier which means either two short stories, or one long one. This is between a male Pen and a male MC, during a somewhat present time in Book 2.

In every realm across the skies, there was always that spot. The one in which the lovers gathered, and clandestine meetings took place in secret. Some would consider it romantic. Others deceitful. But one thing remained true across all the variations of life across the cosmos. 

Love.

When Ashaya had first come down, he hadn’t understood love. Not fully, at least. It was around him in various forms. Couples holding hands. Small children running to their parents or guardians after a particularly long day of play. It was shown by a neighbor giving another food. By a stranger smiling at someone who needed kindness. From the elderly who still danced in the street while the young love looked on, wondering if it would be them one day. Ashaya saw it every time he stepped foot on the cobblestone paths. But he never quite understood it. That it could come in so many different forms and be so nuanced that no two loves were the same. It was complicated in a way that didn’t seem real.

And then he had died.

Death was an awakening of sorts. A way to highlight just how potent love could be. He found it funny that Death was also his oldest and dearest friend. The very one that had tried to tell him not to go down to the market proper. That love did not need to be sought out in such a solid form. Pen had argued that love could be found in the stars just as well as it could in the dangerous streets of mortals. But Ashaya had not listened.

Convinced that he needed to learn such things for himself, Ashaya had hated his plan to walk among love. Pen couldn’t possibly understand the plight because he was like all the other eternal beings out there. Unknowing to the pleasures that the mortals received from such an emotion and destined to live in misunderstanding. Ashaya felt like a fool now. Because looking back on it all, Pen knew. He knew what love was far better than Ashaya. And he loved Ashaya enough to let the mistake be made.

Kicking at a broken gemstone, Ashaya looked out across the courtyard. A garden had appeared and had become a beacon of hope in the otherwise dark. Large gem statues stretched up towards the tattered lanterns, emitting their own glow. It filled the surroundings with purple and azure and soft blush tones.  There was a solemnity here that Ashaya equated to something like worship. Or maybe it was just a way to cope with what this once vibrant world had become.

Walking across the broken paths, Ashaya kept his head down. Locks of deep blue hair fell in front of his face, blending in with the world around him. He had taken inspiration from the sky when he had first appeared. It had served him well enough to keep himself hidden from the worst of perpetrators.  Being an omniscient being was kind of like that. Little ticks and tricks were enacted with seemingly no reason and then later, it became so helpful that there was no way it could have been a mistake to begin with.

“Are you brooding?”

Ashaya felt a tug of a smile. Black boots fell in step alongside his own, the soles of which crushed the smaller gems beneath their feet, embedding it into the earthen floor.

“Is it the hair?” Ashaya asked. “I think it's the hair.”

“It does give off a rather dower self reflective vibe.” Pen was grinning next to him. All long lines and jovial face. Who would have thought that Death would be so happy. “I don’t often see you in these parts.”

Ashaya looked around, spying a few statues that were still being erected. He wondered who the artist was. And who the muse had been to inspire such beauty. “I didn’t even know this district existed until recently. Has it been here long?”

“For a spell.” Pen leaned in close enough for the scent of grave dirt to fill Ashaya’s senses. It was shot through with fresh mint and lavender, creating the cool scent of midnight dreams. “That statue over there is new,” he said. “Same as that one. But most of these have been within the market since before I even stepped foot here. They just move from time to time.”

“I see. So we have walking statues to add to our list of beings here in the realm?”

“It would make a great brochure.”

The two of them turned a corner, leading to a grove of gem grown trees. They sprouted from the ground and reached above the cobblestone walls, the leaves dripping from their boughs made of sparkling emeralds and dotted occasionally with ruby.

“The changing of the seasons,” Pen said. “It’s been a favorite of mine for a white.”

Ashaya looked at him curiously. “I never knew that.”

“You never asked,” he said with a shrug and a small, sad smile. “Back when I was young, it meant that my mother was coming home to visit. When the seasons would change to the more colder tones, she would arrive to spend time with me and my father. I used to spend hours looking for those color changes in the potted plants we had around the palace.”

Ashaya remembered the potted plants. They had remained dead after Pen’s father passed. Only in the recent years had they began to rise up again, this time, woven with silver veins that lit up their dusky leaves.

“Why don’t they come to visit any longer?” Ashaya asked. It had been a touchy subject for so many years, and then Ashaya had stopped thinking about it. Because no matter how it was spun, before this current form, before having a beating heart that actually felt, Ashaya was shallow and careless. Even more so with the ones that had stuck by his side.

“Can’t,” Pen said.  “It was one of the first doors that had to close when you started getting sick.”

Ashaya stopped. “What?”

“Oh, don’t look at me like that. We had a discussion about this already. The doors to my palace use up far too much energy, and that energy is mostly taken from the Night Market itself. I wasn’t going to siphon off more and more power from the realm when it was already growing thin. I’m not a little boy anymore. I don’t need my mommy and daddy.”

There was sadness there. Ashaya was sure he had heard the line before but had never detected it.

Reaching out, he took Pen’s hand. The man seemed almost surprised by the action. A strange revelation given how touchy they were before. But ever since coming down here, he had been more distant. Something had shifted between them and while Ashaya felt it, he couldn’t quite give a name to it yet. It felt like anticipation. Like he was just waiting for something to come.

“I’m sorry,” he told Pen. “I’ll get that fixed.”

“Don’t,” he said, waving it off. Though he kept their hands linked. “There are so many other things that need to be fixed first. I am not top of that priority list.”

Ashaya couldn’t help but think about how Pen should be top of that priority list. And if he was really honest with himself, how Pen most of the time was factored in to most of Ashaya’s decisions lately.

“Come on,” Pen said, tugging on his hand. “No brooding. Either change your hair to get out of the funk or come with me. No other options.”

“Where are we going?”

“Oh. That. I actually don’t know,” he laughed. “I was just trying to move past an awkward moment.”

Turning to him, Ashaya widened his violet colored eyes, staring at Pen unblinking. Pen began shifting a little, looking around to see what it was that Ashaya was doing. That violet stare was so bright in the night that it nearly filled their surroundings with lavender light. A sign from the spirits, some would whisper. Pen just wanted to know why his friend was being creepy. 

Finally, he relented. “Stop,” he admonished. “I don’t know what you’re doing but stop.”

Ashaya leaned forward. “I’m making it more awkward.”

Pen laughed loudly, a hint of exasperated relief coming through. “Come off it.” With a small shove, he broke Ashaya’s gaze, and the two of them continued down the gemstone path together.

The market was rebuilding. Making itself. One by one, new districts were opening and appearing, uncovering ones that had long since been forgotten by time. There had been rejoicing amongst the older market goers as homesteads that had long been lost to the market began to appear again. Hope was beginning to swirl and while the lights were still out, change was on the horizon.

“Well, would you look at that,” Pen muttered.

Ashaya looked up as they ducked under another one of the gemstone trees, the red tips of leaves seeping into the green.  There was an old statue near a little river made to look like stars.  It was of a small boy, barely old enough to understand what they were doing.  For a moment, Ashaya was struck with a longing so hard that it nearly knocked him back. But then, he saw it. 

It was Pen.

Or, how Ashaya remembered Pen to be. A youthful child with rounded cheeks and a smile that could light up the entire night sky.  His hair was messy and slashed across his eyes. The black robes he wore looked as if they were spread out in a way to have him take flight. Ashaya followed the familiar lines he had not seen since long before his memory became shaky, tracing the arm that pointed upwards. There was a glittering cloud that shimmering just beyond his reached. But the statue looked as if it was ready to reach out and snatch it.

“It’s me,” Pen stated. Ashaya was still looking at the glitter, shifting from nothing to flickering brightness all at once. “And you.”

Ashaya startled. “Me?”

“Yeah. It’s how you used to come to me.”

When Ashaya didn’t have a form. Or couldn’t decide on one. When the games became too interesting to keep up with a visage. This. This was what Ashaya had looked like. A swirling mass that zipped around Pen in game, caressing his cheeks with giggled laughter. Ashaya had nearly forgotten.

“Who do you think put this here?” he mused. There was delight in his eyes as he bounded up to the statue. He struck a pose, just like the boy, reaching for the essence of the Night Market’s own form. A shiver ran through Ashaya as he touched it. “Ha! It’s moving.”

“I think it’s me.”

“We’ve established this.”

“No,” Ahsaya shook his head, trying to gain bearing from such a gentle caress. “Like, it’s an actual little bit of me.”

Pen turned to Ashaya with confusion, wiggling his fingers around the inside of the specks of light. Ashaya gasped loudly, as if Pen had just played a tune down the cords of his spine.

Pen’s hand dropped away, as he hopped down off the platform the statue had been on. “Did you put this here?” No one but the Night Market themselves, could really transfer essence. If that was a physical bit of Ashaya’s higher body, he would have had to tuck it close and weave it into the world. 

Closing his eyes, Ashaya tried to recall the memory. Of when this would have even been made. There were so many to sift through, however, now that he knew what he was looking for. Moments of when the realm had just formed. Before mortals walked the streets. Before the streets had even been set. When Ashaya had danced around, formless, but had made sure to make little hovels out of excitement to show his friend. Because if Ashaya was going to make a world, then Pen would need to be comfortable in it. There had been such dreams of the two of them, sharing a world together. A playground that was solely theirs. The bones of this world had been formed by Ashaya, but he had made sure to bend and weave them in a way that told Pen he was always welcome.

“Ashaya?”

Ashaya opened his eyes to find Pen standing right in front of them. A strange little look on his face.

“Sorry,” Ashaya breathed. “I was lost for a moment.”

Pen caught the way his eyes flicked over his shoulder. Looking at their childhood.  “You know,” Pen started. With a wave of a hand, a bone colored bench formed, candles lighting by its side as a black velvet underlay wafted down around it. He took Ashaya by the hand, tugging them towards the seat. “I have wandered this realm of yours more times than I can count. Reaping bodies. Trying to discover the things that make it so appealing for many. And on my travels, I have uncovered many things.”

Sitting down, they were tucked close together, their shoulders touching. Ashaya could feel the coldness come from Death’s form. He tried to offer some light in return.

“This world was woven with such intention. Pockets of dreams that were conjured by youth. Bits of castles created from stories once woven in play. Painted pictures of creatures that couldn’t possibly exist outside the imagination. It has been a wonder to discover it all. Has filled me, and I am sure many others, with childlike splendor.”

Ashaya looked at him curiously, not sure where this was leading.

“When I was young, I looked at it all like a secret puzzle. Uncovering fragments of it. Wondering where the next would lead. Like a treasure hunt based inside a slowly unraveling world. Now, I see it for what it is?”

“And what is it?” Ashaya’s voice was barely a whisper. As if Pen was weaving a spell that he didn’t dare break.

“A letter, of sorts. Love written on a tapestry of bones that transcends what we know and is based more in indescribable feeling.” 

Turning to Ashaya, Pen reached out, brushing some of that nighttime hair from their eyes. The touch was gentle. Hesitant.

“Thank you.”

“For what?” Ashaya swallowed.

“For making sure you could never forget our time together.”

Ashaya looked over at the statue. A moment of their childhood frozen in time. It would serve as a memory of their love, no matter where they would go. “Is that what this is?”

Pen raised a brow. “Did you play with another Death when you were young?”

“Several,” Ashaya quipped. “You were number four on the list.”

“Ha ha.” Pen leaned forward, pressing his head to Ashaya’s. “I get it now,” he whispered.

“Get what?” Ashaya didn’t dare pull away. Touch had been so effortless when they were young. When had it become something taboo? Something more than just a sign of quick affection.

“Why you were consumed with learning what love may be.”

Ashaya closed his eyes, just breathing Pen in. “You might have to explain that one to me.”

“You needed a name for it. To understand what you were feeling.”

“Are you confessing love for me?”

Pen only smiled. “Oh, no, old friend. You did that long ago with the monuments of me you tattooed into your skin.”

“That sounds a bit creepy, when you put it that way.”

A soft rumble of a chuckle rolled through the two of them as Pen found his amusement and held Ashaya close. “I’m Death. What do you expect?”

The two of them sat there for a while. Close together, breathing in the other's life.  The statue of their younger selves played in a distant time, laughing loud and free, not yet encumbered by the burdens of life. Ashaya wanted to pull Pen closer. Wanted to feel him against his own chest and promise him that he would never leave again.

The words were stuck in his throat.

So, he allowed himself to be content. To sit with his oldest friend and breathe. And maybe, just maybe, that love letter that he had written, would be spoken outloud one day.