and when the night wind starts to sing a lonesome lullaby

[sirenscarred]

There were stories out on the trade routes for the past few years, urban legends that moved from station to outpost to colony as ships made the trek between them. They told healthy mix of stories of space cannibals, conspiracies and news from the major planetary alliances. And then... then there were the ghost stories. The ships that appeared every ten years in systems on opposite ends the the galaxy, genetic experiments and mutations. All the fodder used to get a free drink at a local bar before shipping out again, things that made their way onto the interplanetary networks.

The most popular in recent years was the story circulating about a person, or creature, that looked like a man with abilities like what were reported in sirens in the abandoned quadrants of space. There was never anything too clear except that he was young and either scarred or tattooed in an unusual way.

And that he left trouble in his wake.

--

In the beginning, when Cae had left Ivor behind he'd been convinced that space was big enough that he could keep moving without being found by anyone. It was hard to tell if he'd made the right choice, waiting until Ivor was asleep and running. He wasn't human anymore, not entirely. The songs that clawed their way out of his throat and the siren marks on his body were proof enough of that. Eventually someone would find them and hurt Ivor trying to get to him. Leaving meant he was safe to live the life he deserved. A life without Cae to fuck it up with his weirdness.

The worst thing he'd come to learn about space was, even though most of it was empty you still had to be around people to survive. He'd earned his way on a few ships before someone had caught on that he was unique. They'd tried to drug him and sell him to slavers. They'd even managed to brand him before the drugs wore off and he lost control of his song for the first time in months. When it was over, he'd freed the people they'd already taken and then took one of their ships for himself. The profit for selling it was enough to buy a craft of his own and IDs that claimed he was someone else. Caesar Belle went off the map.

But trouble followed no matter how much he tried to run. Sometimes he jumped in and sometimes he was dragged into it against his will. It left him with a reputation he kept trying to outrun and could never entirely shake no matter how many times he changed his ID and tried to hide his otherness.

He was stuck in an outpost, the longest he'd been stationary in the last year. His ship's propulsion coil had warped and left him grounded until a shipment came in. He tried to avoid becoming familiar with the locals, did small jobs to earn money and ate in dive bars and cheap diners.

It was easy to stay anonymous until it wasn't. All it took was one drunk getting in his face and picking a fight. A flare of anger boiled in his stomach as the ever present monstrous part of him demanded he sing the life out of the drunk trying to insult him. It was always there, pressing at him to feed like he ought to. His song had been stronger after he'd been sold to the slavers, glutted on whatever it was that the sirens took from their victim. It was still strong but slowly draining back. Sometimes he wanted to give in though he always managed to fight the urge. Instead he let the asshole drag him out into the alley.

"You won't want to do this," He said.

Or that's what he would have said if a fist didn't collide with his cheekbone before more than three words were out. The anger flared again, not the killing anger that had hit him back with the slavers, but a tamer one. Instead of fighting Cae opened his mouth and sang. Not a song of death but one of sleep, of dark, forgetful places and gentle things. The drunk swayed, eyes drifting before he collapsed onto the ground snoring. The song wanted to continue though he swallowed it down, head swimming at the effort he'd put into it. Or maybe it was a concussion.

"Shit..." He snarled, struggling to his feet. There was no telling if there had been witnesses. He wanted to go home to his ship, lick his wounds and dream of getting away from this backwater outpost. He'd wish to dream of Ivor if it didn't leave him with such an ache in his chest.

Comments

[stillstar]

Ivor followed those stories.

When he and Cae had parted, it hadn't been on his terms, and the worst part was never knowing if he was still alive or dead or somewhere in between. It had made him sick for days, trying to find him and asking after the only person who had come to matter in the time they'd escaped their siren hell. He'd only met with disappointment though, the same anxious feeling balling up in his chest and sinking low into his stomach until he felt like puking or screaming or crying. Ivor never puked though. He couldn't scream, even if he tried, so all he had left were tears and heartache, an irreplaceable need to find Cae and never let him go again.

Trusting people didn't get easier either.

The few times he'd hitched a ride on someone's ship to the next colony or the closest space port had left him angry and disoriented, clearly not of the right mindset to believe that others wouldn't assume he would sell himself for the transportation. It made him tougher and quieter—if that was something that could even be done. Ivor rarely touched his comp band, and he didn't acknowledge anyone unless it was to pursue a lead on Cae. (Of course, those leads wound up dead because he was always a minute too late, a second too short.) He ached for the more comforting times of falling asleep next to Cae all the time, wrapped up in him or wrapped around him, and every night, he looked to the stars for an answer.

They never gave him one.

At least, until they did.

It was an accident, stumbling upon the outpost in the first place. His last ride had stranded him there; less lack of sexual gratification and more needing to disappear in a hurry, which meant ditching him at the first place they'd come across. And Ivor had done the usual routine after an hour or two: ask around, get pointed in some random direction before overhearing something noteworthy and checking it out. Of course, he hadn't expected it to turn up anything remotely warm. Wherever Cae was, whatever he was doing... He was smart about it, and he certainly didn't want to be found by anyone. Ivor included.

The thought hurt, but he wasn't going to let it stop him from trying. Sometimes, he felt so close to the end of his search. Sometimes, he almost convinced himself to give up. It had been rough, the evidence of Cae's absence in the pallor of his skin and the lifeless look in his eyes. But Cae had been his best friend, his... He'd loved Cae, still loved him, and —

He wiped at his face in an attempt to scrub away the tears, only thing he'd gotten truly good at, and Ivor continued walking, feet slowly dragging to a halt when something else pulled at his chest. It felt familiar in a strange way, his body turning another corner and gasping as the breath left his lungs. Face, hair, mouth, voice. It was Cae. Somehow, it was Cae, and he was there looking strange but whole, not a figment of his imagination or a ghost of the past. Which meant Ivor didn't think as he pushed forward, fingers trembling over the cold edge of his comp band before he surrendered and walked straight toward the other to wrap his arms around him.

[sirenscarred]

It was the last thing he'd ever expected. He had spent years building up a wall around himself, hardening the vulnerable parts of him that used to bleed at the softest touch. It has been the only way to survive without Ivor there. It left him empty most of the time, a void he purposely left to punish himself. He'd left Ivor for his own good. The monster in him was cruel and hungry and he'd never trust it not to ruin the one good thing he'd ever had.

It was the right thing to do, right? Cut himself off from the person he loved so that he wouldn't have the chance to find out how weak his control really was. It had felt like the right choice in the moment but his shame in the days that followed whispered that it he was a coward too scared to see how weak he really was.

But as he scrubbed at his cheek, the dull throb of the bruise already forming along his cheekbone, he heard something that froze him in place. Just a soft gasp of air, hardly any sound to it at all, but he knew it all the same. It had been carved into his heart over the time spent with Ivor, his breath expressive for all that it lacked a voice. It drew his eye to the one person in the entire galaxy that knew him.

He was rooted in place as Ivor approached, heart pounding on his chest so hard he felt dizzy. All Cae's words left him, apologies and excuses alike sinking to the bottom of his stomach like rocks. He wanted to cry.

He felt like he might throw up.

"Ivor." He said. Cae swallowed around a knot in his throat. His hands shook as he pulled him close. He looked so thin, almost sick. Was that his fault?

He had so many things he wanted to say.

You shouldn't be here.

I'm dangerous.

Go home.

"I'm so sorry..." He whispered.