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This wasn’t Clancy.
His cold, unblinking eyes bored into his. The darkness reached to his lips, all consuming the man he held so dear. He desperately searched his eyes for anything, any trace of the man he knew so well. As Clancy -not his Clancy- held the crimson fabric out to him, he could only look glare in disgust.
His eyes met Clancy’s -not his Clancy, he reminded himself urgently- again, trying to decipher anything from his expression. Was this really it?
His hands trembled, he wanted to reach out and pull him into his chest, centering him so close that maybe they’d fall back through the floor, into a place constructed just for the two of them.
The two of them.
The two of them quietly huddled inside their tent, foreheads pressed together as they stifled their laughter. Torchbearer pressed his warm hand to Clancy’s face, his brown eyes illuminating his world, his temperature warm. Clancy’s hands grabbed for his shoulders, gripping him tight like he’d never let go.
“Torchbearer,” he breathed out, unable to hide his smile. Clancy softly pressed his lips to his neck, and Torchbearer was sure he was heating up too much for the small tent. His free hand ran down Clancy’s side, his handle, reaching under his shirt. He tried to take in as much of him as he could, drawing in his scent and pressing his face to his hair.
It was wrong of him to feel this way for a war weapon, let alone when the blade was now held to his neck. The handle slipped from his death grip, into opposing hands, and now his beloved blade would seek vengeance. It wasn’t Clancy and Torchbearer, it was Clancy against Torchbearer.
The two of them forever paralleled.
He wanted to go back, and create a world where they could be alone together, forever. No more responsibilities, no Dema, no banditos, no Torchbearer and Clancy, just them as two beings other than themselves.
He would’ve ripped and tore through every fabric of time, burned every page of their story, rewrote the entirety of their world, just to be his.
He would’ve reached through the stars and reconstructed every constellation to change their fate, for him to be someone other than himself, someone whose morals could bend to be Clancy’s, his and his only.
He would have done anything for Clancy.
He wanted to scream, wanted to beg and plea, bargain and give, anything for everything to be different. He could only fall silent, lip quivering as he knew nothing would fall through to him. He was barricaded from his heart and soul, against his will.
This wasn’t his Clancy.
Clancy only blinked as he turned on his heel to abandon him. For a moment, Torchbearer swore he saw the humanity inside of him, the warmth he once was familiar with. His face fell as his spark faded, watching as he passed the cloak onto the next bandito.
Torchbearer settled outside the tower, rolling his letters with fine precision. His eyes caught sight of Clancy’s mask, he couldn’t bring himself to leave it. He had to force himself to swallow down the shudder threatening to wrack through his body. He fought down the tears threatening to spill. There was no mourning for someone who was never his.
No matter how the stars aligned, Clancy was never his.
Never his weapon, or his lover.