Kit, Accompanied by Ozzy
He wasn’t used to it.
It — home — that feeling. That thick but light, “kind of joyful and a little more tragic than that” sort of feeling. It sat in his stomach, churning and boiling something frigid, and it blanked his face and wiped his eyes. But his heart still thumped. The world felt numb and tingly, distant, but his heart thumped and his hands shook and his knees threatened to give way at the slightest nudge. Pink dusted his cheeks and he swallowed. He felt nauseous, but in a good way. A best way.
He wasn’t used to it, this feeling, and he couldn’t for the life of him guess its name.
Kit swallowed against the sickness in his throat and squeezed the little hand in his. Green eyes, larger than life itself, met his own worn-out hazel, and with a sharp intake and but a moment’s hesitation, he turned the knob before him.
The dark wooden door opened with ease — no squeak, no heaviness, no catch in the frame to push through. No foul odor met his nose this time, but instead he breathed in the fresh, inviting scent of an uninhabited space. As Kit led his brother through the threshold, no haunted eyes turned to stare him down. No broken-clawed hands reached out to snatch his bags. The room was barren, yet delightfully full; instead of rats and a scatter of stolen coal, he found two beds, two desks, two chairs. There was carpet on the floor. There was a window, clear and clean and made with purpose rather than neglect, and it was finished with glass and all. It was all so… weird.
And it all belonged to them.
As that funny little notion sank into Kit’s head, his demeanor came to life. Part of him still couldn’t fathom how easy it had been to simply walk into the room, but the rest of him had settled on joy — as pure and complete as he had felt in Hell knew how long. He blushed a deep scarlet, basking in the emotion, and turned to Ozzy as his lips exploded into smile.
Ozzy looked as wonderstruck as Kit felt, with his youthfully big eyes made bigger with his amazement. Mouth half-open and face a telling pink, it looked as though Ozzy couldn’t decide whether to stare at the beds or his brother. He glanced frantically, as though unable to comprehend it was all theirs - really theirs - before he finally settled his gaze on Kit’s.
Voice quiet by contemplation, Ozzy said, “Is… Is this our house? With the beds and stuff?”
Speechless, Kit could only nod, and his giddiness grew as Ozzy’s amazement slipped into unbridled excitement.
Suddenly, Ozzy was virtually jumping off the walls. He made one hell of an unintelligable racket, jumping between their beds and shouting with delight. Bags forgotten on the floor, Kit couldn’t help but laugh.
Nevertheless, as Ozzy’s volume only grew, the Kit realized that, no matter how happy they were, there were still other people in the building. So, as Ozzy leapt across the beds for about the thirtieth time, Kit scooped him out of the air. He held the wiggling bundle of feathers to his chest, falling to his butt as Ozzy pushed against him, and laughed into his brothers feathery hair.
“Sh-shhh, Oz, y-you’re going to annoy the others!” he managed, choking on his amusement.
Ozzy huffed, but obeyed, lowering his voice after one triumphant shout. He wrapped his own little arms around Kit’s waist, squishing his cheeks into his brother’s hard chest.
Soon, the little boy was quivering, and Kit became aware of a wetness on his shirt. He pulled Ozzy closer, holding him tightly, as though letting go meant losing everything they’d just gained. The teen began to rock, just a bit, Ozzy’s head tucked beneath his chin, and he murmured soft things into his brother’s ears.
It took time, but Ozzy’s tears subsided into slackness as he drifted to sleep. Still, Kit continued to rock him. His smile lingered as he held his brother close, mind both blank and racing. Distantly, he thought of his past, of the caves and the filth and the rot. He thought of the future, of houses and soap and trees he could see outside of paintings on parchment. And he thought of the present, of books and community, of friendship and security, of safety for the first time in… in, he thought, his entire life. He thought of the good. He thought of the good.
And as he rocked his brother against him, Kit’s smile drifted from his face. His eyes stung, then burned, and even as the first silent tear rolled down his cheeks, he kept rocking. Kit wasn’t really sure who he was comforting anymore.
He just… He couldn’t believe…
He couldn’t believe it. Any of it. He couldn’t believe it at all.
And he wished, so terribly, that Semira could have come to disbelieve it too.
The clock on the wall ticked and ticked away, and slowly, Kit slipped into sweet oblivion as well, his eyes clouded with visions of lovers, of families, and of home.