The door once again clicked open, and both Chief Seong and Haneul could be heard from the entryway. 

“That’s my cue then.” Ha-Rin stood and gathered her medical supplies. 

“Thank you for your company, Ha-Rin,” Hrafn said quietly, giving a slow shudder of his bandaged wing as a test.  “And for your help.”

She regarded him carefully as she stood, a complicated look crossing her expression before she seemed to acquiesce. Shrugging her jacket and medical bag on, she gave him a friendly wave. “Anytime. Let Chief Seong know if you get lonely. I can’t guarantee I can come everytime, but I’ll try when I can.”

He found himself dumbfounded and grateful. Once more he had gained as close to an ally as he could here on Earth. In return to her farewell, he offered her an amiable wave and nod of his head.

Charles very eagerly followed her to the front door. It was noisy. The melodic chiming of Haneul, Chief Seong, and Ha-Rin fluttered to where he sat. Pleasant sounds reached his ears as they flickered to catch the words better. While he couldn’t quite understand the full extent of the conversation, their tones were airy and teasing. He could see from his spot in the living room that Ha-Rin slung an arm around Chief Seong’s shoulders while the guard feigned appraisal. Haneul raised his hands in playful defense all the while Charles jumped back and forth at their feet. 

Resting his chin on the palm of his hand, Hrafn wondered if the times spent with Trunadur and his other comrades looked like such a scene. A pang jostled his nerves and underneath his skin. It burned painfully and stung with an awful fierceness. 

“You okay?” Haneul’s voice suddenly cut through the air—there he was, before him. Tangible and standing. 

Hrafn opened his mouth to answer only to find himself lost for words. How would he describe such an emotion? Pain, rue, exhaustion, and reminiscence all in one balled up tangle. He frowned.

It took a moment as Haneul’s gaze searched him before he walked away towards the study without another word. Hrafn supposed that was for the best. The human did not look particularly well either—and after a long day of…whatever humans did during the sun hours, he was sure quiet and rest were warranted. Afterall, Haneul had already expressed his displeasure earlier that morning. 

Ha-Rin’s voice echoed faintly in his ear. None of this life was Haneul’s choice. He was born into it and stayed out of obligation to his family. 

Unlike Hrafn. Becoming Drottnari was a voluntary task. He completed much time amidst a like-minded fleet. They trained, cultivated, and steeled themselves as soldiers until one day they could face each other in an arena as equals. One by one, each candidate for warlord was felled or disappeared until only one remained. The victor—

“Hrafn.” Haneul’s voice surprised him again. 

He stared up in wonder. The sunlight cascaded around the human from the large wall windows. Every tone of him was warm, from the gentle brown of his skin to the ruddy glints in his hair. Even the usually steele color of the human’s suit seemed welcoming in the fading sunlight. It was a gentle glow, something that invited and welcomed one to touch. Hrafn felt inclined to lean forward, and the sharpest tug of yearning pulled at his chest, to tuck that warmth close against himself and never let go… Truly, was he that lonely?

But the human met him in the middle, as if he knew. 

“Follow me.” Haneul reached out his hand. 

There was no hesitation when the warlord grabbed the human’s hand, and with an unexpected strength, the man helped Hrafn up from the couch. There was an awkward difference in the size of their grasps. While he’d never once considered himself delicate, there was a firm stoutness to the splay of Haneul’s palms and fingers that somehow diminished Hrafn’s larger hands. In the human’s hold, Hrafn felt as though his hand was delicate and poised—his long and spindly fingers almost refined instead of bony and calloused from his scythe. 

How odd.

Haneul led him to the front door and peeked out where Chief Seong stood. The other man gave a blink, caught unawares, before stepping aside. 

“We’re heading to the rooftop,” Haneul said before taking Hrafn to another doorway. 

“Roger,” Chief Seong watched as they disappeared past the door, before chiming into what seemed like a communicator. “Sweep the stairway and elevators—make sure no one goes to the gardens until I clear it.”

Hrafn had to duck under the door frame before the door itself shut behind them. As they stepped into a stairwell, he kept himself hunched to avoid bumping his head on the low ceiling. Thankfully, it didn’t take them long to reach their next exit. 

“There’s not much you can do until your wing fully heals,” Haneul said as the last of the evening light flooded around them. “But you can always come here if you feel trapped.”

Hrafn gazed out with fascination as they moved outside. The sky glittered with sparkling light not from stars but from the surrounding buildings that shimmered like ice. Despite the overbearing reminder of civilization, all around them verdant and colorful foliage flourished. Blooms of red and blush littered the building top, spilling over the troughs they’d been planted in and over onto the floor. More noise surrounded them. Machines and people flooded from the world below. The nighttime life at the Myeongdong Market bustled as people walked with friends and searched for a comforting meal before going home and just overall lived. A living thrum of humming, honking, whirring. So unlike the still quiet of his planet, even during the warm season. 

“What is this?” Hrafn wondered, his dew claw clacking against the cement as he went to inspect the flowers. 

“It’s my garden,” Haneul said, looking at him with an expression Hrafn couldn’t name. “There are times where I can’t just up and leave like I want…or need. So I started growing roses on the rooftop.”

“Roses,” Hrafn repeated, gently brushing his fingers against one of the buds—the petals soft and plush beneath his touch. “Amazing.”

Haneul noted softly, “Mm, just be careful, the stems have thorns.” 

Gingerly moving the flower, Hrafn inspected the sharp and angry protrusions along the plant. “And you grew these yourself?”

“Of course, it’s not so much of a pain when you know what to do,” Haneul said. “My mother had rose bushes when I was young, so perhaps this is my way of feeling nostalgic.”

Mother. Another word, like father. Words he’d known of but never experienced.

Haneul sat on the edge of one of the planters. “Roses like these are finicky in the poor growing conditions of the skyrise. They need their space to grow.”

Hrafn began to calculate where this was going and something about it disarmed him greatly. 

“Much like you, I imagine.” Haneul said.

It’d been what the humans called weeks since Hrafn was last able to unfurl his wings fully. The sensation sent a relieved shiver through his shoulders and down his spine. His feathers quivered. 

“I know this won’t solve all your problems, but we’ll get you there,” Haneul murmured. 

Hrafn stared observantly at the human. “Why are you helping me?”

“Why?” Haneul asked back, crossing his arms over his chest. He gave a small hum and an even smaller smile. “Because you’re trapped somewhere you shouldn’t be. Where you don’t want to be. That’s enough for me.”

Trapped. 

Something churned in Hrafn’s stomach. Of the two of them, he realized he was not the one lost or stuck against his will. His wing would heal. He’d find a Star Warp. He would return to Bjarnstar and make things right.

But underneath the garden, gnarled within the roots of the roses, in a building that loomed in the sky, decorated with the finest of commodities, Haneul was imprisoned. A gilded cage. One that no amount of smashing through glass and demanding audience would fix. A prison of his own volition made to placate those around him. Was Haneul ensuring Hrafn did not end up in the same predicament?

“When my wing is better…” Hrafn began but didn’t know how to continue.

Haneul waved him off. “Don’t worry about that. There’ll be far more on your plate when that happens.”

“What plate?” Hrafn furrowed his brow—they’d yet to eat. There were no plates.

It was quiet for a beat before a loud and rumbling bark broke through the silence. It was melodic and chesty, reverberating like a low drum. Haneul covered his mouth while his shoulders shook. This was the second time today that Hrafn had been laughed at, and while he wanted to glower with indignance…he just couldn’t. Unlike Ha-Rin’s bell-like mirth, this was something altogether different. Haneul’s eyes were tired and yet they wrinkled with happy lines. His lips pulled back and flashed teeth jovially. But it was his sound, a sound that drowned out those of the city around them. It was a thunderous and contagious joy that caused the feathers on Hrafn’s wings to ruffle with a tender shiver. 

A smile eased its way onto his own lips.