Work Text:
Doughael sat on the cool stone floor of one of the church’s forgotten rooms. Only a few candles burned nearby, their small flames swaying with each breath of air. Their wings stretched wide behind them, spilling across the floor in long arcs of pale white, catching the candlelight like snow.
Healer knelt close, his hands steady and gentle. The scent of incense hung between them, mingling with the faint sweetness of polished feathers. Doughael’s wings rustled faintly as he worked. The soft sound of each motion. Deliberate and tender.
Healer began at the top of one wing, carefully separating the long primaries, smoothing each one between his fingers to untangle the fine barbs. Now and then, he’d pause to blow away a bit of dust or a loose down feather, his breath warm against the cool surface. His fingers were deft, but reverent. He touched Doughael as though handling something holy, too fragile for the weight of the world.
“You’ve let them go again,” he murmured quietly, voice soft.
“I know,” Doughael admitted, eyes half-lidded. “There’s always something else that seems more important.”
Healer smiled faintly, the expression full of gentle reproach. “You can’t guide others if you forget how to care for yourself.”
He dipped a corner of a cloth into the basin beside him — the water scented faintly of rosemary and oil — and wiped away a faint stain from one of the feathers. The touch made Doughael’s breath hitch; not from pain, but from the strange, shivering warmth that came with being tended to so lovingly.
Each stroke of Healer’s hand felt like a prayer in motion. His thumb followed the curve of a shaft; his palm smoothed the down where it was ruffled. When he found a broken barb, he leaned in, breath brushing Doughael’s skin as he whispered something before pressing it flat again.
The room was utterly quiet, save for the faint murmur of their breathing and the rhythmic slide of feather against feather. Doughael closed their eyes, letting the calm seep into them. The world beyond these walls — the Order, the duties, the endless expectations — all melted away.
There was only Healer, and the light touch of his fingers threading through silver plumage.
Healer worked slowly, patiently, until every feather lay smooth and gleaming. When he was done with one wing, he moved to the other, brushing his fingertips along the base where the feathers met skin. The touch sent a ripple of warmth through Doughael’s body, a quiet, unspoken ache that settled deep in their chest.
“You’re trembling,” Healer whispered, pausing.
Doughael smiled faintly, eyes still closed. “It’s not from pain.”
Healer’s fingers lingered, uncertain. The air between them grew heavy with something neither dared name — devotion, affection, something perilously close to longing. His hand rose higher, brushing along the outer edge of a wing until their fingers brushed.
When Doughael turned toward him, the movement was instinctive. Their eyes met, and for a moment neither spoke. The air felt thick. Then, without knowing who moved first, they closed the distance.
Their lips met. A hesitant brush at first, then a slow, trembling union that made time itself seem to hold its breath.
For a heartbeat, it felt eternal. The soft press of warmth, the taste of shared air, the sacred quiet of two souls finding each other at last. Doughael thought their heart might never stop singing.
But then — tears.
They felt the warmth of them before they saw them. When they pulled back, Healer’s cheeks were wet, his breath trembling. Instinctively, Doughael reached out, hands cradling his face.
“Healer? What’s wrong?” they whispered, voice breaking on the edges of worry.
“I…um…” Healer’s words faltered, caught between confusion and sorrow.
“It’s about your friends again, isn’t it?” Doughael asked softly, brow furrowed in concern.
The other nodded. A small, fragile motion.
Over the months they had spent together, Doughael had learned that Healer’s memories were… fractured. Sometimes, he spoke of places that didn’t exist in any map of Earthbread, or of people no one in the Order had ever heard of. Other times, memories seemed to strike him like lightning — sharp and disorienting — leaving him shaken, lost, and quiet for days.
There were things that triggered him: the sight of white lilies, which made his breath catch in his throat; a tune hummed in the evening halls that brought tears he couldn’t explain. Doughael had quietly asked the Order to keep such things away from him, shielding him as best they could.
But tonight, there had been no triggers. No reason for this sudden wave of grief.
“It’s okay,” Doughael murmured, finding his hand and gently intertwining their fingers. “You’re safe. Can you tell me what it was?”
Healer swallowed, voice trembling as he tried to speak through the tears. “It was your wings.”
“My wings?” Doughael echoed, surprised.
He nodded weakly. “You always say I’m so natural at tending them…and I was thinking about that. Then it just—it flashed before me. I was doing this before, for someone else. A friend.” His breathing quickened, eyes unfocused. “She had wings similar to yours…only golden. Like sunlight itself. So bright they almost hurt to look at. And sharp — she used to tease me, telling me not to cut myself while I brushed them.”
He paused, a shudder running through him. “The last time I saw her, she was hurt. There was jam— jam dripping down her wings. The others were there too, but they were all…they were all in such bad shape…”
His voice broke completely.
Doughael gathered him close, wrapping their arms around him and holding him as tightly as they dared. “Shhh… it’s all right,” they whispered into his hair. “You’re safe. Breathe with me, all right?”
Healer nodded shakily against their chest, his breaths uneven.
“Good,” Doughael said softly. “Now. Can you tell me five things you see in this room?”
Healer blinked, trying to focus. “…The candles. The window. Your wings. The tapestry. The… the basin.”
“Good,” Doughael murmured. “Now four things you can smell.”
He hesitated, then answered slowly. “Wax… incense… old wood… and—” his lips curved faintly, “—you.”
A quiet laugh escaped Doughael, the sound half relief, half tenderness. “Three things you can feel?”
They continued like that — grounding him, step by step — until Healer’s breathing steadied and the tremor left his voice.
“There we go,” Doughael whispered, brushing a thumb over his cheek as they pulled back just enough to look into his eyes. “Better?”
Healer nodded, a small grateful smile tugging at his lips. “Better. Thank you, Doughael. I’m sorry I keep giving you so much trouble.”
Their hands found each other again, fingers lacing together as naturally as breath. Their foreheads touched, the space between them filled with quiet warmth.
“You never give me trouble,” Doughael murmured. “You give me peace.”
A soft laugh trembled in Healer’s throat and then he smiled again. Light blooming behind his eyes again. It was the kind of smile that made Doughael’s heart ache in the most beautiful way.
Unable to resist, they leaned in once more, and their lips met again — gentler this time, slow and sure, like the closing of a promise neither dared to speak aloud.