“I want all the books we have on alchemy sent to my study,” Solaris demanded before rushing back to said study. Books were strewn across the desk, and he had notes upon notes. Most of the subjects he barely understood. Still, whenever he saw something he could remotely connect to the patterns he exhibited, or at least what he had seen in his own life and spirals, he jotted it down. Everything, absolutely everything, was tied together but also so horrendously disconnected. He couldn’t even say that he felt connected to himself. It felt like he was floating over his head or that his head was some foreign object to him.

A thought did cross his mind that maybe he should put down the book and try to be someone Sala wouldn’t shove into the bedroom for once, but it felt nigh impossible now that he had found this trail of crumbs. Of course, the first book was nothing more than a philosophical treatise, with its symbols and allegories focusing on the end rather than the means to the end. The diagrams were enough to describe the topics to him, but it wasn’t enough. He thought that if one book mentioned a force similar to Nihilo, then maybe all the other books had similar ideas, and maybe, just maybe, he could overcome it himself. Still, that would be tomorrow, as he had his affairs to deal with and the books still had to be found. The ones he had lacked any practice or, at least, any application to someone who didn’t already know how to apply them. It was a book written by seasoned alchemists for seasoned alchemists, and the trend only continued with the later ones that he found. All in all, it was as fruitless as it was fruitful, and he found himself at the beginning with enough knowledge to warrant a better exploration.

He looked up from his mess when Noctifer entered, looking around the room.

“She hurt herself, so I took care of it and sent her to sleep.”

“Oh,” replied Noctifer simply, showing neither disappointment nor excitement. Frowning, Solaris turned back to his work and paged through another book he had snatched from his shelf.

“You busy with another project?” asked Noctifer curiously as he shut the door, wandering over to Solaris’ desk. He bent down, resting on the edge of the desk as Solaris’ pen scraped against a page. His face contorted at the sharp sound, and, rather aggressively, he nudged the inkwell closer to Solaris. He took the hint and dipped his pen before continuing with his writing.

“I suppose so,” Solaris responded, tapping incessantly on the paper before he finally reclined. He let out a sigh and combed his fingers through his hair, showing the tired eyes more fully. Noctifer, growing concerned, sat on the edge of Solaris’ desk. He cupped Solaris’ face, thumbing the cheekbone that had become more exposed.

“You haven’t eaten since I left?”

“Sparingly, I was focused on other things.”

“How do you feel?”

“I feel fine.”

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“You are a horrible liar.” Noctifer sighed. The solar deity had little improvement. Noctifer’s presence only seemed to aggravate the symptoms, causing the deity to become more distant and emotional, yet also numb. They hadn’t spoken, but the disarray of Solaris’ otherwise pedantically tidied study was a clear sign. This sudden frantic obsession with alchemy only worried Noctifer more. Solaris was obsessive, which made life difficult when it came to discerning the deity’s intentions. They fought a few thousand years ago, where the deity questioned whether or not Solaris wanted to be friends with Noctifer as a person or Noctifer as a ‘concept’. The two hadn’t been the same since then.

Despite his annoyance, Noctifer still had a soft spot for Solaris. He still saw that jovial light deity that was born alongside him all those aeons ago. Solaris leaned into Noctifer’s hands, looking at his wrist.

“I feel as though I’m not myself,” he finally admitted.

“It feels like my mind is not my own, like two people are living in my body and I’m just a temporary resident. Everything feels so cold, and it’s almost like I can fall through the world at any moment.”

“Two people?”

“I don’t know, Nox,” Solaris sighed, looking up at the sitting deity. Whichever parts of Noctifer weren’t worried before, were now twisting in anxiety. He didn’t want to move his hand, Solaris having claimed it as a resting spot, but he needed to break Solaris’ comfort and take him away from the study. He needed to give him some external comfort, something that he could experience without the intercession of another. He had been playing a game of tag with Leah, which continued into the two sharing hidden swipes at each other throughout the day. Maybe he could bring Solaris into the game.

“Solaris, you know I’m here for you, right?”

Solaris didn’t know. The god had fled so quickly before, and he understood. How can one ignore a decree from the head of the gods? Still, the deity’s disappearance and seeming nonchalance, and the sudden appearance of his missing attendants. He didn’t know who he could trust. He barely thought he could trust himself, or whatever form of himself he inhabited. Not to mention that the guilt that had overtaken him with the Ataea-Minor situation had only made it clear that he had failed Noctifer, his charges, and the gods as a whole. That question was enough to break the comfort, and Solaris pulled away from Noctifer’s hand and reclined once again. Noctifer seemed to understand, but he would be lying if he said that his worry lessened and that he didn’t want to reach out again to try and reclaim that comfort.

“The party’s this evening,” Noctifer said, changing the subject. Solaris only nodded, swaying his head to look out the window. With a huff, Noctifer slid off the table and spread his arms. He grabbed Solaris and pulled him close, burying his face in the red mess of hair that the solar deity had all but forgotten about. Shocked but not displeased, Solaris allowed Noctifer to hug him. He didn’t notice how his arms reciprocated or how they hugged Noctifer tightly enough that the latter let out a grunt.

“I’m here,” Noctifer said, allowing the god to slump against him.

“I haven’t slept,” Solaris whimpered, “in so long. Am I going crazy?”

Noctifer bit down on a remark but saw the desperation in the god’s eyes.

“Define crazy,” Noctifer said, hoping it would work. The god’s eyes lightened, and he let out a tearful chuckle.

“Idiot,” he retorted shakily. Solaris reached up and wiped away a tear that had fallen from Solaris' eyes.

“Better a happy idiot than a morbid philosopher.”