Kieran sleeps on his side, curled up tightly like he's trying to take up as little space as possible. Mark has always noticed this about him. The only time he would stretch out was when Mark lay beside him, his front pressed to Kieran's back or vice versa.
He's alone on the bed now, incongruously wild in the musty Institute room. There are still bandages wrapped around the arrow wound in his back. As Mark gets closer, he can see that Kieran's brow is furrowed even in sleep, that his hair is mostly blue-black but where it's threaded with strands of white, that there's tension in every line of his body. He knows Kieran too well not to know what he looks like when he's having a nightmare.
"Kier?" Mark lays a gentle hand on Kieran's shoulder. "Kier, wake up."
Kieran's eyes fly open, his breath catching as he tries to remember his unfamiliar surroundings. Mark waits patiently for Kieran's gaze to land on him. As always, Kieran relaxes once it does.
"Mark," he breathes. "My Mark."
"Your sleep seems to have been disturbed of late," Mark says, falling into the high speech of Faerie too easily for his comfort. "Is aught the matter?"
Kieran uncurls a little, propping himself up on his elbow. Mark can see the tiny flicker of pain that sparks across his face as he moves, but it's hidden before he has a chance to remark on it. "I cannot rest well here," Kieran says. The white is fading out of his hair, but the rest of it is still too dark. "The cold iron suffocates me. It is as an itch, embedded deep within the skin that no action can relieve. And if I get too close, it begins to burn."
Mark runs a hand through Kieran's hair, the blue-black strands threading through his fingers. Kieran leans into the touch. "You must rest," Mark says quietly. "Your wound will not heal if you do not take care of yourself."
"You always take such dutiful care of me, Mark," Kieran murmurs.
Mark doesn't take his hand out of Kieran's hair, but the touch suddenly feels much heavier. He did always take care of Kieran, and Kieran always took care of him. But the word that sends a prickle to Mark's heart is dutiful. There is a sense of duty here, not to Kieran but to Mark's family. That duty is what makes Mark pretend that nothing between him and Kieran has changed, that things haven't gone so horribly wrong.
(Mark is only half-faerie, he can lie, and if he looks closer, he'll see that he's lying to himself. Duty is his excuse, but a part of him wants to pretend either way.)
"May I lie with you?" Mark asks after a moment.
"Lie with me?" Kieran repeats, a flicker of arousal in his bicolored eyes as they look up at Mark.
"Lie only," Mark says firmly. "I would not have you exert yourself, not while you are injured."
Kieran looks at him for a moment, then lets out a long sigh as his eyes slip shut. Mark takes that as an affirmative; Kieran is always far more vocal when he disagrees with something. He climbs into the bed, lying behind Kieran, keeping a careful amount of distance between them. If Kieran asks why, Mark will say it is out of deference for his injuries. It would be a half-truth, the sort of lie even faeries can tell. It would probably be one Kieran could recognize.
"I am well aware that you can lie," Kieran murmurs in a voice so quiet Mark almost misses it.
"Kieran…" he whispers, feeling like someone is piercing his heart with the elf-bolt both of them have owned.
"I know things happened in the time I cannot remember," Kieran whispers. He's vulnerable in a way Mark rarely sees. Mark doubts he would be saying this if Mark were still in front of him. "I know something changed between us. And I am not sure I wish to know what it is."
"I will not tell you if you do not wish it," Mark says, the irony coiling sickeningly in his stomach. He can't tell Kieran until after he testifies, whether he wants to know or not. Selfishly, he hopes Kieran continues not wanting to be told. It makes things a little easier.
"I think I did something to displease you, or your family," Kieran says quietly. "I would never want to hurt you, Mark."
Kieran has said it, so it cannot be a lie. Mark thinks he might want to cry. Instead, he brushes Kieran's overlong hair away from his neck and presses a kiss to the pale skin there. Kieran lets out a sound that could either be a sigh or a sob. Mark continues, pressing a line of kisses down the side of Kieran's neck. He feels the tension in his limbs slowly begin to melt away.
Gently, once Kieran is relaxed, Mark asks, "What is it that haunts your dreams?"
Kieran tenses up again, but Mark goes back to kissing his neck and he slowly relaxes. "I dream of things that have happened, things that are happening, and things that may yet happen," he says after a moment. "But my dreams are… confused. They are not easily understood."
"How does the future look?" Mark asks. Kieran's prescience isn't perfect, and it's far from infallible, but Mark has learned to take him seriously when he says he's worried about something.
"Grim," Kieran says. "I fear something terrible is about to happen."
"What?" Mark asks.
Kieran sighs. "I do not know. My dreams are confused."
Mark lays an arm over Kieran's torso. After a moment, Kieran rests his hand on Mark's arm.
"We cannot know the future," Mark says quietly. "We can only be prepared and hope to make it through safely."
"Whatever the future brings, we can face it together," Kieran says.
Mark's heart hurts. He presses another kiss to Kieran's neck. "You should sleep. Will the iron let you rest?"
"So long as you are by my side, I can rest," Kieran replies. His eyes drift shut, and a few moments later, his breathing evens out into the easy rhythm of sleep.
Staying here feels like living a lie, but Mark cannot bring himself to leave. He lets out a soft sigh, nestles a little closer to Kieran, and follows Kieran's lead into dreams.