alternate title: lawless cries and is gay

haha hey guys! its ya boy hyde back at it again with the servamp content.

heads up going into this: injuries are mentioned and lawless reminisces about ophelia being decapitated.

I look like shit.

Lawless grimaces at his own reflection, the sickly pallor of his skin and shadowy bruises under his eyes speaking more for his health than the residual pain in his ribs.

It's nothing. This is nothing, he tells himself, pressing his fingers against the thin cotton of his borrowed shirt and against one of his cracked ribs. Nothing.

He's felt worse. Lawless is more concerned with Licht; if he's in this kind of pain, Licht will be far worse off. At least he feels somewhat refreshed after a hot shower—he can only hope Licht does, too.

Dropping his hand from his ribs, Lawless puts his rings and bracelet back on, picking up the remnants of his dogtag from the counter and curling his fingers over the broken metal as he leaves the steaming heat of the bathroom. The cold he's felt since earlier begins to well up again as soon as he does, making him shiver.

Mahiru's apartment is warm and lived in; a home, not a house, and it makes something uncomfortable ache inside of him. In the kitchen, Lawless can hear him and Sleepy Ash—Kuro, he reminds himself—squabbling over cup noodles. Licht's voice joins them, his accent more obvious when speaking among two fluent Japanese speakers. It's not cute.

Lawless doesn't head into the kitchen. He still feels awkward around his brother and though he's hungry, it's not for anything Mahiru has to offer.

So he heads into Mahiru's spare bedroom, crawling into the futon laid out there. The blanket is thick and warm but even as Lawless wraps himself in the fabric the cold that has been creeping back into him since he left the shower remains.

He doesn't think about anything. He doesn't let himself. His ribs hurt, his head head hurts, his teeth ache. If he thinks about anything at all, the events of the past day will be too much to process. The cold will spread and the hollowness he's felt for hours will overwhelm him.

So he focuses on the muffled voices of his Licht and the others in the kitchen and decidedly doesn't allow his thoughts to stray. He keeps his eyes closed, his fingers curled tight around the remnants of his contract with Licht, and manages to slip into a state of half-sleep, still aware of what's around him.

Lawless isn't sure how long he lays like this—there are a few times where he drifts out of awareness entirely and gets pulled back by a noise from outside, leaving him dazed and trying to sink back into his restful state. It's a process that repeats several times over what could be an hour or several.

But at some point the door creaks open. Lawless doesn't need to open his eyes to know it's Licht—he can tell by the weight of his steps against the floorboards and knows he's right even before he hears Licht tsk about him getting so comfortable before him.

Lawless keeps his breathing even while Licht sinks down onto the futon beside him. He can hear the flow of his Eve's blood pulsing in his own ears, can feel the beat of his heart in Lawless' own chest.

Alive. He's alive.

He wants to say something. He doesn't—doesn't have to, because Licht is touching Lawless' hand in an uncharacteristic gesture. Compared to Lawless, who is colder than he can ever remember being, his warmth feels almost scalding.

"You're awake," Licht says. His voice is quieter than usual, but no less firm. "Stop avoiding me, Hyde."

Lawless' next inhale is shakier than the others, chest aching not with his damaged ribs but from the pull of his name.

He opens his eyes. Licht is staring down at him, mouth drawn and skin paler than usual.

Blood loss, Lawless knows. In the dark of the room with only the dim light from the hallway spilling in through the crack in the door, Lawless can just barely make out the stark white of bandages against Licht's throat.

He remembers the smell of Higan's cigarettes, the twist in Licht's mouth when he dug the lit end into his pulse. So strong, his Eve—not making a noise even as his flesh burned.

"I'm not, Licht-tan," Lawless mumbles, slipping his eyes closed again. He doesn't want to look, doesn't want to see Licht's dark eyes looking through him, doesn't want to see the damage he couldn't prevent.

Not that it matters. He can still feel the weight of Licht's stare, can still feel the horrid guilt twisting inside of him.

"Despite being a demon, you've always been a shitty liar," Licht says. Lawless wants to protest; he isn't, really, it's just that Licht always knows.

But he doesn't say anything. When Licht tugs at his clenched fingers, Lawless eases his grip and allows him to unfurl his fist.

Licht clicks his tongue. The sound echoes in Lawless' ears and he refuses to open his eyes again, to see Licht's expression at the sight of their broken contract.

It had meant nothing, before. It had just been another contract, another way to pass the time he has too much of. But for a few minutes—for a few minutes it had finally meant everything he hadn't let himself have since—

Since Ophelia.

"Broken," is all Licht says about it. "I'll have to ask Crantz if I can fix it. If not I'll have to get a new one."

So simple. As if it really is just a piece of stainless steel and not something that had bound their very souls together, as if it isn't evidence of—

"You make it sound so easy," Lawless says. He can't help it. His eyes ache hotly and now he keeps them closed only for fear the tears that might spill out.

"Isn't it easy?" Licht asks. His hand is still in Lawless', palm pressed flat over his, their contract held between them. It used to burn hotly with their life—theirs, not Licht's or Lawless'. "It's just a…" he falters, frowning. "Symbol," he says in German. "It's a symbol. I can make a hundred thousand of the damn things. I'll carve another with your name in it, again and again. By my divine hand, it will be blessed."

I am a means, Lawless hears in his youngest brother's hysterical voice. I am a means, a method. Whether it be bonds or trust—

He can still see the glint of metal in the air, the shimmering darkness of Tsubaki's arm—he can smell the heat, the blood, can hear the break in his own voice as he screamed for him to stop, can hear the panicked way Licht had shouted his name.

Metal digs into the palm of his hand, startling him into opening his eyes. Licht is staring down at him and Lawless doesn't need to shift his gaze to know Licht has tightened his grip on his hand, the broken pieces of his dogtag digging into both of their palms.

"I said," Licht starts, leaning in closer, "That it's a symbol. I'll get another. I'll carve your name in. The name I gave you, Hyde."

Hunger aches at the back of his throat and his eyes spill over hotly. He hasn't cried so much in one day since Ophelia, since he had watched her decapitated head roll across the wood of the stage set up for her death, the smell of her blood thick and sweet in the air.

Licht doesn't mock him for it the way Lawless almost hopes for. His grip on Lawless' hand tightens even more, and he clings back, sucking in a shaky, agonizing breath as he cries. He lifts his free hand to grab at the back of Licht's borrowed hoodie, pulling him down to press his face into Licht's bandaged neck, his body trembling with the effort of his tears.

Licht lets him. He fits himself atop Lawless in an angle that should be awkward but just feels comforting. His warmth seeps into Lawless through the bedding and their clothes—real and alive.

Alive, alive, alive. While Tsubaki has left Lawless feeling hollowed out and colder than he's been since the day he'd been reborn as a monster, Licht fills him back up—they're alive, both of them, and Lawless is still the One and Only, still with an unfathomable depth to his want.

Ophelia is gone, but Licht is alive. It's not because of Lawless—he hadn't been able to do a thing, but Licht still survived. Lawless won't let him die, not the way Ophelia had. They're going to have years together—decades.

He won't tolerate any less.

"I thought you were going to die," Lawless rasps in Licht's ear, hiccuping on a sob. "I thought—"

"I won't die," Licht says matter of factly into Lawless' hair. "Not at the hands of a demon. Because I am—"

"—an angel," Lawless finishes, a strangled laugh in his voice. For once, Licht doesn't scold him for interrupting, just hums. The hunger in the back of his throat recedes despite the fact he can hear Licht's blood pulsing through him with clarity, can practically taste it with each breath he sucks in between sobs.

He lets Lawless cry until he can't anymore, until his grip on the back of Licht's hoodie and his hand slacken and all that's left are his shaking breaths and Licht's quiet humming.

Lawless recognizes the song. One Licht had started composing a month or so ago; he remembers the hotel in Boston, remembers the way they had fought and been shoved together in a shared hotel room.

It feels like a lifetime ago.

"I'm okay," Lawless finally says, sniffling. Licht stops humming but doesn't immediately shift off of him the way Lawless expected him to. Instead he leans back enough to look down at Lawless consideringly before reaching a hand to his face, wiping at the damp of his cheeks with the cuff of his sleeve.

At a loss, Lawless can only look up at him in surprise, face warm at the unfamiliar tenderness in the action. First the holding and the verbal reassurances, now this—Lawless isn't sure how to process anything.

"There," Licht says with satisfaction after drying Lawless' face. He's smiling, a pleased curve of his mouth that makes him look pretty despite the shadows under his eyes, bandaged cheek and unhealthy pallor of his skin. "Even a demonic creature like yourself looks better when you're not crying, Hyde."

"You keep saying it," Lawless says abruptly, not letting himself think about the rest of Licht's words. "My—My name. You don't, usually."

"I needed to remind you that you're still mine," Licht says in the same factual but forceful way he discusses his angelic nature or music. "It's the name I gave you and you haven't lost it yet. A demon as weak as that flower man could never rip away something I blessed you with."

"Weak," Lawless laughs out, strangled, trying not to slap his hands onto his face or maybe scream. He can still feel the oppressive air his younger brother had exuded—it clings to his skin even now, hours and hours later, even with Licht atop him. The sheer misery and loneliness that had seeped into him just by being in Tsubaki's presence makes him wonder: why did their parent keep him a secret?

Maybe they deserve his fury after all.

But even if he deserves it, he can't let himself give into it like he might have once before—not when Licht is still alive, not when he has to live for Licht.

"Weak," Licht repeats in agreement, leaning over him. "He's weak compared to us, Hyde. Because my blessings allowed you conciliation and my divinity shall not be diminished by these injuries. His pathetic attempt at cutting us apart failed, and it will fail again."

Like this, with the hall light spilling in and Lawless' vision blurring at the edges from tears and his lack of glasses, Licht appears illuminated as if in a halo. He looks like he had the first time Lawless saw him—beautiful, passionate and unwavering, the light furling behind him as if to give him wings.

Licht truly is dangerous. To make Lawless want again—to make him want in ways he hasn't since Ophelia—he averts his gaze and breathes, not wanting to let his eyes dip to Licht's mouth. He wonders if Licht is fully aware of the depth of his actions, if really knows what he did when he told Lawless to let himself reach out for what he wants. To say that to Greed, the One and Only…

"When you put it like that," Lawless mumbles, "I can't really say anything."

"Of course. There's no use arguing with an angel," Licht scoffs, finally shifting off of Lawless, who hates how much he wants to reach out and pull him back.

He doesn't. He lets Licht settle beneath the futon blankets with him, shifting to make some more room—and when they're both lying down and facing each other, Lawless doesn't let himself reach out to touch Licht's bandaged cheek.

Licht has no such reservations. He makes an annoyed sound and moves closer, reaching his arm over Lawless' waist and pressing himself against him, face against Lawless' shoulder.

His hair smells like Mahiru's bland shampoo, same as Lawless'.

"You need to stay warm, dumbass," Licht says against his shoulder. "You've been shivering this whole time, don't think I didn't see. My divinity shall warm you, body and soul."

Lawless swallows back a self deprecating remark. He wants to tell Licht he doesn't need to go this far, wants to lean back and then in to find out what Licht's mouth would feel like under his.

Mostly he wants to cry again.

Instead, he huffs into Licht's hair, squeezing his eyes shut as he lets himself slip his own arm around Licht.

"Thanks, Licht-tan," he mumbles, lacking any of the sarcasm the words might have held two days ago. Licht hums but doesn't answer, and that's fine.

Lawless keeps his eyes closed but doesn't sleep. He simply listens to Licht breathe, to the way his heart slows in his sleep, matching pace with Lawless' already slow heart.

The feeling that creeps up on him as Lawless relishes the warmth Licht gives him is something he hasn't experienced in a long time—it feels a bit like relief, a bit like healing. An old hurt finally scabbing over.

It feels like letting go.