distant ringing bell /eden + avriel

He arrives to Four late, round two of the tournament is just starting by the time he reaches the tournament grounds. Avriel's fingers are cold, he forgot his gloves back on the train, but it's too late to go back.

Six months since the end of Nixie's games and he's still sour, still got this sharpness in his side like there's a stitch-ripper tearing at his seams. His coat is more loose than it was last year, his hair long and unruly again, he doesn't let them cut it on the train. Fragility seeks a way in but like always, Avriel is stubborn.

They didn't tell him that Eden would be fighting until they pulled into the station and it's been half a year since he saw him last but it doesn't stop his stomach from flipping. The sharp sweetness of a ripe blackberry lies heavy on his tongue again.

He barely stops to look at the bracket board before heading to Eden's ring. The crowd is pressed in so tight that Avriel has to push his way through but he reaches the edge just in time to watch Eden's sword enter his opponent's chest and poke through out the other side.

Blood on his forehead.

The crowd doesn't know what to do with that. For a moment, nothing happens, the audience stunned, then everything happens at once. Medics flood the field and pull the Fray girl away and Eden's just standing there, hard to read. Avriel can't get a good look from his spot.

He doesn't call out for him, just follows him down a long hall when he leaves. No one stops him, the Victor visiting from Nine. His heart in his throat, he nearly runs after Eden, who's slipping through a door, out of reach.

Avriel follows him and then flicks the main lock on the bathroom door. People can go somewhere else. He rests there a moment, back against the door. His eyes follow a trail of blood to a stall at the end.

"It's just me," he whispers after a moment.

There's this tight feeling in his chest, like someone's taken his heart and twisted it all up to wring it out and then never bothered to do so. His palms lie flat against the bathroom door but it's to stop them shaking, not to hold it in place. He didn't think anything through before following Eden down the hall, it didn't occur to him that he might be intruding.

But maybe he is.

There's just silence for a moment and then sudden movement– BANG – the ending stall door slams open and Avriel sees Eden's foot retreating slowly along with a low, guttural sound of pain. He's across the room before the door stops swinging, knelt down in front of Eden before the end of his groan stops echoing.

Hands shaking still, he holds them open in front of Eden, looking him over for the worst of it, but there's so much blood on him, it's hard to see what's his and what isn't. It's careless, anger, hot and sudden pushing through him, careless Eurydice Le Roux, making Eden stand guard on that balcony last year in the cold, bringing him to gang territory, making him fight in this stupid fucking tournament.

He wraps his hand up in the hem of Eden's shirt, biting his lip to hold the anger back but there's so much of it, so many times he's held his tongue, so many times he's just decided to feel nothing at all that it all clamours to come out.

But Eden doesn't need his rage.

Avriel sets his jaw and focuses on helping him instead.

There's blood on the tile behind his head but Av doesn't know if that's just in his hair or on his head. There's a more visible cut on his forehead, cuts through his shirt, on his legs, he feels along gently, assessing, then starts pulling toilet paper out of the dispenser to press against his wounds, to stop the bleeding, to hold him together.

"I missed you," he says, thumb brushing against his cheek to wipe away some of the blood. Then he presses his fingers gently to the wound on the back of his head, palm against his neck. "This hurt?"

It's hard not to go back.

For a moment, the tile becomes forest floor, the wall a tree trunk, and the lake shimmers beside him and he's losing him, Eden's dying, the cannon's going to sound any moment now, he has seconds. He can smell the iron, the floor is wood and he can smell the burning cherry pie, see the spot on the ceiling in the living room where the blood has leaked through. Ariel calls out his name, but he can't get to her, Mauve's between them, blood running down his ar-

A thumb on his wrist.

Tethered to a shore, Avriel runs his thumb across Eden's cheek again and takes this big shuddering breath like he's okay, like he wasn't just losing his mind again. A soft sound from Eden– "Sorry," he mutters, because he knows– everything must hurt.

"It's okay," he whispers, "It's okay, it's okay."

But it's not. Eden needs more than toilet paper pressed against his wounds and Avriel doesn't have the tools to fix him. He should have thought about before just charging after him. Selfish. All he could think about was seeing him. He should have grabbed a first aid kit.

He doesn't even know where to start, Eden's such a mess.

But then Eden's guiding him, pressing Avriel's fingers to the cut along his forehead. "That one?" he asks, "That one first?" His brain's moving too fast, it's hard to think straight. Avriel pulls away gently and looks around. There's another door in the bathroom, a closet hopefully.

"One sec," he says but he has to take his hand away, Eden's holding on so tight. Even doing that feels bad but he needs a needle and thread if he's going to help him.

The closet is unlocked, the shelves lined with fresh towels and overstock for the tournament. He grabs a couple and tosses them into the sink before bringing the kit back to Eden and sitting down between his legs.

"I'm here," he says, breathless from the flurry of movement, "Not going anywhere."

Eden's eyes are shut and Avriel's not so sure that's a good thing. He can't remember the rules about concussions, doesn't even know if Eden even is concussed, he's not a medic. All of his experience comes from the arena and then before that, putting plasters on his sibling's cuts and kissing it better.

There's blood caught in his nail bed, rust coating his palm and Avriel's dreamed of blood on his hands so many times that this doesn't seem quite real. Except for Eden in front of him.

But he's dreamed of Eden too.

He threads the needle but his hands shake, it takes two tries to get the string through the eyelet. What if he does this wrong and it hurts Eden? Avriel squeezes his eyes shut and tries to remember the way Areto always did stitches with those quick and clean flourishes.

The memories, once so sharp, have already begun to blur together. He still hears the sound of waves hitting the shore and Eden is fading in front of him, he has to move faster. If he could just be faster, be better, he wouldn't have lost them.

"I don't want to hurt you, I just can't–" he says.

I can't lose you too.

He cups Eden's cheek with one hand to keep him steady and his skin is hot to the touch. "But it's gonna sting, okay?"

His vision is blurring, the skin under his eyes hot, something warm slips down his cheek and Avriel blinks through it. His hand shakes too much for him to start and for a moment he's on a beach in a raging storm, hand cupping Blade's cold cheek.

He can't keep himself in the present, can't stop his vision flickering and it feels like a long time since he took his last breath. His vision tunnels until all he can see is the angry red line in Eden's skin and it becomes more a gash than a cut, more fatal than what it is.

Pressure against his knuckles.

He thinks of birdsong and the peppery taste of chanterelles. Sticky sweet berry juice, the sun on his head, hot, pressing heat in so firmly that it's just too hot to do much of anything. Cold water against his lips, thorns cutting into his t-shirt and Eden's fingers pressing against his knuckles.

Eden's glaring at him, right eye nearly stuck shut from dried blood.

"I'm going," he says, "I'm going." Avriel swabs the cut with an antiseptic towelette and then steadies the hand with the needle in it against Eden's head with his fingers.

Then he starts to sew, each movement fluid, sharp, just like how Areto would do it.

Waves, footsteps running through sand, Turn back! Ariel yells, nora falls–

tap.

Julian emerging from between the trees, Avriel's hand on his knives, a bird cries, fear–

tap. tap.

His thoughts try to take him as Avriel works, the familiar motion of sewing up someone else's skin dragging him tooth and nail back to a time he doesn't necessarily want to remember. Every time he starts to slip, Eden's fingers hit his knuckles and it's like being called home and Avriel slips back a little less.

The smell of blood, water making his clothes stick to his skin, sand filled with footprints, a body in the sand, Blade–

tap. tap. tap.

He's bent over Eden, so close, for longer than he's ever been. He can hear his breath rattling and when he shifts, Avriel has to shift with him. It almost makes him slower, part of him doesn't want the moment to end. Even in the deep of these memories, Eden keeps him afloat.

He ties off the stitches and places a bandage over the cleaned up wound, thumbs pushing down hard on the edges to create a seal. "Over," he tells Eden. Then Avriel leans back and starts rooting through the box of plasters in his lap.

It's been a long time since Avriel wanted to be close to someone. His job requires it, stylists constantly fluttering around his head, measuring his waist for a new suit, endless reasons to poke and prod and touch.

And it scares him sometimes, arms too close, a chin on his shoulder. He goes back to that night in the dark beside the fire with Areto every time, can't help himself.

Here is fine though, Eden's hand on his still. He rests his hand on his knee, turns it palm up so that Eden's fingers rest against his and they're holding each other. Avriel lays an assortment of plasters on his other knee, organizing them quickly before choosing where to place them. He doesn't move fast enough for Eden.

"Okay, okay," he says as Eden starts scratching at his skin with dry toilet paper, "Wait, I got these towels." Avriel picks one up from beside himself and dabs at Eden's cheek, wiping away the blood. Water pools, drips down his skin, running red but as he works, he reveales the boy beneath the blood.

His fingers trail down his cheek and Avriel tips Eden's chin up to check for more blood.