A fuzzy-eyed Wren stands in the doorway, one hand clasped to the door as the other rubs his face with a yawn. He's still dressed in his wedding robes, gold paint streaming under each eye and hands still cloaked in diamond. Though the golden bands conceal most of his skinny wrist, they can't fully shield the yellowing bruises from view. December's eyes landing upon the broken skin before falling back onto Wren.

"You're awake." It's all December can muster, a sheepish grin crawling across his lips as he rubs at the nape of his neck.

Wren merely yawns again before stepping aside, wedding robes dragging behind his body as he allows December past him. "Is something wrong?" He quizzes, brow cocking as he stares at December dawdling in the middle of his bedroom.

The nest of blankets no longer resides in the center of the room, the floor unnaturally barren in its absence. Rather a real bed has taken its place, draped in colorful quilts of reds and greens and adorned with a thick wooden frame. December doesn't answer Wren's question, merely taking a seat on the bed, the material giving way without a peep as his body sinks into its too-soft covers.

"I never took you as the type to enjoy a mattress." December chuckles to himself, fingers playing with a feather pillow placed beside him. He doesn't advert his gaze as Wren takes a seat beside him, his body jingling from the plethora of jewels still dripping from his attire.

"After a union they replace our nest with a bed. Apparently," he drags out the word with an irritated huff, grabbing the feather pillow and shoving it into his chest. "people don't like to sleep on the floor as much as I do."

The small boy curls into the pillow pressed into his chest, knobby knees dragging upward until he can rest his chin upon them. Warmth floods the room with the light of the setting sun, a yellow-orange that washes over the two boys sat on the bed in silence. Each ray reflects off the gold that adorns Wren, sparkling across his wrists and ankles and casting the light of his diamonds onto the wall.

"Can you believe I slept in this outfit?" Wren laughs, the twinkle as bright as his jewels as he plays with his anklets. "I don't even know how I got in here I was so exhausted." He plays the events of last night off as if they were nothing. As if he hadn't been devoured alive for hours straight, his body still bearing the bruises of the night before.

December's eyes can't help but to trail the line of bruises that crawl up Wren's legs, the yellow-brown dots disappearing behind the cover of black shorts before sprinkling across his stomach and chest. Yet Wren pays them no mind, merely letting out a glittering laugh and squint of burgundy eyes. He rubs at the golden lines still painted onto his cheeks, the smudge of his lip paint visible on the underside of his jaw.

Painted fingers fall upon December's cheek, his breath stilling at the foreign touch as Wren flashes a soft smile his way. "You know I'm alright, December, you didn't have to check on me." Wren's voice falls as soft as the setting sun, a warmth in his words that encases December and leaves him melting in the boy's grasp.

"I-" his voice strains slightly, the distraction of the finger now stroking his cheek becoming too much to bare. "I know but it was still... a lot." His words trail off, double meaning drifting into the room before dissipating as quickly as they came. "As your doctor I thought it would be best to make sure you were doing alright, physically and mentally." December lies, eyes adverting from the fae's burning gaze in a poor attempt to hide his true feelings. To admit that he couldn't sleep from the worry that plagued him, rather wandering the halls for half the morning as the rest of the castle slept. Wren somehow occupying his every waking thought until he found himself counting down the hours until he would wake.

Wren's finger falls away, the spot he leaves now too cold, too barren in the wake of his touch. "It isn't anything I haven't endured before. Turns out torture is torture." The fae laughs yet the chime is empty, just a ringing sound that falls flat in the silence between them. He lets out a deep breath, fingers digging into the feather pillow until it warps around his grasp. "I honestly don't remember that much of it, like my body was there but my mind was somewhere else." His chin buries into the pillow, legs drawing closer in the attempt to shrink, to disappear and forget the memories that claw at his mind. "I would just slip in and out of experiencing it or something would happen and I would start to think of Haven and everything would get worse for a bit."

The memories slowly begin to connect as December pieces the night together, stomach twisting with every similarity made. The parallels of being strapped to the Haven chair, of his body trapped between Ryder and Jax unable to move. The cutting of a knife replaced with the slice of sharpened nails and starved teeth. How hammers become hands as bone breaks beneath their grip and the way a veiled handmaiden blends into a Haven guard grasping tightly to struggling wrists.

He knows Wren is lying. It's evident in the way he curls into himself, how he refuses to look at his body. To acknowledge the bruises that litter his protruding bones or the blood dried onto his thighs. It's clear in his expression, the discomfort that flashes across dark eyes as his body sinks into the foreign bed. It's the way he opened the door to an empty bed devoid of two boys, still dressed in wedding attire he can't take off alone.

He slept alone.. The realization strikes December too quickly, a knife to the chest as his body doubles over slightly with a heaving breath. He slept alone because he's terrified...

"December?" Wren calls out to the distant body sat before him, December elsewhere as his mind carries the same thought over and over. "December." He repeats again, body uncurling as he drags himself from the bed. By now the moon has eclipsed the setting sun, its white rays creeping into the bedroom before being extinguished by the orb of light that floats upon the ceiling.

December finally releases his head from his hands, eyes widening at the face too close to his own. He can make out each crack in the golden paint, each splotchy freckle and the exact spot where his pupil blends into burgundy irises. Wren presses close enough that his breaths rustle December's hair, tickles his lashes as the boy sits kneeled between his legs, head turned upwards to meet with December's downcast gaze.

December can't hide the blush that rampages across his cheeks and nose, a heat radiating off of him as he stares at the boy knelt on the floor.

"December, I want out of this dress." There's no emotion in his words, no hint of a smile or crinkle of the eye. The fae merely pouts before resting his golden wrists on December's thighs, unaware of the blush that consumes the poor boy from the action. "Help, please."

Though he's riddled with nerves, a short laugh still slips through December's lips at the fae's blatant demands. It's the first kingly aspect he's seen from him, the demand strange on Wren's soft spoken tongue and appearing more bratty than anything else. Yet December merely shakes his head with a smile, grabbing at the bruise covered wrists laid against his nerve-shaken thighs.

The bracelet comes undone with the twist of a clasp, the large bruise beneath it becoming clear as December wipes a thumb over the sore flesh. Wren winces slightly at the touch, a frown beginning to form though he holds it back with a swallow. He lifts his other wrist to December's touch, the bracelet coming undone with a gaudy jangle.

It's just a bracelet... December reminds himself as he takes a calming breath, cheeks beginning to cool and chest releasing the deathly hold it has on his heart. As Wren sits up their faces nearly collide, December drawing back from the body nestled between his thighs.

They're always too close to one another, December finding himself pressed against Wren on any occasion they're left alone. Always finding white curls sweeping across his jaw. Finding his hands wrapped around bony flesh and the scent of strawberries that burns his throat from how close he breathes it in. Yet Wren never seems affected, always flashing an ignorant smile and naive cock of the head. He doesn't feel these rushes of heat, immune to the bundle of nerves that somehow only plague December when they're together.

With trembling fingers he unties the golden layer from the sheer robes, the material falling away with a blush and a thud. Every breath is strangled, mind a blur as his hand draws each ribbon from their ties. December's pulse pounds in his ear, every telltale thump of the heart vibrating through his body until it unravels at his quaking fingertips. With the bite of a lip he focuses his attention on the satin black ribbons concealed in the robes, forcing his mind to steady itself and ignore the boy ahead of him.

Ignore the burgundy eyes that stare within his soul. Ignore the painted fingers wrapped around his thigh, the face that draws too close to his own and the heat of a body being stripped of its robes. Layer after layer falls away, each sheer piece of fabric drifting to the floor until a pile of robes hangs around Wren's knees pressed to the floor.

With trembling breaths December unties the final ribbon. "I think that's the last of it."

Wren's on his feet in one swift move, holding onto December's shoulder without a second thought, merely resting his knee on the boy's thigh as confusion floods his features. "I need these off too." He points to the golden bracelet wrapped around his thigh, a chain connecting the band to the twin jewel decorating his ankle.

December doesn't move, eyes falling to the ceiling, the dresser, the door, anywhere except the little hips that stand at eye level before him.

"I think you have to remove something in the back." Wren explains, grabbing December's hand in his own. "I think it's somewhere around here but I can't exactly see it." Nonchalantly, he places December's hand on the inside of his thigh, rubbing its thumb against a piece of the golden band before releasing his grip on the limb.

"Wren," the name shakes as it releases from his lips, a speck of bravery lending itself to him as he unclasps the golden bracelet. "why did you ask me to do this?" Each word is low, softer than cashmere and smoother than silk as he tests the waters of his question. Something is wrong... something is off.

He could've called a handmaiden to remove his robes, or even asked for the tailor who helped him dress in the first place. A cup of coffee lays on the top of his dresser, evidence that someone has come by today to check on him. Yet he waited until now, until he knew December couldn't resist and had to check on him. It's the way he knelt between his legs with a glint of the devil in his eye, how he wrapped December's hands around him, the hands that still rest on bare thighs though their initial job has far been finished.

Their eyes meet briefly, a stoic burgundy scanning flustered features until Wren eventually smiles, cusping December's face in his hands and holding it up to face him. "That day, why did you kiss me?"

December's heart stops. "What do you mean?" He plays yet he's already given himself away, blue eyes drowning in an ocean of worry as he awkwardly laughs away the question. "I didn't kiss you." Death plays with his chest, mocks him as it squeezes his pounding heart and wraps its hands around his throat.

Yet Wren only shakes his mess of curls, head lowering until the two are dangerously close. Their lips graze one another as Wren glides his cheek against December's. His lips play at December's ear as he presses his bare body against him. Fingers snake their way through brunette hair, curling into a fist as airy breaths swipe across his burning earlobe.

"A little birdie told me a secret." Wren whispers, words tickling December's ear. Yet he doesn't continue, merely pulling away from the boy's ear and taking in the blush that consumes his features with a satisfying grin.

"And what would that be?"

Wren gives an over-exaggerated huff, knee digging into December's thigh in irritation. "Well it wouldn't be a secret if I told you." He fake pouts, arms crossing over his bare chest as he cocks his head. "You're free to guess though, it was actually two birdies if that helps."

December doesn't need to guess, a fox's grin coming to mind coupled with an annoyingly joyful smile. "We should get you dressed."

"You're avoiding it, December." Wren answers in a sing song tone as December wraps the red quilts around his bare frame.

"I'm not avoiding it," the boy huffs, wrapping the blanket once more for good measure. Yet December doesn't let go, holding onto the fae's waist with a hint of defeat in his eyes. "I just don't know what you're talking about."

Wren takes his seat on the wooden bed, the quilts devouring his small body as they bunch around him. "If it helps any, no one is mad at you." He glances over at December, dark eyes softening if only for a moment, their dreamy demeanor returning alongside hidden memories. "I was pretty surprised actually, when Ryder brought it up. Then Jax confirmed it. Apparently even Sasha and Celeste know. I feel like I should be offended I was left out of the loop." Wren chuckles before his face scrunches up, a light curiosity flashing across his features. "Why can't you just say it?"

His daydreaming self has returned, eyes completely melted with warmth and thick lips pulled into a hazy smile that draws December in.

It's that glance at the boy in the cage where blue first met lavender. The twinkle of his laugh so foreign at the time, the way December's name, so rigid and icy and cold, could melt like the summer sun between his cherry lips. It's the day they first stood as equals, the day they spoke of the outdoors, of the stars and the sky and a world outside of Haven. The way December's chest first stilled, stomach first turned into knots as Wren gripped his hand for comfort in Marigold's cabin.

It's the night in the cave, the first night he truly saw Wren and the beauty he had overlooked all this time. The morning of the bathhouse, of Wren's body pressed so tightly to his own, the first time he ever held him in his embrace. It's the feel of Wren's teeth against his neck. The feel of hands discovering what lays beneath sheer fabric and the heat of a body that rocks against his own. The taste of bloody lips and the nights he's sat in this bedroom with Wren by his side. The amount of breaths stolen away by those hazy eyes and nerves rattled with each dream-dusted smile.

Why can't you just say it...

Three little words...

Just say it...

"Wren... I love you."