(1535 AD Kyoto)

Something banged loudly outside the small boarding house where Soro was currently staying. It started him awake and he jerked against the futon, the thin quilt sliding down as he heaved for air. His hair pooled around his head and his sleeping robe was loose against his sweat shiny skin. His heart beat a fast rabbit pace in his chest as a nightmare clawed at his mind. It was a faded thing that was already slipping from his memory but the fear and terror that accompanied it dug their clwas in and refused to leave so easily. Outside, people were shouting over the loud noise but his brain was too frazzled to make out the cause of the commotion right that second.

He reached out to his left, Druig's usual spot, expecting to feel the warm body sleeping next to him like it had been for six hundred and twenty nine years. But there was no other breaths in the small room other than his own. His fingers met the cool floor and found no comfort. Druig wasn't there. His husband hadn't been there for fourteen years. The memories of the burning city flashed across his mind and startled a sob out of him. Soro gasped and he was sobbing, body curling up on the little mattress as if to try and contain the pain splitting his heart. Later he would blame the breakdown on the after effects of the nightmare, but in that moment he shook and heaved out bone rattling sobs. They rasped in his chest, speckled with little whimpers and choked gasps.

The paper walls here were thin and he was sure that his crying was keeping others awake, but he didn't care. He sobbed until he tired himself out enough to fall back asleep. The next morning he tipped the owner more than he needed to and left with red rimmed eyes. His bag on his back as he slipped into the busy streets beyond.

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(1550 AD. Venice)

The stench of the canals was pungent in the air despite the fact that it was the middle of autumn. The change in wind had blown the smell into the city instead of out to sea and far away. It coiled through the windows and Soro could feel it clogging up the room despite him having already closed the windows. The inn bedroom was small and not the finest of qualities. The bed was old and the mattress stained. The sheets were clean but the plaster on the walls was cracking and areas had come off to expose brick underneath. While it was a private room, it only held enough space to contain a single bed, a wooden wardrobe and a stand where a asian of water stood. Next to the basin of water, Soro had stacked about four wine bottles. The fifth was resting on the floor next to the bed. 

It was within grabbing distance and he picked it up to take a swig. Eternals had higher tolerances than the average human but they could still get drunk. The wine bottle was almost finished and Soro could feel it infusing his blood and brining about the rush he was searching for. Here, tipsy and hidden away in yet another bedroom, alone and so lonely it hurt. Getting drunk by himself made him feel pathetic but he still drained the glass bottle and dropped it to the floor. It rolled under the bed and he leaned back to sprawl across the messy sheets. He was alone and it hurt. 

"Once my lover told me", he muttered to himself, tipsy and basking in his self pity. It was his anniversary. The words turned into a sort of song as music began to drift up from the inn halls. It sounded like they had a minstrel in tonight. "Once my lover told me, the city would burn. The city would burn and take him away. I replied, don't listen to such omens. Rest your head with me. But the guns cracked and the fire burned and the city burned. My lover gone with the smoke". The music downstairs was punctuated by cheering. It was an upbeat tune which did not suit the lyrics Soro was gifting to it.

Tipsy and emboldened by the drumming beat, he pulled himself from his bed and grabbed another bottle of wine. There was a basket of bread and cheese on the wooden chair by the door. He picked it up and set about twirling around the room in a clumsy dance. Faded leather boots stomping on the floorboards as he danced a jig to the music drift from downstairs. 

A song picked up, lyrics in Italian and Soro slung along with it. The music and drunken revelries downstairs making him feel less alone in his small space. The moonlight drifting through the window illuminating his spinning form. For a second it was fun, until he staggered into the wardrobe and walked his elbow against the corner. He slid down it, boots scraping the floor as he ended up in a clumsy heap. Soro laughed and tried to ignore how much it sounded like sobs. "Fuck him", he huffed. "If he wants to lock himself away with a handful of humans for a few hundred years then fuck him". He pulled it the cork with a pop and took a heavy swig of the bottle. The wine was bitter and he usually didn't like the taste but he wanted to be drunk. The redness of the liquid stained his lips and the grubby white shirt where it dripped down his chin. He rubbed it away with the back of his hand. 

"I'm sorry", he mumbled. "That I didn't listen. I should have listened. I should have done more". As quickly as it had changed, the grief was fading back into anger again. The two emotions waging inside him. "Fuck you Druig!" There was a clatter as his foot kicked out and collided with the wooden chair. It fell onto it's side with a bang and he yelled out a wordless noise of frustration. 

Tired, his head lolled back again the wardrobe doors and his eyes rolled until they focused on the basket of bread and cheese t his side. He had brought it for himself that morning but hadn't had the appetite for anything other than alcohol. It was a poor attempt of self care, but he had lost all that several years ago. It was only the chiding voice of Ajak and the mental image Makkari's disapproving look in his head that made him occasionally keep up the pretence of it. 

Did Druig have good food there? Soro was aware that his ex-husband had been creating a settlement in the amazon rainforest. The precise location, he had no idea. Still, the amazon was isolated and Druig would be alone with only the food they managed to grow. His husband had always loved food and flavour. Did he even have cheese there? Soro was distantly aware that his drunken thoughts made no sense. But anger turned into concern and now that the thought was there, he couldn't get rid of it. It clung on, persistent and annoying. 

With a loud sigh of defeat, he shakily pushed himself up. The alcohol had gone to his head and he swayed as he picked up the basket. He considered it for a second before stumbling towards the desk. He knocked over the basin of water and it spilled over the floor, turning the wood dark. Fingers found what he was looking for and he grabbed for a piece of parchment and a quill. He barely managed not to spill the ink pot too as he opened it and dipped the quill sloppily. It dripped ink across the paper as he scrawled out a quick message. Then he crumpled it up and tossed it into the basket on his arm. After a frowning second, he added a bottle of wine to the load and headed to the door. 

Even drunk, his hands moved with muscle memory as he lined the door with golden threads. The portal shimmered as he opened the door. The sunlight that spilled from it made him wince and he abandoned the basket on the forest floor before slamming the door shut with a bang. With that done, he grabbed another bottle and slumped across his bed, aiming to drink until he passed out. 

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Druig was disturbed by a hammering on his door. His cabin was small and hollow. Only a few decades here and he hadn't felt the need to decorate other than the bare essentials. "What?" He shouted at the door, anger colouring his tone. He had asked to be alone, as he always did for a week during the middle of autumn. During that week he didn't do much but shut himself away, only to be disturbed by emergencies. This had better be an emergency. 

He stormed to the door and ripped it open, ignoring the fact that he was wearing nothing but a pair of trousers. The middle age man on the other side, one of their blacksmiths, stepped back nervously. While Druig didn't have the energy or care to control everyone here any more (he had tried that for the first few decades but after a while he missed the life and let them go). "Sir", the man stuttered in Spanish. "This appeared on the doorstep of the village hall. It came out of nowhere". He held up a wicker basket in which was a bottle of wine and a loaf of bread. 

Druig took the basket curiously and saw that there was cheese too. He peered at the bottle, seeing the Italian label. But what was more important was the crumpled piece of parchment lying next to it. It was scrunched as if someone balled it in their fist. Hanging the basket on his arm, Druig pulled out the note and gently unfolded it. A note in shaky, clumsy ink splattered writing, greeted him and he couldn't help the sharp inhale at the familiar words. 

'Happy fucking anniversary. I hope you choke'. 

Druig burst out laughing even as his heart ached and grief strangled him. He waved the human away and shut the door. He leaned back against the wall with a loud exhale as he pressed the note to his chest. "Oh, my darling Soro. Happy Anniversary to you too". 

unedited