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Reinhard remembers his education well. He never was to learn with others his age. Most of his days were spent in the Astrea estate. When his tutoring started, the two spoke of insects.
If he ever had to choose, Reinhard would say his favourite insect would be a spider. The spider was powerful in the little insect world, keeping its victims strung up as if they were meaningless and only meant to feed the more competent. At least, that’s what he gathered from it.
Fast forward a couple years, Heinkel Astrea didn’t bother to come home during the day on Reinhard’s birthday. The eleven-year-old Sword Saint had looked down at a certain sleeping figure, one he never even got to know. The same blood as his flows through her veins, it isn’t fair. If any blood were spilled, if any of that life left her—
It shouldn’t have been hers.
‘It should’ve been me,’ he would tell her.
The woman he dearly calls his mother is wrapped in blankets upon blankets on an extravagant bed. She would look like she was simply having a nice rest during a particularly sunny afternoon.
Sadly, that is not the case.
Maybe it’s even worse to see your loved one forever stuck in a coma.
The boy grips at the sheets tighter before taking a hairbrush to his mother’s hair. As he softly detangled her long hair, he spoke in an even softer voice.
He tells her about the days gone by, the things he’s learned, the way the garden shone so nicely outside her window.
He never spoke of Heinkel Astrea.
Even on his birthday, he was so alone.
He looked down at Louanna Astrea once more, almost hoping she’d wake up and smile at him. No such luck was to be found. She was pale, as if she’d turn transparent. Her hair was stringy as well, like insect wings.
Glimmering. Shining. Thin. Gossamer thin.
Just like the web of a spider.
It was a silly observation, Reinhard was well aware of that fact. Even so…
His mother was forever woven into her bed. A helpless ladybug Reinhard failed to protect.
He left the room in tears that night.
He stepped quietly to his room, footsteps light.
He winced at the sudden creak of the floorboard.
“Hey, Sword Saint.”
A shiver of dread crawls down Reinhard’s spine. Swallowing thickly, he turns.
“Yes, father?”
“Why the hell are you up, boy? You oughta be tryin’ to get kidnapped if you’re goin’ outside.”
“I can handle myself…” The boy mutters under his breath.
Something blunt hits him in the leg. Surprised, he stumbled and fell.
“Heh. ‘I can handle myself,’ he says.”
There was a bruise on Reinhard’s shin.
“You’re weak. What, you think you’re better than everyone? Are you fucking prideful of what you’ve done?”
“I-I…”
“You what, Sword Saint?” The words are bitter and rough in his father’s alcohol-tinged breath. His words are slurred.
“I’m…” He brings his knees up to his chest, arms clasping around his legs in a defensive manner.
“I’m sorry…” Reinhard stammers.
“Whatever. How about you get yourself a birthday gift or whatever. What’s that ya did all those years ago?”
He didn’t want to think about it. Reinhard curled up a little more.
“Oh yeah, when I almost lost my goddamn position ‘cause of your meddlin’.”
Heinkel walked away, waving his hand dismissively.
“Go pray to have a protection against booze flasks, I’m sure you’re ‘loved’ enough to get that, ain’t ya, Sword Saint?”
The boy ran his fingers through his hair, still curled up on the ground. When he buried his face into his arms and repressed his tears, a small plea fell from his lips.
Ah, the Divine Protection of Arrow Evasion. Projectiles will always bounce right off him.
Reinhard touches the bruise on his shin. It feels even more sore.
————————————
The Sword Saint gritted his teeth. They wouldn’t wear down. It became a bad habit, like how he tore at his hair desperately. His hair always grew back extremely quickly as well. This was unbefitting for someone in his position. He felt like he was going insane. He tugs at his stupidly red hair. It’s too red, like Heinkel-
No.
Stop.
You’re not like him.
You’re not like him.
You would rather die. You’re not allowed to die. You can’t. Fucking. Die.
He wanted to tear at his skin. It heals in front of his very eyes. He settles for tearing at his hair, a harsh contrast to the way he detangled his mother’s cobweb hair. He’s trapped in that web.
Always fearing nothing, yet everything at the same time, isolated, self-destructive when he tries to wriggle free-
At the center is Heinkel. Or is it Reinhard himself? It’s hard to tell at this point.
Like father, like son. He’s an angry man, a shell of what he should’ve been.
That cold hard truth makes him blaze even brighter.
He’s tearing away at his scalp, his red hair just twisting and growing out once again. He doesn’t notice the small pile of red strands littering the floor. Well-
That doesn’t matter now.
“Rein-Rein.”
Reinhard startled, shooting Subaru an accusatory look.
“Psh. Don’t act surprised. You don’t have any Divine Protection against people sneaking up on you?”
“It doesn’t matter, I can still evade them,” The knight states bluntly.
He takes a good look around. They’re in the slums, a good ways away from the Capital.
“Were you following me?”
“No, I was trying to buy some fresh appas for my unicorn- Of COURSE I was following you, dumbass.” Subaru scoffs.
“Why’s that? The cat came back after all.” It was so easy to forget his issues around the witch cultist. That’s likely due to the fact that, like mana around Reinhard, insanity seems to fester in only Subaru Natsuki.
“Don’t call me a cat,” He waves his hand in a ‘shoo, shoo’ manner before speaking again. His eyes are dull. “I was gonna ask what you’re doing out in the middle of the slums, making a literal pile of hair on the ground.”
He thinks for a moment.
“Seriously, how much hair do you have on that head? Oh, I should just ask Granhiert to lop off your head and see just how much hair you got on there! Ah, but I don’t think we’d be able to tell- pff- Because- because-“
Reinhard looks on with a deadpan expression. Subaru is cackling and wheezing, pretending to wipe a tear from his eye.
“-Because the blood would be clumping your pretty boy red hair!-“ The cultist keels over, laughing hysterically. The usual banter makes Reinhard smile. It’s almost as if Subaru were a normal, light-hearted man. The kind to smile and laugh, wear his heart on his sleeve, fall in love with everyone as a friend. It’s almost as if they weren’t fucking the brains out of eachother to relieve tension.
“I don’t like that you’re tearing all this out, though.” The cultist steps closer.
Reinhard realizes he’s staring at the other man’s chest.
Tension thickens between them, like it always does. He wanted to cut through that tension with his own stupidly overpowered hands. He wanted… to cut right into Subaru’s chest.
“Eyes up here, dipshit.” He looks a little higher, storm-blue eyes meeting clouded brown eyes. There was that glint of something there again. It’s the same sadistic glint he sees in the eyes of a cloaked man roaming the Capital.
Just in that moment, the knight likes that he feels special. Subaru chose to make himself recognizable to Reinhard while nobody else could, afterall.
That doesn’t matter now. What matters is Subaru Natsuki, and he’s practically glowing.
“I like your hair, alright?! It’s stupidly red and stupidly noticeable in a crowd!”
“Were you worried, Pride?” Reinhard plasters on that fake smile he always wears.
He shouldn’t be letting his turbulent emotions control him. If he were angry enough, he’d forget how to hold back so as not to pulverize the Sin Archbishop.
‘He’s a heinous murderer,’ a voice in his head whispers.
That was the thing about the Sin Archbishop of Pride. He was a malice. He knew exactly what made Reinhard tick, snap, and rebuild. Over and over again.
The Sword Saint knew exactly what made Subaru stutter, flicker, and break. Over and over again.
There was common knowledge between the two. Even though Subaru was one to kill Reinhard in spirit over and over again, he’s still caught in the Sword Saint’s web.
…And by the dragon, he never wants to break free.
Reinhard is finally in control.
It doesn’t matter that he feels his sanity slipping, it’s alright if it’s with Subaru.
Time slows down just for them.
…No, he’s rushing to tear that cloak off Subaru’s body. The black fabric protests, loosening before the cultist shrugs off the garment himself. He moans into Reinhard’s mouth as a knee is pressed in between his thighs and whines when the knight pulls away.
“You manwhore, are you seriously trying to get some right now?” Pride huffed.
“Hm? You followed me here, you know. I was minding my own business.”
Pride clicked his tongue in annoyance. He seemed to open his mouth to say something, but stopped in his tracks when the familiar feeling of a gloved hand wrapped around his throat.
“I don’t feel like touching you, Archbishop. I’m wearing gloves for a reason.”
The knight leans down, breath ghosting against the panting Sin Archbishop.
“You’re just filth to me, Subaru Natsuki.”
Subaru wriggles in Reinhard’s hold before tilting his head. He still smiles as he makes his response.
“And you’re just the Sword Saint. The product of shitty generational trauma and an even shittier dad.”
“Shut. Up.”
Gloved hands rip at the cultist’s pants, short panting breaths and hushed noises of pleasure filling the air. The two were very aware they were out in the open, but to them, it didn’t matter.
Reinhard had brought Subaru to the ground. He was still in his undershirt and boxers, at least. He had some standards. That didn’t seem to be the case now, not with the way the Sword Saint bit and kissed his neck so violently.
“Nnh- Rein-“ The pitiful sentence was cut off by an equally pitiful whimper from Reinhard’s ministrations.
The knight stares down at the other man, taking in what he could.
Control. This is control.
He has the power to do what he wants.
To destroy what he wants.
“Get on with it, already,” The cultist says with the remainder of his dignity. The swordsman snorted before shoving three fingers into his mouth expectantly. Subaru is unable to diminish the desire to bite down on them. Reinhard doesn’t even flinch.
“You don’t seem to be in the position to be making demands,” The red-haired man shrugs. He sets Subaru’s legs over his shoulders and smirks, high on the heated exchange they’re sharing.
‘Finally, finally,’ Subaru thinks as Reinhard brushes the tip of his thumb against Subaru. The slide is easy and he’s well acquainted with the hasty preparation. He’d find Reinhard in some sort of bind like this and well… Vice versa.
Was it really consequence free, the knight wonders as he feels the cultist squirm underneath him. His thoughts are interrupted once again by Subaru’s urging. The fog surrounding his mind grows thicker, like the White Whale took control over his psyche.
“Fucking hell, just- What do you want me to do?!”
“I want you-“ Reinhard hesitates. “I want you to shut up.”
“Jeeeeeez, you keep losing your temper like this. Y’know, children do the same thing-“
“I’m not going to repeat myself.”
Subaru gives him that signature smirk, the kind that taunts an opponent. The kind that asks, ‘What are you gonna do about it, weakling?’
“ Weakling , huh?”
He wants to tear Subaru apart like a fly at the mercy of a spider. That’s all he is to the Sword Saint, if he really wanted to make use of the web he weaves through the archbishop. They’re both just as entangled as the other.
Entangled in a web of lies, hatred, and weakness.
‘You’re supposed to be above this, Sword Saint.’ His father’s voice is still there.
Reinhard wants to bash his head against the wall and scream.
He doesn’t even know how.
“I didn’t call you a weakling,” Came a terse reply.
“You’re the Sword Saint, hero of Lugunica or whatever. You just can’t be weak. Physically, I mean.”
“Shut up.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry! D-Do you feel like hating yourself more today? My bad, my bad!” Subaru laughs tauntingly, his voice dripping with faux sympathy. He was rocking his hips against Reinhard’s fingers now, making a displeased noise when the digits were removed.
His hands moved from his sides to his own hair before they were abruptly held tightly in Reinhard’s hands.
“Shut. Up.”
The cultist saw stars as he felt Reinhard enter him with little precaution. The knight didn’t even think to hold back his satisfaction as the sin archbishop moaned oh-so-wonderfully.
“R-Reinhard, s-slow down, you asshole! You- Ah-!”
A particularly needy whine escaped Subaru’s lips, quickly interrupted by Reinhard swallowing his pleasured noises like always.
The Sword Saint pulls away for a second, before lunging forward again. He thrusts deeper into the embodiment of pride itself.
Even then, weren’t they both prideful?
It didn’t matter now— There’s no use entertaining those thoughts at the moment.
Not when he’s so entangled in the limbs and clasped hands; in the web Subaru made with him.
“I hate you,” Subaru whispers, burying his face into Reinhard’s neck.
“I hate you too,” Reinhard mutters back as he nips at the cultist’s ear.
“I hate you, hate you- Hh- Ah- Hate you…”
Subaru lifts himself off of the Sword Saint’s lap and begins to let himself go at his own pace.
“I know.”
“Hate you, I hate- I hate you- Fuck!-“
Reinhard can feel his mind crumbling.
He leans in, imagining a day where he tears the witch cultist’s vocal chords from his throat. He imagines slowly biting deeper, deeper, deeper into the other’s flesh until there’s nothing left.
Is that heroic enough?
“Hate- I- I- I hate you, f-fuck!” Subaru swears profusely, growing close to his impending release.
“I know.”
“Hate me too! Ah- Please, I- Fuck me, R-Rein! Fucking kill me, stab me, make me bleed out, I don’t care!”
The two keep their depraved dialogue. The cultist’s words empower the knight and he loses control like he always does. He bites at Subaru’s neck, leaving a dark purple mark.
Hands rove over each other’s bodies and heavy breathing fills the air along with the pair’s groans. They live in a mockery of consumption, caught up in the same web.
And if it feels too damn good to stop, Reinhard wouldn’t mind. He doesn’t mind one bit.
…Subaru Natsuki and Reinhard Van Astrea truly were predator and prey in that regard.
Even so, that primal hatred made them weak.
It made the most powerful man in the world weak, taking his fill of the one he should see as an enemy. It made the archbishop weak for failing to be who he was supposed to be, for failing to save who he was supposed to save. That they had in common.
The desire to let each other burn is weakened by the desire to tear the other to shreds.
“Does this make us even?” Subaru whispers again.
There’s silence before Reinhard puts together his reply.
“Of course not. Like how it’s supposed to be.”
The sin archbishop snorts, his hand cupping the Sword Saint’s cheek.
“My hero,” He says mockingly. “I hate you.”
Reinhard places his hand atop Subaru’s.
“As do I.”