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Icarus Morningstar had many nicknames: Icarus, Sherbert, Sherb, “Alchemy’s Greatest” (admittedly that was one they gave themself). The things called them “Sherbirb” occasionally, and when they were little, Rae called them “Brother.” To the gods they were the “Child of Creation” and “Heir to the Morningstar and Gilded Kingdoms.” But there was one man who’s nicknames never failed to bring Icarus limitless frustration.
Centross always claimed he wasn’t “good with words,” but gods could he spin them when he wanted to. What he lacked in literacy he made up for in sheer audacity as he regularly pulled out the most infuriating nicknames imaginable, just to get a rise out of Icarus. He’d tried many over the time they’d known each other, Ick being a recent favorite that the Things unfortunately latched onto and had plagued their existence ever since. But the worst nickname of all (and the one Icarus had so dearly come to miss) was one that had been around since the beginning.
~~~~~~
The nickname's first use wasn’t attached to a good memory. The two were deep in the middle of a screaming match in the old Ominous Bane base, nearly at each other’s throats over the table. Easton had long since retreated to their room to avoid the noise, as they typically did when the others got heated like this. At some point, Icarus had grabbed the front of Centross’ robe and pulled him over the wooden surface, and now yelled in his face, half bent over the table themself. As usual, Centross’ face held very little of the emotions broiling just beneath the surface, only slightly twisted in a frown as he stared right back at his “ally.” Icarus finally finished spewing their vitriol, something about how obvious Centross was being and how he was clearly the favorite, and the anger was finally starting to wear them out. They shoved Centross back as hard as they could and turned to go to their own room. Behind them, Centross tsked and laughed that dark, dangerous laugh - the one that always sent an uncomfortable shiver down their spine, allies or not. The words were said quietly, soft enough to give the plausible deniability of “you weren’t meant to hear that,” but loud enough that it was obvious they were.
"Idiot Bird.”
Rage soared up in Icarus’ stomach yet again, but this time, they didn’t take the bait. Instead, they changed direction and shot up the water elevator instead. With a step off the cliff and a rocket, they shot into the sky, intent on flying away - away from the base, their problems, and away from Centross .
~~~~~~
The second time, it wasn’t much better. Icarus had messed up; they’d gotten caught, outsmarted. It had been weeks in that cell, and their mind was beginning to shatter. The Things hadn’t shut up, and the wack was still making their life miserable. It turned their table to birch. Birch. The horror.
So when they heard Centross’ voice up above, their whole body flooded with pure relief . Even after everything, Centross had found them. Their ally was here, he’d help. Surely, he’d help.
And yet, as they always seemed to be nowadays, Icarus was wrong. Even after comforting them, telling them that he’d get them out, getting their hopes up - Centross just stared at them, stared with that face that concealed almost all true emotion, only showing the barest hint of amusement , and spoke the words that still haunted them to this day.
“Once a failure, always a failure.”
The block shut closed on their head, and they cried out as the blood spilled down, begged, raged, demanded that Centross return, that he free them, only to hear the words come back to him, distant but still just as sharp and just as merciless as it had always been.
“Idiot Bird.”
~~~~~~
Icarus could still pinpoint the first time the nickname was said without malice. It still wasn’t a good memory, though Icarus had so few good memories at this point so that was hardly surprising. It came during what they’d begun to consider one of the top three darkest moments of their life. (Looking back, the fact that they had developed a tier list of darkest moments was…distressing.)
The image of Centross looking up at them, curled on the ground, holding his stomach where Icarus had just stabbed him would be forever burned in their brain. Face tilted upward as much as he dare, easily broadcasting every thought and feeling running through his head for the first time - an open display of trust and love, despite the horrific actions that had been taken against him. The adrenaline flowed out from Icarus’s veins and reality crashed into them like an ice-cold wave, sending tingles across their skin and forcing oxygen into their lungs like they hadn’t breathed in weeks. Their words were muddled, fragmented, as their thoughts raced to become audible, as they tried desperately to apologize, to say something about what had just occurred, but Centross stopped them every time. Just hushed them, carefully lifted himself off of the ground, and pulled Icarus into a hug. All protests were yanked from their throat when the whispered words hit their ear.
“Idiot Bird.”
That was it. No yelling, no blame, no lecture. Icarus had almost killed him, someone they considered a friend , and yet here he was, so physically close with nothing ill in his voice. For the first time, the words flowed out with something akin to affection , so distant from any way Icarus had heard them before that they barely processed their meaning. They didn’t even have the ability to be offended.
They ascended the stairs after him, apologies and panicked ramblings silenced.
~~~~~~
The nickname became something different after that. Icarus wasn’t exactly sure what changed, but then again, they weren’t sure when their own feelings changed, either. They still protested when it was used, it was an insult after all, but over time it started to feel less and less like one.
It didn’t help that Centross seemed to grow more and more fond of it himself, sprinkling it randomly into their conversations whenever the two met up. It started slow - a joking “Idiot Bird,” when Icarus would accidentally land a little too hard or took off wrong (which was rare, they were a fantastic flier), eventually morphing into a soft yet firm reprimand when they would self-depricate a little too hard. And then when they’d self-deprecate at all .
Icarus remembered how it sounded when they’d vented their feelings sitting by the glitched-in wall, when Centross had asked if his own actions made him a monster. And the feeling of his knowing gaze when Icarus said no. The way it was choked out mid-laugh when Icarus joked about their new tattoo. The way it rolled off his tongue as he aggressively (yet somehow also gently) ripped their gloves off at the tavern.
The way it had been the last thing they’d heard as they’d fallen asleep the same night, absolutely trashed and wrapped up safe in his arms. Terrified for his future yet comforted by his presence.
“Goodnight, Ick. Idiot Bird.”
How desperately Icarus wished they could hear it just one more time.