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He heard him coming. Felt it in the air, thick with tension.
Torchbearer was coming to save him. Again.
To drag him out of Dema. To make him fight a war he couldn't win. Every time, Torchbearer tried harder. Every time, he set himself up for failure.
Clancy let him come anyway.
The room was bare—four cracked walls, rain hammering against the windows so hard the outside world blurred into nothing. But even if the downpour stopped, there would still be nothing to see.
"You're here."
Torchbearer’s voice was quiet, rough with relief. It twisted something in Clancy’s chest.
He bit his lip, refusing to turn. Maybe if I ignore him, he’ll go away. Maybe he’ll finally stop and abandon me. Like he should have a long time ago.
"Clancy."
This time, it was sharper. A plea, barely disguised as a command.
Clancy’s hands curled into fists. But he couldn't fight anymore.
"Go away."
It hurt to say it. More than it should.
He heard Torchbearer move—boots scuffing against the cracked floor, coming closer. Of course. He always did.
"We don’t have much time," Torch said, voice clipped, serious.
He was right. The Bishops would find him soon. But Clancy couldn’t let Torchbearer get caught because of him. Not again.
He had to make him leave.
"I said GO AWAY!"
His scream shattered the air, bouncing off the empty walls like a gunshot.
Torchbearer went still.
Clancy forced himself to turn, jaw clenched so tight it hurt.
Torchbearer was staring at him. His yellow bandana was pulled up over his face, but his eyes—wide, startled—were watching Clancy like he was seeing him for the first time.
Then his expression shifted. A frown cut deep into his face. He stepped closer.
Clancy stepped back.
Torchbearer froze, his hands twitching at his sides. Hurt flickered across his face before he masked it with frustration.
"What are you saying?"
"I can’t fight anymore."
"Clancy—"
"I don’t want to fight anymore!"
"You can’t stop." The disbelief in Torch’s voice stung, like Clancy was some stubborn child throwing a tantrum.
"I am. Accept it."
Torch yanked his bandana down. He was scowling now—his permanent frown digging even deeper.
"I won’t. You’re coming with me."
He reached for Clancy.
Clancy shoved him. Hard.
Torch staggered back, caught off guard.
"I’m not fighting, Torch! Leave me alone! Leave me here! Stop coming back!" His voice cracked, breath ragged. "I’m done!"
And then, one more time—louder, emptier, more final than anything he’d ever said:
"I’m done."
Torchbearer didn’t move.
He didn’t step forward. Didn’t step back. He just stared at Clancy like he’s said the stupidest thing in the world.
"I’m not going to leave you."
His voice was low, rough, almost a growl. His eyes burned, sharp enough to cut through Clancy’s resolve. "Not when we’re this close to bringing Dema down."
They’ve never fought before. Never turned on each other. For years, they’ve always been side by side. But Clancy forced this moment, backed himself into this corner.
"This isn’t a question," Clancy snapped, his pulse hammering. "I’m not saving anything. I’m not fighting. I’m done ."
"I’m not leaving you!" Torch roared.
It was almost desperate. He was vibrating with it, like it was taking everything in him not to grab Clancy, not to shake him until he understood.
"Why can’t you just leave me alone?!" Clancy shouted back, his voice breaking. "It doesn’t matter! Dema, me—who the hell cares?!"
"I care!"
Torchbearer screamed it, shoving it straight into Clancy’s chest like a dagger.
"I care so fucking much because I love you! "
The words explode between them, ringing in Clancy’s skull. The walls catch the echo and hurl it back at him.
Love.
He couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. The Bishops could be coming right now—could already be at the door—but Clancy couldn’t think about anything else.
Torch was still speaking, voice ragged, raw, wrecked.
"How can you say it doesn’t matter," he breathed, "when my days are consumed by thoughts of you? When my nights are filled with dreams of you? When the only reason I keep fighting is you—always you, Clancy."
His chest heaved, his words gripping his throat like they might choke him. Torch wants so much it’s dangerous. The love in his voice wasn’t soft—it was violent, uncontainable, a devotion too big for him to carry alone.
A bitter scoff. “You never thought it was weird, huh? That I’m always the one who finds you?”
Torch stepped forward. Clancy didn’t step back.
Couldn’t.
"You never stopped to ask why?"
Torch was close now—too close. His eyes burned with frustration, with madness, with something bigger than both of them.
"So, no. I’m not leaving you. Not in a million years." His breath was ragged, his body tense like a bowstring about to snap. "And if the Bishops come now and take us both?" He lets out a sharp, unhinged laugh.
"Then that’s how we end. Together. "
Clancy exhaled, sharp and uneven.
"I can't fight."
It came out small. Desperate. Weak. But it was the truth. He didn’t have it in him anymore. And Torchbearer needed to understand that. Needed to stop putting him on some impossible pedestal when he could barely hold himself together.
Torch’s grip tightened around his arms. "We don’t have to fight. But please—" his voice cracked, "come with me."
He searched Clancy’s face, looking for something, like if he just looked hard enough, he’ll find an answer he can live with.
"Let’s leave together. Never look back, if that’s what you want."
Clancy’s breath was shallow. Time was slipping through his fingers.
"You’d leave the Banditos?"
He didn’t know why he asked. Didn’t need to know where Torch’s loyalty starts and ends. But somehow, the words still escape.
And then—Torch dropped to his knees.
Right in front of him.
Looking at him like he holds every answer, like Clancy is the only thing left worth believing in.
It hurts. Everything hurts.
"I would." Torch’s voice was steady. Certain. "Clancy, please. We need to leave."
Clancy’s lips trembled.
Outside, the rain hammered against the window, beating in sync with his pulse. His ribs felt too tight. His chest too full. And then—Torch pressed his forehead against Clancy’s stomach, fingers clenching at him, gripping him like he’s praying at an altar.
His stomach twisted.
"Please, Clancy."
And he felt it. The outpouring of love.
It was too much—too big—a devotion that drowns him, suffocates him. Dangerous. Insidious . Torchbearer doesn’t just love him. He worships him. Wants him too. Clancy knew that, but he was too respectful to take.
Because, let’s face it—Torch didn’t see him as an equal.
And Clancy couldn’t stand it.
He’s human . He’s weak . He’s hurting.
And he wants Torch too. Now.
So he dropped to his knees in front of him.
And he took.
Clancy didn’t remember ever kissing anyone.
And maybe he had, once. A long time ago. But nothing—nothing—could have ever compared to this.
He crashed his lips against Torch’s, hands cradling his face like he was starving for something he didn’t even understand. Torch stumbled back, forced to brace himself on his elbows as Clancy followed, pressing into his space, knees bracketing his own.
Torch didn’t push him away.
He kissed back, rough and unrelenting, biting at Clancy’s lips, fingers twisting in his jacket, pulling him closer, closer, closer.
Clancy felt him—all of him—the heat, the want, the way Torch’s body is burning under him, muscles tensed like he’s holding back.
And Clancy wanted it. Wanted to explore, to devour, to see how far he could take this—how far Torch would let him take this.
How he would feel.
But it’s not time.
Not yet.
He broke the kiss. Torchbearer looked completely wrecked, chest heaving, eyes unfocused, lips kiss-bruised and parted as if he still needed more.
Clancy swallowed hard, voice wrecked when he finally spoke.
"We need to go."
The words snapped Torchbearer back into focus immediately. The arousal vanished from his face, erased in a second, replaced by something sharper— mission mode.
In one swift motion, he was on his feet, grabbing Clancy’s wrist, pulling him up with him.
He got what he wanted, huh?
Clancy is getting out. With him. Again.
They’re out.
Far enough to breathe, far enough to stop for just a second.
But Clancy can’t.
His body is still in fight-or-flight, still wired, still expecting the Bishops’ hands to claw through the darkness and drag him back. Every escape has been a race against the clock. Every second counted, every breath stolen. He’s never had time to think about what mattered beyond survival. It’s all he knows. It’s all he’s ever been.
Even the Banditos, even Torchbearer, they’d thrown him into the fight, made him another soldier in a war he never asked for.
He fought. Hard. Won battles. But it never mattered.
Dema’s puppet. The Banditos’ puppet.
Either way, he was never free.
The weight of it all still drags at his bones.
Torchbearer is watching him now.
But it’s different.
There’s something in his face Clancy has never seen before—his eyes twinkling, his mouth twitching up like he’s trying not to smile.
"Where do we go?" Torch asks.
Clancy stalls.
Because for a second, he had let himself believe they could just go. Just the two of them. That Torch was serious about leaving the Banditos, that he meant it when he said he'd follow Clancy anywhere.
But he shouldn’t.
Clancy doesn’t know what to say. Doesn’t even know how to say it.
"Torch—" He stops. Shakes his head.
It’s wrong. The way Torch looks at him, like he’s still some savior, some leader, when he isn’t. When he’s never been.
It’s not right. It’s not—
"Josh."
Torch suddenly says it, soft, hesitant. His cheeks are pink.
Clancy stops breathing.
"That’s my real name."
It guts him. Steals the air straight out of his lungs.
He never asked for Torchbearer’s name. Never thought to. Didn’t even consider that Torch had a name beyond what they called him.
Beyond what the war called him.
And now?
Now Clancy knows the name he could whisper in the dead of night.
The name Torch gave him.
It means too much.
Josh is giving too much.
But Josh was waiting now.
Waiting for Clancy to choose him.
Waiting for a direction, a destination—anything Clancy would give.
He was ready to follow.
"Josh—"
Josh shivered.
Like hearing his name from Clancy’s lips was something holy.
That’s wrong, Clancy thought, a sick twist of something sharp curling in his stomach. He shouldn’t hold that kind of power over someone.
He pushed on, forcing his voice steady. “You can’t leave the Banditos.”
Josh’s almost-smile vanished. In its place, something darker settled—something serious.
"My loyalty lies with you." His tone was final. Unshakable.
"It shouldn’t." Clancy’s breath hitched. "You don’t see it, but I’m only human. I’m—” He exhaled sharply. “Nothing more.”
Josh’s expression flickered—surprise, maybe, but something deeper underneath it.
And then, flatly, like it was the most obvious truth in the world—“I see it.”
His gaze locked onto Clancy’s, fierce and steady.
"I know who you are. Who you truly are. That’s why I love you."
It wasn’t a question.
It wasn’t an argument.
It was fact.
Clancy sucked in a breath, drowning in it, drowning in Josh.
He was falling—too fast, too deep. It wasn’t just want. It wasn’t just aching for a body against his.
It was longing.
For a soul.
For a soul that understood him completely.
And Josh—Josh was that soul.
Josh stepped forward, gaze resolute.
"Clancy," he said softly, "I told you I loved you."
And then, after a heartbeat—
"But I didn’t tell you why."
Clancy was frozen, heart hammering, throat tightening.
"You’re human." Josh’s voice was steady, sure. "More than anyone else. You feel everything fully. You experience the world so deeply, even when it hurts you. And you still—" he exhaled, "you still have hope. You still believe in people. In redemption. In things getting better."
Clancy shook his head, hard, like he could shake the words loose from his heart, like they weren’t cutting into him, deep and merciless.
"I don’t have it anymore."
Josh didn’t flinch.
He just nodded, a soft, knowing smile ghosting over his lips.
"It’s okay." His voice was quiet. Sure.
"I can have hope for the both of us, for now."
Josh slowly pulls off his mittens, breath hitching as the cold bites his fingers.
Then, gently, he takes Clancy’s hands in his own.
Warm skin against his palms.
Clancy’s trembling.
Josh squeezes. "We can go anywhere." His voice is quiet, certain. "Go into hiding if that’s what you want. Build a house at the end of Trench. Just the two of us."
For a second—just a second—Clancy lets himself imagine it.
No more running. No more fighting. No more looking over his shoulder, waiting for the Bishops to tighten their grip. Just Josh. Just peace.
But it doesn’t feel right.
Not when so many are still trapped. Not when he knows exactly what it’s like to be stuck inside Dema, to suffocate under its weight, to wake up every day and feel the walls closing in.
He can’t just leave them behind.
Josh tilts his head, waiting. "Clance?"
He wishes Josh could choose for them. That he could just follow this time instead of carrying the burden of deciding.
"I don’t know what I want anymore." The words feel like an admission of defeat.
Josh squeezes his hands again, grounding him.
Clancy swallows hard. "What about the Banditos? They trust you."
Josh opens his mouth—
But Clancy doesn’t let him speak. "I know what you said about your loyalty, but…" He exhales sharply. "It feels wrong to abandon them."
Josh doesn’t argue. Doesn’t protest. He just waits—listens, really listens, like he always does.
"They fought for me. For what we believed in. If I just walk away now, it’s—" He shakes his head. "It’s wrong."
Josh stays quiet, waiting for him to say everything, to get it all out.
"When I got back to Dema this last time," Clancy says, voice barely above a whisper, "I felt completely hopeless. Like it was over. That’s why—" His breath shudders. "That’s why I told you to leave me."
Josh’s grip tightens, but he still doesn’t interrupt.
"I thought you’d be better off without me." The words taste bitter. "That maybe the fight would be easier if I just—" He shakes his head.
He forces himself to look away.
"But you… You’re the Torchbearer. You’re the one with the guiding light. Taking you with me would be selfish."
He hesitates, then forces himself to say it—forces himself to look at Josh when he does.
"You’re so much more important to the rebellion than me."
Josh exhales sharply, his face hardening. "You’re wrong." His voice is steady, unshakable.
Clancy flinches.
Josh sighs, raking a hand through his hair before fixing Clancy with a look so intense it roots him to the spot. "You’re just as important as me. And I know how terrifying that is. I know what it feels like to have people trust you—to carry the weight of it." He breathes out slowly, shoulders squaring. "But you need to make a choice. Now."
Clancy’s head shakes on instinct. "I don’t know."
Josh steps closer, invading his space. "What do you want?" His voice is low but firm, like he won’t let Clancy run from this.
"I want to keep fighting." The words leave Clancy’s lips in a rush, desperate, raw. "I don’t want them to win—" his breath shudders, "—but I can’t. I can’t fight."
Silence stretches between them.
Then, Josh speaks.
"You can choose both."
Clancy stares. "How?"
Disbelief laces his voice. There’s no in-between. There never was.
Josh doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he searches Clancy’s face, gaze tracing over every crack, every wound, every piece of him that’s falling apart. Then—
"We go back to the Banditos' camp and explain it to them."
Clancy scoffs, shaking his head. "What, that I’m a failure?"
Josh moves fast—hands cradling Clancy’s face, fingers warm and steady against his skin, forcing him to meet his eyes.
"No." His voice is softer now, but no less certain. "That you need a break from the fight. And if anyone can understand that, it’s them."
Clancy swallows, lips pressing into a thin line. Josh waits—waits for him to absorb it, to nod.
He does.
Barely.
Josh’s hands slip away, but he doesn’t step back. "Then, we leave. Not forever—just long enough." His eyes flicker to Clancy’s lips, then back up, so full of something that it almost hurts to look at. "Long enough that we breathe. That we live."
He bites his lip, shakes his head like the thought is too much, like it terrifies him just as much as it grounds him. "It’ll give us the reason we need to keep going."
Josh’s voice is softer now, like he’s afraid one wrong move might shatter everything. "Are you okay with that?"
Clancy wants to say yes.
He knows that much.
He wants to accept what Josh is offering. It feels too good to be true, too warm, too safe—and yet, Josh is still looking at him with those big, earnest eyes. Clancy isn’t sure he’s ever seen them like this before.
Torchbearer always had a sharpness to him—always scanning for the next battle, the closest escape. But Josh?
Josh lets his softness show.
And Clancy—God, Clancy wants that softness forever. That steadiness. Maybe even that worship that should feel wrong, but it doesn’t. It doesn’t at all.
His throat is dry when he says it. "Josh."
It’s not a question. Not even a plea. Just his name.
And Josh reacts like it’s the only word in existence.
His whole body tenses, his lips part just slightly—just enough for Clancy to see the way his breath catches. A flush creeps up his ears, creeping down his throat like Clancy has set him on fire with nothing but his voice.
Clancy's chest tightens.
He does it again. "Josh."
Another shiver. A full-body tremble. His fingers twitch against Clancy’s cheek, like he doesn’t even realize he’s touching him now.
They’re so close.
So close that Clancy can feel the warmth of his breath, can see the flicker of anticipation in his eyes. His gaze falls to Josh’s lips—pink and parted, waiting, like he’s ready for whatever Clancy gives him.
And then—
"Whatever you want, Clance."
A whisper.
A vow.
And Clancy believes him.
Torchbearer—the fierce, relentless leader, the warrior who never stopped fighting—has never followed anything but a cause.
But Josh?
Josh will follow him.
Wherever he chooses to go.
And Clancy finally makes a choice.
"Let’s do it."