Achillea

By Sophia Ng of 12-Solidarity

Illustration by Ana Lim

Scales of black and blue glimmered in the low moonlight, refracting its cold rays against tawny hair. With a soundless flutter, Cracker landed against the emerald steps of an inn, shoulders drooping forward.

It had been a rough night. Others turned him down because of his imposing figure. He brought bad luck, they said with plastered smiles, they could not afford him in such a busy season. Others of his kind have no such problem; they were born with shards of rainbows in their wings. Any innkeeper in their right mind would take them right away. But he, he with his inky black strokes that yawned like black holes, attracted none.

He hoped that this one was desperate enough to take him.

He raised his knuckles to knock on the door, but it fell away as he pushed forward. His hand, instead, landed on the hard forehead of another man.

Silence.

“Oh my God I am so sorry—“ Cracker flinched back, eyes wide.

“No no, don’t worry about it. Come inside?” He reached out to take his hand, fingers like pale petals against his skin.

How could he deny him?

Despite the rocky start, Cracker found his company pleasant. His name was Yarrow, and they talked like they had known each other for forever. His hospitality was impeccable and it was as if he knew every move Cracker was going to make before he had done it. Like a spouse, he joked once.

The look of sorrow on Yarrow’s face made sure he said no more.

The months fluttered by like they were nothing, marked with friendly nudges and longing stares. Hands, shoulders, anywhere they could reach without giving too much away. His touch was cooling, a menthol balm against his overheated skin. Cracker’s arms ached like his eyes, and Yarrow soothed. He wasn’t sure why, but looking at him made something in his chest twist. An icy dagger, each time they caught each other’s gaze, but he wanted to chase it down and pin it against the wall. He wanted to stay, but he had to leave, one day.

He promised his return.

“Don’t forget me, Yarrow.”

With a sapped sigh, he replied, “I don’t think I can.”

And so he left. Seasons passed, but Yarrow remained. By the time another returned, the cycle began anew.

Black wings. Blue eyes. A crash.

“Oh my god I am so sorry—”

“You came back!”

“... Do I know you?”