Thyla

T 'hy'la used to be the manipulator "Watch me turn your mind into my home." but is now .....not that. "it's strong and it's sudden, and it's cruel sometimes but it might just save your life that's the power of love."

"He's the complete package. You can tell something's wrong with the Ringleader just by her eyes, but he is like a centerpiece in a priceless collection - good under pressure, gorgeous from any angle, and not a single hair is out of place to betray his intention. "






He likes tea a lot, it's kind of his obsession actually. collects teapots and teacups. is always bringing Sergei some new tea concoction of his. is never deterred when Sergei doesn't drink it (Sergei often just forgets, to be honest. Sergei gets....lost a lot. literally, in his garden or greenhouse, and mentally) is also completely besotted with Sergei.





If you ask Thyla how he met Sergei, he will tell you that it began in a rose garden, one cold morning.

“Thyla! Be a dear and bring this new tea I got to Sergei, won't you? He lives up at the top of the hill over there, with an enormous garden. I do worry so about him, he never seems to have anyone to talk to.”

“Rosemary, I have places to be, people to see—” he protests as she hands him a massive box.

“I'll see you later then! You’ll know it when you smell the roses.” She escorts him to the still-open door and pushes him out.

“—I can’t be your delivery boy all the time!”

The Tundra waves enthusiastically as she turns the key in the lock.

“Why do I even bother coming here?” Thyla grumbles.

---

“I’ve never even met the man, for the Eleven’s sake. I wouldn’t be surprised if he were secretly a serial killer or something,” he mutters as he walks up the stone path to “Sergei’s house.”

A tall stranger, back towards Thyla, is standing in the garden.

“You there! What are you doing?”

They turn, icy blue hair falling in a smooth, lustrous curtain over their slim shoulders.

Oh.

Thyla shivers as their eyes, so pale as to almost be colorless, meet his.

“What?” they ask, adjusting the crown of icicles they wear to sit behind their elfin ears. Perhaps they are of noble blood.

“What are you doing there? It’s quite rude to trespass on someone’s property, you know.”

“What?”

“This is Sergei’s property, and you shouldn’t be here.” His gaze wanders to their chest.

“What?”

The top few buttons of their crisp white shirt are unbuttoned.

Still, Thyla gets the infuriating feeling that they are toying with him.

“Look, are you simple? Unless you’re Sergei himself, you aren’t supposed to be in the garden!”

“And what about you? Why are you here, then?”

“Well, that’s different. I’ve come to bring him some tea. Courtesy of Rosemary.”

“That’s very kind of you, but Rosemary frets over me far too much. I really don't need all this tea,” a small smile plays at the corners of their rosy lips.

The smile of someone who knows they’ve won.

He stares at the stranger in horror. “You–you’re Sergei?”

“In the flesh,” they–he nods, inclining his head. “Would you like some tea?”

Sergei seems to take his silence as hesitation. “Please, I insist. It's the least I can do after tricking you.”

“I suppose I can sample a cup or two,” he finally chokes out.

A cup or two turns into several pots as he and Sergei while the afternoon away in amiable companionship.

Perhaps Rosemary had the right idea, he muses as he leaves the garden.

---

Rosemary somehow seems to keep finding excuses to send Thyla back to Sergei. He isn't complaining. Not really.

There are worse things to be doing with one’s afternoon, after all.

---

“Matcha has one of the highest caffeine levels of any teas, but black is almost equivalent to it, not to mention—I’m rambling again, aren't I?” he asks, embarrassed.

“A bit,” Sergei says gently. “But you wouldn't be my friend if you didn't.”

His heart seems to have grown hummingbird wings.

I wish I were more.

---

“Come outside,” Thyla leads him towards the garden and gestures proudly towards a small rosebush.

“Oh, Arcanist, it's beautiful! How did you remember which cultivar I was looking for?” Sergei kneels and gently strokes the glossy green leaves and vivid blue blossoms.

Because I love you.

---

“Okay, here's a question: does true love exist or not?” Thyla asks.

“I don’t know...maybe with the right person.”

“Who would that be?”

“Someone who makes me smile...who makes me laugh.” Sergei’s eyes are sad now. “Someone who cares about me for my thorns, not just my roses.”

He pines, forever.

---

“I don’t know...are you sure she likes you?” If he were really Sergei’s friend, he’d encourage him to pursue her.

“Well, I suppose so. I mean...”

Thyla’s head spins and his ears ring, drowning out Sergei’s voice. He doesn’t think he can take hearing any more.

“I don’t think she likes you. Not that way. And I don’t think you should try to pursue her, either.” His voice is flat and awful and dull, and-Arcanist, why is he so selfish? It’s not like Sergei belongs to him.

It was only a matter of time before Sergei found someone else.

You love him.

Shut up.

He’s so stupid.

“What are you saying?” Sergei says, voice hurt. He closes his eyes for a few seconds, but not before Thyla sees the glimmer of tears threatening to overflow.

“I’m saying that I love you!” Thyla claps his hand to his mouth, but it’s too late. Sergei’s eyes are wide open now.

“....oh.”

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean to—”

Sergei blinks. “Did you just apologize?”

“Y-yeah. I just—I’m sorry, I should go,” he turns to flee.

“Wait.” His voice is soft, and Thyla stops (anything for him). “The first time I’ve ever seen you apologize...and for something you shouldn’t even be sorry for.” Sergei stifles his laughter. “You can be so obtuse sometimes.”

“What? Me, the obtuse one?” he splutters as he turns to face him. “I’ve been trying for months! The rosebush, our conversation about true love, even my visits! Didn't you ever wonder at how much I came to see you? Maybe found it suspicious? All to get you to realize that I—” he trails off into awkward silence again.

“Did you ever consider that I did realize?”

He stares at him in shock.

“That maybe I fell in love too? Because you’re sweet, and funny, and charming, and caring, and—” Sergei’s voice breaks. “And I can only hope to make you half as happy as you make me.”

“You will always make me happy.”

Thyla kisses him.

And it is everything he imagined when he saw the stranger in the rose garden.