Work Text:
The scar is the living embodiment of his sins—the consequence, the punishment.
The fires? A journey back in time. To a time when life was simple, filled with happy memories, when what mattered most to him existed: his family.
His work was merely a means of bringing him closer to those memories. Every fire, every blaze extinguished and reignited, held a special meaning for Florian. A steadfast emotion, a euphoria, and a fervent burning in his body, heart, mind, and soul.
Then, the day he set his gaze on Matthias, he knew it—that man, with a somewhat similar past, with his eyes, reminiscent of the scorching heat of fire, of the simple act of putting on a mask in front of the public.
He knew that God was blessing him with another miracle.
Florian has always been drawn to Matthias.
To that aching, exhausted body, to that heart of gold hidden behind a giant sorrow, to his soul and mind filled with somewhat insane thoughts.
Florian has always been drawn to Matthias’s scars, those itchy marks on his body and face, those mental afflictions that leave him dejected.
To say that Florian Brand is simply in love with Matthias Czernin is an understatement.
There is something much deeper, something only Florian knows. It’s about blending, uniting, intertwining, and living.
Perhaps that’s why, after a game in which Matthias escaped incapacitated, he returns once again to that familiar room.
A knock on the door, a confused but not surprised face.
“...Florian? Do you need something?” he asks, in his raspy, low voice, almost a whisper. “Thought you might need these; I had some extra bandages.” The blond stares at him so intently; Matthias is completely used to that somewhat chilling gaze.
“Thank you... Florian.” Matthias carefully takes the bandages and places them on his nightstand. And when he turns around, that’s when he notices the bloodstained shirt. Florian lets out a smile.
“I figured out I can’t exactly heal you during the match, but I can try to… help you outside of it.” He tests the waters a little. “If you’d like, of course—I see blood on your back.” He knows perfectly well that Matthias won’t refuse; he’s studied him so closely, knows him so well, that sometimes he wonders if Matthias even knows himself as well as Florian does.
“Oh... Uhm, I didn't notice that, I think I'll need the help.” He looks at him with an embarrassed expression, motioning for him to come in and close the door. “You have a very high tolerance for pain, Matthias,” he emphasizes. Oh, he knows—he knows everything about him, things that Matthias himself hasn't even realized. It’s not the first time Matthias has come out of a match injured; he walks as if nothing happened, with marks on his body and his clothes torn.
“Really? I didn’t realize that.” He doesn’t say it sarcastically; he’s being genuine, and it makes Florian let out a small, almost imperceptible laugh. “Here, sit down, I’ll help.”
While the man sits on the bed with his back to the other, Florian takes the bandages from the nightstand and a cloth from his pockets. “I’ll wet the cloth, okay? Stay here.” He goes to the bathroom in Matthias’s room, wets the cloth, wrings it out, and returns to his spot. When he arrives, he sees Matthias lifting his shirt to let Florian tend to the wound. “Should I take it off?”
“Whichever is more comfortable for you.” That’s all he says.
“Hm… I think this is more comfortable for you.” Matthias takes off his shirt, covering his stomach and chest with it, leaving only his bloody back visible—it’s a cut.
“Here we go.” Florian slowly touches the man’s back, letting him get used to his touch. He can feel the hairs standing on end from the intruding hand, sending a shiver down his spine. The blond tries to hold onto that memory in his mind as he gently cleans the edges of the wound with the cloth. Then, he tries to stop the bleeding by applying pressure to the wound and cleans it again once the blood stops flowing.
“I’ll put the bandage on now.” Always giving a heads-up first, Florian wraps the bandage around Matthias, using his other hand to support his back, never breaking contact. It’s one of the few moments when Florian can watch Matthias breathe in and out, see his chest rise and fall, as one of his hands holds the bedsheet and the other covers the front of his body. As Florian’s hand strokes his back, slowly, delicately, as if touching something that could easily break, in an attempt to comfort him.
Florian appreciates this.
And he hopes Matthias does too.
“It’s done,” he says, pulling his hand back and putting the remaining bandage in the drawer next to the bed. “You do know how to take care of a wound, right?”
“I do,” he says as he puts his shirt back on; he’ll change it later.
“Hmm, okay, do you have any other injuries?”
Matthias tilts his head, his eye narrowing as he thinks, “I don’t… know, I don’t feel much.”
“Well, if you see any bleeding, you know where my room is. If you ever need help, I’ll be going now.”
Matthias looks at him, somewhat lost in his thoughts. He doesn’t want him to leave; there’s a conflict between what he feels and what he should feel. He shouldn’t feel this way, especially not toward a man, but Florian’s physical touch makes him feel good, alive—a sensation he lost many years ago. It’s not the first time this has happened, that a touch that lingers for hours makes him feel this strange; it’s only with Florian. “Uh…”
“Yes, Matthias? Do you need something else?” Florian smiles from ear to ear, baring his fangs, and looks him straight in the eyes.
“Can you… stay…? I usually like being alone, but today I’m just… too caught up in my thoughts; it kind of… distresses me, being lonely.”
“Of course, I’d be happy to stay and keep you company.” Florian steps away from the door and sits on the bed, right next to the man. He studies him; there’s something Matthias isn’t telling him.
“What do you need, Matthias?”
Matthias stops looking at the floor and makes eye contact; it’s not the first time this has happened.
''Please... touch me''
He barely even hears it. But he knows exactly the effect it has on Matthias; he knows perfectly well just how starved he is for something—or someone—to make him feel alive again: a touch, a few words, anything. It’s definitely not the first time. He knows those deranged thoughts in his head; he has him wrapped around his little finger, and yet, it’s mutual.
“Anything you want, Matthy”
The next thing Matthias Czernin knows, he’s lying in his own bed, hands intertwined, while Florian kisses his cheek, his face, his scars, his burns, his heart. His soul and mind. With his other hand, he traces his body, gently, his touch sending shivers down his spine. Again, again and again.
It never goes beyond this, nothing more than slow, lingering caresses. Kisses that never quite reach his lips. A connection he couldn’t quite name—a thought crosses his mind: he shouldn’t be doing this, but… what’s the harm?
Matthias, stop thinking and overthinking. He is free, he is alive—for a few moments, for a few hours, for the rest of the day. And he believes that is all he needs.