With the last of his strength, The Blind Keeper deposited the roach among the cushions, his arms trembling as he took pains to place him as gently as possible.

(This wasn't necessary; The Blind Keeper was certain he could hurl Cerise off his balcony, and it wouldn't hurt the roach at all. If Cerise made it clear to the ground that he preferred to land softly, his charisma ensured the ground would concede the point, and probably offer an apology for daring to be so solid in the first place. Still, decorum was important, which meant treating Cerise like a delicate flower in this instance.)

As soon as his body touched the pillows, Cerise stretched, making himself comfortable. His antennae curled, signaling that he felt relaxed and safe. It was a small change, but it meant everything right now.

The Blind Keeper hovered nearby, his heart aching, hands clutching each other anxiously. He wanted so badly to lay on that pile of cushions himself, but after what had just happened–

Cerise's antenna perked up. Weakly but insistently, he gestured for The Blind Keeper to join him, beckoning with one hand while patting the pillows with the other, as if summoning a pet. The Blind Keeper heaved a sigh of relief, and collapsed into the pile, his limbs giving out the moment he started to lower himself down.

Cerise wasted no time in cozying himself up to the Blind Keeper, wriggling over so he could drape an arm across the spider's broad body. Slowly, the Blind Keeper inhaled, feeling the weight and warmth of Cerise's arm as his chest rose and fell.

For some time, the two just breathed. Inhale, exhale. Recovering. Recuperating. Existing.

The Blind Keeper allowed one hand to slip beneath Cerise's wings, letting it come to rest on the roach's back. He was cold to the touch, upsettingly cold. There had been a time where Cerise had radiated heat, at the height of his power. As The Blind Keeper's hands gently stroked the precious roach, he couldn't help the pain in his heart at finding a frailty there that wasn't before.

The Blind Keeper had been fooling himself, when he stared up at Cerise's blade, and told himself he held no fear. There had been no courage in his actions. He had been afraid from the start – afraid of this frailty, afraid of what the universe had done to those who were dear to him. Afraid of what the universe would do, in the end. He had let that fear fester, to the point where he confused it with bravery.

He could feel Cerise's breathing, weak but steady. He could feel the roach shift, encouraging the hand on his back to hold him more closely. Moment by moment, he felt less cold to the touch. The Long Votom had stolen so much from them, but it hadn't managed to steal this.

When Cerise finally spoke, it was half-mumbled, the roach still weak from all that they had just been through. "Well. That was positively wretched, to put it mildly," he managed.

The Blind Keeper exhaled slowly. "I... I know it was. And I know it wasn't fair to you–"

"Hush," Cerise insisted, his voice sounding more sturdy by the moment. "I can't say I understand what you've been through, but at least now I have a sense of the enormity of it."

The Blind Keeper hesitated. "I could try to explain. I don't know if–"

"Not right now," Cerise said, touching his own temple. "I've already got a headache twice the size of my head right now." He turned to The Blind Keeper, his face sympathetic. "Just... know that I've seen the enormity of it. And I'm still here."

The Blind Keeper felt himself sink into the pillows a bit. "...I don't know what I'd do without you."

"Good," Cerise said with a tone of praise. "Then you understand how I feel about you as well. So I can trust this won't happen again."

The Blind Keeper placed his hand on top of Cerise's. "It won't. I promise."

Nodding to himself, Cerise made the effort to climb up onto The Blind Keeper's chest. The Blind Keeper wheezed softly as Cerise took up the familiar position. The spider couldn't tell if he was just exhausted, or if Cerise was heavier than usual. Maybe all that time spent defying gravity came with a price, and now the roach was paying back gravity all the weight he owed.

The Blind Keeper could feel Cerise staring at him. The roach's antennae were twitching now, as he settled onto the spider's chest. "Darling," he asked quietly. "I know we've been over this, but... do you trust me? I need to hear it again."

The Blind Keeper nodded, moving his hands to Cerise's back to hold him, feeling like he needed the comfort right now. "I do. I trust you completely. I won't close myself off to you again."

There was a strange silence. The Blind Keeper felt like he could hear Cerise's mind turning something over.

"I need you to mean it," Cerise admonished. "I need you to really ask yourself what that means to you, and say it only if you mean it absolutely."

The Blind Keeper inhaled slowly, letting his rising chest lift Cerise like a rising tide. Slowly, he exhaled, letting the weight of the roach drive the air out again. "I trust you," he said at last. "Absolutely. Completely."

"Good," said Cerise. "Good."

With the utmost tenderness, Cerise's hand reached forward to pet the spider's face.

The Blind Keeper relaxed, the tension draining from his muscles, at the simple touch. He hadn't been able to relax since the incident. Stress and strain that he didn't even realize he'd been carrying melted away, allowing him to finally, finally rest.

"Then let me do this," Cerise continued. His hand slid upward, traveling up from The Blind Keeper's cheek to–

Every nerve in The Blind Keeper's body fired at once, a seizure locking up every inch of his body. His body reacted before he even knew why, a dread panic far worse than even facing his own death overtaking him, the fear outracing his own conscious comprehension of why. In a crisis, it's not the brain that controls the body, it's the spine. The hundreds of milliseconds it takes for a signal to travel from touch receptor to cortex is far too slow when it comes to facing the most terrifying thing imaginable.

Cerise's hand arrived at its destination, his thumb hooking itself under one of his blindfolds. The hand gripped, ready to remove it.

Terror electrified the Blind Keeper's brain, sending a jolt through his very being. "No," he whispered, pleading, desperate. "No, no no no no. Don't. Please don't, please please please–."

He seized Cerise's arm to try to hold it in place, only to realize he suddenly had no strength in his body. He had never felt weak like this before. He had never felt so utterly powerless. Fear squeezed the blood from his heart, his veins icy as the panic overtook him.

He clutched at Cerise's arm, helpless, pathetic, knowing he lacked the strength to stop him, trying to communicate the depths of his desperation through his grip, miserably feeble. "Please no. No, no no no. Please, please."

Cerise's hand stayed where it was, gripping the edge of the blindfold. The Blind Keeper could only continue to cling miserably to that arm, his whole body all pins and needles and numbness. "Don't. Please, please, don't." The horror of the situation robbed him of his coherency, leaving him to babble wordlessly, pleading for mercy.

Cerise's words came through the fog: "I trust you. I believe in you. In us."

It took a few seconds for him to comprehend the word. The Blind Keeper realized he couldn't stop breathing. He was inhaling and exhaling through his nose as fast as his lungs would allow, hyperventilating, suffocating himself in a room full of oxygen. He willed himself to slow down, and barely managed any change at all. He switched to breathing through his mouth, gasping, his breathing ragged. His chest trembled, the tremors traveling up his arms, to where he was still holding onto Cerise.

He tried to focus on that. Just that. Just the point of contact between him and Cerise.

He was holding onto him. He was holding onto Cerise. He fixed that thought in his mind. However weak his grip might feel, he was holding onto Cerise. His palms on Cerise's flesh. Warm. The smell of Cerise's body, fragrant and bold, tinted with bloodleaf. Familiar. The same as ever. A touch and a smell that wouldn't leave him.

The Blind Keeper's breathing slowed. He took a breath, held it for the half second he could manage, then let it go. He repeated this, trying to hold it for a bit longer each time. Cerise's immense weight on his chest helped, ironically enough. It gave him something to focus on. With each breath, he imagined Cerise's body being conveyed upward by his rising diaphragm, before being slowly lowered again as he exhaled. A ship on the tide. Floating on the surface, not sinking, not being swept away. Letting it come, and letting it go.

It took a minute. A minute is a long time when you can't breathe, but it's not forever. Slowly but surely, he got his breathing back under control, if not back to normal.

"...I trust you," he repeated hoarsely, voicelessly, his heart pounding in his chest. He didn't have his own words right now, but he could borrow Cerise's. "I believe in you. In us."

Cerise didn't act immediately. He waited for the words they had spoken to sink in first. Cerise gave The Blind Keeper time to process the words he himself had just spoken. He waited until some of the tension left the spider's body; not all, but enough.

And then, tenderly, as if he was removing the bandage from a wound, Cerise shifted the blindfold upward, exposing the cerulean eye behind it.

For the first time in weeks, The Blind Keeper saw the world.

He saw Cerise.

The second felt like an eternity. And then, urgently, the Blind Keeper squinted his eye shut, pulling the blindfold back into place. He shuddered. He felt grateful that the blindfolds were made from such a thick material, as it meant his unbidden tears were absorbed by the heavy fabric. Curling up, he allowed himself to sob once, pulling all his legs tight against his body.

Cerise's voice was gentle, and vulnerable. "Oh my darling, did I hurt you?"

The Blind Keeper shuddered, then shook his head. He needed a few more sobs before he could find the strength to speak. They were ugly sobs, emanating from a primal place deep within. There were too many emotions to name, but he did his best. "No, no, no. You didn't hurt me. The sobs, they're– it's relief. It's relief. It's relief."

He sniffed, wiping his nose with the back of one arm, then the other. He didn't care how much snot he was smearing across his chitin; he was far beyond caring about dignity. "I was... I was so worried I wouldn't be able to look at you anymore. That I wouldn't be able to stand it. That it would break me."

He sniffed. He could feel Cerise's hand on his face, lifting it carefully. The Blind Keeper reciprocated the gesture, placing his hand on Cerise's face, a weight lifting from his shoulders as he felt Cerise lean into the offered hand.

The Blind Keeper found his words. How could he have ever doubted? "I didn't need to be afraid." He spoke, sincerely and truly, himself once again. "...you're just as beautiful as I remember."

Their foreheads met, as they leaned into each other. The Blind Keeper could feel Cerise's tears join his, mingling in the fabric of his blindfolds. Their lips met, just like they used to. The warmth spread through The Blind Keeper's body, just like it used to.

Neither was in any hurry to break the kiss. If either one could have made it last forever, they might very well have done so.

When Cerise finally did break away from the kiss, he followed it up with a gentle slap, a tiny parody of the earlier blow. "Idiot spider," he said sweetly. "As if anything could make me less beautiful."

This time, the smile that forced its way onto The Blind Keeper's face was as wide as it could be, almost painful in its earnestness. "Of course not, my love," he said, dutifully.

Cerise was kissing his forehead now, peppering it with possessive pecks. "And what do you mean just as beautiful?" He scolded. "Are you saying I'm not more beautiful than ever before?"

"Forgive me, my love," the Blind Keeper said, reaching up to hold Cerise's face with both hands. "Of course you're more beautiful than ever before." As a web-weaving spider, he was used to thinking in terms of traps, and saw the one Cerise had woven for him. "Not that such a thing should even be possible, given you've always been as beautiful as can be."

Cerise seemed tremendously satisfied with this. "Good. There's still some sense in you, it seems."

Nothing more was said for a while; there was suddenly an urgent amount of kissing to attend to. It had been a while, and by unspoken agreement, the lovers decided they would not stop until they had gotten through their backlog.

At some point, Cerise rolled off of The Blind Keeper, and both took some time just to catch their breath. Their hands found each other, holding on to each other while they lay in the sea of pillows. So anchored, they let the minutes pass in exhausted, grateful silence.

A strange thought had been rolling through the spider's head. He had tried a few times to dismiss it, seeing the timing as inappropriate, but it had insisted long enough that he finally decided to relent. "My love," he said quietly. "Would it be strange if I changed my title?"

"Mm?" Cerise asked, half-sleepy and half-curious.

The Blind Keeper tried to choose his words carefully. "I don't want..." He gestured to his blindfolds. "...I don't want this curse to define me. But I feel like 'Keeper of Invention' doesn't fit me anymore."

Cerise gave this some thought. "That sounds reasonable to me. I suppose it feels relatable even." He motioned to his body as it lay limply on the bedding. "I, the Keeper of Rejuvenation, laid low by The Long Votom, forced to accept my weakness is beyond cure. Perhaps sometimes we must embrace something to avoid letting it define us."

The logic felt satisfying to The Blind Keeper. He wasn't sure if it was true; but sometimes you can't worry about what's true, only what's helpful, and work from there. Encouraged, he went on: "I was thinking... how does The Keeper of Forbidden Secrets sound to you?"

Cerise hummed thoughtfully. "Keeper of Forbidden Secrets? Hm. I'll have to try it out before I can judge."

The roach cleared his throat, and addressed an imaginary adventurer off to his side. "Of course you've heard of my boyfriend. He is The Keeper of Forbidden Secrets, after all. Impressive, I know." The roach put his hand to his chest, his body swelling with pure smugness. "You're enamored with me? Deeply, madly in love with me? Well, of course you are. But I'm afraid my heart belongs to The Keeper of Forbidden Secrets." Cerise smiled, immensely pleased. "Oh, I do like that. It has zest. Yes, it does fit you, I'd say."

"It sure does," The Blind Keeper mused, starting to feel more like himself with each passing minute. "Forbidden Secrets is right, given that I know what you look like in sweatpants."

"Shut up," Cerise insisted, puffing his cheeks out. "This is the thanks I get for my sterling judgement? You're just jealous that I can make sweatpants look good."

"You don't just just sweatpants look good," The Blind Keeper agreed. "You can make anything look good. Boxer shorts. One of my shirts, and nothing else. And of course those frilly little–"

He was cut short by Cerise hitting him upside the head with a pillow, the small roach surprisingly strong. "Are you quite finished, or do I need to hit you again?"

"I'm finished, I'm finished," The Blind Keeper conceded, laughing too hard to put up a fight.

"Good," said Cerise. And then the roach smacked him with the pillow again, hard, all the same. The Blind Keeper knew it was coming, but didn't bother to dodge. He just laughed, and soon Cerise was laughing too. The roach tried to keep his laugh restrained and reserved, but even his supreme willpower was no match for it. Within seconds, the laugh bubbled over, becoming wild and uninhibited, alongside The Blind Keeper's.

"You're not funny," Cerise informed him, through tears and gasps for air.

"Then stop laughing," The Blind Keeper retorted.

"Idiot spider," Cerise squeaked out between irritated giggles.

"Fruity roach!" The Blind Keeper roared.

"I would never want to harm you, my precious darling," Cerise assured him, "but in my mind, I am shaking you like a ragdoll, and I am so enjoying it."

"Good," said the Blind Keeper firmly.

And then, just as suddenly as last time, there was more kissing to attend to, even more urgent than before. It was curious how both of the lovers had thought they had gotten through their backlog, only to suddenly realize they were still so very far behind.

When the lovers finally manage to disentangle themselves, they at last regained the wherewithal to pen a message to Luna, letting her know that they would be out of commission for the rest of the current night, but that both of them would be returning to their posts for the next one. That a resolution had been reached without her needing to personally intervene would outweigh one night of disappointed adventurers, surely.

And then they lay there, beneath the twinkling stars.

The Blind Keeper had been halfway to sleep when he felt Cerise's arm drape itself across his neck. "Darling," the roach was asking, "What is it you want right now?"

The spider didn't know how to answer. It felt like such an enormous question; a question so large that he was too small to be seen in comparison. For all the reassurance this night had brought him, it didn't erase what he had seen in the words. The eternal night would end. The sun would rise. And with it, the promise of something far more final than The Long Votom.

It all felt petty, with that hanging overhead. The idea of wanting something, anything, felt alien to The Blind Keeper right now. He couldn't erase the memory of having seen the circumference around his existence. The feeling haunted his memory – being a character in someone else's story. Being a prop in someone else's play. How could a character in someone else's story want anything?

What was he supposed to say? A way to stop the sun from rising? Meaning to his life? Freedom from the confines of the words of the universe? It all felt wrong.

"...you go first," he said to Cerise, stalling for time.

Cerise rubbed his chin thoughtfully, staring out of the window in The Blind Keeper's bedroom, likewise contemplating the inescapable nature of their universe and the impossible conundrum of want. "Hmm... if I could have anything at all..."

After a minute of consideration, he came up with an answer: "...I want a larger hot tub."

The Blind Keeper's head felt blank. If he hadn't been wearing the blindfolds, he would have given Cerise a slow blink, the kind of rolling blink that only someone with multiple sets of eyes can manage. "A larger hot tub?" he repeated, trying and failing to keep the incredulity out of his voice.

"Mm," said Cerise, ignoring the spider's tone. "I did solve Luna's little Keeper problem tonight. I think I've earned myself one that's a little more roomy. Yes, the one I have now is luxurious, but it could be more luxurious, don't you agree?"

The Blind Keeper felt himself wanting to do a slow blink again. In his head, he felt like he was floating, and it took a few seconds of concentration to get his mental footing again.

He had been wrong before. He had forgotten. Cerise could surprise him. Cerise could always surprise him.

"Good idea," he said at last, letting himself be carried along by Cerise's energy. "Same here. I barely fit in the one you have now."

The roach scoffed, passionately butting his head up against The Blind Keeper's cheek. "No, no! I changed my mind! I like my hot tub just the way it is!" He pressed his face up against The Blind Keeper's, smooshing himself against his love. "It gives you nowhere to run from me," he growled playfully.

The Blind Keeper sighed happily at the silly, unrestrained gesture of affection; so unlike Cerise's typical stately affectations, and yet so like Cerise. "Why would I ever run from you, my love?"

The moment was instantly broken by Cerise sitting up like a bolt. The roach gave The Blind Keeper a Look so intense, the spider could feel his whole body heat up. On another person's face, you might describe the Look he was using as "withering." Coming from Cerise, it was absolutely apocalyptic.

The Blind Keeper thought about what he just said. His behavior leading up to tonight crept back up his spine. "Ah," he said, guilt fogging up his brain.

"Idiot spider," Cerise admonished him, softening as he did.

"True, yes," The Blind Keeper agreed immediately, the insult helping to clear the fog. Then, with more thought and sincerity, he added, "I am sorry. It won't happen again."

Cerise snorted, laying back down on The Blind Keeper's chest. "Apology accepted. But you will find a way to make it up to me," Cerise said with absolute certainty. "And it better be good."

That was it. It all came together at once. How to make it up to Cerise, the emptiness in his existence that seemed impossible to fill... two disparate problems, yet with one unifying answer. Trembling with nerves, the spider pulled Cerise in closer to him, trying to bring as much of the roach's body in contact with his own.

"I know just how to make it up to you," he whispered conspiratorially. "I have a piece of forbidden knowledge you'd be interested in." He lowered his voice further, pulling the unresisting Cerise in further. "I'll entrust it to you, no one else. It will be yours to safeguard, to care for. Will you hold onto it for me? Can I trust you with it?"

Cerise's antenna perked up, his face the picture of curiosity. "Of course, darling. What is it?"

Without hesitation, The Blind Keeper whispered the secret into Cerise's ear.

Cerise's mouth fell open in shock. Then it closed again, the roach's expression blank as he processed what he just heard. Realization dawned, slowly but inevitably. And as it dawned, a smile spread across Cerise's face, brimming with relief. Cerise blinked as the tears came again, the joyful secret echoing in his mind. "I can't believe I forgot," he said quietly, wiping at his wet eyes.

"I can't believe I forgot," Cerise said again. "What a lovely name you have."

The lovers embraced. The world turned.

And the stars played on.