Noyade

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/52292233.

Rating: Mature
Archive Warning: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Category: F/M
Fandom: Limbus Company (Video Game)
Relationship: Kromer/Emil Sinclair (Limbus Company)
Characters: Emil Sinclair (Limbus Company), Kromer (Limbus Company), Emil
Sinclair's Family (Limbus Company)
Additional Tags: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Hurt No Comfort, don't ask it simply works,
Manipulative Relationship, Emotional Manipulation, Possessive
Behavior, Family Issues, Codependency, here comes the Unreliable
Narrator, Self-Imposed Disowning
Language: English
Series: Part 23 of To Destroy a World
Stats: Published: 2023-12-16 Words: 3,176 Chapters: 1/1
 Noyade
by The One Who Grips (FaustKnowsAll)

Summary

Emil Sinclair returns to his family with his lover, only to lose sight of the solace he
innocently longed for.

Notes

This was late for two reasons:

1.) I had a difficult evening, so opted to put it off another day.
2.) I fell asleep, and forgot to upload it. (Sorryyyyyyyy-)
Thank you for your patience, nevertheless! <3

Anyways, the penultimate part is here! I very much liked writing it, and it has to be one of
my favorite parts in how it turned-out, on the whole... Symbolism, little allusions here and
there... Ah, it's too fun not to do.

I sincerely hope you can enjoy!~ <3

See the end of the work for more notes

 ‘It felt like I was drowning.’

Although the skies brightened for a time, temperatures dwindling above a brumal freeze,
inevitably, splotches of clouds congealed throughout the horizon, as if to illustrate the
emergence of verglas anew. Yet, precluding rime’s approach for a period was still the haven,
nestled perfectly in the bounds of thorny pines, temperate and sacred. Within the lee of such a
place, much warmer than the cold outside, Emil Sinclair sat stiffly perched in a hand-carved
wooden chair, staring downward at an empty plate beneath him, all the while being watched
by his lover, Franz Kromer. Clinking a silver fork to his teeth, the blonde-haired boy choked
down a final bite of hot, savory, piquant nourishment that she had prepared for the both of
them to share.

In spite of the meal’s toothsomeness, a distinct knotting in Sinclair’s stomach tied up to his
throat, blocking each of his quaffs until he could forcibly swallow. Upon gulping, he laid to
rest the fork he held, placing it atop the platter with a quavering hand. His eyes, glazed-over
gold, flashed from the platter to his partner, symptomatic of his plea. Wordless as he was
then, his trenchant prior utterances remained the only truth he ever had to speak.

Kromer paid his silence heed, leaning forward against the table with an absonant, calm smirk,
“Everything you’re feeling is human , Emil.”

“I won’t go back. I can’t go back.” For the boy to put such deep-rooted feelings to effortless
words was an experience still new to him. And yet, it was freeing, speaking aloud with no
chains to his throat, no longer confined by an obligation to appeal to inhumanity . He put
down his silverware, resting it gently with a shaky hand atop their shared platter, gazing back
to his lover’s eyes in a shameless prayer for validation.

“You know as well as I do that we can’t stay here forever,” Kromer sighed back, immoveable
in her twisting grin. It, like the passing of his family, was a veracity he needed to hear, loathe
it as he did. Despite the hoarfrost of truth, however, she still sought to quench his reverent
plea as she always had, averring, “I can confront them with you, if you’d like.”

Easing himself subtly at the prospect, Sinclair unwound his fist into splayed, trembling
fingers—emblematic of alleviation that only his Kromer could provide. Moreover, as his eyes
continued to bask and indulge in hers, the glour plaguing his face began to relent. Silently, he
nodded.

With a brief giggle, she reached her left hand to his shivering right, slinking digits beneath his
own, before securing her thumb to his fingertips. In a delicate movement, she scooped it from
the table, inclining further forth, all the while lifting it to her mouth. Lips wetted by her
tongue, Kromer retained eye contact with her lover, pressing his hand to her lips, her grin
growing wider at his cheeks’ deep blush.

It reminded him of that first day they’d spent their lunch period together. Indeed, perhaps
such an act was deliberate, as if to remind the blonde boy all the times they spent over the
months, of how close him and her had come. Inseparable, as lovers, whole only when
together, slowly decaying in one another’s absence. Ever since that day—the day he met her
—Sinclair knew within his heart that he’d relearned the warmth of another human. And, of
course, she taught him to cherish that warmth. To never let it slip from his grasp for a single
moment, not anymore, to embrace every feeling he had, to lay them bare for her, for the
world, to see. Transfixed still by her gaze, his eyes traced her pupils, as if to lose himself in
her own humanity. Indeed, it was those eyes, silver and venereal, that reflected back his own
desires, those he’d known from before their fateful meeting, yet not understood until she
edified them unto him. Really, Sinclair couldn’t help but ponder the minacious abstraction of
how his life could’ve been without their meeting that day, though he knew within the
precincts of his heart that he could never truly fathom such a loathsome idea. Thus, instead,
he took solace, ‘Franz taught me humanity.’

Ultimately, the caress of her lips lasted a short while, with only the cold outside her touch
anchoring him back down to reality. Kromer returned the boy’s hand to himself, standing
from her chair, then soothing again, “You’re a strong human , remember?~ No matter what
happens when we go back, I know you’ll make the right choices. And if that means you still
need me…” her grin bent, “you can always come running back to my arms, my Emil.~”

Sinclair wished he could shelter himself in her words as they were, but even still, could at
least tentatively accept that he had to go back, convincing himself, ‘It’ll be for only a bit…
They can’t stop me from seeing Franz, right?’

“Let’s leave before it gets too dark out, then, m’kay?” his silver-haired lover inquired, wholly
aware that he couldn’t refuse any longer, “I don’t want you tripping again.~”

Her teasing, as well, uplifted his aching heart, efflorescing buds of doubt into a mysterious
confidence, of sorts. Perhaps Kromer’s traits merely abraded upon his soul, marking him to
be more like her… Or, he simply wished to feign amour propre, finding succor in putting his
very own humanity above all. Alas, at length, it mattered not—Sinclair knew himself to be a
human, and longed to be one with only his Kromer—that was the solitary understanding
keeping the boy sapient, unyoking him of antipathy, for a time.

“I’ll… b-be more careful!” Sinclair gave acquiescence in return, staving off doubt with a
deep breath. Promptly, he rose to his feet, still feeling enervated for a night he dared not
reflect upon, but emboldened enough by all that his lover offered that he was content with the
trip ahead. Swallowing away the ligature in his throat, he murmured, “I love you… Franz…”

“You must have a lot of ‘I love you’s saved-up for me, hm?~” She adoringly chaffed,
outstretching her left hand to his chest, then placing an index digit to his heart.

His breath hitched. The blonde-haired boy tried to recall again the last time he’d heard a
human “I love you” from his old family, his organic family, the difficulty of which to
excavate caused him to shudder. Even were his partner’s words strictly her means of showing
affection, they burrowed beneath the loam of his heart, as if prodding in blindness for a lost
memory he couldn’t ever uncover.

Although he choked, enveloped by temporary gnawing, Kromer still embraced his need
warmly, proposing, “You can tell me you love me as many times as you’d like on our walk
back. Does that sound okay?~”
“Yes… please.” Without a thought, Sinclair gave vent to his innermost feelings, nodding
subtly, but profusely. And so, enticed, he held out a dainty hand of his own for his lover to
accept. Naturally, she did.

The walk back from the twosome’s temporary sanctuary had proven fairly uneventful, even
as it consisted predominantly of both lovers huddled close, proclaiming loving affirmations.
Much to Sinclair’s surprise, his silver-haired partner seemed to have effortlessly memorized
the whole path they’d taken, retracing it to such a degree that they even passed by a few
broken twigs coated in a faded, viscous, green fluid.

While they exited the forest, the small town of Calw came back into distant view, as a city of
dollhouses, overlaying a backdrop of burning paper, turning to ashes as the source of the
sky’s fire faded beyond the hills. Clouds, gray and heavy with fated snowfall, drifted across
the horizon, seemingly trailing up to the moon, pure and icy-white, like plumes of smoke
departing at an inevitable whiteout’s approach. The rooftops they could see were peppered in
perfect blankets of pure snow, with their lights turned on as the sole illumination beneath
eventide’s reign. From where he stood, Sinclair descried his once-family’s manor in the
distance, and in doing so, clutched his lover’s hand more compactly. It was large, imposing in
its opulence, yet so utterly hollow and cold inside, not unlike its inhabitants. He hated it, in
just about every facet, and he loathed the very idea that he had to go back, even if only
briefly.

Dread discerned, Kromer tightened her hold against his hand evermore, meshing and netting
her digits betwixt his, comfortingly massaging his dorsal side, until his heart’s rhythm re-
synced with her own. Exchanging a knowing glance, they stepped together into the twilight,
heads kept low, on the approach to expiation.

Due most likely to the frozen dead of winter, coupled with the hour of the night it was, few
townsfolk lingered about, with those who did being too far in the distance to notice the return
of the richest family’s heir, or paying little mind out of self-interest. Ergo, Sinclair and
Kromer tread forth, hand-in-hand, from snow-dappled trails, across lightly-sprinkled
pavement, and finally over bare-shoveled walkways, all the way to the creaking steps, then
up to a familiarly elaborate door, behind which both knew the fate that awaited them.

“Ready, my Emil?” Kromer turned her head ever-so-slightly, both eyes peering from beneath
her silver-and-gold bangs, steely in that they severed any confidence he feigned, stripping her
lover bare with a glance, and exposing whatever true pertinacity persisted.

“Y-yeah.” Shivering, but looking back still, Sinclair swallowed what denial lingered, then
raised a shaky fist to the door.

He knocked once. No response.

He tensed, and knocked again. No response.

He grumbled, and knocked for a third time. Finally, several distant, heavy thuds were heard
from behind it, alongside an abroad, indiscernible crackling, grating against the two’s ears.
Heat rose in Sinclair’s chest, cold sinking deep to his core, in an inexplicable weave of spleen
and unease, tautening his muscles. As prepared as he thought he was, no amount of prior
strength ever was enough to overcome the sheer dread he felt, the second the door swung
open, revealing the nauseating sight of his “father’s” frame.

“Emil?!” Static ground against his ears, though his sole focus lingered upon the metal shell,
adorned uselessly in expensive fabrics, despite his flinching.

Sinclair stared on, unmoving, again tightening his hold on his Kromer’s hand, aphonic.
Ironically, even when faced with one he once called “family”, his first contemplation was that
of another automaton, namely the one he had expressed his innermost feelings to.

Yet, before he could revel in those thoughts, a second, less-boxy, though equally inhuman,
frame approached the door, too, as Ewald continued to grate, “Where the fuck have you
been?! And what is she doing here?!” His alloy spat.

Just as the boy’s cheeks puffed and heated, the quick, metallic thudding of another
automaton’s “bare” feet clamored out, as Kornelia rushed to the door to greet her kin. Evident
in her nearly hysterical tone, breaching Sinclair’s attempt at speech, she bleeped a panicked
flurry of words and sounds, though none discernible to the human ear; perhaps as a means of
expressing grief. Indeed, were she still human , she would’ve sobbed tears of relief, anxiety,
joy, and worry, all at once, when she plodded gauchely forth to her flesh-and-blood son.
Stammering as her voice box could, she buzzed a piercing “Oh my God, Emil… Oh my God,
are you okay? What happened?! Where have you been?!”

Consequently, he balled his left hand into a fist, stepping singularly backward, with a very
subtle shake of his head, though one that spoke indefinitely to his true feelings.

“Come on, Emil, we’re getting you inside!” Ewald, ever-firm in his tone, ignored his spouse,
his son’s hesitancy, too, in an inelastic bound, facile jutting his right arm to his son’s free
wrist.

Batting away his alloy-clad father’s claw, Sinclair sharply hissed back, not flinching for a
moment, even when he could feel steel cracking against his flesh and bone, “I told you not to
t-touch me!”

Kornelia stood shocked, burying her casing of a “face” in similarly metallic claws, while his
father growled static, “Emil, what the fuck is wrong with you?!”

And yet, interposing his parted, quivering lips—those which sought to answer in vitriol of
their own—a sudden, warm voice rose from adjacent to the blonde boy, “Emil, it’s alright.~”

Sinclair turned, away from his would-be-scowling parent, then to his lover, desperate for
solace. Only when a sharp exhale ripped from his throat, did he lament, “Franz…”

“Leave my son alone!” Words, chittering digital daggers, boomed from Ewald’s voice box,
paralyzing all but his son’s lover. Without temporizing for a single second, the automaton
careened his left arm outward, forcibly thrusting a palm to her shoulder, prompting her to
release her partner’s hand, stumbling an inch, though still standing tall, divine.

Sinclair swore he saw red, like a rubber band snapped against his heart. All he could do was
shriek a guttural vociferation, “You’re not allowed… t-to touch her!” Heat welled within his
lungs, enough that he could scream, cry, the boy scowling harshly, jealously, biting back with
an aggressiveness he’d only once shown prior, driving both dainty hands to the automaton’s
chest, and recoiling hardly, in defiance of the pain he felt.

It hurt . A lot .

He quickly shifted to his partner, tears beginning to dribble down his cheeks, pattering to the
wood below. Fidgeting, he clasped her human left hand with both of his warm own.

“Don’t fucking make me call the authorities!” his father blared. It seemed, the louder he
spoke, the angrier he was, the more cracks and chits in his timbre had shone, ultimately
raking at Sinclair’s psyche, such that he froze.

“Ewald…” Kornelia, even, pleaded through cold, saddened warbles.

On the contrary, Sinclair’s attention didn’t dwindle for an instant. Indeed, his gaze remained
soundly glued to his lover, so much so that all he could utter was a silent: “My Franz…”

Yet, an angel’s smile never once left Kromer’s face; her eyes leered lucidly to the boy’s kin,
accepting his own solace with a brief nod. In a calm, dissonant proposition, she rendered
from between deceitful fangs, “I’ll leave, then.”

“B-but…” Sinclair shuddered.

“Good,” Ewald stressed, quieting to soft static, perhaps the only indicator of shock he was
capable of, “Then leave. Now .”

A pit opened in Sinclair’s heart, whatever warmth lingered in his chest draining out in a
whirlpool of wretchedness. He’d already understood hours ago, as few as minutes, even, that
he had to part ways with his lover, his Kromer. Alas, it mattered not for the affliction that
mauled him straight to his core, by the time it did occur.

Before he’d even realized it, she had already spun opposite, bowing her head down to his ear,
in a single whistle and whisper, itself delicate and hot against his flesh, soothing an aching
heart, “My arms are always open for you, my Emil .~”

It took every last ounce of strength within the boy’s tender body to not follow the blistering
instinct to pursue. In consequence, he stood, chilled by the cold outside, afraid that very same
cold would follow him inside. Even still, her words gave him hope—hope that he could
return to her embrace, feel her humanity palpate his over again… All he had to do was last
for one, solitary night.

But he didn’t want that.

“Get inside, Emil,” his so-called “father” actuated, voice box popping.
Hugging himself, Sinclair diffidently murmured a heated breath, watching it fade out as frost.
More aptly, he swiveled back to the automatons, searching their “heads” for eyes, then
fractiously pouting, “I don’t want to.”

“For the love of God, Emil, it’s nearly Christmas, can we act like a family for five fucking
seconds?” Tension began to boil, as Ewald’s tone rose, popping more with each passing
locution, yet never enough to deter Sinclair.

Moreover, Kornelia took a step toward the human boy, reasoning in disheartened static, “Can
you two… Look, Emil… please just listen to your father. We’re all still a family, at the end of
the day…”

‘No, we aren’t.’ Sinclair shot an apoplectic glout at the core of his quondam mother’s
polygonal, steel-built plate. Tears froze to his cheeks—part of him longed to cry more,
another to laugh from the sheer absurdity of the sentiment (or lack thereof), but all he knew
for certain, with his entire being, was that he detested an automaton’s notion of “family”.
Nearly in stitches, he embraced his deepest—most pure—desire, avowing, “What d-do you
even know about ‘family’?!”

“We’re not doing this shit again, Emil,” Ewald buzzed in escalating bate, as he lumbered his
frame forth two more steps, outstretching a claw for the boy’s arm.

“Leave me alone…” Hyperventilating, Sinclair leapt back, down a single step, away from the
bitter extremity. Too, he clenched his teeth, gnashing bone in personal acridity, “I’m n-not
staying with… you .”

Both automaton parents certainly would’ve glared, if not remained shocked, but of them, his
“father” was the only to chitter, “Get. Inside. Now , young man.”

Sinclair’s eyes stung from the cold, for whence his heart mourned. In truth, he wished that he
could scream, if not sob, though words both eluded him, and he knew he couldn’t remain
lingering. Thus, he took another pace back, down a second, and third creaking step.

And then, he ran. As fast as he could, the blonde-haired boy’s boots pattering against the
path, like an endless storm of rain, giving truth to the weeping his heart felt. Static screeched
behind him, more strident than he’d ever heard prior, yet he cared little to stop and let it grate
at his ears. Scuttling as quick as his body could handle, he widened the distance between his
childhood home, until he heard that screeching no more, finally reaffirming incessantly in his
mind, ‘They’re not my family.’

At a certain point, he knew not where he was scurrying off to. Assuredly, it wasn’t his lover’s
—for, at that moment, he sought strictly personal solace, where he could scream in omission,
and return to her embrace, only after ridding himself of choler. Rather, as Sinclair darted from
block-to-block, down empty streets, he wound around the corner of a familiarly quaint coffee
shop, then up to the end of the pavement, and eventually to a snow-covered plain.

‘Predestination’ was perhaps an immature thought, but was the sole solace he took for the
time. As it happened, the blonde boy sprinted until no breaths remained, down an alluring
path across the park. Each step of his had slowed to heavier than the last, only increasing the
temptation of that which he set his eyes upon—a simple, black, metal bench, overlooking the
pond. Hauling himself onward to his place of contemplation, Sinclair exhaustedly brushed
snow from atop the right corner of the bench, when he finally arrived. He looked out toward
the pond, then the moon, only to let stumble uneven sobbing.
End Notes

All that's left are the finale and epilogue. What more need I say?

I hope you enjoyed it, and thank you, as always, for your time spent reading. I really
appreciate you lot. <3

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