Work Text:
Together, they hide away from sunlight, watching in silence as Reds come and go about their day, dilly-dallying, picking up knick-knacks, and basking in the Solar's warmth. Offsprings scream and cry about nothing of importance to the elders while others hide underneath the shadows of great oaks, letting a tear, maybe two, slip under quieted sobs.
Two pairs of eyes—one golden yet soulless, the other cerulean and delightful—move to follow two individuals as they walk past. The golden gaze scowls. How at ease they are, completely and utterly oblivious of them. All it would take was a snap of his fingers, and either would cease to exist, but he's not cruel or unreasonable. These humans were brought to life for a reason; he won't interfere, not until their time comes.
His eyes stray to a matching couple. Their hands joined together in a gentle hold. A squared cotton spread cast about the Land's growth, tucked under their resting legs, and a woven basket carrying sustenance sits between them.
Warm smells waft through the air to the Watchers' pointed noses. Something rich in juices and coated in burns. Cerulean eyes squint in glee; it will be a good meal for the Reds.
An elder, a carrier, suddenly approaches the givers; a strong color coats her facials, and her hands are tightly bound into themselves. She squalls, and before anyone knows it, not one savior can rescue the delicately crafted basket or its inner delicacies.
Together, the Watchers hide from sunlight, watching in silence as Reds squall and throw limbs at one another, tussling and leaving marks on their opponent. The carrier screams and cries about betrayal to the matching while the givers hold one another.
Two pairs of eyes - one golden yet curious, the other cerulean and saddened - watch the Reds devolve into a tumble.
The shorter Watcher, the one with a golden pair, stares down at his nimble hands and interlinks the thin fingers.
How fickle Reds are. Letting their emotions manipulate them rather than being guided by their knowledge. He doesn't get it: how could such a simple action have such catastrophic results?
"Humans are cruel beings, Woozi. They will do anything for what is deemed right by their beliefs," Cerulean eyes woefully watch on ahead. "Even if it means turning on their own brethren."
The younger Watcher hums. Reds really are something else.
"They are unique to a fault. Crafted to adapt with boundless intellect yet claim their beating hearts guide them." Woozi turns away from the bickering to his Other. "Something about overwhelming emotions. Right, Hoshi?"
Blue eyes peek at him. "Yes... and?"
Together, the Watchers stand side by side under a pleasant shade. A song of the Gift howls past them, brushing greenery to and fro. Woozi listens and sings along; Hoshi lets himself be serenaded before softly smiling and joining in.
A small thing someone once told him pops into mind: "Because Reds do not want to lie to themselves. They want to find others like them. Tell the world they want to live as they are."
It had been Hoshi, after he had shyly taken hold of his hand and hesitantly met his eyes.
"That is love, Woozi. When you are yourself with the one you deeply care about without fear of judgment."
Together, the Watchers sing.