This is unlike the story it was written to be.

Epilogue: In Love

     Leon peered curiously over Vishnal's shoulder, watching in fascination as Clorica wound and tied a length of smooth rope around their lover's supple body, skimming and accentuating the delicate bones and intricate lines.  Though he had enjoyed the end result on many occasions, he had never actually witnessed the process before, and felt fairly honored to be included.

     There couldn't have been a more perfect prelude to what he had been told would be a day of romantic festivities.

     She worked carefully and reverently; beginning at the throat, gently tilting Vishnal's jaw with her fingertips to give herself space, making him shudder at the whispery slipping of rope at the back of his sensitive neck.  The shivers only grew in intensity as she worked her way down, Leon firmly clasping Vishnal's wrists above his head all the while.

     Clorica fastened a knot in the center of the heaving sternum, then paused to lay a reassuring hand on Vishnal's waist.

     "...You're doing a really good job this time."

     Still holding Vishnal in place, Leon felt the tense muscles of his lover's forearms loosen slightly as he relaxed into pure bliss.

     "Thank you.  I do wish I could watch you work, though."

     By way of reply, Clorica frowned sleepily and reached around to give Vishnal's taut buttocks a firm clap.

     "You'd get too excited, and you know how you are.  You can't stay still."

     Careful not to disturb the soft cleaning cloth they were using as an improvised blindfold, Leon placed a kiss on Vishnal's cheek, then carefully lowered one hand to roughly scrub over his hair.

     "...Another time, right?"

     Clorica smiled up at him brightly as she completed another perfect knot.

     "Right.  When he's a little more used to having both of us here."

     Leon cackled low in his throat, then leaned in to gently whisper in Vishnal's ear.

     "Hear that?  Something to look forward to."

     Vishnal's back arched in want, which made Clorica sigh irritably as she nearly lost hold on the rope.

     "...Could you please get both hands on him again?"

     Leon smiled down at her apologetically as he regained control, once more crossing Vishnal's wrists over his head.

     "Sorry.  Here we go."

     Clorica waited for Vishnal to settle, then began tying a particularly ornate knot that sat at the juncture of his ribs like a freshly-cut jewel in its fine setting.

     "It's just...  It's especially important to have a good hold on him for this part.  He's sensitive here."

     To demonstrate, Clorica let one end of the rope drop and began doing something utterly torturous with her right hand; slowly gliding up and down Vishnal's smooth flank, slipping around to caress the gentle dip of his lower back, lovingly gripping the slight softness of his slender waist.

     She took her time, and showed no mercy, though there was really no need to torment him so.

     Leon, of course, had seen all this before.

     "...So I've noticed."

     In truth, watching someone else push Vishnal so close to the edge was making him feel almost unpleasantly pent-up, and even a bit left out.  Or at least it did, until he felt him twist deliciously in his grip as he clenched his fists and gritted his teeth, leaning into Leon's body for strength as he weakly breathed her name.

     "Clorica, please..."

     Clorica paused, sighing wearily and letting her hand rest lightly on the soft skin just below Vishnal's ribs.

     "Vishnal...  You really need to learn some patience."

     Leon huffed in mock indignation as he leaned in to affectionately nuzzle at Vishnal's cheek.

     "Hey, don't pick on him for showing a little enthusiasm!  We like that about him, remember?"

     Her brief answer—wordless but sincere—was a friendly nod to Leon and a gentle kiss on Vishnal's trembling belly.  Then she got right back to work, firmly cinching the rope around his waist in what Leon thought was an exceptionally flattering pattern.

     Truthfully, Clorica's skills were impressive in more ways than one.  The sturdiness and aesthetic beauty of the harness were striking, but even more so was her ability to work so adeptly with a canvas that wouldn't stop moving.  Her teasing had left Vishnal sensitized and desperate, and his body thrashed hungrily with every brush of keen fingertips and sinuous rope.

     Even so, with steady hands and perfect concentration, she rode his undulations like a sailor on a choppy sea.

     Unfortunately, even the greatest talents had their limits.

     "...Leon, do something with him!"

     Leon wasn't exactly sure what she wanted from him, given that he was barely keeping hold of Vishnal as it was.

     "Wouldn't that just make him squirm around more!?"

     Clorica gripped the ropes hard, in a vain attempt to hold Vishnal in place.

     "He can't squirm forever!"

     Leon whispered into Vishnal's ear as he readjusted his grip; crossing his arms over his heaving chest, wrapping him in a firm, enveloping hug.

     "Just hold still and enjoy, love..."

     Vishnal shuddered violently, his voice slipping out ragged and breathy.

     "I...  I can't."

     With a reassuring kiss on the cheek, Leon tightened his hold.

     "You will."

     Then he began enthusiastically working at his neck with his mouth, laying in with tongue and teeth until Vishnal's delicate skin was lusciously reddened and wet.  At first, as predicted, this only made his body contort itself all the more wildly.  But soon enough, he went limp and weak at the knees; an almost pleading noise cracking high in his throat, his body too exhausted and overwhelmed for anything more than a tired but ceaseless quivering.

     Leon held him up as Clorica diligently completed her work, knotting the rope tightly at Vishnal's lower belly and gently parting his thighs so she could thread it between his legs.  Then she tied the final knot, neatly tucked in the ends, and stood up to stretch her weary back and undo Vishnal's blindfold.

     "...All done."

     There was a brief moment of silence as he looked himself up and down, then a satisfied, rib-deflating sigh that made the ropes slacken and shift.

     "Thank you."

     Clorica leaned in to give him a slow, lazy kiss on the mouth.  Then she pulled away and caught her breath, blessing both men with her sleepy, unpretentious little smile.

     "The two of us can finish up together after the fireflies...  Be good for Leon, okay?"

     Vishnal nodded, somehow melting even more completely into Leon's arms.

     "Of course."

     Clorica gave Leon a businesslike nod as she stepped back towards the door, beyond which her chores and the whole beautiful day awaited her painstaking attention.

     "He's all yours."

     Already exhausted and weary of standing, both men let themselves drop to their knees on the plush rug.  Once they'd rallied a bit, Vishnal swivelled around to face Leon, who—at once greedy and worshipful—found himself absent-mindedly running his hands along the stimulating topography of rope and skin.

     "So...  What should I do to you?"

     Vishnal panted hotly into his ear, apparently insatiable even in this depleted state.

     "...Anything you can imagine."

     Leon laughed, his fingertips playing over the shallow indentations his teeth had left in the velvety skin of Vishnal's neck.

     "That might take a while.  I'm a pretty creative thinker."

     Beneath those fingertips, a throat swallowed and a tendon twitched, the jumping pulse signalling an eagerness that ran all the way down to the bones on rivers of red.

     "Then we'd better get started."

     Figuring that was a pretty good point, Leon wasted no time in passionately pinning Vishnal's lissom body to the floor.

~*~

     The warm Earth looked suddenly soft and inviting, so Clorica saw no harm in lying down for a bit; one arm and shoulder comfortably propped up on one of the round green pumpkins she'd been carefully cultivating for the Summer Harvest Festival, head resting on her forearm as she watched Vishnal tirelessly go about his work.

     ...How does he do it?

     While Clorica rested limply in the dirt, he went right on milling about his ever-growing Conqueror Melons; thumping each thick rind with a brisk fist, examining the lush leaves and vines for any sign of blemish, hefting the watering can this way and that.  With his sleeves rolled to the elbow and his glossy hair tied up, his tanned skin slightly flushed by labor and the warm day, she couldn't help but notice that he looked amazing.

     Especially when he glanced back over his shoulder, tossing her a warm, wry smile.

     "Tired, are we?"

     Clorica yawned, settling further into her pumpkin.  She usually dedicated her short breaks to napping, but today had spent them toiling diligently in the kitchen, getting everything prepared for an elegant night picnic for three.

     "Yeah.  I just need a second to get it together."

     Vishnal nodded agreeably, playfully sloshing his watering can dangerously close to her resting place.

     "Take your time.  I'll just sprinkle you awake if you fall asleep."

     Though the day was hot, and a sprinkle of cool water would be most welcome, Clorica recoiled theatrically.

     "Do that and I'll..."

     Clorica stalled out exhaustedly, straining to think of something good.  What would she do?

     Vishnal cocked one serene, sky-blue eyebrow.

     "...You'll?"

     Nothing was coming to her, so she simply slumped back down on her pumpkin.

     "I don't know...  I'll tell Leon.  He'll think of something to do with you."

     Through half-closed eyes, she watched Vishnal's expression melt into a dreamy, lascivious smile.

     "Oh, Clorica, dear...  Don't threaten me with a good time."

     He had been like this lately; lustful, self-assured, quick to cackle mischievously and even quicker to talk back sharply.  It was a new attitude for him, and it would have been intolerably obnoxious, had it not been so devilishly attractive.

     But even more attractive than this amusing novelty was his triumphant return to that old familiar glow.

     Vishnal had taken a sharp turn for the better of late, the wrung-out version of himself that he'd been earlier in the summer fading away like a bad, half-forgotten dream.  The sparkle had returned to his eyes, along with the bounce to his hair, and the color and fullness to his cheeks.  His skin felt as firm and silky as it ever had, and his uniform skimmed his frame perfectly, the defeated sag gone from his collar and waistband.  His clavicles and the cords of his throat had receded slightly, and the subtle ropiness of his forearms looked more juicy than stringy, healthy and ready for hard work.

     Most importantly of all, he was laughing readily again.

     And he had regained that charming inclination to give himself fully to everything, no matter how frequently and spectacularly he failed.

     ...Though, of course, he had been having quite the run of success lately, hence that cocky attitude.

     Clorica smiled fondly, her fingers drumming idly on the hollow, yet pleasantly solid flesh of the pumpkin.

     "...Hey, Vishnal?"

     He glanced over his shoulder again, his expression so adorably curious and alert that it actually stung.

     "Yes?"

     The excess of sticky-sweet feeling overflowing the confines of her heart was making her feel silly and clingy, so she extended a languid arm and ran an affectionate hand up the inside of Vishnal's slim, well-turned leg.

     "You've been doing a really good job lately."

     The complement and the brush of her hand on his thigh through the fabric of his trousers made Vishnal's cheeks grow as pink as the prize melons at his feet.

     "Why, thank you...  May I ask at what?"

     Clorica retracted her hand with a shrug, pushing herself up off the pumpkin and lazily crossing her arms.

     "Just everything, I guess.  Being Vishnal."

     He paused to brush a stray lock of hair behind his ear, a bashful but unmistakably self-satisfied smile lighting his delicate features.

     "...Well.  I do try."

     With a lazy smile of her own, Clorica extended her hand once more.

     "Help up?"

     Vishnal took it gladly, his palm warm and dry and slightly callused.

     "Of course.  Here."

     Happy to let him do most of the work for her, Clorica hauled herself to her feet and brushed the dirt from her uniform.

     "Thanks."

     With her solidly on her feet, Vishnal lent his own hands to the task, smoothing out the wrinkles and carefully straightening her braids.

     "You're quite welcome.  And Clorica?"

     Clorica yawned, trying to blink herself back into what passed for alertness.

     "Yeah?"

     Vishnal laid a gentle hand on her shoulder, with a knowing smile that was somehow gentler still.

     "Go have a snooze.  I'll finish up in the garden for you."

     Her sleepy eyes widened in surprise as her mind struggled to catch up with what she was hearing.

     "Oh...  Would that really be all right?"

     By way of confirmation, Vishnal gave her an affectionate peck on the forehead.

     "Most definitely...  I have two lovers to spoil me, after all, so I need to work twice as hard to treat them fairly."

     With a giggle, she reached up to playfully pinch his soft cheek.

     "...You'd better keep that in mind tonight."

     Ever the good sport, Vishnal put his arms around her and lovingly pulled her close.

     "I assure you, it's already foremost in my thoughts."

     Clorica laced her hands around the back of his neck, drawing him down to her level for a passionate kiss, only pulling away to whisper in his ear when she felt him begin to sway in her arms.

     "See you then."

     Vishnal leaned into her contentedly, his hand warm on her back even through the layers of her smart uniform.

     "I'll do my best not to pine away."

     With a final parting kiss, Clorica turned from the fields and stepped into the shady cool of the Castle.

~*~

     With his eager, fluttering heart nestled comfortably in his throat, Vishnal sat on his bed and leaned against the sill of the open window, watching as the light outside turned blue and the first scintillating touches of bioluminescence flickered to life in the trees that flanked the fields.

     Though somewhat impatient and restless, he couldn't help but notice that, within this, he also felt strangely content.

     If he could, he would have crystalized this moment; affording himself ample time to savor the delicious feeling of waiting for his lovers, of having lovers at all, of simply being alive and teetering on the cusp of a still and peaceful summer's night.  The air felt round and smelled green, and the sun's warmth lingered stickily even as its light began to fade.  The trees grew brighter as the insects stirred awake.  The Earth held its breath, and Vishnal did as well, willing time to cradle and suspend him.

     But anticipation itself implies forward motion, and it wasn't long before there was a knock at the door.

     Vishnal leapt up to get it so urgently that he tripped over his own feet as soon as they hit the rug, but he righted himself quickly, and greeted the visitor with a rather embarrassed smile.

     "Good evening!"

     Leon, for his part, was looking a little embarrassed himself.

     "...Hey."

     He was a welcome sight indeed; his bronzed, elegantly tattooed cheeks glowing pink from within, silver hair gone steely-blue in the low dusk light, the Dew Pendant—seemingly a permanent fixture these days—glinting with a quicksilver limpidness, as though that shiny drop really were about to fatten and trail down the contours of his chest like an oversized tear of joy.

     Vishnal reached up to reassuringly scratch him behind one silky, twitchy ear, his heart thrilling at its softness.

     "You know, I was just wondering who would arrive first."

     Though he leaned readily into the touch, Leon seemed to be having trouble looking Vishnal in the eye.

     "Hmm..."

     In what he hoped would be taken as a comforting gesture, Vishnal let his hand rest on the back of Leon's head.

     "...Is everything all right?"

     Leon chuckled nervously, eyes flicking back and forth to Vishnal's as they restlessly tracked the room.

     "Honestly?  I feel a little silly for getting swept up in all this.  But it's Clorica's favorite, and we do what she says."

     Right on cue, Clorica emerged; braids rumpled and slept-in, a heavy picnic basket weighing down her limp arms, drowsy face set in determination.  She was clad in her swimsuit, but had covered it with an open, threadbare button-down to ward off any slight chill that may set in during the long night, and Vishnal found the contrast rather sweetly seductive.

     "...That's right!"

     With another laugh—more confident this time—Leon spared her a nod, then pulled Vishnal breathtakingly close with an authoritative hand on the small of his back.

     "She also says you've never had a date for this thing before, so I'm pretty much obligated to show you the time of your life."

     Clorica slung her arms over Vishnal's shoulders, rearing up on her toes so she could glare at Leon more effectively.

     "Don't hog him!"

     Leon loosened his grip slightly, ceding a bit of his hold on Vishnal to Clorica.

     "Yeah...  She's never had a real firefly date, either, so I'm also supposed to let the two of you have fun together."

     They weren't really quarrelling over him, of course.  What was genuine, however, was their obvious eagerness to be with him.  It made him feel terribly important, and, above all, loved.

     Which, to Vishnal, had always been the same thing.

    Shivering with an echo of that morning's wordless pleasure—suspended between them, senses so luxuriously overwhelmed that he could scarcely think—Vishnal wiggled out a sliver of space for himself, lovingly taking each of their hands in one of his own.

     "Well!  I'm sure we'll all figure it out!  I've got two hands, after all."

     Leon smirked as he patted Vishnal on the head with his free hand, ruffling his hair and pulling him close.

     "...And a big dumb heart."

     Vishnal leaned in, letting go of Clorica's hand so he could wind his arm around her waist and press her to his other side.

     "Room for the both of you.  Now let's head out."

     As their merry tangle stepped out into the quiet square, Vishnal couldn't help but feel a thrilling embarrassed flutter in the pit of his stomach.

     ...This is all a bit much, isn't it?

     He was suddenly, sharply aware that—at least as far as he knew—he was to be the only lucky soul in the whole village to be setting out for the evening with a lover on each arm.  What's more, he had left his jacket and waistcoat behind to better feel the breeze, and worried that the ropes crisscrossing his body might show if the light and wind hit him just right.

     It wasn't as though any of this was something to be ashamed of.

     But he finally fully understood what people meant when they referred to an "embarrassment" of something excellent.

     Their love, their beauty, his own pleasure...  To Vishnal's mind, it all cast his utter ordinariness into stark relief; making him wonder, vaguely, what on Earth he was doing there.  Wasn't he meant to fade into the background?  To clean up others' messes, tend to others' needs, then quietly shelve himself away to await the next call?

     To have two gorgeous people doting on him felt somehow at odds with how he was supposed to live.

     And—as when he struggled against his bindings—it seemed there was nothing to do but let the frisson of it drive him wild.

     Unable to bear up under it any longer, he collapsed heavily as soon as Clorica had their blanket spread out by the shores of the lake, his head and shoulders cradled comfortably in the hollow of her crossed legs as he watched the luminous insects drift across the darkening sky.

     Bemusedly stunned, but not unhappy, Clorica gently ran a lazy hand through Vishnal's hair.

     "Um...  You okay there, darling?"

     Another pleasant shiver ran up Vishnal's spine—"darling!"—as he settled in with a sigh.

     "Just fine."

     Leon—eternally restless and curious—was kneeling next to the picnic basket, flapping the lid boredly.

     "Poor guy's probably about to faint from hunger...  Can we see what you have for us here?"

     Clorica giggled, fingers still twining in Vishnal's rumpled hair.

     "Of course.  I'm hungry, too."

     Dropping the lid and letting it hang open, Leon revealed a thoughtfully-selected array of finger foods; curry manju, stuffed mushroom caps, spicy potato croquettes, quick-pickled cucumber slices.  There was a golden-brown apple pie for dessert, and a bottle of sparkling white wine—complete with three delicate flutes nestled into their designated compartments—to wash it all down.

     Leon nodded his smiling approval.

     "...Wow.  Nice."

     Vishnal—having sat up to examine the basket's contents for himself—congratulated Clorica with a gentle kiss on the cheek.

     "Quite a feast.  Thank you very much."

     Privately, he wondered how he would even get started.

     How, after all, could he ever eat a single bite when his heart was already so full?

     Still, somewhere deeper down, Vishnal found that he was more ravenous than he'd ever been in his plain, silly little life.

     He couldn't wait to sink his teeth into the glittering shank of the evening.

Chapter Twenty: Out Here

     Ever since that first surprise awakening in the Tower, Leon usually began his days feeling unclear as to where he was; always half-expecting to open his eyes to the pale stone walls of the Temple, then greeted each day with the dim wooden tones of Kiel's cozy cottage just as soon as he had begun to instinctively anticipate the vibrant hues of the Bell Hotel.

     The one thing that never changed, no matter where he found himself, was that he always expected to wake up alone.

     And so, it was with some disorientation that, as a golden sunbeam poured through the window and laid across his eyelids, nudging them open and tinting his fading dreams red, Leon slowly became aware that he had company; warm breath, a steady heartbeat, a narrow but strangely solid shape holding his arms apart.

     ...Morning, Vish.

     Vishnal was still soundly asleep; head safely tucked into the small pool of shadows at the crook of Leon's neck, eyes comfortably shielded from the buttery-hued morning light.  One or both of them had kicked off the covers at some point during the long warm night, so the sun shone on every precious inch of him, illuminating each beguiling detail to incandescent perfection.

     He was absolutely beautiful, and Leon couldn't help but thank that impatient sun for waking him first.

     Propping up his head as much as thought he could get away with, Leon greedily looked Vishnal up and down, taking it all in.

     Not for the first time, he wondered how such a lithe form managed to be so soft; not just in feel but appearance, every delicate line and smooth plane looking as though it were sculpted from a yielding, hand-warmed, buff-colored clay.  In the less sunny months, he almost seemed hewn from clouds.  Even now, a bit of that pearlescent tone remained, fluorescing in the sun like a dazzling celestial garment slung low on his lean hips.

     Gently, so as not to wake him, Leon placed a hand there, tracing the stark line between the soft colors with his thumb.  Vishnal stirred slightly beneath his palm, but didn't wake, and quickly stilled.  Once he was sure that his touch hadn't disturbed him, Leon allowed his hand to travel down the subtle curve of Vishnal's long spare haunch; marveling at the way the reflected light trickled through his own copper-hued fingers, savoring that expanse of velvety smoothness.

     Until, inevitably, his hand met the satiny, pale pink slash of a scar that ran up Vishnal's cloud-white thigh.

     ...I'm sorry, sweetheart.

     Though the guilt still stung, Leon almost found himself laughing as he recalled that harrowing spring day.

     That really backfired on you, didn't it?

     His intent, of course, had been to give Vishnal a little shock and break up the mundanity of his own dull days.  To make and don a fantastic mask, brandish his spear, and make a game of things; though the rules and object of that game were opaque even to him.

     Well?  Did you win?

     As it turned out, the greater shock would be to himself.  Mundanity and dullness would end up taking their leave entirely, leaving blessed chaos to reign until even Leon found it impossible to bear.  And when he threw his paper-and-feathers creation to the ground in panic, it turned out there was another, older mask beneath it; about to crack and peel from him like a scab from raw, new flesh.

     ...Sure.

     (This round, at least.)

     In a way, he also had been sliced open that day, and had only just now begun to knit the wound back together.  And—much like Vishnal's delicate skin—it seemed as though his heart would never be quite the same again, a grim truth about which he had no real right to complain.

     He had wanted change.

     He had created it.

     The two of them had collided, and found themselves entangled.  Even if they could be separated, Leon dearly hoped they wouldn't.  This adventure, begun by accident, was simply too interesting to abandon now.

     He was just dying to know where it would take them.

     For a moment, Leon allowed his fingertips to play along that shining ribbon of petal-pink flesh, then decided it was time to move on.  He let his hand retrace its path; following the half-moon curve of one lean gleaming buttock, exploring the intricate knobbly architecture of a hip before dropping off into the unguarded softness of the narrow waist, running along the taut bands of lissom muscle that solidly girded the svelte ribcage.

     At this, Vishnal nestled closer, a grateful hum rising in throat as he sleepily leaned into the touch.

     "Leon..."

     Leon held his lover close, unspeakably charmed by the breathy note of disbelief in that morning-hoarse voice.  He placed a friendly, slightly possessive hand on the back of his head, fingers twining in his frothy blue bedhead.

     "...Vishnal.  Hey.  Mornin'."

     Vishnal yawned, propping himself up on one elbow and resting his heavy, sleepy head on his fist.

     "Morning...  What do you want at this early hour, hmm?"

     He smirked invitingly, an expression dripping with so much wanton sex that even Leon found it disarmingly lewd.  Of course, it was also adorable, so he couldn't resist parting the messy wisps of hair to place a gentle kiss on his smooth, tanned forehead.

     "Nothing in particular.  I'm just kind of wondering about something..."

     Of course, both of them knew that the first statement was a bald-faced lie.  But they finally had all the time in the world; time for questions, time for games.

     Vishnal tilted his head inquisitively as he relished in Leon's lazy touch.

     "...Oh?"

     Leon's hand moved in slow, indulgent ellipses on his lover's lusciously smooth flank.

     "Yeah...  Is there some kind of butler secret for getting your skin so soft, or does it just come naturally?"

     As cute as he was when he was trying to be forward, Leon thought Vishnal was at his cutest when he was flustered unto awkwardness; cheeks coloring, body shivering in pleasure, voice catching as he stammered out a reply.

     "It...  It is mostly intentional, but I wouldn't call it a secret.  I just scrub well with a good cloth in the bath, and put on some lotion before I towel off."

     Leon cackled as he let his hand meander over Vishnal's belly, following the shallow gully that ran from sternum to navel, neatly dividing the tight muscle and soft flesh.  Whatever he was doing, it certainly worked for him.

     "Maybe I should use some of this lotion...  You are always saying I'm a little rough."

     Those slight muscles flexed eagerly; in laughter, and in anticipation as Leon's hand trailed ever lower.

     "Oh, I doubt you'd want to...  It's strawberry-scented.  I borrow it from Clorica."

     With a laugh and a ready, sharp-toothed grin, Leon rolled onto Vishnal's supine form and nuzzled into the crook of his neck, nipping teasingly at the sensitive skin.

     "...Strawberry, huh?  No wonder I'm always trying to take a bite outta you!"

     Vishnal squirmed, laughter once more bubbling up in his throat.

     "That's a sweet idea.  But I promise, you bite just as hard when I smell like floor cleaner."

     Leon ran his tongue up Vishnal's neck in a long, appreciative lick before allowing himself to sink his teeth into the meatiest part of his perfect shoulder, parting with a soothing kiss in the dead-center of the reddened impression he'd left behind.

     "...Mmm.  Lemony."

     Of course, Vishnal smelled like nothing more or less than the pleasant musk of a long summer sleep, and tasted only of sharp fresh salt.  But that alone was enough to drive him wild, nibbling and chomping as Vishnal panted in pleasure and playfully struggled against him.

     "Leon!  Settle down!  You'll leave a mark!"

     Leon reared back to study Vishnal's blissful expression, firmly cupping his jaw as he stared him in the eye.

     "...Good."

     Then he dove in again, sucking at Vishnal's neck hungrily, decorating the mellow creamy brown of his skin with lurid reds and purples.  He made a point of travelling higher with each kiss, toward the soft junction of his throat and jaw; on the side of his neck where the hair was hacked short, and certainly far above the last button of the modest young butler's prim collar.

     He had already decided that, when they were finally finished, they would leave the cottage hand-in-hand, facing the bright day beyond as one.

~*~

     Arthur sat in the tranquil shade of the Manor's courtyard; relatively scantily dressed in a simple breezy shirt and trousers, scratching away at his clipboard as he leaned against the trunk of a gnarled Cerezo tree, its lush-leafed branches hanging heavy with fruit.

     My, how the time goes.

     It wasn't so long ago that those jewel-red drupes had been thin-petaled flowers, before the bees worked their magic and the breeze shook down the blossoms and blew in the summer, with all its relentless heat and action.

     One day, Arthur was watching the flowers fall as Leon—flat-eared and grimacing—confessed his tender secret.

     Another, and he was listening to the cicadas and sniffing the sweet air wafting out from the kitchen, where Margaret and Dylas were baking a Cerezo-fruit pie.

     And as for the secret...

     ...I always knew it was too wild to be kept.

     Arthur smiled—rather smugly—as he closed his eyes and laid his head against the tree's scratchy bark, letting the pen go still in his hand and the clipboard rest idly against his thighs.

     Margaret, it seemed, had been right.

     It was too nice a day to spend shut up in his office.

     Indeed, it was so nice that he actually began to doze, until his rest was interrupted by a familiar interloper.

     "...Sleeping on the job?"

     Though he should have been conditioned by now to expect him to pop up at any time of the day or night, Arthur started a bit when he saw Leon hovering over him; devious smile, elbows propped on a low branch, regarding his friend bemusedly as he filled his greedy hands with fruit.

     He looked genuinely happy, and Arthur couldn't help but smile in return.

     "Getting a little fresh air, on the lady's insistence."

     Leon squatted next to him in the soft soil at the tree's sturdy roots, popping one of the shiny red Cerezo fruits into his mouth.

     "You do whatever she says, don't you?"

     Arthur realized he was blushing, and honestly hoped it would show.

     "When I can, yes."

     Quickly cheeking the fruit so he wouldn't choke, Leon barked out a laugh as he fully settled himself on the ground, crossing his legs and jiggling the pile of fruit in his palm.

     "Gods, just listen to you!"

     Without bothering to ask permission, Arthur deftly plucked one of the shiny red jewels straight from his friend's hand.

     "You've no right to tease me about this anymore, Leon."

     Leon chewed his own fruit, spitting the pit a rather impressive distance away before eyeing Arthur suspiciously

     "Says who?"

     Arthur carefully bit the small fruit in half, savoring the juicy flavor and the provocative reply brewing in his mind with equal delight.  No one had said anything, but no one had needed to.

     It was beach season, after all.

     "...Says a certain fine young butler's pretty little neck."

     Just as predicted, Leon turned an amusing shade of pink, ears falling flat against head like two little silver-furred creatures diving for safety.

     "Oh, shaddup!"

     Having gotten the desired response, Arthur laughed to himself as he popped the pit out of the bisected fruit with his teeth and delicately deposited it in his handkerchief.

     "All I'm saying is, it looks like you've been having fun, and I'm quite glad to see it."

     Leon's expression softened, his ears pricking up again with a giddy twitch.

     "Yeah.  That we have."

     Taking up his pen again, Arthur gently-but-pointedly jabbed the well-gnawed cap into the single splotch of blurry purple that decorated Leon's sinewy brown neck.

     "...It also looks like you're finally learning to take what you dish out!"

     With the delusion that the vivid little love-bite had been perfectly hidden by his thick sheaf of hair thoroughly shattered, Leon clapped his free hand over his neck and harshly jerked away.

     "Mind your own business!"

     Arthur popped the remaining half of the fruit in his mouth, cackling rather evilly.

     "Good heavens, don't be so bashful!  That's honestly nothing...  See here?"

     He pulled the loose collar of his thin shirt aside, offering his own knobby, violet-spattered shoulder for Leon's inspection.

     "Whoa.  Meg's a little intense, isn't she?"

     Arthur watched him take in the stunning sight, letting his collar settle back into place once he was sure he'd gotten a good look.

     "I'd say you're equals, yes.  To say nothing of the pinching."

     Feeling saucily mischievous—and honestly rather proud—Arthur swiveled his shoulder in its socket, pushing up his loose short sleeve to reveal a straight line of bruises in various stages of healing, a perfect gradient pressed into the scant flesh at the back of his upper arm.

     Leon ate another fruit from his hand as he gazed in rapt, morbid fascination.

     "...Ouch.  Why does she do that?"

     The irony of Leon, of all people, asking such a question wasn't lost on Arthur, who found himself stifling a laugh.

     "For much the same reason you've been gnawing at Vishnal like a choice bone, I'd imagine.  Also, she happens to think I have a cute yelp, and I'm happy to share it with her.  Of course, her favorite spot is actual-"

     Twisting his mouth into a silly, mock-salacious grin, Arthur slowly lifted up the hem of his shirt, revealing another collection of marks just above the crest of one bony hip.

     Leon—just as he'd hoped—was horrified; screwing his eyes shut and quickly jerking his head to the side, lest he catch a stray glimpse of a navel or a rib.

     "...Yuck!  Put that away!"

     Arthur did so willingly, though he was cackling all the while.

     "And here I thought you'd outgrown all that silly overcompensation."

     Once he was sure his poor eyes were safe, Leon disdainfully spat another pit clear across the courtyard as he shot Arthur a glare.

     "...Liking the looks of some men doesn't mean I'm about to drool over every grotesque sack of coathangers and pelvic bones that parades himself in front of me!"

     Though it once would have stung his ego to hear himself described thus, all Arthur could do was burst out laughing.

     "That was...  Surprisingly enlightening, but I fear I actually understand you and Vishnal a little less now.  He isn't exactly the husky sort, either."

     Leon huffed indignantly as he knocked back another piece of fruit.

     "Yeah, well...  Vishnal's a sack of ice cream and pelvic bones.  Completely different."

     Unlike Leon, Arthur had always been secure in his desires—a head that mostly turned for beautiful women, but was not adverse to turning toward certain beautiful men—and between that and the dreamy look on Leon's face, he found that he could once again easily see the two of them together in his mind's eye.

     "My, that way with words of yours!  You really paint a picture."

     As the picture faded, a silence settled over the courtyard, broken only by the occasional soft click of one of Leon's pits colliding with the cobbles.  A few times, Arthur tried to take up his clipboard again, and at least keep up the pretense of poking at his work.  But it soon became apparent that all he particularly wanted to do, on this sunlit afternoon, was nothing at all.

     Eventually, Leon cleared his throat.

     "...You really don't mind when Meg pinches you?"

     Arthur shrugged agreeably.

     "Not terribly."

     Leon studied Arthur's smile; curious and skeptical, something new and earnest glittering in those slit-pupiled predator's eyes.

     "But it hurts, doesn't it?"

     There were endless questions Arthur couldn't answer.  But Leon was, above all, an insatiably curious man.  There was no doubt that it would all one day make sense to him.

     "Many things that hurt feel a little different when you're in love.  I'm sure you'll learn all about that soon."

     A gentle, contemplative smile played at the edges of Leon's mouth.

     "I think I might already know."

     ...He really will be all right, won't he?

     Arthur believed in Leon, and swore a silent vow to help him, whenever and however he could.

     "You are a sharp one...  And I know you didn't ask my opinion, but I truly think this will be excellent for the both of you, so you shouldn't worry so much."

     For once, the suggestion that he might have been worried in the first place didn't immediately put Leon on the defensive.  He regarded Arthur openly, ears pricked and alert.

     "...Yeah?"

     Once more, Arthur picked up his pen; not to work, but to lend a sharpness to his playful gestures.

     "Indubitably.  I predict that you'll keep one another out of a lot of bad trouble."

     Leon wrinkled his nose.

     "Sounds boring."

     Arthur tapped that nose smartly with the cap of his pen.

     "I think you'll be surprised."

     Leon swatted the pen away, then tilted his head thoughtfully.

     "Hmm.  I like surprises."

     Arthur gave him another quick tap, on the forehead this time.

     "That's the spirit!"

    The two of them might have ended up tussling the dirt, had Margaret not appeared in the kitchen window, cheerfully calling out over the courtyard.

     "...Arthur!  Pie's ready!"

     Arthur gave her a wave, then turned back toward Leon.

     "Wonderful news!  Leon, will you be staying to have some with us?"

     Leon seemed to think about this for a moment.

     "...Can I go get Vish first?"

     Arthur gave him an approving pat on the shoulder.

     "You do that."

     As he watched Leon leave—a flash of silver, a strong back, a swishing tail—Arthur realized this was the first time in quite a while that his stomach didn't knot in fear of where his miscreant friend might find himself by the end of that short walk.

~*~

     Vishnal yawned as he reached into the heaped basket of wet laundry before him.  Leon had kept him up half the night, then proceeded to pester him all through his morning chores so everything took twice as long as usual.  His energy had been flagging since midday, and not even the heavy nap after lunch in Clorica's soft messy bed had quite managed to set him right.

     But a promise was a promise, and he always kept his word.

     Pausing to admire the way the gold-threaded details shimmered in the afternoon sun, Vishnal delicately lifted the ornate, multi-layered vest from the pile, then hung it on the line to flutter in the breeze like an enormous butterfly.

     He was doing Leon's laundry, and it already felt like the most natural thing in the world.

     For all the pair had joked about it, this proved a surprisingly serious undertaking.  Vishnal had even gone to Kiel's to read a dense book about traditional textiles, just to make sure he didn't accidentally destroy anything.  Much to his relief, he was assured that most fabrics from Leon's time were of exceptional quality, and made to last through countless years of laundering and wear.

     Still, it seemed that mild soap and a gentle wash in a basin was the best way to go.  So that was what he did; delicately swishing a hand around in his tepid cauldron while Clorica battered the kitchen towels on the trusty old washboard, Leon sitting on an upturned washtub and presiding bemusedly over their work like a bored, spoiled nobleman.

     Every so often, their eyes would meet, and a pleasurable shiver would run up Vishnal's diligently bent spine.

     It was such a pure and simple thrill, to be at someone's service.

     ...He understands that, doesn't he?

     In all likelihood, he understood it too well.

     After all, Leon had spent untold years in unconscious service, all-giving and loyal.  And now it was high time that he be served, and Vishnal was honored to be the one he'd chosen for the task.

     He sighed contentedly as he pinned the fine grass-green trousers to the line, and inhaled with a shudder as a pair of strong arms suddenly wrapped around his waist from behind, a colorful bracelet of knotted chevrons adorning one shapely brown wrist.

     "...Hey."

     Vishnal smiled warmly, but he didn't turn around until he'd finished hanging up Leon's pants.

     "Hello, Leon.  Has Clorica had enough of you?"

     With his things in the wash, Leon was at something of a loss for clothing, so Vishnal had gone sifting through the rag bin and unearthed a threadbare pair of pajama pants that had once belonged to Volkanon.  Even with the drawstring cinched, they sat low on his trim hips, and the excess of gauzy fabric billowed lazily in the breeze.

     Despite all the time they'd spent undressed in each other's company—to say nothing of Leon's pre-existing preference for going around bare-chested—Vishnal couldn't help but think that this was somehow as naked as he'd ever seen him.

     "Yeah, but that was a while ago.  I was actually just hanging out with Venti, and she said you looked a little lonely out here."

     Suddenly, it occurred to Vishnal that—with the notable exception of the weeks when Leon was wrapped up in his war with himself, and certain other bouts of single-minded pining—he had scarcely felt lonely at all since he'd gotten himself properly settled in Selphia.

     He had good friends who always welcomed his company, and his lovers—newly plural—almost unfailingly made him feel like he was worth their while.  His mentor was always there to build him up and guide him.  The employers he served were more like another group of trusted friends for him to assist and put at ease.

     It all made him long to reach out to his younger self—that island in a sea of siblings—and deliver him the good news.

     ("Things will change for you.  It won't be that long.")

     "Oh.  I'm just fine."

     Leon pulled Vishnal even closer, inquisitively nosing around at his neck.

     "...Just fine?"

     Vishnal slithered out of his grasp so he could pluck the hat from the top of the pile, studying the intricate golden headpiece.  Leon had recently explained that the insignia was meant to represent Ventuswill's kind divine eye, benevolently watching over her precious domain.

     "I've actually been having a good time.  Your clothes are quite interesting."

     The ornament winked in the sun as Vishnal hung the hat on the line, Leon chuckling good-naturedly behind him.

     "I get that a lot.  Usually in a different tone, though."

     Turning around to smile at Leon again, Vishnal was utterly overcome by everything he felt for him; this strange, displaced, infuriating, hilarious, garish beacon of a man.

     In any era, he was truly one of a kind.

     "Well, there's no accounting for some people's taste."

     Leon cackled meanly, taking Vishnal in his arms again and roughly mussing up his hair.

     "Don't I know it.  First-hand, actually."

     Vishnal fought to wriggle free and begin hanging up the bedding, sternly scolding Leon through gritted teeth and laughter.

     "...You're awful."

     Unwilling to relinquish his grip, Leon held on even tighter and somehow managed to snake a hand under Vishnal's waistcoat; roughly untucking a corner of his shirt and unclipping the stays, cupping a hand around the dip of his waist, hooking a thumb into the rope of his harness so he couldn't squirm away.

     "I know that, too."

     Too weak with rapture to play at putting up a fight, Vishnal went blissfully limp in Leon's arms for a sweet, brief moment.  Then he stood up straight, smoothed a hand over his rumpled uniform, and got back to work.

     (Gods, at least make him wait a little.)

     "...Well, as long as you know."

     Seemingly placated by that brief taste of rough, intimate contact, Leon simply hung back and watched as Vishnal hung up his—or Kiel's, or Forte's, nobody was quite sure anymore—sheets and blankets, the voluminous fabric billowing in the wind.

     When he was finally finished, Vishnal surveyed his work and mopped his damp brow on the dark sleeve of his uniform, huffing out a hot, tired sigh.

     Seeing this, Leon clasped him from behind and undid the buttons of his waistcoat; untucking the other half of his shirt and exposing a slice of his sweaty, rope-bound midriff to the fresh air, producing his fan from the pocket of his borrowed pants and waving it lovingly over Vishnal's exposed skin.

     "You look overheated.  Let's go take a dip in the lake."

     Despite the breeze, Vishnal felt rather more overheated as the tips of the glossy feathers began to skim his skin, then gave way to Leon's hand trailing up and down his ribs and flank, playing over the intricate patterns the ropes tenderly pressed into him.

     "That would be nice, but your trunks are up there wet with the rest of it."

     Leon broke into a laugh, his hand suddenly still.

     "...Vish.  Think."

     Upon realizing the absurdity of what he'd just said, Vishnal's face flared red-hot.

     "Oh, dear..."

     With a firm tug on one of the knots of rope at his waist, Leon pulled Vishnal in for a kiss, then cradled his face in his palms, studying him adoringly.

     "Hey, don't feel bad.  Pretty and dumb is a cute combination."

     Though this made him feel marginally better—whether he was joking or sincere, Leon's intentions were unquestionably loving—Vishnal still felt a little embarrassed as he hid his face behind a curtain of glossy silver hair.

     "If you say so..."

     The hands found their way to his back; one tenting his jacket slightly to let in more air, the other following the ropes toward and under his waistband.

     "...And besides.  You're more than pretty, and you're not actually dumb.  That's even better."

     Vishnal groaned in pleasure and exasperation as Leon's teeth found his sensitive neck.

     "Leon..."

     Leon laughed as he slipped his hands free and gently tugged Vishnal's jacket off his shoulders.

     "...See?  You remember my name and everything!  Now let's get this stuff off you before you pass out."

     A shiver ran through Vishnal's body as the breeze met his warm, flushed skin.

     "Okay."

     Leon snatched his damp trunks in one hand and Vishnal's hand in the other, eagerly leading himm inside.

     Once safely ensconced in the privacy of Vishnal's quarters, Leon quickly exchanged one pair of bottoms for another, then began the rather more elaborate work of helping Vishnal get ready; undoing buttons, unclipping the few remaining stays, casting each well-tailored layer carelessly to the floor.  Occasionally, he would get distracted by some particularly interesting sliver of newly-exposed skin, which would have to be licked or nibbled at before he moved on.

     But when he finally made his way down to the delicate rope harness, the process still felt like it had gone unfairly fast.  And soon, this too was undone, leaving Vishnal bare at last and ready to slip on his suit; which he quickly located on the back of his desk chair, next to a set of pajamas that could stand another night's wear.  He slipped on the moss-green trunks, took a moment to collect himself, and turned toward Leon, who was already waiting rather impatiently next to the door.

     "...Ready?"

     Leon smirked, reaching for Vishnal's hand and pulling him across the remainder of the room

     "One more thing."

     In one disorientingly fluid motion, he swept Vishnal off his feet, lovingly cradling him in his arms.

     "Wha...?"

     Vishnal's questions were answered with a brisk kiss on the crown of his head.

     "You've been on your feet all day already.  Let me take over from here."

     The primal comfort of skin-on-skin suffused Vishnal's body, and he felt some of the startled tension leaving his spine.

     "...Is it all right?"

     Leon laughed effervescently as he carried his lover down the short hallway and out into the sunlit square.

     "Relax.  It'll be way easier than the last time I carried you across town."

     Vishnal relaxed; into the warm expanse of Leon's sturdy chest, and the velvety caress of the fragrant summer air.

Chapter Nineteen: In Repair

     After all Leon had gone through over the course of the spring and summer, he could honestly say that knocking on the back door of the Bell Hotel wasn't the worst thing in the world, nor even the most absurd.

     "...Ah, there you are!  Come on in!"

     Lin Fa's welcoming smile was still so familiar that it caught him a bit off guard, and gave him the peculiar feeling that the events of the past few months may simply be repeating themselves, the warped record of his interrupted life juddering and skipping.

     "Hey, Lin...  You're sure this is okay, right?"

     Her laugh, it seemed, was as bawdy and musical as it had always been.

     "Of course it is!  I already have everything set up, so don't back out on me now."

     Leon laughed as well, a bit more nervously than he would have liked.

     "Right...  Okay, then.  Lead the way."

     He followed her graceful, swaying form into the Hotel's cozy, immaculate kitchen, where an assortment of vegetables and containers waited on the countertop.  Lin Fa confidently approached the stove, lighting the range and smiling over her shoulder at Leon.

     "...Don't be intimidated by all these odds and ends!  It's actually a fairly simple dish!"

     Leon plucked a leaf from a vibrant stalk of purple-green basil, crushing it between his fingers and taking a curious sniff.

     "I'm game.  All this stuff is just interesting."

     Lin Fa laughed as she rummaged through a drawer, retrieving a metal can opener and casually passing it to Leon.

     "You just have the best attitude to life, don't you?  Here...  You open those cans, okay?  Honestly, I have so much trouble with this thing."

     He took it agreeably, mostly because he didn't have the heart to tell her that he'd probably fare no better.  Leon hadn't even seen a can opener until he moved in with Kiel, and was still getting the hang of them himself.

     But the truth was, he found even the smallest of modern inventions absolutely fascinating.  He turned the handle a few times to watch the gear go, then clamped the opener onto the lip of the can, studying the illustration of a funny scraggly fruit that adorned the colorful label.

     "...I don't think I've ever had a coconut before."

     Lin Fa placed a well-used wok over the steady blue flame.

     "Oh, they're just delicious, and so much fun!  I'll have to go and get you next time my husband brings home a few!"

     Leon thoughtfully licked the severed lid of the can, carefully avoiding its sharp edges.  He was pleasantly surprised that the rich substance within didn't exactly taste like milk; mellow and creamy, but sweeter, and slightly vegetal.  It reminded him a bit of when his village would roast chestnuts at grand bonfires in autumn.

     "Your husband...  He's a good guy, right?"

     Her smile was breezy as ever, but her eyes were strangely wistful as she took the can from Leon and skimmed off a chunk of the solid, pearly white cap of fat with a spoon.

     "He's a wanderer.  But we always have a wonderful time when he comes back around.  Honestly, it's like I get to fall in love with him for the first time every few months, and that's just such a thrill."

     There was a time, perhaps, when Leon would have understood her perfectly, and agreed that such a relationship was ideal.  And, in a way, he still did.

     But now, he couldn't help but yearn for the thrill of simply being in love.

     "Hey, as long as you're suited to each other..."

     Almost like magic, the fat melted into a shimmering clear oil upon contact with the hot wok.

     "I think we are...  Now watch carefully, okay?"

     Leon kept his eyes on her as she took up a large jar full of something dark green and fibrous, almost mossy-looking.

     "I'm watching, I'm watching..."

     Lin Fa plopped a glob of the fragrant green paste into the sizzling oil, where it grew more fragrant still.  Its spicy, herbaceous, savory scent made their eyes water, to say nothing of their mouths.

     "You have to fry this first, to wake up the flavors...  And that beau of yours likes things spicy, right?"

     The mention of Vishnal—though not even by name—was enough to make Leon blush.

     After all, it was for his sake that Leon had deigned to venture back into the house of his undoing.

     Their emotional conversation through the window—Vishnal trembling with hurt in Leon's arms, Leon quietly praying for the strength to put back together what he had unthinkingly broken apart—had made him want to do something tender and grand, something to let Vishnal know how deeply he truly did care, despite his callous and childish behavior of late.

     And, according to Clorica, the best way to make Vishnal feel cared for was food.

     Leon's cooking skills, while still not stellar, had improved considerably since he'd moved in with Kiel, so he felt optimistic and up to the task.  He pored over a selection of recipe books, torn between several simple but homey options; curry buns, curry bread, buttery shortbread cookies to dunk in his tea.

     Of course, there was no keeping anything from Kiel for very long.

     "Leon, if how you've been around here is any indication, you're gonna have to do something way more impressive to make things up to Vishnal."

     Thankfully, the horrid little meddler had a good idea at the ready.

     "Uh-huh.  Gonna make it for him just the way I would for myself."

     Apparently, Lin Fa kept the ingredients for a rare type of southeastern curry on hand; something that Vishnal would likely greatly enjoy, a dish that would slake his hunger for both comfort and fire.

     Once Leon explained his situation to Lin Fa, she was more than happy to help him out.

     And now she was reaching her hand into a pouch of dried red chilis, pulling up a generous palmful and crumbling them into the wok.

     "Then I'll show you the amount I use for you, so watch my hand here...  You're lucky, you know!  I just love a daring man."

     Leon almost laughed.  Vishnal was a lot of things, but he wouldn't really count "daring" among them.

     ...Or would I?

     After all, he went out spinning with those blades every morning, even though he was an uncoordinated accident waiting to happen.  He dove right into the deep end of every trial and task, come what or come may.  He defiantly pushed Leon's buttons just so he would hold him down and bite him harder.  His favorite foods were the ones that made him pant and sweat.

     Vishnal was daring.

     And Vishnal was a dare.

     How could Leon ever turn him down?

     "He's...  One of a kind, all right."

     The spicy vapors rising from the wok made Leon sneeze, turning his back to the stove and burying his face in his elbow.  Lin Fa laughed as she stirred the piquant mixture around and around.

     "...Oh my!  I bet he's talking about you as we speak!"

     Leon sighed, feeling unaccountably melancholy.

     "I hope he's saying something good."

     Lin Fa gestured at him dismissively, though her smile was sincerely warm.

     "I'm sure he is.  Now cut up that tofu."

     Leon cut up the tofu, which Lin Fa tossed into the wok to sizzle and crisp, turning warm yellow-gold from the heat and the spices.  As she upended the cans of coconut milk into the wok—transforming the paste into a rich, green-tinted sauce—he cut up the mushrooms, onions, eggplant, and tomatoes, listening carefully as Lin Fa explained when to add each one to bring out the best of its flavors and textures.  He watched the vegetables simmer, taking a deep breath of the fragrant steam.

     "...Smells pretty amazing."

     As she turned off the flame, Lin Fa took an appreciative sniff of her own.

     "Doesn't it, though?  And the best part is...  We're almost done!  Slice those green chilis thin, and tear up some of the basil.  Those will go on top."

     He got back to work, and she took down two beautifully painted porcelain bowls, scooping in portions of gently fragrant rice from the steamer and ladling on the curry, creamy chili-flecked sauce flowing through the sticky grains.  Leon sprinkled on the fresh toppings, inhaled a little more of the spicy steam, and took an inquisitive bite.

     "...Wow."

     Lin Fa laughed as she cheerfully tucked in to her own lunch.

     "I know!"

     They ate in silence for a while; leaning against the counter, the whole world dissolved into lush velvety spice.  Leon bit down on a slice of fresh chili, disrupting the quiet with a harsh sniff.

     "...Thanks for showing me how to make it."

     She set her spoon in the bowl and laid a hand on his shoulder, comforting and steamy-warm.

     "It's no trouble at all...  And Leon?"

     Leon swallowed another bite, coughing slightly against the burn.

     "Yeah?"

     Lin Fa gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze, pausing to pat him on the back before picking up her spoon again.

     "You can come back any time, you know.  Xiao's been over that whole thing for a while."

     Leon smiled to himself, a little sadly.  He genuinely liked Lin Fa, and was happy to have her in his life.

    The thing was, he wasn't sure where that life might take him.

     "That's nice to hear, but I don't really know where I want to be for now."

     She nodded acceptingly, with a knowing smirk and a saucy wink.

     "Right.  You have your man to think of now."

     As usual, all Leon could think to do was crack a joke.

     "...Depends on what he thinks of the curry."

     It depended, of course, on a number of things.

~*~

     Kiel skimmed a spoon across the surface of the bubbling, fragrant sauce, drawing up a hot sip that he tasted carefully.  It was flattering that Leon had asked his opinion, and he wanted his evaluation to be honest and thorough.

     "...Wow!  That's...  Ah, it's hot!  Delicious, though.  Lin Fa must be a good teacher."

     Leon's ears flicked nervously as he peered into his freshly-made cauldron of curry.

     "You don't think it's...  Too hot, do you?"

     Though it may well have been—for his palate, at least—Kiel was loath to admit it in front of Leon.

     "For Vishnal?  Not at all.  Actually, I think you might just be the only person who really understands how to cook for him."

     Kiel watched those silvery brows furrow slightly, inquisitive and earnest.

     "You think so?"

     The effect, bizarrely, was almost cute.  It warmed Kiel's heart, and brought a smile to his face as he reached up to lay a reassuring hand on Leon's shoulder.

     "Listen...  I know you're nervous.  But Vishnal and I were hanging out yesterday, and from the way he was talking to me...  Leon, he's really excited just to spend the night with you.  So just relax and have fun, okay?"

     Leon blushed, averting his eyes almost coyly.

     "Yeah.  Okay."

     Kiel let him go with a playful, friendly little punch on his sturdy arm.

     "Just as long as you treat him like a Prince, all right?"

     At that, Leon's expression shifted to the toothy smirk that always signaled impending mischief, his eyes glittering hecticly in the dim light of the kitchen.

     "Ah, so I shoul-"

     Though he himself was suppressing a laugh, Kiel had to cut him off sternly.

     "...Don't treat him the way you treat Arthur."

     Leon crossed his arms with a giggly huff.

     "But you just told me I should have fun!"

     Neither man could keep from laughing any longer, so they both dissolved into mirth right then and there, Kiel valiantly struggling to contain himself as he collected his overnight bag from the kitchen table and slung it over his shoulder.

     "...Should I stay here and chaperone?"

     Leon shook his head, picking up his spoon and taking a final taste of the curry.

     "Nah.  I can take it from here.  Thanks again for making the pudding."

     Kiel turned back to Leon with a grin, feeling himself puff up with pride.

     "It's no problem!  I got to make dessert and play matchmaker!"

     The way Leon's flawless bronze cheeks reddened at that comment was perversely encouraging, and Kiel instantly understood why his strange friend got such a thrill out of winding people up.

     It was all about effecting change, and getting to see other sides of things.

     Leon leaned casually against the counter; seeming wholly unaware that his other side was still showing, or at very least hopeful that it wasn't

     "And now you're gonna go bother that sister of yours."

     But Kiel had finally known him long and well enough to have seen all his sides, in all their artless glory, and could no longer be fooled.

     "We're all having a perfect day, it sounds like!"

     Though it was clear in his eyes that he wasn't so sure, Leon nodded confidently.

     "See you tomorrow, Kiel."

     Kiel paused in the doorway, glancing over his shoulder with a sly grin.

     "Later, Leon!  Don't forget to tell me all about it!"

     Leon called after him as he dashed out into the sparkling summer afternoon.

     "Gods, give it a rest for once!"

     Laughing merrily to himself, Kiel ran until he was entirely out of breath and had to stop with his hands on his knees to get himself together.  As he got his wind back and mopped his sweaty brow, a silly thought popped into his mind.

     ...I really am just like a toadstool.

     Recently, Kiel had been taking a great interest in books about mushrooms, and couldn't help but identify himself with them, just a bit.

     Toadstools were small, and didn't make a lot of noise.  They were delicate and soft, and didn't appear to do much of consequence.  Oftentimes, people didn't notice them at all, unless they had popped up somewhere they didn't belong.  They were simply there, quietly biding their time in the shadows.

     Or at least, that was how it appeared on the surface.

     For the true body of any mushroom could be found underground; spreading across the forest in myriad slender tendrils, feeding the roots of every tree and shrub, moving vital substances around so they could get where they were needed most.

     It was tireless, thankless, important work.

     And Kiel couldn't help but see the way he handled information as something similar.

     It was thanks to his efforts that all his friends' pleas and worries reached each other's waiting ears.  And even if they were irate at first, everything usually worked out for the best.  Kiel's role, it seemed, was that of a mycelial net of the heart.  He even took it upon himself to literally feed everyone; sugar spun from sunlight, an affection you could take into yourself and taste.

     ...Maybe we should make a cake tonight!

     (And iced tea, and deviled eggs, and apples with cheese, and...)

     It would be a party, and Kiel couldn't wait.  He picked up his pace again; bouncing through the square, waving at his sister as she waited in the window of the palace like a sentinel.

     "Hi, Forte!"

     Forte allowed herself to relax slightly, smiling mildly as she leaned forward on the sill.

     "Hello, Kiel."

     Though his sister had scolded him for this on several occasions—it was unsafe, it was uncouth, it was simply not how things were done—Kiel hoisted himself onto the broad sill where Forte and Frey sold their treasures, swinging his legs inside and leaning casually against the window frame.

     "What are you up to today?"

     Forte wrinkled her nose slightly, taking her brother's hand to ease him off the sill.

     "Hosting you while you let that friend of yours use our family home as a den of ill repute."

     Kiel nimbly hopped down, planting his feet firmly on the floor as he crossed his arms and looked his sister square in the eye.

     "...You're a hypocrite, you know."

     This challenging stance—as he hoped it would—caught Forte slightly off-guard.

     "Excuse me!?"

     Knowing full well that she knew what he was talking about, Kiel smiled fondly as he held her gaze.

     "When you and Frey were dating?  How you'd have her over and I would go to Doug's for the night?"

     It hadn't really been that long ago, but Kiel found that those memories already held a sweet nostalgic warmth; the messy little room above the general store, the view of the moon and trees from the second-floor window, the cackling laughter well into the night.

     Forte, for her part, was tremendously embarrassed.

     "That was different!  We behaved ourselves!"

     The time, it seemed, had come for Kiel to deploy one of his precious molecules of information.

     "...From what I've heard from Venti?  I don't think that's true."

     Forte's face, normally stony and calm, dissolved into soft, almost sweet horror; her icy blue eyes widening, her cheeks flaring with a red heat that soon spread to her ears and neck.

     "Kiel!"

     It was exactly the response he'd been going for—something to break through her armor and remind her that she was as Mortal as anyone else—but Kiel couldn't help but feel a little bad.

     "Sorry, that was low...  Listen...  I know you have your issues with Leon, but he's really not such a bad guy.  You should try to get to know him."

     Forte wrinkled her nose.

     "Ugh..."

     That, too, was an incredibly human reaction, and Kiel couldn't help but smile.

     "Well, he's my friend, so you're getting to know him whether you want to or not...  Anyway.  Want to make ourselves a cake tonight?"

     After gathering herself with a weary, put-upon sigh, Forte managed to find a shy smile of her own.

     "That sounds lovely."

~*~

     Vishnal reluctantly stepped onto the front step of Kiel's modest cottage, feeling silly and weak for even accepting the invitation in the first place.

     (Where will this leave me if nothing changes?)

     Though his forgiveness had been genuine and easily given, he worried about the message he might be sending by diving right back in so readily.  Surely, he should strive to keep his distance and his cool; make Leon work a little harder for his affections, show that he couldn't be led around like a half-starved but well-trained beast any longer.

     But, when it came down to it, spending a night with Leon was all he had ever wanted.  Or more accurately, one of the more visceral among his myriad wants and needs.

     Once it was finally on offer, he found it impossible to refuse.

     And so, with his heart in his throat, Vishnal knocked on the door.

     Leon answered; all smiles and silver and bronze, the Dew Pendant still swinging around his neck and bouncing energetically off his strong chest.

     "Hey!  There he is!"

     Feeling suddenly shy in the wake of Leon's beauty and his own earnest eagerness to be loved, Vishnal glanced away as he felt his cheeks begin to burn.

     "Hi."

     Already falling back into comfortable old patterns—playing, teasing, taking the lead—Leon gently but firmly cupped Vishnal's face, so their eyes had no choice but to meet.

     "Don't you look nice tonight...  Coming in, or what?"

     Inwardly, Vishnal thought he looked much the way he always did.  But then again, he had just started properly combing his hair again, so it was possible that Leon was grading on a curve.

     "Oh...  Yes."

     Obviously growing impatient, Leon placed a warm guiding hand on the small of Vishnal's back and began to lead him inside.

     "You hungry?"

     Vishnal—fairly basking in the attention—allowed himself to be led into the cozy candlelit gloom.

     "I suppose I could eat."

     In turns, it occurred to him both that he'd scarcely eaten a proper meal in what by now must have been over a week, and that the whole house was filled with a heavenly, spicy smell.

     Leon, of course, was quick to notice that he was more enthusiastic than he was letting on.

     "And you shall!"

     Both men were growing slightly giggly, and the moment had begun to feel absurd.  But Leon managed to keep up his ostentatious chivalry for long enough to pull out one of the kitchen chairs, where Vishnal settled in eagerly.

     "All right...  What will we be eating, then?"

     He watched as Leon rummaged around in the cabinets for bowls, glancing over his shoulder with a mischievous toothy grin.

     "Something I think you'll really like."

     Half because it fit the role he was set to play, and half because Leon's insistence on treating even this as some sort of game had begun to genuinely annoy him, Vishnal crossed his arms petulantly as he sat back in his chair.

     "Hmm.  Informative."

     Leon playfully scrubbed a hand over Vishnal's just-combed hair as he placed a steaming, fragrant bowl before him.

     "Oh, don't be like that...  It's curry.  A kind I don't think you've had before."

     Refusing to be swayed by the delicious vapors rising from the creamy greenish sauce and pearly grains of rice, Vishnal eyed Leon warily as he settled in across the table with his own bowl.

     "...Really?"

     Leon's spoon hovered above the bowl, his expression faintly but unmistakably startled.

     "Really what?"

     Vishnal sighed, hands clutching his crossed arms protectively.  Eager as he was—for easy times and reconciliation, and of course for the food itself—he knew he couldn't proceed in good conscience unless he made himself understood.

     "Leon...  I know I...  Well, I probably give a certain impression.  But if you think you can charm me back into your arms with food, you're sadly mistaken."

     A few seconds of heavy silence passed, before Leon's buoyant laughter depressurized the room.

     "...You think my motives are that complex?"

     Though it was a struggle to keep his expression hard, Vishnal merely raised a quizzical brow.

     "They aren't?"

     When Leon reached for him, Vishnal relaxed his posture slightly; resting one hand on the table, allowing it to be gently taken.

     "Vish...  Believe me.  I wasn't thinking that deeply.  I just knew I'd been making you miserable, and wanted to do something that would make you happy for a change."

     Despite it all, the sight of those long, elegant fingers twining with his own nearly moved him to tears.

     "I suppose that's very kind of you."

     But as for Leon, he had always been more easily moved towards laughter.

     "And besides...  Didn't you say you wanted to fill out your uniform?  C'mon!  I can see your collar gaping!"

     He reached across the table and pushed Vishnal's bowl closer, smiling enticingly.  Vishnal slumped slightly, resigning himself to being sucked into yet another game.

     "Leon..."

     Undaunted, Leon picked up Vishnal's spoon and scooped up a particularly choice bite—topped with a lusciously melty chunk of eggplant and shot through with the deep-green squiggle of a fragrant basil leaf—which he waved temptingly in his companion's pouty face.

     "...And what if that beautiful face of yours got all gaunt and sunken-in, hmm?  I wouldn't be able to live with myself!"

     Privately, Vishnal always thought he looked his best when he was recently recovered from a bout of illness or emotional tumult; his color returned but his cheeks still slightly thinned out, a face one could take seriously.

     But by now, he had to admit he was probably the only one.

     He snatched the spoon from Leon and slid it into his mouth.

     "Fine."

     The flavors unfolded elegantly on his tongue; aromatic and complex, gently soothing their own fiery heat.  As he swallowed the first bite, he was already going for a second.

     Leon watched all this with an amused smirk, tilting his head questioningly.

     "Well?  What do you think?"

     Much to his embarrassment, Vishnal actually gasped in pleasure as he opened his mouth to speak.

     "...Where on Earth did you learn to make something like this?"

     With another laugh, Leon stood from the table, retrieving a bottle of Kiel's mead from the refrigerator and filling two small glasses before sitting back down.

     "Just sit back and enjoy, and I'll tell you."

     And so, as they drank and ate, Leon told Vishnal all about how he'd made the unique dish before them; about how it was a delicacy from southeastern lands, and how it got its gentle leafy hue.  About coconuts, and can openers.  And about how it really was deceptively easy to make, and the hardest part was going over to the Hotel so Lin Fa could teach him.

     Vishnal laughed, and was thoroughly riveted.

     For whatever else he was, Leon could certainly spin a yarn.

     But what, really, was to be expected of a man whose bombastic life had spanned millennia?

     The conversation slowly drifted to other things as the candles burned away, and Leon eventually brought out dessert; a perfectly-made coconut milk pudding, jiggling proudly on its plate and drizzled with chili-infused honey.  This, too, was enthusiastically consumed, both men reveling in the soothing burn until all had been devoured.

     "...Do you need any help with the dishes?"

     Already, Vishnal was standing from his chair, but Leon pushed him down again with an affectionate hand on his shoulder.

     "Nope.  Just sit there and look cute."

     As soon as Leon turned towards the sink, Vishnal shot up and took his place beside him.

     "Leon...  I'm not here to look cute.  I'm here to be with you."

     Leon laughed again, wrapping an arm around Vishnal's waist and pulling him close.

     "Suit yourself, then."

     Two sets of hands made the work go fast, and good company made it seem to go faster still; Vishnal scrubbing the dishes and cutlery until they sparkled, Leon settling into the rhythm of drying them and putting them away.  And when the task was finally done, they found themselves still lingering over the sink, watching the waxing moon rise in the steamy kitchen window.

     Vishnal rested his head on Leon's shoulder, sighing contentedly.

     "Tonight was nice."

     Leon chuckled, then pressed a brisk kiss to Vishnal's temple.

     "It's just starting, remember?"

     Vishnal felt his cheeks flare as he lifted his face to meet Leon's gaze.

     "Yeah."

     They stood like that for a while; taking each other in for real, in a way they somehow never had before.  Then Vishnal took a courageous half-step forward, closing the slight gap and experimentally brushing his lips against Leon's.

     Is it time?

     (It is.  I say it is.)

     Once he was sure his experiment had been a success, Vishnal roughly grasped Leon's jaw and eagerly parted his lips with his tongue.  He still tasted faintly of honey and spice, and Vishnal thought he could feel the magic link between Leon and the Earth, warm and thrumming inside him after all these years.

     They kissed until Vishnal wavered from lack of breath, Leon gently steadying him as they pulled apart.

     "...And that's a good start, all right."

     Then he leaned in to begin again, his waiting mouth ready to suck Vishnal down.

Chapter Eighteen: Out from Under

     For no reason he could rationally articulate, Leon woke up missing spring.

     In most respects, it hadn't been what anyone would call a pleasant season.  There was the exile from his makeshift home at the Bell Hotel, and the subsequent rootless floundering.  Vishnal had nearly bled out in the field.  Leon—who never meant any harm—ungracefully shouldered the blame and did what needed to be done for him.

     And there in that tidy, sunny bedroom at the Castle, his feelings had grown so intense and confused that he had no choice but to act on them, unleashing urges and appetites he'd held in chains for centuries.

     It was a disaster.  It was a mess.  It was chaos.

     It was a season of change, and Leon never could abide too much sameness.

     And so, now that everything had changed again, was it any wonder that he found himself longing for cool breezes and drifting Cerezo blossoms?  For gentle rains, shimmering dew, and the thrilling sizzle of poison on his tongue?

     Whatever the reason, summer was no longer sitting right with him.  So before the sun could rise high enough to scorch the Earth once more, Leon grabbed his pole and set off into the humid morning haze, eager to leave all that blue-and-yellow heat behind him.

     The walk to Sercerezo Lake was long but pleasant; the weather growing ever more refreshing as he wandered into the springlike shelter of the hills, the resident Monsters just dangerous enough to keep him alert, and to keep him from thinking too deeply about anything.

     It reminded him of all those long-ago journeys with Maria; back when the future always felt comfortably far away.

     Back when he didn't know just how distant that future would be.

     He supposed he should have felt grateful for the chance to find out what it would hold for him.

     I am.

     (Am I?)

     (...I am.)

     Once he started thinking about it, he could think about it all day.

     But for now, it was time to build a fire.

     Dry logs and tinder were scarce in this cool, dewy paradise, but Leon managed to find enough to construct a modest inverted cone on the shore, and to set it alight with minimal smoke and fussing; throwing sparks from a pair of rough stones, just as his mother had taught him.

     ("Like this, see?  Good job!")

     And just as he later taught Maria, who bit into the fish he had caught and cooked for her with disgusted courage, her nose wrinkled and her lips curled back.

     ("...Wow!  It is good!")

     It felt like a thousand years ago.

     (It feels like yesterday.)

     Leon sat down in the damp sand, baited his hook, and cast his line into the still, clear water.

     As he watched the surface ripple into serene concentric circles, blossom-spangled and shining in the dappled sun, he finally allowed himself to think.  And, in typical Leon fashion, the most interesting thought to cross his mind was a question, if a rather well-worn one.

     How did I get here, anyway?

     He supposed that one might as well ask how anyone got anywhere.

     Leon was born into a long and rather distinguished line of Scholars and Clergyfolk, but that wasn't especially unusual for his time, and he himself had always been something of a black Wooly.  He had been blessed with Ventuswill's favor from his earliest days in the Temple, but it was for almost humorously mundane reasons.  He had been given the title of Dragon Priest, but it had to be given to someone.

     And he had, in the end, been subject and object of an ancient, sacred, profane rite.

     But, once again, someone had to be.

     His life, put into context, hadn't been anything but ordinary.

     The extraordinary factor—the one that had taken him so far afield—seemed to be no more or less than love.

     After all, Venti had only given him such a noble position because she loved him, and wished for them to spend their days together.  And Leon only left her side because he had loved her more than his own existence, and simply wished—right or wrong—for her to live.

     It was sentimental.

     It was foolish.

     And it had worked.

     He felt as though he wasn't really meant to wake to this knowledge.  But now that he had, he couldn't help but wonder what else he might find out, here in this funny new future.

     Leon held that thought as he felt a strong pull on his line and began frantically reeling.

     ...Oh, no you don't!

     (Can't get away from me!)

     The fish put up an impressive fight, but Leon had keen reflexes, and had grown quite adept at hanging on.  He pulled stubbornly as the line dragged his pole this way and that, and soon had the fish out in open air, thrashing wildly and throwing rainbow colors in the sun.  Thinking of nothing but that delicious, tongue-tingling flesh, Leon grabbed hold of its slippery body and bit down at the base of the head, brutally snapping its spine in his teeth.

     It was savage, and perhaps a bit cruel, but wasn't everything?

     After all, it was the fate of anything that lived to be broken and eventually consumed.  He couldn't allow things like this to start bothering just because he had been a rare exception, who had reassembled himself and wriggled free.

     He flipped open his pocket knife, knelt at the water's edge, and began cleaning his catch.

     Maria, of course, had always hated this part.  He would send her off to poke at the fire and only return to her side once the last of the slimy guts had been cleared away.  Then—a minute or an aeon hence—there was Vishnal; balking theatrically at their slimy squid in the bustling kitchen, clutching the knife in a white-knuckled grip.

     And of course, merrily puttering around one of his new homes, there was Kiel; who watched Leon's technique intently, then consulted his library and returned with more ways to dress a fish than there were swimming things in all the waters of the Earth, ever-eager to show Leon all the new and exciting ways there were to do things.

     Leon deftly skewered the gutted fish on a sharpened stick, planting it in the sand next to the fire to roast.

     That one just wants to feel clever, doesn't he?

     (...And he is.  So let him.)

     In many ways, Kiel was a vital cipher for the new world; a truly curious little person, and one more than eager to explain himself.

     From what Leon could gather, the delicate young man was prone to infection, and there were several winters he shouldn't have survived.  But he had casually mentioned—as though it were the most ordinary thing in the world—that Jones always healed him with some strange modern preparation made from green mold.

     Apparently, this was not a miracle, but a minor inconvenience.

     Nowadays, sickly youths like him not only lived, but fully expected to.

     Kiel lived, and chattered, and cooked, and read unbelievably filthy stories where men and women amused themselves in endless imaginative combinations.

     This, too, seemed to be perfectly ordinary.

     And—most perplexingly of all—Kiel had been intended to be a girl.

     At first, Leon assumed this to mean that his parents had simply been expecting or wishing for a girl, which wasn't particularly unusual in anyone's time.  But, as he later found out, they had apparently labored under this misconception for just over eleven years, when Kiel himself corrected them and simply proceeded from then on as a boy; a brother, a son, a loyal steward of the homestead.

     Leon was fascinated, but questioning further seemed impolite.

     Moreover, it wasn't that much stranger than his being a young man who kept house while his sister trained for battle, so there was nothing to do but stand back and accept what he didn't quite understand.

     It was difficult for Leon to get his head around all the ways that men and women had changed since his time.

     In fact, it was easier for him to conclude that men and women, as he had known them, had simply been abolished.

     Leon turned the stick so the other side of the fish could cook, and as he did so, he also turned that thought around and around in his mind.

     There's way more than two ways to be, huh?

     In fact, the ways of being seemed almost infinite.

     Arthur was a gentleman, Forte was a lady, and Clorica and Amber were undeniably silly giggling girls.  Porco was a dandy.  Dolce was a haughty young miss.  Jones and Nancy were a husband and wife.  Lin Fa was by turns a matron and a wench, and Xiao Pai wore "daughter" like a weight around her neck.  Margaret was a songstress.  And on and on and on; all the interesting, wonderful people of this strange new town.

     "Man" and "woman" paled to describe them.

     ...So what am I, then?

     Try as he might, all Leon could think was "misfit."

     And what is Vishnal?

     Vishnal—and he would be the first to tell you—was a butler; one who had dedicated himself to attending to others and making them feel at home.  He was so much more than that, of course, but that was the path he had set himself on, and he followed it faithfully, even when he stumbled.

     Perhaps it was time for Leon to stumble down his own path as well.

     I can't do it alone.

     When at last the fish was golden brown, he removed it from the fire, blew on its crackly skin, peeled back the scales, and took a hot, savory bite.  It tasted of spring, and of all his wonderful memories; then and now, old and new.

     His tongue pleasantly numb with poison, Leon watched the petals fall and settle on the glassy lake.

~*~

     Clorica had accepted long ago that she was neither proactive nor spontaneous; never one to act, and slow to even react, a bewildered drifter on the winds of life.  And the fact that this had ceased to bother her much set her apart as surely as that syrupy dreaminess itself.

     Her family was all too willing to remind her that she was a plodding burden they had been lumbered with.  Her instructors seemed to unanimously agree that Volkanon would be the only one capable of putting up with her.  Volkanon himself was long-sufferingly patient as he gently nudged her to pick up her pace.

     As for Vishnal, he seemed to mostly accept her as she was, but Clorica could plainly see that she set his teeth on edge at times.

     To his eyes, her way of being was simply no way to live.

     And perhaps it wasn't.  But it was the only way she had, so what else?  She may have lacked adaptability and speed, but she more than made up for it in patience and determination, and hoped her effectiveness would speak for itself.

     Most days, it did.

     But it was slowly dawning on her that recent happenings might require a more active approach.

     I can't let this go on.

     Normally, Vishnal could be relied upon to solve his own problems; messily, ineptly, and with no small amount of fuss, but creatively and without losing heart.  It was this ability that took him from excellent to exceptional.  And, for a man with as many problems as Vishnal, it was a fortunate skill to have.

     However, it seemed he had finally exhausted the last of his reserves.

     She supposed she should be grateful that he was getting through his tasks again, and only taking to bed when the day's work was over.  That drinking himself senseless didn't seem to be a mistake he was keen to repeat, and that he no longer cried in the night when he thought no one was listening.

     But instead of relief that he was pulling his weight again, all she could feel was a deep sorrow at watching him going through the motions.

     Vishnal was broken, and seemingly lacked the ability to fix himself.

     And though she knew well that the work didn't rightly fall on her, Clorica decided that it was time for her to step in.

     As much as it disagreed with her fundamental nature, she would have to be alert.

     Clorica kept her eyes open and her ears pricked; her body ready, her mouth on standby, her thoughts queued and rehearsed.  It was exhausting, and made her uncomfortably edgy and cranky.  It dulled her perceptions, and rusted the iron-clad, single-focused spike of her concentration.

     Every moment was a fight.

     Her parents would have been so terribly proud.

     But in the end, when she saw that flash of sunlit silver at the town gates, all she could feel was a hungry eagerness to settle within her own skin again.

     Clorica sprang into clumsy, frenetic action; dashing to her quarters faster than she could think, snapping up the bracelet she'd diligently knotted in her spare time—sparkly gold, regal crimson, watery turquoise—and dashing out into the square, her creation held high in a clenched fist.

     "...Leon!"

     His name came out clipped, and harsher than she'd intended.  She wasn't used to vocalizing with so little forethought, and had to spit it out before her tongue could forget itself and fall dormant in her mouth.

     But she had wanted to get his attention, and this was certainly one way to go about that.

     Leon froze in his tracks, looking so startled and confused that all she wanted to do was laugh.

     "...Huh?"

     But she couldn't laugh just yet.  Not if she wanted to stay on course.

     "I...  Um..."

     As she caught her breath and shuffled through the script in her mind, Leon quirked an arrogant, questioning silver brow at her.

     "You, um..."

     Clorica snapped at him furiously.

     "...Let me think!"

     Leon stepped back slightly, bemused laughter edging his voice as his defensive posture relaxed.

     "All right.  Think away."

     With renewed urgency, Clorica realized that she didn't have time to think.  Not if she wanted to get her words out before she lost them.

     "Vishnal's been a mess!"

     Though this seemed to make him freeze again, Leon didn't exactly look surprised.

     "So I've heard."

     Clorica took a deep breath, and began to pace mechanically as she sorted out her thoughts.

     "I...  Okay.  I wanted to leave you guys alone.  You had your own thing going on, and it seemed like you were having fun...  I was having fun too, you know.  I liked you, Leon."

     Before long, Leon was walking beside her, and they were following a slightly more linear path; across the square, over the bridge, back into the shadows of the forest from which Leon had emerged not a minute before.

     "I like you, too.  What's with the past tense?"

     The shade and privacy of the wood afforded her some much-needed breathing space, so Clorica took a deep breath as she felt her thoughts begin to coalesce.

     "I don't mean...  I do like you, I guess.  I don't want to think you're being mean on purpose or anything.  It's just..."

     That appraising brow went up again, quick and impatient.

     "Just?"

     Clorica's own brow furrowed in concentration as she tried to pare the issue at hand down to a tidy "just."

     "The thing about Vishnal is...  He has a really big heart, okay?  It takes up his whole body, and he tries to cram all of you in there, and...  It's like...  Hmm..."

     She wasn't getting her point across particularly eloquently, but Leon seemed to understand.

     "...I know what you mean, yeah."

     His alert posture relaxed, and Clorica felt her own stiffen as she crossed her arms firmly and worried over the tidy knots of the bracelet in her fist with a thoughtful thumb.

     "And he takes things seriously.  Even fun things.  I don't know if he doesn't know the difference, but...  It's just how he is."

     She watched in wonder as Leon's glossy defenses awkwardly fell away.  He kept hold of the corner of a weathered half-smile, but was otherwise laid eerily bare.

     Most importantly of all, he was actually listening.

     "I've...  Kind of gotten that same idea by now."

     And all Clorica had ever wanted—ever since she was a small, fumbling, silent child—was to be heard.  That she was speaking on Vishnal's behalf only served to put a sharp new edge on that very old need.

     "...So you know you can't just mess with him!  I mean, you can...  He kinda likes being messed with, that's his thing...  But you can't mess with him for real, okay!?"

     Leon reared back slightly, obviously struggling to follow the line of her thoughts through the fog of her inchoate fury.

     "O...  Kay."

     Suddenly, Clorica was irritated at herself for not realizing that this conversation probably would have been easier as a letter.  She clutched her skull in her hands, as though she could warm her thoughts between her fingers and carefully sculpt them into words.

     "...Agh!  What I mean is...  You have to actually care about him, and he has to know you care about him.  Or else he sort of falls apart, and..."

     The harder Clorica tried to articulate the issue to Leon, the more ridiculous and hypocritical she felt.

     How many times had she kissed Vishnal while wondering if she could apply for a job in the Capitol once she'd earned her Star?  Or laid next to him in his bed, prattling on about all the adventures she wanted to have and promising to write?  Put her hands on and in him while fully aware of his transience in her life?

     But as muddled as the message was, Leon seemed to understand.

     "...And that's what he's doing now."

     (How long has it been since you've reassessed what you want?)

     Clorica sighed heavily.  Inconvenient as it was, it seemed the time to reassess had arrived.

     "Yeah...  And I don't think it's all your fault.  I might be doing the same thing."

     Leon squinted at her suspiciously, his slitted pupils narrow and mean.

     "So you're coming after me...  Why, exactly?"

     Clorica still wanted adventure, and to test her mettle as she found her slow way in the world.

     But these days, she wanted nothing more than for Vishnal to come along.

     And on those occasions that he couldn't, she wanted to know that he had someone strong and caring by his side in her absence.  Someone who could see him through his ups and downs, and tenderly pick him back up again when—figuratively or actually—he stumbled and fell.

     "...Because you need to get right with him!  I probably do too, but that's my business."

     Leon, as he was, was not that person.

     But now and again, he showed a side of himself that let her know he could be, if only he could draw on the reckless, selfless generosity that had seen him locked away for an aeon of his own free will.

     In that moment, as he shrugged in defeat, Clorica thought she saw it again.

     "Fair enough."

     Clorica thrust out her fist, opening her hand and letting the bracelet sparkle in the dappled sunlight.

     "I mean it!  I made this for you!"

     Leon examined it curiously, his acquisitive eyes dazzled by gold.

     "Oh.  Thanks."

     She let him look for a few seconds, then closed her fist again and stuffed her hands in her pockets.

     "...But now you're not getting it until you fix this mess."

     It was both funny and sad, how Leon thought he could hide his apprehension behind a sneer.

     "Not like I said I wanted it."

     It reminded her of the way Vishnal thought he could hide his pain behind a smile; a warm, gentle, genuine smile that she hadn't seen in what felt like ages.

     (Come hell or high water, I'll see it again.)

     "I don't care!  That's not the point!"

     Infuriatingly, Leon started to laugh.

     "...Arthur was right.  You are pretty feisty."

     Let him laugh, then.

     The very fact of this ridiculous, clumsy deflection showed her that she had truly gotten through to him.

     "I've had to be."

     Leon placed a companionable hand on Clorica's shoulder, laughter still dancing in his eyes.

     "...You know, you two are a lot alike."

     He didn't even have to say his name.  Clorica knew who Leon was talking about, as surely as she knew everything that could hide behind a merry mask.

     "You two are, too."

~*~

     At the still, golden end of the day, after the chores he barely remembered and the dinner he barely tasted, Vishnal lay atop his neatly-made bed in his rumpled shirtsleeves and watched blue shadows slide across the ceiling.  He felt achingly scooped-out and empty, and grimly determined to grow accustomed to the emptiness.

     There wasn't much else to be done for it.

     Raging against it tired him out.  Filling it up with wine had made him so sick that he'd felt drained and unsteady for days.  Tending it like a wound was a futile, undignified waste of time.  Ignoring it was comically impossible.  And fighting it at the source took more courage than he had.

     He just had to keep faith that life would eventually flow in and fill the gaps.

     After all, when Frey slipped through his fingers, it eventually did just that.

     Vishnal curled into himself and rolled to face the wall.

     How, pray tell, can something you never even reached for slip through your fingers?

     That thought saw him tucking his arms tightly against his chest

     ...And what good did reaching ever do?

     By his own standards, Vishnal had tried with Leon.  He had traversed the razor's edge between making himself available and making himself a bother.  He had brought his best, most vivacious, most agreeable self.  He had made himself open, in every way he could.

     Most vital of all, he had been of service.

     And in the end, Leon still drifted away.

     But really, what else did he expect?

     Nobody else clings to things like you.

     From where he sat, in the fragile core of a modestly chaotic life, it seemed to Vishnal that everyone else simply allowed themselves to be tossed this way and that by the winds of time.  They didn't always enjoy this, but nor did they seem to share his desire—his duty—to hold things together at all costs.

     He envied them, and he worried for them.

     He wanted to keep those dearest to him in the tidy pockets of stillness he managed to create.

     He didn't want to show the effort it took to maintain that equilibrium for long enough to try.

     Now that his efforts had failed once more, it was all Vishnal could do to hold on to himself; hugging his legs, pressing his forehead to his knees, trying to ignore the silky corrugations of the fading scar on his thigh.

     But of course, this always proved impossible.

     It won't let me forget.

     (I don't want to.)

     That spring had changed him, and he wanted so badly to believe—no matter how things went from here—that it had been for good.  That he could make something of it, find some lesson, fill up the hollows it had bored inside him with something sturdy and bright.

     To believe he hadn't undergone a mere mangling, but an operation.

     (...Neither.  You just fell.)

     He had fallen into something marvelous, and just as easily fallen out.

     (You've always been so clumsy.)

     Vishnal uncurled and faced the ceiling again, watching blankly as the shadows grew deeper and the light turned red.

     He was stunned out of his trance by the sound of a bird colliding with his windowpane.

     Or at least, that was what he'd thought at first.

     "...Hey."

     The interloper wasn't an errant bird—some awkward, panicked creature, not too unlike himself—but Leon; peering curiously through the window, squinting into the gloom of Vishnal's bedroom as he rapped boldly on the glass.

     Vishnal's first thought was that he was beautiful, with the red heat of the sun haloing the fuzz of his ears and shining off the satin mirror of his hair, the sleek shape of the Dew Pendant winking between his toned pectorals in the golden evening light.

     His next thought was that it was incredibly embarrassing, the way the man who had left him in such a state could still undo him entirely with little more than a glance.

     Just like that day in the field.

     ("You should put me down.  I'm a mess.")

     And when Leon glanced back, it was with eyes that seemed startlingly unguarded.

     (...Just like that day.)

     It was this, in the end, that gave Vishnal the courage to open the window.

     "Hello, Leon."

     He sat up in bed and rested his arms on the sill, which gave this strange little encounter an even stranger transactional feeling; as though he were hawking rarities from his window, as Frey and Forte often did on weekends and festival days.

     Leon took a tentative step forward, relaxing his knotted shoulders with a sigh.

     "Listen, I...  Say, are you all right?  You look a little unwell."

     His touch was gentle and cautious as he pressed his palms to Vishnal's forehead and cheeks, carefully testing for heat.

     "I'm jus-"

     Just depressed.

     Just making a big deal out of nothing.

     Just a bit bedraggled from lying here like a slimy slug all evening.

     The tenderness of it got to Vishnal before he could figure out what he was going to say.  His voice broke with a rusty squeal, and all that came out was a strangled sob.  He was so mortified that he longed to simply slip through some dark fissure in the Earth.

     But even if the ground had cracked open beneath his bed, he supposed it would have been hard to slip away gracefully with Leon cupping his cheeks like that.

     "Oh, Vish...  Hey...  What's wrong?"

     Leon stiffened briefly, then reached into the window and wrapped his arms around Vishnal, pulling him into an awkward embrace.  This, of course, only served to remind Vishnal of that long-ago moment by the leek patch, which just made him cry harder as his own arms wound their way around Leon's ropy body.

     "What do you think?"

     The acid in his reply was enough to sting them both, but Leon held on tight, running a soothing hand through Vishnal's tangled hair.

     "...I think I've been a real cad lately.  You don't need to tell me."

     Even as Leon's touch eased the worst of his pain, Vishnal was suddenly, quietly furious to hear that he'd known.

     "Then why are you here?"

     Leon held Vishnal even tighter, his own voice wavering and thickening with tears.

     "To tell you, and to say I'm real damn sorry."

     Vishnal had never seen Leon cry before, and to hear him coming this close felt slightly out of the natural order of things.  Between that and the strength of his embrace, it was all catastrophically overwhelming, and Vishnal wanted nothing more than to pull away for a moment and get his bearings.

     "Okay."

     Perhaps sensing this, Leon took a step back; holding Vishnal at arms' length, his thumbs tracing what were admittedly rather calming circles on his shoulders.

     "Vish...  I know I haven't been acting right, but whatever you're scared this was, that isn't it.  I just...  I know it's kind of silly, but this...  Whole situation we have...  It's been hard on me.  I had some stuff to figure out, and I was just taking a little step back to see if I could.  If I wanted to really treat you right...  I had to.  I went about it wrong, but I really was thinking of you."

     Vishnal blinked in disbelief, a few unfallen tears trickling free.

     "...Did it ever occur to you to figure it out with me?"

     Leon gently brushed them away, then began running his hands through Vishnal's hair again, gently working out the tangles.

     "I guess I just thought it wasn't your problem.  It wouldn't be fair, you know?"

     It would have been so easy to simply give in to the sweetness of the moment and let everything else fall away.  But Vishnal found that he was finally nearing the end of what he could meekly accept, and that was probably something Leon should know.

     "...And this was?"

     Vishnal could tell, from the twitchiness of his ears and the glistening expanse of his pupils, that he had begun to make himself clear.

     "No.  Not at all."

    All around them, the fire of early evening was fading to the watery blue of dusk.  Once more feeling hollow and exhausted, Vishnal leaned against the window frame with a heavy sigh.

     "Forgive me if I still don't exactly follow your thought process."

     Leon's mouth briefly twitched into that old sharp-toothed smirk as he laid a hand on Vishnal's sagging shoulder.

     "Easily.  Forgive me, too?"

     Vishnal studied Leon in the fading light; the sadness in his smile, the centuries in his eyes, the dusting of silver floss shining on his lovely bronze skin.

     (I love you.)

     (You vile, ridiculous man.)

     "...Of course."

     Tears catching in his voice again, Leon pulled Vishnal into another embrace.

     "I...  I'll try to do a lot better, okay?"

     And Vishnal accepted it fully, even as he mumbled flatly into the crook of Leon's neck.

     "I should hope so."

     Leon pulled back with a nod, pressing a brief kiss onto Vishnal's forehead.

     "You can count on it."

     They stared at each other for a moment, each working out what to do next and likely coming to similar conclusions.  For Vishnal's part, his lips felt all but magnetized, but his mind was shaky and brittle from too many emotions.

     Kissing Leon now would be like pouring boiling water into a cold glass.

     So he placed a hand on his warm, bare chest, holding him at bay for at least another night.

     "Leon...  I hate to ask your forgiveness again, but I need a little more time to myself for now.  This all has me feeling a bit rattled."

    Leon nodded agreeably, looking a little disappointed but understanding enough.

     "Sure, no problem...  See you soon, okay?"

     Vishnal nodded in return.

     "Okay."

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

"And if you're still feeling down

Then maybe you need me around

To love and hold you

Don't say I hadn't told you so

Maybe you need me around"

-"Blissed and Gone," Smashing Pumpkins

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

~HEARTS~

(PART FIVE)

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Chapter Seventeen: In Good Time

     Fortunately for all involved, a single night alone in the woods was enough to set Leon's head straight; or at least straight enough to haul his grimy carcass—the crick in his neck, the leaves in his hair, the holes in his heart—back to Kiel's kitchen table to get fed.

     And Kiel, of course, had been waiting for him there, a book in hand as usual.

     Though his normal tendency was toward intrusive curiosity, the long-suffering young man simply behaved as though nothing out of the ordinary had occurred as he fried eggs and buttered toast, presenting Leon with an almost comically average breakfast.  Later, the odd pair settled in to read in companionable silence as they watched the storm blow in from the cozy safety of the cottage.

     Even now, after the dark clouds had finally rolled over the edge of the horizon and let in the sun, it couldn't exactly be said that they had reconciled.

     That would have required Kiel to have some idea what was going on, after all.

     And that, in turn, would require Leon to explain himself.

     It went without saying that Leon was thoroughly sick of explaining himself, after all those ridiculous conversations with his neighbors, all that clumsy fact-finding about love and time and courage.  They'd all advised him so confidently, but when they spoke, it always sounded as though they didn't know him at all.

     Of course they don't.  Who would know you, after all these years?

     The answer was so obvious that he wondered how it hadn't occurred to him before.

     And so, Leon decided that he could probably manage one more serious conversation.

     "...Hey, Venti!"

     Not for the first time, he was struck by how much brighter the Castle's atrium was than the shadowy main hall of the Temple; windows and skylights, the warm summer breeze flowing in one open door and out the other in an unbroken silky ribbon.

     "Hello, Leon.  What's new with you?"

     But Venti, scales and feathers shining in all that sunlight, was the same as she had ever been.

     Leon sighed wearily, his words gliding out on a harsh nervous laugh.

     "...I think I might have messed up my whole life."

     Venti laughed as well; cheery and untroubled, as though nothing could ever really be as bad as all that.

     (We know better, don't we?)

     "What'd you do now?"

     Leon paused for a moment to think.

     What had he done?  Loved Vishnal too seriously, or not seriously enough?  Permitted himself to love, period?  Promised his heart to someone he couldn't properly give it to when they were both only children?  Allowed himself to be forced out of time for so long?  Allowed that silly Princess to wake him up to face this strange world?

     The more he thought about all of it, the more inevitable and interconnected it all seemed, like a thicket of thorns snagging his skin and forcing him forward.

     "I...  I don't know."

     (I just lost control.)

     With a great windy sigh, Venti sprawled out on her belly on the cool marble.

     "Leon...  Come here.  I wish you'd sit with me like you used to."

     All those long-gone days together, that sacred duty that felt like a gift.  The way neither of them wanted for anything, as long as they could be together and have a good laugh.  Leon sometimes wanted it all back so badly that his heart ached like a sore tooth.

     "Is that still okay?  I know it's been a while..."

     Ventuswill stared into him, as calm and resolute as the day she'd chosen him for Priesthood.

     "It's been longer for me than you, and I've missed it."

     And, just as he had on that long-ago day, Leon slowly crossed the stone floor and settled at her side.

     "All right.  Sure."

     He leaned against her cool smooth scales, the familiarity of it disorienting and almost eerie in their new world.  She curled her tail around them both, nudged his head just the way she used to, and huffed out a gusty breath.

     "Now what's troubling you, old friend of mine?"

     Leon fiddled with one of the golden rings that dangled from his vest, taking comfort in its weight and unbroken smoothness.

     "Everything, I guess...  I feel really out of place here, sometimes."

     At that, Venti could only laugh.

     "I'd say you fit in as well as you ever did."

     How he'd always loved that laugh, that playful willingness to match his cadence, their merriment echoing through any set of stately halls.

     "Oh, very funny...  Seriously, though.  I sometimes just feel like I don't know how anything works now, or...  I don't know.  What's okay, I guess."

    Venti laid her great head in Leon's lap, staring up at him knowingly.

     "...Is this about Vishnal?"

     Leon started, his cornered-animal heart trying to chew through the bars of his ribs.

     "Don't tell me...  Did Kiel blab to you, too?"

     At least Venti had the courtesy to try not to laugh as she lifted her heavy head and gently angled it towards the hall to the butlers' quarters.

     "I...  Well, I live with Vishnal.  His room is right over there.  Do you think I can't hear you two?"

     At that moment, Leon could have cursed Vishnal for being so exquisitely sensitive, so beautifully noisy.  He crumpled into a ball; hiding his face in his hands, wishing he could just sink into the Earth once and for all.

     "Oh, Gods..."

     Venti's laugh escaped as she tilted her head again, this time toward the wing of the castle where the Princess dwelled with her Knight.

     "Leon, for goodness sake, get yourself together!  I hear them, too.  It's all part of sharing a household.  I usually just ignore it, because it doesn't concern me.  Except..."

     Leon let his hands drop, hugging his legs and regarding his old friend cautiously.

     "...Except?"

     Once again, Venti gently nuzzled at Leon, her breathy laughter finding its way into his flattened ears.

     "Well, forgive me, but sometimes when the two of you get going, I can't help but feel a little happy for you.  You never found that kind of love in your old life, and I'm glad you had another chance."

     Leon blushed hotly, feeling mortified and exposed.  But the heat of that feeling burned off quickly, leaving only a leaden melancholy behind.

     "...I had plenty of chances then.  I had Maria."

     Tears began streaming down his cheeks, dried into sparkly tracks by Venti's comforting breath.

     "And things weren't like that between you."

     His hands clenched into trembling fists, trying in vain to hold on to all that he had already lost.

     (All that I never really had.)

     "Maybe they could have been."

     Venti curled her tail tighter around them both, shielding Leon with a great wing and resting her pointy chin on his shoulder.

     "Maybe a lot of things could have been a lot of ways.  But for what it's worth, I think she'd be happy for you, too."

     Feeling unaccountably old, Leon leaned his weary head against her scaly cheek.

     "You can't know that."

     A minute or two of silence passed, broken by another gale-force sigh.

     "...I know she cared about you a great deal."

     Names in stone, blood on the apple, lanterns drifting away; memories upon memories, each as tiny and clear as a shard of splintered glass.  Leon still had a hard time thinking of her in the past-tense, and the word "cared" caused a single feral sob to crack in his throat.

     And yet, he found that the overriding emotion was gratitude.

     "Yeah...  She did, didn't she?"

     Venti nodded into his shoulder, wrapping a wing around his quaking body like a feathery blanket.

     "And I did...  Well, I do...  Too.  They didn't do right by you back then, Leon.  They didn't do right by either of us."

     Leon hastily dried his eyes with the back of one hand, clenching his teeth to hold back any more surprise outbursts.

     "...It's not like I didn't volunteer, you know.  We were just trying to help you.  We...  We loved you, Venti."

     The years weighed heavy on them both, but Venti still managed a dark little chuckle.

     "I know.  And now we're here, aren't we?  Here, where we probably shouldn't be."

     She lifted her head again, gazing out the back door and over the muddy, branch-strewn fields.  Leon followed that gaze so he could see what she was looking at.

     "Yeah."

      He was met with the sight of Clorica; sun unbearably bright in the flyaways of her lilac hair, wielding a hatchet in her sleep and hacking away at the ruins of the previous day's storm.

     Venti laughed again, lighter and more genuine this time.

     "...But it's also kind of lucky, isn't it?  I've seen so many things I wouldn't have otherwise, and I've had so many interesting relationships.  Maybe it's selfish, but I'm not sure I'd want to give that up."

     The hatchet came down again.  Leon shrugged wearily.

     "It's fine.  I wouldn't, either."

     Then he was thrown back in time once more, to hear his friend speak with the affected gravity she had once reserved for particularly holy rituals; the serious, tedious ones that she and Leon privately disdained.

     "Then don't."

     Impious as he was, Leon still longed to heed his God's word.  Even if he didn't know where someone like him could even begin.

     "I...  Don't know how to make things right with him.  I don't know if I can."

     At that, the God in question could only cluck her sharp, reptilian tongue.

     "That's something you'll have to figure out for yourself, I guess.  But I'm not worried.  You always were a clever one."

     Suddenly, Leon remembered what it was to feel favored and blessed.

     "So you always said."

     Venti laughed, the wind of it tossing in Leon's hair.

     "Someone had to.  Otherwise, you'd have never started acting like it."

     Before long, he felt a mischievous smirk crack his tear-stained cheeks.

     "...Better late than never, huh?"

~*~

     One might think it impossible to bake a cake combatively, but that was exactly what Kiel did; measuring out his frustrations, stirring up his resentments, baking the whole thing in the low fire of his growing annoyance, letting it cool on the rack of his disappointment.

     And now, after all that work, he delicately laid his bare hand on the glossy brown surface of one of those spongy dark layers, testing if the time had come to frost it sweetly and serve it forth; a manifestation of his efforts that could be tasted and devoured, a rich and irresistible question.

     "I'm always trying.  Why can't you?"

     Like most of his methods of expressing his feelings and making himself heard, it felt ridiculous when he thought about it too hard.  But, at the end of the day, this was what he had.

     Kiel, after all, was nothing like his sister.

     He was small and meek and soft, and got tired far more easily than he would have preferred.  In wintertime, his hands sometimes grew too stiff and sore to even grip a sword, let alone swing one.  Strangers still tended to mistake him for a child, and project onto him the attendant defenselessness.

     He wasn't built for the battlefield, so he would simply have to make war in the kitchen.

     And it was with a warrior's resolve and precision that he took up a sharp knife and cleaved the two layers into four.  These he glued together with sticky strawberry jam; blood-red and tart, sharp and fresh with memories of a spring not too long past.  Once he was sure his little tower would hold tall and sturdy, he reinforced it with a thick layer of smooth chocolate frosting.

     Then he placed it in the center of the kitchen table, picked up his book, and settled in to wait.

     "You hold down the fort, Kiel."

     (...I will, dad.  I will.)

     Even if he couldn't fight, Kiel could keep vigil forever.

     Or at least, that was what he'd been brought up to assume.  In practice, it had never come to that, and on this day it only took two chapters for the front door to swing open.

     Kiel sat up straight, put on his friendliest smile, and prepared himself for battle.

     "Hello, Leon."

     Leon paused on the way to his room, looking tired and wary.  But that was how he always looked lately, and one of the goals Kiel had his mind set on was figuring out why.

     "Hey."

     Before Leon could get a hand on the door that he surely planned to close behind him for the rest of the day, Kiel gestured toward the empty chair.

     "Come have some cake."

     Leon regarded the chair, the cake, and the cheery little kitchen, looking as though he wanted no part in any of it.

     "Maybe later."

     But this was war, and Kiel wasn't ready to stop fighting.

     "I worked on it all morning."

     Luckily, Leon wasn't as formidable an opponent as he sometimes seemed.  His weak point was his insatiable curiosity, and one could easily exploit it without even trying.

     "...Okay.  Might as well see what this is about, eh?"

     Kiel took up the knife again, purposefully driving it into the dense cake and severing two generous slices, plating them carefully and sliding one across the table as Leon sat down.

     "It's about how weird you've been."

     Leon laughed—a bit nervously, Kiel thought—as he enthusiastically plunged in his fork.

     "Are you new?  I'm always weird."

     If he was trying to derail the conversation into merry nonsense banter, it wasn't going to work.  Kiel knew him too well by now.

     "Yeah, that's you being normal.  And now you're being weird."

     The cheeky grin faded, but the infuriating, calculated nonchalance remained.

     "...How so?"

     Leon was complex, and well-guarded, and very, very old.  Chipping away at his defenses would take some time and effort.

     But then, so did making the perfect cake.

     "You didn't come home the other night."

     And the cake Kiel had made for them that morning, it seemed, was perfect.  Leon was too absorbed in its various nuances to storm away from the table in a huff, though he scowled slightly as he peeled a bit of frosting from the cake with his fork, so as to enjoy each component on its own.

     "...I was camping."

     Kiel cleaved the point from his own slice, pausing to savor it before giving his rebuttal.

     "You could have told me."

     Leon swallowed, poking at the cake with his fork and excising a tineful of jam.

     "You would have wanted to come along, and it would have turned into a whole thing."

     That stung Kiel a bit, and he worried that showing it would lose him some ground.  But if it was an honest conversation he wanted, he supposed he would have to do his part.

     "...Would that have been so bad?  I don't have a lot of experience, but I like all that stuff."

     Leon licked at the jam disinterestedly.

     "Can't a guy go camping by himself?  What are we, married or something?"

     Kiel shook his head firmly, figuring that treating Leon's silly question as a serious one would be the best way to keep things on track.

     "No.  But funny you should mention..."

     Even so, Leon managed to parry him with a playful cackle.

     "...You don't want me as a groomsman.  There's no one left alive you can ask for the story, so just trust me on that."

     Kiel felt it, and nearly went down; a precarious verbal stagger, his tongue tripping over itself as it struggled to dodge and change directions.

     "Leon, I'm not...  Nobody...  This isn't about me, this is about that book you translated a while back.  Measuring out the flour and sugar for the cake made me think of it this morning."

     Leon lingered over an especially big bite of cake, chewing slowly and taking his time to swallow.

     "...Which book?  There's been a few."

     Kiel gestured sharply with his fork, then scooped up a bite of his own.

     "The first one.  'A Recipe for Happiness.'"

     He watched Leon tilt his head curiously, his expression perhaps a bit more sincere and questioningly open than he knew.

     "What about it?"

     Relieved to be settling into a gentler mode—if only briefly—Kiel recited the quaintly sweet words that now lived in his memory.

     "'A cup of argument, a dash of honesty, and a pinch of trust,' remember?  I invited you to come stay with me back in spring because I wanted you here, Leon.  And if there's something going on with you, I need to hear about it.  Even if we have to fight it out a little at first."

     Leon jabbed his fork straight down, planting it almost comically upright in the center of his slice of cake.

     "...How about a dollop of minding your own damn business?"

    There was something poignant in the way his whole body bristled; ears plastered back, fangs bared, tail swishing against the floor.

     "Leon..."

     (You don't have to protect yourself like that.  It's okay.)

     "...And just a little soupcon of not spreading private gossip to everyone with ears!"

     At that, pity gave way to anger.  Kiel brandished his fork in what he realized was an almost threatening manner, jabbing the air so fiercely that he began to feel rather silly.

     "Hey!  You're the one who told Forte, of all people!  It couldn't have been that private!"

     Leon sat a little farther back in his chair, keeping clear out of the way of those dull, sticky prongs.

     "Yeah, well, the question about Forte is why the hell she told you!"

     Kiel realized that he, too, was baring his teeth, and wanted badly to bite down on something.

     "She's my sister!  We tell each other stuff!"

     Thankfully, he had his cake, so he took a savage forkful, chewing slowly to calm himself down as Leon glared across the table.

     "Is Nancy your sister, too!?"

     Kiel swallowed, exhaling with a contrite sigh.

     "I...  Okay.  I shouldn't have done that.  You're right."

     Leon stared out the window with his chin propped on one fist, pointedly spearing his last bite of cake.

     "Yep."

     Kiel jabbed the air with his fork again, wishing he could shatter Leon's brittle armor like a thin sugar crust.

     "There!  Now we've talked!"

     In the brief time it took to chew and swallow that last hurried bite, Leon pushed his plate away and flexed his incredible network of tendons, ready to propel himself from the chair like a spring.

     "Good!"

     Before he could stand to leave, Kiel placed a hand on his arm.  He knew he wasn't strong enough to hold him down, but he could at least be firm enough to make his point.

     "...I didn't say we were done.  When I brought up that book...  I wasn't entirely talking about myself, you know.  You need to talk to Vishnal."

     Leon rolled his eyes.

     "So says half the town."

     Kiel tightened his grip as he stared Leon square in the eye.

     "I'm serious.  I haven't seen him in a while, but Clorica says he's in really bad shape."

     Those quick, intelligent eyes held a peculiar softness, a strange ripple passing across Leon's tense features.

     "...How bad?"

     Somehow even worse than you.

     "Like I said.  I haven't seen him, and you know how we always hang out."

     Leon slumped back down in his chair; eyes downcast, muscles uncoiling exhaustedly.

     "Ah, jeez..."

     Kiel turned his focus back to his cake, cleaving the last small bite into two even smaller ones.

     "...Yeah.  I gave you a place to stay after things went wrong with Lin Fa, but you need to sort this one out yourself."

     He placed one of them on his tongue as he waited for Leon to respond.

     "Sure.  Fine.  Tomorrow, okay?"

     Kiel nodded.

     "Okay."

     Hoping Leon understood that he would be held to that, Kiel ate the last miniscule bite as he gazed out the window, his tired mind blank.  A few minutes passed in a semblance of comfortable silence, which was eventually broken by a slight creak as Leon settled back in his chair.

     "...Can I have another piece of cake?"

     Kiel cut himself a narrow second slice, then passed the knife to Leon.

     "Help yourself."

~*~

     Though it was obvious enough what had happened to him—and that he was entirely to blame—Vishnal was unnervingly unclear on the exact sequence of events; the previous evening chopped into messy fragments and mushed soggily back together, all blurred edges and smeared ink.

     One moment, he was in a shiny facsimile of good spirits, meticulously rearranging his bookshelf as he sipped cold wine straight from the bottle and nodded along to his favorite record, all his troubles tossed to the violent winds that raged just outside his window.

     The next, however, saw him sitting on the floor and weeping in his own arms; the wine gone warm, the sky gone black, the record spinning mutely as the driving rain drowned out all other sound.

     Some indeterminate time after that, he was kneeling in the bathroom, and it was very, very dark.

     He couldn't tell up from down, and wasn't sure how he'd come to be where he was.  The only handhold in reality that Vishnal could find was Clorica; holding back his hair, steadying him before the commode, whispering comforting things he could scarcely understand.  In a half-wild fit of desperation, he endeavored to pour his heart out to her, but could only spill himself messily across the floor.

     "Shh...  It's okay.  Vishnal...  Vishnal.  You aren't making any sense.  Just settle down, all right?"

     When he attempted to explain himself, all that came out was another sluice of acid.

     But he must have eventually settled, because when morning arrived—painfully bright, sunshine glancing off every facet of the storm-slicked world—he was sprawled belly-down in bed; oozing into the mattress, dissolving into a reeking chemical sweat.  Clorica was nowhere to be found, but he got the idea that she had something to do with his presence there, and felt terribly guilty for having become just another mess she had to clean up.

     But that did nothing to dull the relief he felt when she appeared once more by his bedside, speaking very softly as she gently brushed back the damp hair that clung to his cheeks and tucked it behind his ears.

     "Morning.  How are you feeling?"

     This struck Vishnal as a mercilessly complex question for a man in his current state.

     The room still spun, but more listlessly now.  His head felt stuffed with something light and painfully dry, yet somehow too heavy to lift, and there was a terrible pressure behind his eyes that pulsed with every kick of his dehydrated heart.  His stomach felt like a roiling cauldron of something vile and corrosive, as sour and harsh as those last sips of warmed-over wine.

     When he opened his mouth to answer, all he could do was pitch forward and heave into the wastecan.

     Clorica flinched back slightly, then regained her usual lazy countenance with a weary sigh.

     "...Right."

     Vishnal rolled away from her and curled into a tight ball, shivering with exhaustion despite the close, sticky heat of the sick-smelling room.

     "Please close the curtains."

     The room fell into shadow as Clorica briskly pulled them shut.

     "There.  Now get up."

     "I don't know if I-"

     "The storm made a huge mess, and all three of us need to get to work cleaning it up.  You can."

     Unable to stand the guilt gnawing at his ribs, Vishnal sat up laboriously and slumped at the edge of the bed, cradling his tender head in his hands as the room listed around him.

     "Ugh...  Fine..."

     "Do you need help getting dressed?"

     "I'm not an invalid, Clorica.  I'll manage."

     And manage Vishnal did; though he didn't have the energy to fiddle with anything more complex than his trousers and shirtsleeves, and still had to pause to dry heave several times throughout the brief process.  Once he was passably buttoned-up, he slouched out to the kitchen, where Clorica already had his breakfast—a cup of tea, a glass of water, a few bland salty crackers, three chalky white pills—laid out and waiting for him.

     He nibbled pitifully, hoping she would see that he was in no condition to work and let him go back to bed.  But Clorica remained impassive; washing the dishes from her own much more substantial breakfast—something with what was to Vishnal's nose a sickening eggy smell—and gazing dreamily out at the fields, where Volkanon was already hard at work smashing boulders with a hammer.

     It dawned on him that having to work no matter how lousy he felt was a fitting punishment for his selfishly irresponsible actions, so Vishnal dropped the act and downed the last of his tea.

     Moreover, as the bright, raw morning wore on, it became all the more obvious that his punishment was not only well-deserved, but not actually a punishment at all.

     The timing had simply been unfortunate, and even as she put Vishnal to work gathering uprooted weeds, Clorica still found ways to comfortingly nurse him; feeding him glasses of ice water and sparkling palmfuls of candied ginger at regular intervals, letting him sit on a stump and put his head between his knees for a while after she'd caught him vomiting by the treeline, pulling him back inside at lunchtime for some dry toast and a few more pills.

     Though some sad, needy, whiny part of him would still have preferred to lie in his darkened bedroom and have her wait on him and let him cry to her all day, his rational side was as grateful to be spared that indignity as the rest of him was for her poignant attempts to ease his exhaustion and settle his stomach.

     And though the day did feel like it might just drag on forever, the moment eventually came when Vishnal looked out over the fields and found them tidy and clear.  The light had mellowed to something honeyed and merciful, and Clorica came to stand by his side, reassuringly taking his hand.

     "...You did good today."

     Her thumb ran gently over the dry skin of his knuckles, and Vishnal felt himself relax as he surveyed their work.

     "Thank you."

     The breeze stirred in their sweaty, messy hair, refreshing their tired bodies and cooling down the day.  Clorica leaned into Vishnal, as though trying to take on some of his weary weight, though their height difference made it a bit awkward.

    "How are you feeling?"

     Vishnal didn't really have a good answer for her.  The spinning had stilled, and the last of the previous night's drunkenness had finally burned off, but his stomach still felt unsettled and sour, and he was so bone-weary that his joints ached.

     "A little better, I guess."

     He smiled down at her weakly, and though she didn't have the energy to return it, Clorica seemed to understand.

     "It's almost dinnertime."

     The thought of food, it seemed, still made Vishnal's stomach twist.  He shook his head and held down his gorge.

     "I'm not very hungry...  Would you mind terribly if I just turned in for the night?"

     Clorica held him in a stern amber gaze.

     "...Do you promise to eat a good breakfast tomorrow morning?"

     Vishnal nodded, trying to remember that however he felt now, it probably wouldn't be forever.

     "If you promise to make it for me."

     He knew he was probably being needy again, but Clorica didn't seem to mind.  She nodded sleepily, reared up on her toes, and placed an affectionate kiss on his ashen cheek.

     "All right, then...  You rest well, okay?"

     He returned it with a lingering kiss on the crown of her head, then reluctantly untangled his fingers from hers.

     "I will."

     Once he'd taken a few more pills to quell his returning headache and ensconced himself safely within the dark and quiet of his room—the curtains still drawn, the sheets cooled off by shadows and aired out by time—Vishnal stripped down to his underthings and sprawled out on the bed, his exhausted body relaxing into quivering jelly as he semi-consciously probed around for chilly spots to press against, finally closing his stinging eyes with a long exhale.

     He badly wanted to sleep, and his jangled head welcomed the encroaching darkness and silence.

     And yet, just before he began to drift off, he found himself preoccupied with something he'd seen that afternoon.

     (I suppose it isn't your business.)

     But it worried at him anyway, precisely because he did feel like he'd glimpsed something he shouldn't have; Leon reclining against Ventuswill in the atrium, her body wound around his, their manner serious but strangely relaxed.  They appeared to be discussing something important, but Vishnal wasn't close enough to begin to hear their voices, let alone distinguish what they were saying.

     So he turned his back to them, laid his armful of weeds in the compost bin, and got back to work, all but forgetting the entire thing.

"It'll be just like going to sleep."

(Leon)

     In the end, Leon never became a full-fledged Clergyman.

     Rather, he skipped straight from Acolyte to Dragon Priest; to the surprise of all, and the annoyance of a bitter few.

     He wasn't an exemplary Acolyte, by any measure.  He wasn't pious, or studious in that particular quiet way, or all that well-behaved.  His most defining qualities were humor and irreverence, and a restless zest for life that pulled him ever towards mischief and play.

     In short, he was patently unsuited to Temple life.

     And Ventuswill, for her part, was equally unsuited to Godhood.

     Predictably, they got along famously from the very beginning.

     Before his training began, Leon had known her only vaguely; the way he knew the village Mayor, or, indeed, the current Dragon Priest.  Just another figurehead of a distant grown-up world he had yet to set foot in, large and imposing even in her workaday ordinariness.

     And when that world eventually welcomed him, he was pleasantly surprised to find in her a kindred soul.

     She was lively, and she was funny.  When Leon made a silly joke at an inappropriate time, she was often the only one to laugh.  The two of them occasionally conspired to get Leon out of his lessons so the two of them could sit on the sunbaked stones of the Temple courtyard, munching honey cake and musing about all the mysteries of the big, wonderful world.

     Leon introduced her to Maria, and was delighted to find that each found the other just splendid.

     Life was sweet, and life was easy.  Life was fascinating, and full of adventure.  Life rolled out before him like a road; inviting him to bravely stroll down it, flanked on either side by his two most treasured companions.

     Life, Leon knew, wouldn't be like this forever.

     His training would come to an end.  He would grow into a man, and a holy man at that.  Surely, some other wayward youth would step into his role as Venti's favored Acolyte and beloved playmate.  The time would come to simply fade back into the throng of Clergyfolk, who mostly regarded him with indulgent, long-suffering annoyance.

     And then, when Leon was just shy of seventeen, the Dragon Priest who had presided over the Temple for more than half a century finally passed away, returning to the primordial otherworld that would one day reclaim them all.

     What followed was a strange, rudderless, liminal time.  A replacement would have to be found, and the Temple hummed with anticipation.  Everyone was on their best behavior, breathless and nervous, trembling with anticipation to be chosen.  The older and more venerated the devout, the greater the silent unspoken hunger.

     And the greater the shock when the tension finally broke.

     "You all can stop running around trying to impress me!  I've already made my choice!"

     "...Who, M'Lady?"

     The halls were hushed.  The summer breeze whistled through every window and archway.  Ventuswill's gusty laugh rattled the temple.

     "Don't tell me you really don't know!  I choose my good friend Leon over there!"

     "...Leon!?  He's only an Acolyte!"

     The whole crowd stared at him, and none too kindly, but Leon didn't particularly mind.  The only pair of eyes that mattered to him were cloud-grey and reptilian, dancing with fondness and mischief.

     "He was an Acolyte.  Now he's my Dragon Priest."

     "Forgive my impertinence, but why?"

     And that muttering crowd parted around him as he slowly approached his God—his friend—on her holy seat.

     "Because the Dragon Priest is the one who sits at my side, and I enjoy this young man's company very much."

     "Very well, M'Lady."

     She wrapped her wings protectively around him and playfully nosed at the side of his head, a huff of her windy breath ruffling his shaggy silver hair.  Leon couldn't help but laugh, and as he did, he threw a chummy arm around the Native Dragon's serpentine neck.

     It seemed he and his friend had a new game to play.

     Of course, to everyone else, it was a deadly serious matter.  Leon was the youngest Dragon Priest since the position was formalized, and the fact that this honor had gone to someone so unserious just because Ventuswill happened to like him was a source of frustration to many.  This often meant his lessons were imparted with a particular, pointed sort of stodgy graveness, which failed to dampen Leon's spirits.

     From where he sat—at Venti's side, as promised—nothing much had changed.

     His life mostly went on as usual; sunbeams, honey cake, lazy days with his two best friends.  That he now had lovely, gaudy gold vestments to wear and secret knowledge to pore over only served to make it all feel like some beautiful dream.

     He couldn't have imagined a better or more fitting life.

     The gravity of it only hit him when the time finally came for Leon to learn that one of his friends was dying.

     Or perhaps not dying, exactly, but something close.

     Ventuswill's power was in its waning days, and she would soon fade away.

     The Temple Elders tried to comfort him by reminding him that "soon" was relative, and there was much they did not know.  It was still possible that she might outlive Leon—if not the generation below him—so he shouldn't trouble himself, or waste time grieving what he hadn't already lost.

     For the most part, he took their advice to heart.  Leon was one for living in the moment, and solemnity didn't suit him.

     But still, the knowledge pricked his heart at the oddest times; when their little trio sat in the courtyard watching the sunset, when Maria appeared in the doorway bearing a delicious homemade lunch from her family's kitchen, when he and Venti lingered in the Temple after midnight talking about silly things until they both started falling asleep on the floor.

     It pained him that these days would one day end.

     And with that pain came the realization that he'd never truly learned to deal with such things.

     (...What do you mean it wasn't all a game?)

     Several years passed like this, in bittersweet uneasy bliss, before the Temple Scholars finally learned what the mysterious Tower was for, and what could—if they dared—be done there.

     On some level, Leon already knew what he would one day choose.

~*~

     Leon held tight to Venti's scaly back as they cut through the clouds; over the trees, past the Tower, weaving in and out of the hills and peaks.  The sound of the rushing air and her great beating wings emptied his head and refilled it with a dizzying hum, and he held onto that emptiness with an almost childlike desperation.

     He wanted so badly to forget that they couldn't soar like this forever.

     (...She well may, though.)

     The sweetness of life in the breezy Temple halls was still shot through with that same old bitterness; the knowledge that the end was nearing, and time was growing short.

     Except now, it was Leon who seemed to be staring down the end of his days.

     I'm so sorry, my old friend, for what I'm about to do.

     He hadn't told her, for he wanted her to simply enjoy their dwindling days together.

     And he hoped that, one day, in decades or centuries, she would understand and be thankful.

     The chilly thin air stung his cheeks, where the ceremonial tattoos were still healing.  They were of a staggeringly ancient design, from before even Ventuswill's time, so she didn't know what they meant, and he hadn't told her.  Instead, he allowed her to assume this was just another one of his frivolous whims, and smiled along placidly as she exclaimed that they suited him well.

     All of this, it seemed, suited him well.

     That was all he'd been hearing since he'd made his decision.

     His close emotional bond with the Native Dragon would ensure a sturdy link, and create a clean Runic conduit between her and the Earth.  And then there were the patron spirits of the Tower; twin vulpine tricksters, enigmatic and whimsical but determined and steadfast.  Leon's essential nature, it was agreed, was ripe to merge with theirs.

     Privately, he thought everyone was just eager to get rid of him so a more suitable Dragon Priest could be appointed.

     (What does it matter, anyway?)

     They wanted him out.  He wanted his friend to live on.  Venti wanted to watch over her neighbors and the land.

     Everyone will be happier this way.

     Leon laid his cheek on Venti's cool scales, staring out at the distant, fiery horizon.

     (Everyone?  Really?)

     The air thickened and warmed as they made their descent, sinking with the sun into the welcoming bosom of the Earth; another flight over, another day at its end, another step closer to what Leon hoped would be a painless erasure.

     (...Hey.  I love you.)

     As they touched down in the courtyard, Leon pressed his forehead to the base of her long neck, focusing everything he had on that simple, singular thought.  To him, that was the most important thing for her to understand.

     Trouble was, he'd never said it aloud before, and feared that to do so now would be to reveal that there was something amiss.

     Even so, it was true.

     He loved his God.  He loved his friend.  Leon loved Venti more than he loved himself, and could now say so without even the thinnest scrap of doubt.  He would soon lay himself down to prove that love, and it would carry her into the future, joyous and magnificent and green.

     Leon deftly slid down from her back, stumbling a bit as he regained his land legs.  Venti gently nudged him upright with her nose, laughing as he clumsily found balance.

     "...Ah!  What fun!"

     Her earnest smile made his heart break, but it was as infectious as ever, and he found himself grinning in return.

     "Sure was!"

     Venti stretched her wings, the red sun turning her glossy feathers to pearlescent fire.

     "How about we do it again tomorrow?"

     She was so beautiful, and Leon dreaded the day she would inevitably ask him about a tomorrow that would never come.

     "Sounds fantastic."

     (It'll always come for her.  That's why you're doing this, remember?)

     The Native Dragon laughed like a windstorm; her breath stirring in Leon's clothing and hair, as though they were flying again.

     "If anyone gets on you for slacking off, tell them you were slacking off by decree of Lady Ventuswill herself!"

     Leon laughed as well, though his heart was quietly growing heavy and pained.

     "Of course.  I know how they love that one."

     (What will we do without each other?)

     "See you tomorrow."

     (...Idiot.  You won't be doing anything.)

     "See ya."

     With a practiced casual wave, Leon stepped into the shade of the Temple; eager to wet his wind-parched mouth with a cool glass of water and return to his tomes and scrolls.  But before he could so much as turn toward his quarters, a sharp voice rang out, echoing richly through the long stone halls.

     "...Leon?"

     It was Maria; her small frame a black shadow against the evening sky in the high-arched doorway.  As he stopped in his tracks and regarded her, Leon realized that, as tiny and ordinary as it was, he would probably remember this moment forever.

     (If you remember anything at all.)

     "Hey, Mar!"

     For the first time, it occurred to him that he wasn't just sad.

     He was scared.

     And, though her smile was easy and genuine, it went without saying that Maria was, too.

     "Want to go for a walk?"

     This was only a question in the loosest grammatical sense.  From the first time he'd even considered making the sacrifice, he and Maria agreed that, for now, he would always say yes to her.

     It was the only way to keep her from crying.

     "Sure.  C'mon."

     He took her hand, and they walked away from the Temple together; through the twilight hush of the village, where the warm glow of every hearth flickered in every window, like dawn stars in the cool evening blue.

     "I saw you and Venti flying today.  You looked like you were having fun."

     Leon brushed back a flyaway strand of hair, his hand resting briefly on his tattooed cheek, where the skin still thrummed faintly from the wind.

     "Well...  That's the idea."

     Maria's eyes grew hazy and distant; the way they used to when she was about to cry, though she hadn't actually done so in more than a decade.

     "Yeah."

     As he looked at her, it struck him all at once that it had, indeed, been over a decade, and that he was looking down.

     "Listen, Mar...  You know why I'm doing this, right?  We've talked and talked about it."

     When did I get so big?

     (When did we grow up?)

     "I know I can't talk you out of it.  Can you accept that?"

     Leon shrugged, trying to act as though he didn't feel thirteen again.  As though he weren't about to join that wall of long-gone names they had sat before all those years ago.

     "If that's what there is to accept."

     Maria's voice broke, but she steadfastly refused to cry.

     "I know...  I know I'm not saying what you want to hear."

     Leon sighed.  Though he would ideally want to head into the Tower knowing they were both at peace with his choice, he supposed there was nothing in particular that he truly wanted to hear from her.

     What right do I have?

     "It's okay.  You feel how you feel."

     The pair had made their way to the lake on the outskirts of the village; only stopping at the very edge of the shore, watching as the sun dipped below the calm surface of the water.  The low dusk light stole the threads of green and gold from Maria's eyes, making them look as watery and dark as the lake itself as she soberly regarded him.

     "Here.  Hold still."

     Taking a deep breath to steady her shaking hands, Maria reached out and gently unfastened the amber ear stud that Leon had worn since childhood.  The deep orange stone—the drop of petrified sap—looked limpid and almost appetizing in the low evening light, and he found himself smiling as he remembered the day she set it into his ear.

     "...A souvenir, eh?"

     Maria smiled as well, a little sadly.

     "Yeah.  I guess so."

     Then she carefully removed one of the many rings that adorned her own ears—a chunky gold ring with a band of turquoise inlay—and delicately slipped it into the emptied puncture.  Upon hearing the slight click of the clasp, Leon tilted his head to appreciate its slight weight.

     "Ah.  And one for me, too.  Good idea."

     After a brief pause to set the amber stud into her own dainty brown ear, Maria gazed lovingly up at Leon, her smile slightly wider but still terribly sad.

     They both knew that, the instant it wavered, she would surely begin to cry.

    "It looks pretty with your eyes...  I also...  Leon, I think I need to do something you might not want to.  Please just humor me for a minute."

     Once again, the realization that they were both adults now was almost surreal.  Her face was a woman's face now, framed by the dark hair she had chopped up to her chin the summer before.  His own hair had grown down to his hips, and his body was certainly that of a grown man; big-boned and rangy, with broad powerful shoulders and strong sinewy limbs.

     "Um...  All right."

     And yet, the love he felt for her was still the kind of love one found between children.

     "I know by now that it isn't like that.  I just need to know how it feels.  Just this once, okay?"

     But it couldn't be helped, and there was precious little he could do for her; here, in the twilight days of their shared life.

     "Okay."

     So when she leaned in to kiss him, he returned it full-heartedly; gently parting his lips so she could taste and explore him to her heart's content, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close, as though she were the beloved partner he never had managed to find.

     They finally parted, and he saw that unfallen tears were shining in Maria's eyes.

     "...Thank you."

     She blinked once, and the gloss was gone.  Leon playfully slung an arm around her narrow shoulders, the way he always had when they were kids.

     "Don't mention it."

     There was nothing left to say, so they stood on the shore in silence as they watched the stars come out.

~*~

     After several months of preparing, trying in vain to discover another way, and eventually accepting it, the day finally arrived.

     Leon woke when the sky was still starry and black, dressed himself in his finest things, pressed his forehead to Venti's as she slept in the heart of the Temple, thought "I love you, pal," then stepped outside to greet the last short day of his life.

     ...It was a good one, wasn't it?

     He smiled up at the dazzling stars, moved nearly to tears by the heartrending gentleness of the breeze on his face.

     So good I never wanted it to end.

     Leon took a deep breath, let it out with a sigh, and set off toward the Tower for the final time.

     The walk was long and lonely, and afforded him a great deal of time to think; about the people he'd known, the sights he'd seen, all the things he'd felt.  He said goodbye to them one by one as he forged his way through the woods, the predawn shadows slowly paling from black to blue.

     He wished he could have said a proper goodbye, but he didn't know who might try to stop him.

     It's better this way.

     (Sorry, Venti.)

     (Sorry, Mar.)

     But when he finally arrived at the Tower, he saw that a small crowd had gathered.

     His parents and aunts and uncles.  The young men he had carried on with in the forest, now a new generation of Scholars and Clergymen.  The few young women who had known his brief touch.  The single Elder who had wholeheartedly supported him.

     And of course, at the back of the throng, there was Maria.

     "...Heh.  I didn't expect a party.  Anything you want me to say?"

     It was his mother who replied; her smile proud, her voice choked with tears.

     "Whatever you want, sweetheart."

     Leon's eyes traveled over the crowd.  What did he want to say?  What could he say?

     ("This is a mistake.  I can't do this to you.")

     (Don't be ridiculous.  It's you or her.)

     "...Take care of Venti for me, okay?"

     The Elder smiled at him warmly from the front of the crowd.

     "You'll be the one to take care of her."

     Despite the gravity of what he was about to do, Leon let out a little laugh.  He'd never been good at keeping a straight face.

     "Right."

     To his surprise, the Elder laughed as well, placing a gentle hand on Leon's shoulder.

     "You needn't worry about her.  Go in peace."

     With that touch, some seal had broken, and his friends and family began approaching him one by one to shake his hand or embrace him.  Leon held on to each of them for as long as he could, and bid farewell as he painfully let them go.

     "Well...  It's a long climb.  I'd better head up."

     The only one who stayed in place was Maria, but Leon supposed that was just as well.  Nothing remained unsaid between them, and he somehow knew that, were she to touch him, she couldn't help but break her promise.

     Already, her eyes were welling with tears.

     They silently nodded their goodbyes, and Leon began his ascent.

     Once his back was turned, he allowed his own tears to spill over and trail down his cheeks as he laid his palm on the names they'd etched into the ancient stone.

     (I'd have done this for you too, you know.  Never doubt it.)

     If his journey through the woods had been lonely, the slow climb up the Tower was lonelier still.  The plan was to install a number of Gates on every level, so an army of Monsters could defend him as he slept, but that was work for another time.  For now, the Tower was empty, save for himself and the Earthmate waiting for him in the topmost chamber.

     It felt like a strange mercy, that he was to meet one last new person before it was time to go.

     Even now, he felt a thrill in his heavy heart as he wondered how she would be; if she was stern or quiet or humorous, what her way with words was like, if they would get along.  It was the last thing he had to look forward to, and it was enough to keep him going as he climbed the stairway to his end.

     Before long, he was above the clouds.

     A few floors more, and he had finally reached the top.

     Leon paused to catch his breath, leaning against one of the pointed ears that had guided his youthful wanderings.  Then he looked out over his world, whispered one final goodbye, and descended into the cranium of an ancient God.

     Waiting there for him there was an unassuming woman with a sun-weathered face and a tangle of iron-grey curls; dirt worn into the creases of her hands, simple threadbare field clothes, neck heavy with amulets and talismans.  She stood in the center of an elaborate chalk circle, next to a deep stone sarcophagus.

     But in spite of all that—and the simple fact that she could be no one else—it was her eyes that told Leon all he needed to know.

     To look into them was to look into the eyes of the world.

     "...Are you the Earthmate?"

     She looked a bit puzzled, though Leon wasn't sure why.  There was no one else he could have been, either.

     "I...  Yes."

     Leon laughed nervously, feeling suddenly awkward and silly.

     "Oh, sorry.  I should introduce myself first...  My name is Leon.  I'm here to have you cast a spell on me."

     The Earthmate smiled, the wise lines of her face crinkling pleasantly.

     "Hello, Leon.  They told me you were a fine Priest, and you certainly look the part.  May I assume you know what this will entail?"

     Leon decided that he liked her very much.  And that, had she not walked into his life in its final minutes, they probably would have been friends.

     Maybe there's still time.

     (You'll be spending the rest of your life with her, after all.)

     "...Yeah, I've already heard the explanation.  You're fusing my body with the Earth's Runes to keep sending power to Ventuswill."

     She nodded, a little sadly.

     "An-"

     He already knew what she was going to say, so he took the trouble of doing it for her.

     "...And in order to do so, you need someone with a strong connection to her.  That's the gist, right?"

     Instead of turning sour at being interrupted, her expression softened considerably in what seemed to be either fondness or relief.

     "That's correct.  Have you made peace with your sacrifice?"

     Leon let her take his hand and lead him to the sarcophagus.  Her palms were thickly callused, and very, very warm.

     "If that'll help Venti, I have no problem doing it...  I wouldn't call it a sacrifice.  After all, I'm a Dragon Priest.  It's my job to protect her.  So I guess you can call me a Guardian."

     Suddenly aware that he was terrified, Leon quickly hopped over the side of the sarcophagus and settled into his new resting place, the Earthmate soothing him as though he were a child getting ready for bed.

     "Yes, that's what we'll call you, if you wish it.  You're doing something very brave, you know."

     Leon stared up at the kind stranger—his last friend—and let out a nervous little laugh.  In that moment, he didn't feel very brave, but maybe no one ever really did.

     "...How diligent am I, to be working as I sleep?"

     The Earthmate smiled again, adjusting Leon's jewelry so it laid on him elegantly.

     "You're an example to all of us...  Now, before we start, do you have any las-"

     The stone was cool and smooth, and the container held his body perfectly; cold and hard and final, like the fact that he already knew what she was going to ask him next

     "...Unfinished businesses?  There's tons of it.  But we're running out of time."

     The Earthmate's wizened face wavered slightly, as though she knew that she too was crossing a threshold from which she could never return.

     "I've heard it may be decades, you know.  They told you that, right?  I hope you're going into this wit-"

     With full knowledge.  Without obligation.  Of my own free will.

     He held her gaze steadily

     "It wasn't my job to save Venti."

     (If that's what she's asking.)

     The Earthmate gently took Leon's hand, her arresting eyes welling with tears.

     "...I know.  And honestly, I feel terrible.  From what I've seen, everyone does.  Last I heard, the scholars down there were still looking for another way."

     Leon nodded, his own tears streaming freely down his temples and puddling on the stone below.

     "That's why I'm sure that one day, someone will come upon the answer I could never find.  Only then will she truly be saved.  As long as we never give up, it's possible...  It's always possible...  That's why...  I'm begging you.  Please save Venti.  Never give up.  Never stop trying."

     His voice was breaking, and his breath was coming choppy and fast.  He feared that he was about to lose his courage for real, but he never rose from his coffin as the Earthmate listened to his pleas.

     "I'll ensure they continue your work."

     She squeezed his hand and smoothed his hair, her own voice trembling.  Leon smiled up at her through his tears.

     "I have faith in you, Earthmate.  I believe in the future."

     Then she climbed into the coffin with him, straddling him like a lover.

     "...Are you ready?"

     She placed her hands on either side of Leon's head.  He nodded up at her resolutely, swallowing hard.

     "Yeah."

     Her tears softly pattered down on his vest and skin, like the first gentle drops of rain on one of those quiet spring mornings he would never wake to again.

     "You don't need to be afraid.  It'll be just like going to sleep."

     Goodbye, mom and dad.  Goodbye, Mar.  Goodbye, Venti.  Goodbye, Earthmate.

     Goodbye, world.

     "Okay."

     The last of the shiver left the Earthmate's voice, which rang out like a thunderclap and echoed hundredfold in their empty stone chamber.

     "Etherlink!"

Chapter Sixteen: Out in the Cold

     Pausing to pick a few crunchy dead leaves out of his silvery, windblown hair, Leon regarded the crumbling bulk of Obsidian Mansion as it towered over him by the roadside.  He had found himself caught up in a feeling that he still couldn't name, though the sensation itself had become pervasively familiar.

     ...It has been forever, hasn't it?

     In Leon's time, this building hadn't existed.  Indeed, the very architecture of it had been unthinkable.  It had probably taken years to construct, had obviously been occupied for decades, and now stood in ruins; empty save for the restless dead, whose presence he could feel at the very edge of his consciousness, licking at him like flames at the corners of a page.

     (You missed it all.)

     The disorientation he experienced as he studied the shattered windows and decaying woodwork was not unlike the feeling of lying down for an afternoon nap and waking up in the dark, finding that the day had slipped through one's fingers.

     Except, for Leon, this had been multiplied millionfold.

     The days that had slipped past him were too numerous to count.

     And yet, when he visited the Tower that morning, he found the names he and Maria had carved still stubbornly visible through the fuzz of lichen and moss.

     Time, it seemed, couldn't make up its mind.

     Well?  Is it all gone, or isn't it?

     The crisp wind gave no answer, save for an unintelligible rustling of leaves.

     With a heavy sigh, Leon reluctantly turned towards the road again, following the well-trod path and the thread of warm mugginess in the air back to town and the smothering embrace of summer.  Time was still rolling ahead, and no man could stay in one place for very long.

     Or rather, he could, but it came at a high price.

     You already paid it, didn't you?

     He was all cleaned out, and it was time to head home.

     It was only when his feet were firmly planted on Selphia's smooth cobbles that he realized he didn't exactly have one.

     Since he woke in the Tower, Leon had been living off other people's kindness; lingering on the upper floor of a garish tourist hotel, holing up in a lonely friend's spare bedroom, eating his meals here and there with anyone willing to put up with him, falling in and out of ill-advised love affairs that inevitably flipped his living situation from precarious to untenable.

     ...Okay, I guess that only happened twice.

     But Leon liked to think he understood himself well enough to recognize a pattern when he saw one, just as he recognized that Kiel's house was no longer home.  He was still angry at him for running his duplicitous little mouth to Nancy and who-knows-who, and even without that guileless betrayal, his earnest good cheer had become insufferable.

     Leon didn't want to bake bread, or play cards, or read fortunes.  He didn't want to follow his heart, or be true to himself, or trust his feelings.  He didn't want to confess to, confide in, or lean on anyone.

     All he wanted to do was wait out the remainder of his misplaced life in as little pain as possible.

     Though, be that as it may, he still needed to go somewhere.

     Now, where can I go...

     "...Hey?  Arthur?"

     Leon let himself into the dimly-lit office, brazen and laissez-faire as ever.  Arthur didn't even look up at him as he shuffled papers around on his desk; still deeply ensconced in his work, though the sun had already dipped below the horizon and the lamp he'd lit in its place was scarcely light enough to read by.

     "Hello, Leon.  What is it this time?"

     Leon figured that the best approach was to pass off his desperation as just another one of his inexplicable whims, a strategy that had always served him well.

     "Nothing, really...  Can I sleep here tonight?"

     That made Arthur look up.

     "Whyever would you want to?  You just slept here a few nights ago, when I had everyone over."

     Leon shrugged, flinching with embarrassment at his own phony smirk.

     "Was that not fun?"

     Arthur's eyes were fire-crystal red in the dim lamplight, and it was plain to see that—weak though they were—nothing escaped them.

     "I have to work.  We'll all get together another time."

     Feeling see-through and flayed as an illustration in one of Kiel's thick biology books, Leon held his smirk and tried to keep the catch from his voice.

     "I'm not expecting a party or anything.  You can work, and I'll just do whatever."

     He wasn't sure why he'd even bothered, because Arthur's gaze immediately returned to the paperwork before him, his quick spindly hands signing lines and checking boxes.

     "Leon...  It's not just work.  Need I remind you that I don't live alone anymore?"

     The silence between them was brief and incomplete, shot through with the sound of rattling pots and pans and two muffled bantering voices; one long-suffering and gruff, the other elegantly grandiose and shimmery with laughter.

     "As if you ever lived alone here."

     Arthur peered at Leon over his glasses, his eyes focusing sharply as he primly slid the frames up his nose.

     "You know what I mean."

     Leon huffed petulantly, the awareness of his own foolishness quickly growing almost unbearably unpleasant.

     "What, you have to ask her permission or something?"

     Still holding onto his pen, Arthur propped his elbows on the desk and rested his chin on his interlaced hands, regarding Leon sternly.

     "I don't have to, because I don't want to.  I want to be alone with Margaret, because we're lovers.  Surely, you can understand."

     No matter how he wished he didn't, it was impossible for Leon to ignore that he very much did.

     "Fine.  See you around."

     And just like that, Arthur had returned to his paperwork, voice trailing off distractedly into the flickering darkness around them.

     "See you."

     Leon swished out into the firefly-spangled, cicada-noisy dusk; feeling more lost than ever, though even he understood that there was no Earthly reason why.

     You know where you can go, don't you?

     Just down the lane, within the silent castle walls, was a half-empty bed.  A clean, comfortable, skin-warmed bed, where he would surely be welcomed; for the night and possibly forever.  A bed that would never feel unfamiliar.

     He was so close.

     It would be so easy.

     ...No.  I'm pretty sure I blew that, too.

     Leon couldn't help but laugh.  Who, in this world, could be so insufferable as to wear out their welcome in a place they had never properly occupied?

     Me, I guess.

     With a bemused shake of the head, he started for the town gate, beyond which the lush forest stirred in its sleep.

     This, Leon decided, would do nicely.  He had always enjoyed camping out.  Maria used to beg him to take her, then cling to him all night; terrified of every little wild sound, shadows becoming threatening phantoms in her imaginative mind's eye.

     ...That was a very different time.

     But Leon was still much the same, so it didn't take long for him to start relishing the adventure.  He slipped into the thick shadow of the greenery, allowed his keen eyes to adjust, and kept walking until he found the perfect tree; great sprawling branches, set high enough to keep him safe, but low enough to get a steady grip.

     He took hold, pulled himself up, and began to climb.

     Nearly halfway to the top, Leon found a crook in the branches that looked as though it were made for him and settled in comfortably; rough bark cradling his shoulders and the crooks of his knees, sandaled feet and silver-furred tail dangling free in the warm night wind.  He took a deep breath, relaxed his body, and let his mind go blank until it was empty but for the dazzling sight of the moon shining through the leaves.

     For some reason, it seemed a very sad thing to enjoy such a beautiful view all alone.

~*~

     Clorica gazed into the soapy sink, noting how the clusters of bubbles drifted across the surface of the water and collided; like islands, like continents, like clouds.

     ...Yeah.  Like clouds.

     As she pulled the breakfast dishes from the warm water to be meticulously scrubbed and dried, she wove a fantasy of strange cloud kingdoms that made and unmade alliances based on how the winds merged and broke them, in a constant chaotic riot of marriage and war.

     The thought made her tired, but it also compelled her, and she soon found herself getting lost in rich imaginary histories, swirling a dishrag around and around on a dry plate.

     "...Clorica!  You've gone away again!"

     Volkanon's voice was softer than usual, but there was still a bellowing quality to it that kept her on her toes.

     "Sorry..."

     She had always had trouble washing dishes by herself.  The soothing warmth of the water, the steady repetitive work, and the hypnotic motion of the bubbles always invited her to dream.  To get the job done in a timely fashion, she needed a helper who would engage her in conversation and set a brisk pace.

     Vishnal was excellent at this, but he wasn't feeling well.

     Or at least, that was what she had said, and what Volkanon had accepted with a sigh and a knowing nod.  But then again, why shouldn't he?  It wasn't exactly a lie, and Vishnal was out for the count as surely as he would have been from food poisoning or the flu.

     Did it matter so much that this particular sickness was of the heart?

     ...Yes, it does.  There's nothing wrong with him.

     It was an uncharitable thought, but Clorica was in an uncharitable mood.  She and Vishnal had an unspoken agreement to be there for one another and overcome their shortcomings together, and for the most part they held to it faithfully.

     But she still found that things like this happened far too often for her liking; Vishnal having some sort of emotional crisis and taking to his bed in a sticky gelatinous heap, Vishnal paying shoddy attention to her instructions and hurting himself, Vishnal getting waylaid cleaning up his own ridiculous messes when he was meant to be contributing to the group workload.

     She supposed it wasn't really his fault—or at very least, it was painfully obvious that he didn't want things to turn out this way—but she couldn't help feeling a little abandoned whenever it inevitably reoccurred.

     ...And you're going on a whole little journey in a sinkful of soapy water.  Give me a break.

     Clorica sighed to herself as she dried the last dish and unplugged the drain, watching her cloudy world swirl away.

     As annoyed as she could get with Vishnal, it was difficult not to feel deeply for him.  After all, they were much the same; romantic, awkward, befuddled, comically unsuited for life in the real world.  Where they differed from one another, it was mostly down to how much less resilient he was than her, and how much more pitifully hopeful.

     I guess I should probably check on him.

     She dried her hands, rolled down her sleeves, and quietly crept into the hall; keeping her voice soft and whispery as she leaned around Vishnal's doorway, as though it really were a sickroom.

     "...Vishnal?  Are you sure you don't want something to eat?"

     He was right where she'd left him earlier that morning; bed unmade, curtains drawn, sprawled on his back with a pair of chilled spoons cupping his puffy, burning eyes.  His voice was ragged and gravelly, and the briefest of answers seemed to take a painful amount of effort.

     "No."

     Clorica leaned against the doorframe, her sleepy placid face twisting in confusion.

     No as in...  Or...

     "I'm not..."

     Vishnal sighed in exhausted aggravation.

     "...I mean yes.  I'm sure."

     Clorica perched lightly on the edge of the bed, gently unsticking the locks of hair that had glued themselves to Vishnal's cheeks and neck with a salty mixture of tears and sweat.

     "Well, maybe you should think about it...  You've hardly eaten anything lately."

     Though he didn't seem to acknowledge her touch, he also made no move to stop her.  Clorica decided to take this as an encouraging sign, though he probably just didn't want to let go of his spoons.

     "I had three pieces of leftover pie.  I feel sick."

     Even in the ersatz dusk of that darkened room, Clorica couldn't ignore the vulnerable cording of his throat, nor the dusty pallor of the thin skin stretched across that taut, delicate scaffolding.  His complexion still bore the warm tint of summer, but it was faded somehow, as though no longer lit from within.

     "I know that probably felt like a lot, but it still isn't really enough if that's all you're eating...  And that was the night before last, I think...  You're probably hungry again by now."

     Last night, of course, he had spent shut up in his room, weeping inconsolably to himself until well past midnight, hence the raspy voice and cold spoons.

     "Well, I'm not."

     The matted hair, the cracked lips, the general look of something wrung-out and crumpled.

     "Do you at least want some water?  I'm guessing you're...  A little dehydrated by now.  From...  All of that."

     Vishnal nodded, blindly, in the general direction of the nightstand, where sat a tall glass of half-melted ice holding a second set of spoons.

     "I took a sip from the cup."

     A "sip," much like a few slices of midnight pie, didn't sound like enough to carry one through an entire day or two.  But both, Clorica supposed, were better than nothing.

     "Oh."

     At long last, Vishnal found the energy to shake off her attentions, curling up as tightly as he could while still maintaining sufficient spoon-to-eyelid contact.

     "...Could you just please let me rest?  I didn't get a lot of sleep last night."

     Clorica withdrew her hands, neatly folding them in her lap.

     "Okay.  Fine."

     They sat in silence for a few tense minutes, until Vishnal cleared his throat thickly, straining to speak through a web of clotted tears.

     "...If it makes you feel useful, you can switch out my spoons."

     That, Clorica supposed, was a reasonable enough request.  She plucked the two spare spoons from their ice water bath and passed them to Vishnal, who groped around blindly for a moment.

     "Here."

     Once he had the spoons in hand, he laid them over his eyes and passed the other pair to Clorica.

     "Thanks."

     She set them in the cup of ice, stared into the darkness for a few moments more, then stood with a yawn and a stretch.

     "...I need to get back to work.  Just yell if you need anything."

     Vishnal gave no reply.

~*~

     After languishing in his tear-stained bed for the better part of two days, Vishnal finally saw fit to peel himself off his damp sheets in the middle of a dim and blustery afternoon, jerking out of a shallow twilight sleep and dragging himself to the kitchen for a glass of milk and some toast with butter and jam.

     He wasn't particularly hungry, but enough time had passed since the previous morning that he could allow himself to admit Clorica was probably right.

     You can't keep going like this.

     (...I don't know how I can keep going at all.)

     Feeling indulgently sorry for himself, he settled in heavily at the kitchen table with his slipshod little meal, sipping and nibbling listlessly as he watched the dark clouds roll in and the trees—their leaves stark jade-green against the indigo gloom—sway and bend in the strengthening wind.

     It seemed a storm was on its way, but Vishnal had guessed as much before he'd so much as sat up in bed and pulled back the curtains.

     He could feel it coming, in the strange dull ache in his ankle and wrist.

     This was the sort of thing that ought to make one feel ancient.  Granny Blossom was always complaining about sore joints and wet weather, and Doug was always rushing home to attend to her when the skies turned heavy and grey.

     Instead, Vishnal found himself transported back to his overworked adolescence, and to the barely-controlled chaos of his family home.

     That was so much worse.  Count your blessings.

     Throughout his childhood, Vishnal had been a rather unimpressive specimen.  But once he started growing in earnest, he took to it as determinedly and exuberantly as everything else; reaching his full height at only sixteen, awkwardly skipping every third step in his messy transformation from small, slight boy to tall, lean man.

     The whole process took just under four years.

     He felt as though he were being stretched on a rack the whole time.

     And now, as he polished off his toast and washed it down with a cold swig of milk, he couldn't help but wonder how long this new ache might last.  Or if, though it hadn't occurred to him back then, he might bother to tell anyone this time around.

     ...What could they even do?

     Before he had a chance to ponder the question, Vishnal was shocked out of his reverie by a thunderous voice.

     "Ah!  Vishnal!  There you are!  Pray tell, are you feeling better!?"

     He swallowed the milk with a hurried gulp, coughing slightly as he cleared his throat to speak.

     "I suppose...  Can't complain."

     Volkanon beamed a big, cheesy, we're-all-fine-here grin that made Vishnal want to go straight back to bed.

     "Wonderful news!  Since you're in such good health, why don't you go and pick up some things for dinner before the storm blows in?"

     Vishnal knew a thin excuse to get him out of the house for some air when he heard it, but an order was an order, and he wasn't about to start disobeying Volkanon now.  He sat up straight, nodded obediently, and knocked back the last of his milk.

     "On it."

     Then he took his dishes to the sink, and retired to his room to work out whether he remembered how to get dressed.

     It turned out that he did, but it all seemed too much of a bother.  And though the approaching storm had cooled the air considerably, it was still muggy and warm, so he couldn't abide even the thought of putting on that heavy, dark jacket.  Especially not for something as brief and mundane as a run to the general store, which was barely farther than the Castle's doorstep.

     (Goodness, how you've lowered your standards.)

     Unable to bring himself to care, Vishnal stepped outside in his shirtsleeves; hot wind whipping the thin fabric across his skin, ozone scouring his nose.  In the distance, the thunder had already begun, which he welcomed as a sensible excuse to get to the store and back as quickly as possible.

     Once there, he selected a rather uninspired but versatile assortment of ingredients, hoping to give Clorica an easy time working out what to do with them.  On a whim—feeling generous and vaguely guilty—he grabbed the largest jar of apple jam on the shelf, figuring it was the least he could do.

     (You've been making her miserable, you know.)

     Even so, he couldn't resist grabbing a little undeserved treat for himself as well, in the vain hope that it might help him shake off his doldrums so he could be of use again.

     Now what would do the trick...

     Feeling almost pleasantly guilty, he plucked up a bottle of crisp white wine on his way to the counter; figuring it would do him good to unwind a bit, and knowing well that he likely couldn't pull it off unassisted.

     (...The hell with it.  It's the only thing I haven't tried)

     Industrious and high-strung by nature, Vishnal wasn't what one could call a habitual drinker.  But he had a sudden craving for something cold and sharp and sweet; something that hit the tongue like golden light, cutting through the languor of the hot damp weather and his miserable mood.  Moreover, he had enjoyed grazing on a few Dusk Plums at Arthur's get-together, and had especially fond memories of Kiel's homemade mead, passed around with the messy melon chunks by the lake on the first day of summer.

     There by the lake, they had all been laughing, never mind how sullen and cranky Vishnal had been when he first sat down on the shore.

     And now, as then, he so badly needed to laugh.

     (It's been a while, hasn't it?)

     He shared a bit of pleasant small-talk with Granny Blossom as he handed over his Gold, carried the groceries home, slipped the wine into the freezer, and sat back down at the kitchen table, watching the rain begin to spatter against the window as he waited for Clorica to appear and tell him what to do.

     (You've spent most of your life awaiting instruction, haven't you?)

     Upon rising from her afternoon nap and rifling through the grocery bags, Clorica decided they would be having potato croquettes.  Much like Volkanon sending him out for groceries, this was obviously another veiled effort to keep him from falling apart—to whatever extent he hadn't already—and all he could do was go along with it, if only to avoid causing anyone any more trouble.

     So he washed, peeled, chopped, made breezy conversation about the storm, and put on a good show of being just fine, if only for Clorica's sake.

     "Yes, I am feeling better."

     "Volkanon powdered the fields, so we shouldn't have any big losses."

     "Bado fixed that leak in the roof last month, so I believe they'll be fine."

     "My, that flash woke you up didn't it!?"

     By the time they all sat down for dinner, Vishnal was thoroughly tired of feigning cheer, and still mostly satiated from his mid-afternoon breakfast.  But Clorica had gone to the trouble of making one of his favorite foods—all that boiling and mashing and frying—so he tried to at least smile as he picked at his plate with false appreciation.

     They're almost finished.  A few more bites, and you can start doing the dishes.

     (When you finish doing the dishes, you can start drinking.)

     He would start drinking, put on some music, and set himself to reorganizing his room.  He would teach himself to be more like Clorica, who got so lost in dreams as she worked that nothing in this dreary world could touch her.

     In the interest of moving time along, Vishnal took a reluctant bite.

Chapter Fifteen: In No Mood

     Leon did eventually get to speak with Dylas; a stolen hour right after sunrise, while all their friends still slept.  His job at the restaurant had seemingly accustomed him to rising early, but Leon had simply been rudely awakened by the benign surprise of a sunbeam pouring in through an unfamiliar window.

     Recognizing this as an opportunity, he screwed up his courage, stepped over Vishnal's peacefully sleeping form, and met Dylas in the hall.

     The two young-old men sat at the top of the staircase together, both talking with an open earnestness that didn't quite suit them.  Dylas spoke of the funny surprise of finding oneself suddenly in love, and all the silly ironies of sharing that feeling with someone who usually drove you insane.  But he spoke not of ancient guilt or heart-twisting devotion, and seemed hauntingly unconflicted about the whole situation.

     Just moments into their heartfelt conversation, Leon already knew that he wouldn't find his answers here.  But he listened anyway, and tried to take what comfort he could.

     Before long, the sun had brightened fiercely, and the others began to wake.  Doug was wondering aloud to himself where Dylas could have gone, Kiel seemed to be trying to make Vishnal laugh, and Arthur was groaning at all of them to shut up so he could catch a few more minutes of sleep before it was time for him to get up and go back to work.

     All four happily quieted when Dylas ducked his head around the doorway and offered to make breakfast for everyone.

     And so it was that they ended up crowded into the restaurant's kitchen, sitting in a cross-legged semicircle around their friend as he fashioned eggs, cheese, and a rather wacky assortment of leftovers into six perfect omelets, each precisely tailored to its recipient's preferences.  The mixture of scents this generated was rather overwhelming, but strangely appetizing, and by the time Dylas handed Leon his omelet—red chili and mushroom—his stomach was growling audibly.

     Vishnal was seated beside him, looking as though he hadn't slept a wink all night.  When it seemed like everyone was intently focused on their food, Leon—as a rather inept attempt at comfort, and out of an irresistible urge to touch him—experimentally placed a hand on his lower back.

     (...Are we okay?)

     He didn't pull away, and his eyes met Leon's with ease, but he didn't lean in or smile.  Instead, he just went on picking at his omelet; cutting it into neat squares that he carefully speared, occasionally separating a slice of curried potato so he could enjoy it on its own.  Neither of them said anything, and Leon soon resumed picking at his own food.

     When everyone was finally done eating, they said their goodbyes and went their separate ways, promising to do it all again soon.

     On the front steps of the Manor, Leon told Kiel that he had a quick errand to run, and not to expect him home right away.

     Then he took off down Melody Way; taking the long route, stalling for time, getting his thoughts together before the next mortifying conversation began.

     Might as well get it over with now.

     After his discussion with Dylas had gone nowhere, Leon realized it was pointless to expect so much from all these silly young couples.  He needed to speak to someone experienced, who could tell him everything would work out in the end.  Someone who had loved with all their heart for years and years and found that, rather than dimming with age, that love only became polished to a high shine, like a gemstone rolling in an ancient river.

     And so, trying to keep the mounting defeated feelings at bay, he stepped into the Clinic.

     "...What'd you eat this time?"

     Jones barely spared him a glance as he puttered around the office and exam room, readying the space for what he surely hoped would be another uneventful day.

     Leon cleared his throat nervously.

     "Actually...  Is your wife here?  I want to talk to you both."

     The doctor took a seat in his chair, his brows knitting with concern.

     "Yes, she's right upstairs...  What's the problem?  Is Vishnal okay?"

     Leon realized, with some embarrassment, that he actually had no idea.

     "He's...  Fine.  But, uh, funny you should mention Vish-"

     It was then that Nancy emerged from the stairway, her manner smiley and resolute as ever.

     "...Hello, Leon!  What's this about Vishnal?  He's still doing well, right?"

     She came to stand beside her husband, bending down for a kiss on the cheek as he calmly answered her question.

     "Apparently so."

     Nancy nodded soberly, then turned to Leon with a chipper grin.

     "Ah...  Oh...  First of all, I just want to say congratulations!"

     Though his conscious mind didn't yet know why, Leon's body jerked with a sensation not unlike being electrocuted.

     "...Huh?"

     She sighed dreamily as she wrapped her arms around her husband from behind, resting her chin comfortably on the crown of his tousled head.

     "On your new love!  Ever since I heard the news, I've been absolutely lost in all my sweet memories of when Jones and I were young...  Come to think of it, Vishnal reminds me a lot of Jones in those days...  So unsure, but so pure-hearted and kind that I couldn't help but fall for him the very moment I laid eyes on him.  Of course, now he's even-"

     Throughout her entire diatribe, Nancy ran her hands through his hair and lovingly peppered his cheeks and temples with adoring little kisses.  Jones simply basked in her attention as though it were the very sun itself, his hands lovingly grasping at her all-enveloping arms.

     As for Leon, he was absolutely aghast; not at their brazen displays of affection, but at the realization fighting its way through the glassy surface of his mind.

     "...Wait, wait, wait!  You know?  How?"

     Nancy stopped mid-kiss, laying her cheek on her husband's increasingly-messy hair.

     "Why, Kiel told me!  When he was picking up his supplements the other day."

     Jones sighed wearily, pushing up his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose.

     "Sweetheart, didn't we talk about keeping the things Kiel tells you to yoursel-"

     Leon began fearfully—wrathfully—pacing the floor, his wildly swishing tail kicking up gusts.

     "That little...!"

     Before Leon could think of a damning enough insult to finish his sentence, Nancy broke into a silly girlish laugh.

     "Oh, honestly, Leon, look at you!  I never took you for the shy type!"

     Though he could scarcely get a word in edgewise, Jones still seemed determined to serve as the sole voice of reason in a thoroughly unreasonable situation.

     "Nancy, he's still entitled to his priva-"

     Leon, of course, had arguably abandoned all reason the moment he stepped into the Clinic, if not when he first climbed atop Vishnal during those reckless final weeks of springtime.  He paced ceaselessly, ears so flat that his jaw began to ache.

     "...I never even told him!  How in heaven and Earth...  Agh!"

     Nancy shrugged breezily, as though a perilous crack hadn't just opened in the fragile dome of the world.

     "Well, he obviously found out from somewhere, so it's not really fair to blame it all on him."

     To Leon's mind, that only made everything so much worse.  He wondered when he'd lost control, why he couldn't have just kept it all inside, why he'd had to act on those funny feelings in the first place.

     "Oh, Gods, this is why he's been talking about so much bizarre shit lately!  All that stupid color crap!  Probably thinks he was being so smooth about it, too!"

     Jones cleared his throat pointedly, untangling himself from Nancy so he could stand.

     "...How about I go make us all some tea?"

     Quick as a whip, Nancy was standing up straight again, looking fully ready to spring into action.

     "Excellent idea, doctor!"

     Leon's first instinct was to refuse and hurry home.  But that would mean having to face Kiel, and he didn't entirely trust himself not to clobber him.

     "...Sure.  Tea.  Yeah."

     Ridiculously, Leon began wondering if their household could possibly accommodate a fourth corporeal occupant.

~*~

     "...Goodness, Leon, you can't blame me.  I've been very discreet!"

     Indeed, Arthur hadn't even been tempted to divulge Leon's secrets.  As a private man himself, he was sensitive to others' personal affairs, to say nothing of the importance of keeping them personal.

     "Well, someone told him, and I told you, so excuse me for assuming!"

     Leon was restless and bushy-tailed, pacing the tight quarters of Arthur's room with his ears back and his hackles raised.  He had barged in—rather rudely—about an hour after dinnertime, spouting accusations and interrupting Arthur's evening paperwork.

     Margaret—who had been comfortably practicing her lute on the bed, and found the very concept of "evening paperwork" appalling—quietly excused herself, but not before telling Arthur that he'd better get this matter straightened out.

     "...Have you considered that you might be the source?  You've been out asking for advice, if I recall."

     Though he knew he couldn't reasonably shoulder the blame, he did feel a flash of guilt for directing Leon to Forte, whose close relationship with her younger brother likely entailed sharing many things that ought to have remained private.

     "Because you dared me to!"

     Arthur sighed sorrowfully; not from guilt, but from genuine empathy for Leon's ridiculous plight.  Whether he thought this reaction was warranted, the pain was obviously authentic.

     "...And perhaps I wouldn't have, had I known it was as serious as all this."

     Leon wavered for a split-second, but ultimately refused to be calmed.

     "Are you blind and deaf!?"

     ...Well, now he's just being a pill.

     Arthur crossed his arms smartly and leaned back in his desk chair, girding himself against Leon's theatrics as he resolved to simply tell it as he saw it, without sentiment or obfuscation.

     "I'll admit my eyes aren't the best, but neither.  That's probably why I didn't think it was such a closely-kept secret."

     Leon looked baffled, but he wasn't stupid.

     "What does that mean?"

     He knew what Arthur meant.

     But if he insists on playing dumb, I suppose I can join the game.

     "Leon...  Have you considered that Kiel might have figured it out on his own?  It wouldn't have been incredibly difficult."

     His voice dripped with condescension, which put Leon precariously on the defensive.  It would only take one more good gust to blow him fully off-balance.

     "For a snooping little rat-bastard busybody like him?  Probably not!"

     And Arthur found himself relishing the act, which felt as celebratory and final as blowing out the candles on a sweet layered birthday cake.

     "...For anyone.  The two of you aren't exactly subtle."

     Leon snapped; lips parting in a snarl, cornered-animal fangs flashing in the candlelight.

     "We are!"

     Arthur wasn't intimidated.  In fact, he was amused and endeared; perhaps even a bit excited, once he realized that Leon's posturing put him in the mind of some haggard but beautiful battlemage, bearing torn spellbooks and cracked spectacles.

     Borrowing a bit of that distressed courage from himself, Arthur went on monologuing with businesslike detachment.

     "You're not.  Now, I'm unfortunately a bit socially oblivious, so I didn't notice until you said something.  But once I did, I couldn't un-notice..."

     The cracks were showing more obviously now; the dark quivering blood-jelly of fear behind the fierce, white teeth.

     "How-"

     Leon was impulsive and unpredictable, but there was a softness to him that kept him from being a real threat, even when provoked.

     And so, Arthur went right on provoking him.

     "...The two of you are all over each other.  Even when you're trying not to be.  Especially then.  And..."

     The fangs showed again, just a flash behind the panicked twitch of Leon's tense mouth.

     "Jeez, Arthur, give it a-"

     But—as with the petulant aristocrats who occasionally blustered around implying they knew how to run his business better than he did—the key was to remain unbothered and resolute.

     Arthur's practiced gaze met Leon's, and he spoke smoothly, as though the pupils locked on his own weren't blown wide with adrenaline.

     "...Don't tell me you haven't noticed the way Vishnal looks at you."

    Leon crossed his arms defensively, but Arthur saw his posture slacken, and noticed a strange, raw tone in his voice.

     "I have...  In private."

     For the good of both of them—all three of them, really—he remained stoically unmoved.

     "I'd suggest you get your house in order, Leon.  Before you wound him more deeply than any blade ever could."

     Leon's ears flicked inquisitively.

     "...What does that mean?"

     Yet again, Arthur could see that Leon knew perfectly well.  Refusing to be party to any more of this nonsense, he simply turned back to his paperwork, straightening the messy sheaf of it in his hands.

     "You'll have to figure it out for yourself.  I have work to do, so I'd suggest starting now."

     With a frustrated grunt, Leon turned on his heel and stormed out of the room.

     "...Some help you've been!"

     Doing his best not to start laughing, Arthur called after him with a playful twirl of his favorite fountain pen.

     "The Gods help those who help themselves, Your Holiness!"

     With a wry chuckle, he examined the topmost paper on the pile, and got back to work.

     Though he really shouldn't have bothered, because barely a minute passed before he was interrupted again.

     "I heard Leon leave...  Did you two work it out?"

     Margaret's graceful arms wrapped around him, her head resting on his shoulder.  Arthur leaned gratefully into her warmth, so comforting and welcome even on these sticky summer nights.

     "Afraid not.  But he's one step closer to working it out for himself, I think."

     She thoughtfully wound a few strands of his blunt-cut hair around her long, deft fingers, breathing hotly on his neck.

     "Oh...  That's good, I guess."

     Though his work still waited before him, Arthur couldn't help but tip back his head and close his eyes in bliss.

     "I guess so, too."

     The wave of gratitude that hit him then was powerful; almost punishingly so, but sweet in its very overwhelming intensity.  How wonderful it was to be where he was now, with a love in which he could lose himself with wanton trusting readiness.  To have all that reckoning and guesswork and brittle pride behind him.

     Poor Leon.

     (He'll get there.  He's too stubborn not to.)

     Arthur was startled out of his thoughts by Margaret's keen little teeth nibbling at his tender neck.

     "...Let's go to bed early tonight."

     Though he already understood it was futile, Arthur struggled to keep hold of his pen as he gave Margaret a brisk peck on the cheek.

     "In just a bit.  When I'm finished here."

     Seemingly unable to take no—or even "just a bit"—for an answer, Margaret only clung to him more tightly, lovingly resting her hands on his cheeks and gently tugging down on his blue-shadowed lower eyelids.

     "Come on!  You have bags under your eyes!"

     His grip relaxed, and the pen clattered to the desktop.  Already, he somehow knew it wouldn't be retrieved.

     "Margaret, I-"

     Before he could even figure out what he was trying to say, she cut him off by sticking a warm, probing tongue in his ear.  Arthur shivered, then let his shoulders slump in defeat.

     "...Fine!  By the blessed stars, you're insistent."

     Margaret ran a firm hand over his hair as she sprang back from the chair, blurring its sharp edges.

     "That's the only way to be with you!"

     With a satisfied sigh, Arthur leaned back in his chair, watching as Margaret's hazy reflection began undressing in the dark window, glowing warm and golden against the deepening blue of the dusk outside.

     "Yes.  I suppose you're right."

     Keeping one eye on her mesmerizing image, Arthur watched his own yellow-gold hands as they slowly unfastened his high collar.

~*~

     "If you'll just step this way..."

     It had been a recurring dream of his for years; meeting an important guest at the door and inviting them in, only to realize that not only had he not tidied up, but no one had, for what must have been years upon years.

     "...Oh dear.  Pardon me a moment."

     Cobwebs hung from the ceiling like battered flags, and dust lay so thickly on every surface that it resembled ash after some volcanic cataclysm.  Rotting leaves piled in the corners, and—though he couldn't be certain how, or even why—there were muddy bootprints running up and down the walls.

     Don't panic.  Please don't panic.

     Though he tried to stay calm, it quickly became impossible as he scoured the halls and found a labyrinth; room after filthy room, more than he imagined any building could hold.  Evil-looking toadstools grew from decaying floorboards, and gnarled branches protruded through grubby shattered windows.

     (How did I let this get so bad!?)

     His toes were scuffed, his buttons crooked, his hair unwashed.  Mortifyingly, his shirt was half-undone, revealing the pale crisscross of a lewd rope harness; snarled and inexpertly tied, as though he'd done it himself.

     As though Clorica were nowhere to be found, unable to abide in this rotten place.

     (I'm sorry!  I'm sorry!)

     Vishnal woke with a pitiful strangled gasp, his heart hammering in his ears and filling the silence of his immaculate room.  The Castle was small and clean and familiar.  Everything was taken care of and in its proper place.

     That filthy labyrinth had only ever been inside him.

     And, regrettably, it seemed to be oozing past its confines.  He realized he had been pouring sweat; hair stringy, thin shirt sticky and drenched, pillowcase clammy and uncomfortable.  It called up all the mortification and shame of that awful dream, and became all the more horrifying when a glance at his moonlit alarm clock revealed he had scarcely been asleep an hour.

     This, of course, had only been achieved after nearly three hours of trying and failing.

     Vishnal suppressed a groan as he sat up and ran a hand through his lank wet hair, not wanting to call attention to himself at this ridiculous hour.

     He decided he didn't want to go through the process again, and began stripping the sour-smelling bed.

     I can't let things get away from me.

     That thought immediately struck him as absurd, because it was plainly obvious that things had already gotten away from him.

     He had made space in his heart for a man he knew full well couldn't be contained, and now that space sat empty inside him, sucking at his soul like a hungry gurgling drain.

     And that, too, was something he probably should have anticipated.

     Come now.  It's not his fault.  You're just being needy.

     Vishnal grudgingly admitted that—much like the mess in his dream—all of this was a strictly internal matter.

     It wasn't as though Leon had turned cruel, or even outright dismissive.  During the get-together at Arthur's, he'd interacted with Vishnal as much as anyone had, and Vishnal was the first to admit that he himself hadn't exactly made it easy, as flat and sullen as he'd been of late.

     And yet, there was no ignoring that the distance between them had grown.

     Leon had been spending less time around the Castle, and seemed preoccupied even when he did come by.  Where he had once seemed a relentless, all-devouring force in the bedroom, Vishnal had increasingly found the duty of initiation falling on him.  And though he was willing as ever, he couldn't help but feel it as just one more thing he had to be responsible for, one more piece of his life that he had to hold together, lest it completely fall apart.

     Where was the Leon who had greedily taken him in hand?

     Where is the Leon who cradled me?

     He was still in there somewhere, but it was Vishnal who had to work to bring him out.

     Everything is work.

     (It's all I ever do.)

     Vishnal unceremoniously dropped the pile of damp cotton in the hamper, pausing briefly to run a dry corner of a sheet down his sweaty face and neck.  Then he padded numbly to the kitchen, cooling off before the open refrigerator as he searched for something that might settle his hollow, trembling belly.

     Finding nothing particularly appealing in its current state, he took down a bowl and began absent-mindedly whisking together milk, honey, and eggs; staring out the kitchen window at the indifferent half-moon, privately wishing for someone to walk in and apprehend him before he ruined everything.

     No one came, so he poured the contents of the bowl into a saucepan and lit the range, keeping the flame low and dim so the mixture would heat slowly enough to retain cohesion.  This, of course, was a feat he had never managed before.  Usually, he only had pudding when Clorica made it for him, but she was oceans away in her sweet watery dreams.

     It's time you learned to do things for yourself.

     (You do everything for everyone else.  It shouldn't be hard.)

     Fighting back the tears that had begun stinging his eyes for no particular reason, Vishnal watched as the eggs began to curdle, the thick liquid folding in on itself and morphing into a mass of unappetizing lumps.

     ...Well, then.

     For a host of bad reasons—to avoid waste, to punish himself, because it was somehow better than nothing—Vishnal considered eating it anyway; straight from the pot with a spoon, like hot mutant porridge.  Fortunately, he quickly came to his senses and poured the whole mess into the wastecan, which he would surely empty later, like he did every morning.

     What possessed you to do that in the first place, anyway?

     Even if it hadn't curdled, the custard would have taken hours to set.  By the time it was ready, the sun would be up, and it would be time to listlessly confront his breakfast; feeling as though he might never be hungry again, strangely relieved at the idea that this would mean one less task to worry about.

     But that was a long way off.

     For now, he was ravenous, if only for the very feeling of taking something in.

     So he consulted the freezer this time, taking down a half-finished container of homemade ice cream.  It had been one of Clorica's recent experiments; the milk infused with apple blossoms, delicate pink petals sprinkled throughout.  Everyone who tasted it had loved it so much that she made immediate plans to make it again, so he saw little harm in taking the remainder for himself.

     I'll go gather more blossoms if she balks.

     Vishnal grabbed a spoon and dragged it across the icy surface, scooping up a petal-thin curl that he slipped into his mouth and allowed to melt to nothing on his tongue.  The chill and the heady floral aroma refreshed him, and distracted from the hot, salty bite behind his eyes.

     (I need it.  She'll understand.)

     Wearily, Vishnal sat down at the kitchen table, placing the container in front of him and mechanically leveling the surface of the ice cream with the spoon.  The task absorbed him completely; as did the view from the window, where the moon drifted across the sky as it slowly lightened to a velvety blue.

Chapter Fourteen: Out of Sorts

     The time had come for Leon to admit that his conversation with Frey and Forte hadn't helped at all.

     They were genial and indulgent, and listened patiently as he explained his predicament in as much detail as he could stand.  Forte rolled her eyes a few times, and Frey began giggling when he confessed that all this angst revolved around Vishnal, of all ridiculous people, but he was relieved to find that they both took him entirely seriously.

     Of course, he soon realized that they were taking him too seriously, and that feeling of relief quickly faded.

     Indeed, everything about Frey, Forte, and their relationship seemed absurdly serious to him.  They were as silly and syrupy as any pair of young newlyweds, but they went about it with an earnestness that honestly baffled him.  There was no teasing, no prodding, no games, which felt utterly alien to Leon.  Nobody playfully shoved anybody on the shoulder, or said something mean in jest just to see how the other would respond.

     In the end, the only knowledge Leon came away with was that, if he followed the blueprint they provided, he and Vishnal would be bored stiff and thoroughly sick of one another within the space of a week.

     Once more, he resigned himself to the idea that there was no blueprint to follow, and he would simply have to make things up as he went along.  But though he'd always fancied himself to be excellent at improvising—in combat, in banter, at play—he quickly remembered why he'd been desperate enough to seek council in the first place.

     Which was that the building sense of uncertainty was, to put it bluntly, cramping his style.

     It had been particularly bothersome during their last encounter; Leon overheated with lust and something even deeper and sweeter, Vishnal bound at his feet and gazing up with undisguised adoration.  He wanted so badly to fully give himself over, to enthusiastically accept Vishnal's generous gift of his very self.  But even as his eyes fluttered in pleasure as his lover eagerly took him in his mouth, he was plagued by a thousand nagging thoughts that wriggled between his racing heart and total surrender.

     ("You're just copying things you read about last week.")

     ("He isn't her.  You can't absolve your guilt like this.")

     ("He isn't them.  You can't get back the time you lost.")

     ("This will never feel natural.  Why are you trying?")

     ("This is too much for you.  You're a coward.")

     ("You've ruined his body already.  You shouldn't be touching him like this.")

     ("You shouldn't even be here, you know.")

     And though he managed to hold it together—indeed, they'd both had a rollicking good time that day—it was a harrowing, teeth-gritting experience in some ways, like eating one of Lin Fa's tiny red peppers in one bite to make her laugh.  Leon, being as he was, had enjoyed doing that quite a bit, but he could already see that life would become an exhausting ordeal if every hour he spent with a lover felt like a stunt.

     The time had come to speak with someone else.

     Really, the more he thought about it, the more ridiculous it felt that Arthur had pointed him towards Frey and Forte in the first place.  Perhaps they were the model young couple, but Leon had never been the model anything.  Was it any wonder that he found himself unable to relate to their situation?

     As backward and old-fashioned as it made him feel, he realized that he would perhaps be better off speaking with a man; a man who had found himself irresistibly drawn to another man, and ideally a fellow man-out-of-time.  Someone who could give and take a little heckling, and who could love deeply without fully giving himself over to soppy sentiment.

     Perhaps it was a good sign that Selphia was home to a couple who suited his rather specific needs.

     In truth, when Leon first arrived, he hadn't even known that they were a couple.  To all appearances, they didn't even like each other; constantly cursing and scuffling, hurling insults and swearing bloody revenge for petty slights.  But the thing was, while they did all this, they were usually trying hard not to laugh.  Their wrestling looked a lot like embracing, and Leon had once seen them in a tangle behind the restaurant, seemingly warring with their tongues.

     Doug and Dylas were obviously deeply in love.

     And, once he'd gotten used to them, it was a love that Leon could easily comprehend.

     So he plucked up his courage and headed for Porco's; hoping he would find both of them there, as well as the answers he sought.

     Once inside, Leon brazenly invited himself into the kitchen, emboldened by the fact that he wasn't the first to do so that day.

     "...I told you!  I'm only eatin' the lopsided ones!"

     He arrived to find Doug sitting on the countertop—which had to be in violation of some kind of sanitation protocol—munching on a perfectly-shaped onigiri as Dylas labored over a large bowl of cooled rice and several smaller bowls of assorted fillings.

     "They can't all be lopsided, and you're eating them as fast as I can make them."

     Though he was only halfway done with the one he was already eating, Doug quickly snatched another rice ball from the tray.

     "Jeez, relax.  I'm the guy who's gonna end up eating most of 'em anyway!"

     Dylas glowered at him from beneath his bushy eyebrows.

     "As a paying customer."

     Unsure of how else to insert himself into the conversation, Leon simply hopped up on the counter next to Doug and made himself at home.

     "Hey, you two!  What do we have here?  Looks interesting."

     Leon hadn't eaten lunch yet, and surveyed the spread hungrily; grilled salmon, marinated bamboo sprouts, roasted mushrooms, pickled plums, tuna flaked with mayonnaise.  All good things, and surely even better wrapped up in soft sticky rice.

     Dylas shaped the plump triangles intently, only looking up when he realized a third party had joined them.

     "Hey, Leon...  Hey!  Both of you get down from there.  Doug!  Drop that!"

     Doug crammed the remains of his half-eaten rice ball into his mouth to free up his hand, then snatched a freshly-made salmon onigiri from the tray, handing it to Leon with a mischievous grin.

     "Here ya go!"

     As eager to join Doug in getting under Dylas' skin as he was for sustenance, Leon took the rice ball gratefully and chomped in hungrily.

     "Why, thank you!"

     Dylas slumped wearily, hands still in the bowl of rice.

     "...Seriously?"

     Doug chewed hurriedly, noisily gulping down the massive mouthful.

     "You know you're not actually the boss, right?  Porco's the boss, and he comes in here and eats stuff you make all the time!"

     A few grains of rice clung to Dylas' fingers, and he flicked them at Doug indifferently before returning to work.

     "...All the more reason I can't be giving handouts to you, you little freeloader."

     For a split second, Doug looked genuinely injured.

     "You take that back!"

     Though Leon could have happily sat there eating and watching them go forever—it made for even better lunchtime entertainment than Margaret's lively music, in his humble opinion—he couldn't allow himself to forget why he'd come here in the first place.

     "I was kinda wondering if I could tal-"

     But it seemed that Dylas only had ears for Doug, so all Leon could do was polish off his rice ball and watch the action unfold.

     "...You're little!  You are the size of a Chipsqueek, and I'm not even sure where you're putting all this."

     By way of reply, Doug crammed the majority of an entire onigiri into his mouth, until his cheeks bulged with mushrooms and rice.

     "Chipshweeks haff poushes."

     Dylas merely stared at him, with an amusing mixture of pity and contempt.

     "Oh, gross."

     Doug rolled his eyes as he chewed laboriously, nearly choking himself in his hurry to swallow and keep mouthing off.  Before Dylas could say anything, he'd snatched another onigiri and placed it in Leon's newly-empty hands.

     "...Says the big dirty horse in the kitchen.  So, Leon!  Arthur's getting the guys together again this weekend.  You're coming, right?"

     Leon eagerly tucked in, pleasantly surprised to find his tongue twisting with the shock of biting into a sour pickled plum.

     "Of course!  Wouldn't miss it."

     Maybe we'll get a chance to talk then.

~*~

     "...There.  That calmed you down, didn't it?"

     Clorica sat atop Vishnal as he shuddered and stilled; studying his expression in the moonlight, finding it frustratingly unreadable.  The room was dark, and Vishnal had one of those faces where rapture and anguish looked much the same, so it was often difficult to tell what he was feeling, beyond reasonable assumptions like "everything" or "a lot."

     Thankfully, it wasn't long before his features settled into a mellow, unambiguous smile.

     "Yes.  Thank you."

     She gave him a tender peck on the forehead, then set to work untying his wrists from the bedframe.

     "My pleasure."

     The pleasure, of course, had been both of theirs in equal measure; Clorica stringing Vishnal to the bed and straddling his face as she lovingly teased and prodded at the soft bitten skin of his inner thighs, Vishnal channeling the frenzy building within him into wildly complex oral contortions that made her groan in delight.  It was only when she was on the edge of climax that she saw fit to give in to his begging and take him into herself, slowly gliding up and down on his rangy hips until they could stand the heat no longer.

     And now maybe we can get to sleep.

     Already, her eyelids were growing heavy, and it would have been so easy to simply give in and slip away.  To stand and make her way to the Vishnal's immaculate washroom to rinse herself off took a titanic act of will, but she somehow managed, emerging refreshed and all the more ready for bed.

     "...Clorica?"

     She had been about to bid Vishnal goodnight and return to her own quarters.  But it seemed he still needed something, though she couldn't imagine for the life of her what that could possibly be.

     "Yeah?"

     His voice was thin and wavery in the dark; catching painfully in his throat, too leaden with sorrow to rise above a whisper.

     "...Stay with me, okay?"

     Ah.  Could have guessed.

     Vishnal was clingy on a good day, and it was painfully obvious to her—no matter how well he thought he hid it—that he hadn't had a truly good day in nearly a week.

     "Sure.  Fine."

     He was lying on his side, curled up with his face to the wall, and Clorica settled in heavily behind him, the hair that trailed onto his pillow tickling her nose and cheek.  She moved to put her arm around him, but he was impatient; taking her hand, wrapping himself tightly, clutching it to his chest.

     "I just...  I..."

     He seemed unsure how to explain himself, but the way his voice broke said it all.  Clorica held him close, feeling his heart beating steadily beneath his trembling ribs.

     "Shh.  It's fine.  I know."

     It was difficult not to, well as she had come to know him throughout their time together.

     When Vishnal was really struggling with something, his usual air of congeniality and good cheer became intense and insistent, as if he were trying to fool himself as much as anyone else.  He would drop what he was doing and excuse himself to the washroom, returning red-eyed and smiling after a few silent minutes.  If he looked a bit off at any other time, he merely looked tired, as though the punishing work of being himself was finally catching up with him.

     Even so, all of that could still prove transient.

     Clorica always knew things were really bad when his eating habits grew strange; losing his appetite all day and forlornly moving food around on his plate at mealtimes, then sitting up at odd hours in the kitchen, staring out the window and grazing on sweets.

     That, of course, was how she had found him this very night, upon stepping out of her room for a quick glass of water.

     "I don't...  I never want it to just end.  I need to feel like it means something, you know?  Is...  Is that wrong of me?"

     When he turned over to tuck his head under her chin, Clorica swore she still smelled stale cookies on his breath; mingling with the mint leaves he occasionally plucked from the window box to chew and freshen his breath, tinged here and there with a whisper of her own oceanic scent.

     "Oh, Vishnal, no.  It does mean something.  I promise."

     She went on holding him, running a comforting hand along the curve of his back and becoming ever more aware that her own braids smelled faintly of his skin.

     ...When did that happen?

     "I'm glad you think so."

     His voice broke again, which made her feel almost painfully tender and protective.  Lying there with him in the dark, she could almost believe that he really was hers to hold and defend, whether or not taking on that burden had ever been her intent.

     "Vishnal, listen...  I...  No matter what I said, about how I'm not sure what I'm going to do or where I'm going to go after this...  You're really special to me, okay?  I mean that."

     He held on to her tightly, body quaking with silent sobs.

     "Oh, Clorica...  I'm sorry..."

     Clorica ran her fingers through the soft, choppy lengths of his hair, smiling to herself in amused disbelief.

     How very like Vishnal, to apologize for being cherished.

     "You can't help it.  It's just who you are."

     Though she supposed that, when one wanted something so badly, it would always feel like too much to ask.

     From the very beginning, this was one of the things that fascinated her most about Vishnal; how much he wanted to be liked, and how much he wanted, period.  That desire wasn't wholly alien to her, but by the time she could walk and speak—slowly, awkwardly, and deliberately, as she would go on to do everything else—it seemed most of it had already been drummed out of her.

     In a way, Clorica supposed she had been saved by low expectations.

     A childhood spent being reprimanded, corrected, and hurried along at every turn had left her rather indifferent to others' opinions, and driven her into herself.  When the fact that nobody much liked her seemed as omnipresent and indelible as the very Earth and sky, getting bothered about it seemed rather pointless.  And if she was always getting things wrong no matter what he did, why worry about getting things right?

    It was this blithe fatalism that had buoyed her along until she could finally break free and begin forging her own path.

     And now that she had, life sometimes seemed so simple that she felt as though she were getting away with something.  All she needed to be happy was a little time to move at her own pace, the vivid worlds in her head, and the self-made rules and routines that kept her life flowing smoothly, honey-slow and honey-sweet.

     She drifted, as meandering and self-contained as a shimmering soap bubble on the wind.

     And Vishnal seemed to be an arrow; blindly driven, purpose-built, destined to get stuck into things or lost beyond the horizon.

     Of course, to look at him now, you wouldn't know it.

     He had fallen asleep in her arms; body strangely heavy and still, breath open-mouthed and hushed, face exhausted and shadowy-eyed but utterly content.  His troubles had turned in for the night, and even if he dreamed, it was surely about something pleasant and calm.  Clorica slowly closed her eyes and sank deeper into the pillow beside him, fingers twined in the soft waves of his hair.

     See?  Sleep does make everything better, doesn't it?

     As she happily drifted off, the last thing Clorica noticed was that his hair smelled strangely of her own melon shampoo.

~*~

     Upon receiving the invitation, Vishnal's first instinct was to refuse.  After all, what was the point of a sleepover for a man who was finding it increasingly difficult to sleep?  But Kiel had been oddly insistent—suspiciously insistent, even—so he eventually relented, if only to preserve what little peace he could for himself.

     And once he'd accepted, he bitterly reasoned that it was a chance to spend a night with Leon.

     Of course, it was nothing like what he really wanted; a long, quiet night with their bodies tangled together in the sheets.  It was six young men all piled on top of one another in Arthur's modest room, everyone talking with their mouths full and squabbling over which party game to play next.  Vishnal mostly sat sullenly on the edge of the conversation, and Leon mostly bickered cheerfully with Arthur and Kiel over this and that.

     Somehow, in spite of the boisterous crowd around him, Vishnal couldn't recall the last time he'd felt so alone.

     In a way, it reminded him of how he'd felt growing up amidst his numerous siblings; subsumed into the group to the point where he could barely distinguish himself, yet somehow distinctly apart from it, unable to get a word in edgewise or hear himself think.

     He half-listened as Kiel prattled on and on about colors and astrology.  He kept getting jabbed with heels and elbows, because Doug and Dylas could never resist roughhousing, despite the room's lack of proper space for such activities.

     He missed Clorica.

     He wanted to be alone.

     He wanted some private time with Leon, and he wanted him to lavish him with attention right here, in front of everyone.

     And since his desires were so contradictory that there was no way to have all of them at once, Vishnal simply ignored them; keeping his focus on the snack plate, Leon and Kiel's bucket of mysterious Dusk Plums, and the ticking clock, quietly nibbling away the hours until the party finally wound down.

     Of course, now that it had, he felt more desolate than ever.

     Just a few feet away, Doug and Dylas had gone to sleep in an awkward little knot, as though they had simply drifted off mid-tussle.  They looked so free and at peace; their love on display and obvious to everyone, even as each insisted the other was the most vile beast to ever walk the benighted Earth.  As they grappled and shoved, it was impossible not to notice Doug getting in playful little nips on Dylas' neck, or the way Dylas' hands would linger on the young Dwarf's solid body as he struggled to hold him at bay.

     He dearly wished things could be the same for him and Leon.

     But Leon was worlds away; head-to-foot with Arthur up on the bed, silver hair reflective in the moonlight, robe half-open so the pleasant night air could cool his glossy tan skin.  He was close enough that Vishnal's fingertips could have brushed him with just a little strain, and yet he seemed somehow unreachable.

     Not for the first time—or even the first time that evening—Vishnal realized this had been the case for a while.

     As the seasons turned, the peculiar distance that had wedged between them seemed to be growing ever wider, if only psychically.  Leon was still a near-constant presence in his life—in his bed, in his body, in his heart—but there was something hurried and chilly about him, more like his old slippery self than the bright-eyed man who had tended to his wounds and held him close as he sobbed on the back steps.

     And though this mysterious detachment certainly had its own allure—indeed, it was part of what had drawn Vishnal to Leon in the first place—he found himself dearly missing that other side of him, with its dizzying promise of something new.

     I guess it just isn't that new anymore.

     Once again, he reasoned that Leon was simply getting bored, and was ready to move on to the next adventure.

     And though he had once told himself he could accept that inevitability with ease, this was quickly proving untrue.  Vishnal had been given a brief taste of what he'd wanted most, and it had only left him craving more; like when he ventured into the kitchen in the middle of the night, ate a spoonful of leftovers from the refrigerator on a whim, and ended up squandering an hour eating the entire container before he could realize what was going on and stop himself.

     You can never stop yourself, can you?

     It wasn't, of course, for lack of trying.

     Vishnal had spent most of his life trying to get a handle on his appetites, but all he ever seemed to learn was how to cave to them in strange, maladaptive, underhanded ways.

     He soothed his ache to mean something to someone by striving to be everything to everyone.  If he kept his meals small and disciplined, that was when the nighttime hours in front of the refrigerator would inevitably start.  With no regard to how he was actually feeling inside, he kept his manner mild and cheerful, only to eventually succumb to an emotional breakdown over something trivial or absurd.

     And the more he tried to convince himself that he could live without Leon's attentions, the more he wondered if another injury might start the process over again.

     He would never dream of acting on those thoughts, of course.  Even entertaining the idea was enough to make him feel slimy and depraved, and Leon was too clever to fall for it anyway.  Worst of all, he suspected he wouldn't be able to stop once he'd started, and would eventually wind up as one big scar.

     Still, though...

     ...When he thought of the way Leon had cradled him as he lifted him from the bloody ground, that warped, scarred existence seemed a small price to pay.

     Vishnal shook his head smartly, then sat up stiffly from his makeshift bed on the floor.  The room had grown hot and close; all those warm sleeping bodies, the sultry summer night outside, the sticky fermented plums flushing his face from the inside, Kiel's humid breath in his ear.

     He needed to get some air.

     I need to escape.

     Taking care not to wake his slumbering friends, Vishnal stood and padded into the hall.  The air was cooler there, but the darkness was quieter and more foreboding, so the urge to flee remained.

     Maybe I should just go home.

     He could slip out the door, hurry through the silent streets, and crawl into Clorica's bed.  If anyone asked, he'd say he left the stove on, hurried home to turn it off, and decided to stay put instead of disturbing everyone by inviting himself back in.  That had actually happened once before—at the first sleepover Arthur had invited him to, in fact—so it was probably convincing, as lies went.

     But the fact of the matter was, he hated lying, and Clorica had put up with enough of his pathetic nonsense already.

     With that plan out of the question, Vishnal briefly entertained heading down to the restaurant's kitchen, just to see what they had stashed away, but quickly decided against it.  He had eaten more than his share during the party, and was already nursing a touch of indigestion, to say nothing of some slight embarrassment at his lack of restraint.

     Just some air it is, then.

     Moving slowly to keep the steps from creaking, Vishnal crept downstairs and into the courtyard, where he slouched down on the back steps and took a deep breath of balmy, green-smelling air.  He couldn't say that it made him feel much better, but the moon and stars were lovely, and he supposed it was nice to steal a moment to himself.

     While it lasted, anyway.

     "...Hey, Vishnal."

     After untold silent minutes, he was joined by Kiel; who sat down next to him and made himself at home, cheerfully oblivious as ever.

     Vishnal smiled wanly, eyes still fixed on the stars.

     "Hey."

     Kiel propped his elbows on his knees, thoughtfully cradling his chin in his hands.

     "Can't sleep?"

     Vishnal shrugged, wishing his friend would leave so he could be alone.

     "Suppose not."

     But that, it seemed, was not to be.  Though he yawned sleepily, Kiel made no motion to leave the steps.

     "I went right to sleep at first, but then I woke up and couldn't stop thinking...  I learned something interesting about silver, you know."

     That book again.

     Vishnal honestly wasn't sure how he was still finding new things to say about it.

     "Oh?"

     Kiel gestured awkwardly; as if he had the book there to point at, though he'd apparently left it upstairs.

     "Yeah...  It says you have broad compatibility with a lot of people...  The ability to reflect, you know?"

     Everything to everyone.

     Apparently, even suspicious fortune-telling guides agreed that this was all he could ever be.

     "Hmm."

     To Kiel, however, this seemed to mean something else.

     "...Good news, right?  But that's not even the interesting part."

     Vishnal sighed wearily as he finally turned to face his friend, figuring that the more he humored him, the sooner he would exhaust the conversation and leave.

     "What is, then?"

     An earnest, self-satisfied smile spread across Kiel's boyish, moonlit face.

     "Well...  If you happen to find a gold-lover, and you don't just flash off each other, you'll probably be together forever.  The book says you can match one another's shine."

     Vishnal blanched at the realization that Kiel might be trying to proposition him.  And that, as awkward as this would obviously be, he wasn't entirely unwilling.

     Gods, you are desperate, aren't you?

     "Kiel...  Is your favorite color gold?"

     Kiel shook his head breezily.

     "Nah.  I like green, like you.  And...  Pink, I guess."

     Vishnal nodded, somehow feeling both relieved and thwarted.

     "Ah.  Those are nice colors."

     The colors of spring.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

"We speak in the store

I'm a sensitive bore

you seem markedly more

and I'm oozing surprise.

But it's late in the day

and you're well on your way

what was golden went gray

and I'm suddenly shy."

-"Peach, Plum, Pear," Joanna Newsom

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

~DOUBTS~

(PART FOUR)

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Chapter Thirteen: In a Bind

     Putting it off isn't the same as turning it down.

     Leon reasoned with himself that the dare still stood, even if he hadn't yet found a good chance to speak with Frey and Forte.  Every time he entertained the idea, it seemed that either they were in the middle of something, he was noticeably sweaty-haired and musky following an enjoyable afternoon with Vishnal, or—increasingly—he was busy with something that kept him away from the palace that day.

     He shouldn't have been surprised that the last thing was the first to pose a problem, nor that Vishnal would be the first to bring it up.

     "...You haven't been over to see us in a while."

     They were sitting by the shores of the lake, at an awkward hour when other would-be swimmers and sunbathers were otherwise occupied.  Since they were alone and already half-undressed, Leon allowed himself a saucy grin.

     "I haven't been over to see you, you mean."

     Vishnal blushed, words catching rather adorably in his throat.

     "Well...  Yes, as a matter of fact, I do!  But Clorica's also been asking about you.  She can't stop talking about that long straight hair of yours and all the braids she wants to try."

     Leon shrugged, indulging in a bit of playful gruffness just to see what Vishnal did next.

     "Not my problem if three feet of her own hair isn't enough.  Tell her to go buy a wig."

     He almost would have felt a little bad, if Vishnal's vulnerable wounded look hadn't been just as calculatedly affecting.

     "You're heartless, you know."

     In truth, it was difficult to keep up the act in the face of his slack jaw and sparkling eyes.  But Leon had always been skilled at games of all kinds, and managed to keep his manner steely and sharp.

     "Not gonna argue."

     At that, Vishnal's pained expression shifted to something almost like contempt.

     "...You're lucky you're pretty."

     This, too, was irresistible.  Leon was seized with the urge to kiss that sneer right off his beautiful mouth, and cursed the old fears and promises that stayed his tongue.

     "Sure am.  Look...  If you're that needy, we can go back to your place right now.  How's that sound?"

     Just as predicted, the offer made Vishnal melt; tension leaving his shoulders, achingly pure-hearted anticipation dancing in his violet eyes.

     "Fantastic!"

     Leon actually found himself needing to pause for breath.  These moments had been catching him off his guard since summer began; Vishnal sweeter and more fine than ever in the high golden sun, his skin beautifully toasty, the sparse blue hair on his arms and legs bleached to something almost pearlescent.

     "It'll probably be quick."

     He tried not to notice how similar his coloring was becoming to his own, and to many people in his time.  That particular collision of dusky and pale had seemingly grown less common over the past centuries, and it made his heart ache to see it again.

     (Does this mean something?)

     (Am I getting another try?)

     Vishnal's musical nervous laugh snapped him back to the present.

     "I can live with that."

     Leon leapt to his feet, running ahead so he wouldn't have to look at him anymore.

     "Race you there!"

     Still laughing—now with merry abandon—Vishnal stumbled to his feet.

     "Oh, no you don't!"

     Sometimes, Leon forgot how quickly he could move.  There were times in their mad dash where he nearly caught up to him, making his heart thrum with inscrutable panic.  Still, Vishnal was clumsy, and Leon was fueled by some strange desperation, so Leon was the first to reach Vishnal's room and leap onto the bed, pulling Vishnal down with him the second he crossed the threshold.

     "...Ha!  I win!"

     Vishnal huffed slightly as the wind was knocked out of him, then caught his breath and went right on laughing.

     "Have you claimed me as your prize?"

     Leon righted himself onto his hands and knees, pinning Vishnal beneath him.

     "Do you want me to?"

     A lively pink flush spread all the way down to Vishnal's tanned chest as he breathed out a reply.

     "I award myself to you!"

     Leon roughly gripped his jaw in one hand, tilting up his chin and forcing him to look him in the eye.

     "...You're gonna get taken advantage of one of these days, you know."

     Vishnal met the challenge with an unexpected calm resolve, rolling his lean shoulders in a lazy shrug.

     "I like to be of use."

     Once again, Leon was painfully aware that now would be a good time to kiss him; that this was surely the natural order of things, and would make both of them happy.  But as he leaned in closer, there was a feeling of time spinning away from him, and he felt his stomach being weighed down by a bolus of leaden guilt.

    Instead, he let his hand stray from Vishnal's jaw and glide from the neck to the shoulder to the arm, pinning one wrist and then the other above his head on the mattress.

     "You like attention."

     To his credit, this also seemed to serve the purpose of making them both happy.

     "So what if I do?"

     Leon bent down to whisper into Vishnal's ear, pausing to tease at the lobe with his sharp teeth.

     "Then you'll have it."

     Just as promised, their session was rather short.  They were both feeling pent-up and eager after their brief period of inactivity, and Vishnal's forest-green swim trunks were a sight easier to get him out of than his complicated uniform.

     And yet, Leon still found time to get troublingly distracted.

     He wasn't really sure what was happening.  How could he be distracted from Vishnal by Vishnal?  It didn't make any sense at all, but that was what seemed to be happening; trying desperately to concentrate on the sensations, but finding his eyes drawn in by increasingly minute details, his mind telescoping wildly as his hips ground Vishnal into the bed.

     (My Gods, he's so alive.)

     The tendons in his delicate neck pulled taut as he gritted his teeth in pleasure.  The soft undersides of his forearms had somehow remained translucent white, and were streaked with watery veins the same pastel blue as his hair.  The hair itself; catching rainbows in the sun, disarrayed on the pillow as though riddled with static.

     And, of course, there was the scar.

     Leon couldn't see it, but when their thighs touched just so, he could feel it.  And to feel it was to bring it to mind; the same pale pink as the blossoms that fluttered around them that surreal spring day, sunken in some places and raised in others, ringed with tiny pale pips where the staples had gone in.  Since the wound fully healed, neither of them had much cause to mention it, but now Leon was finding it impossible to ignore.

     He'll have it forever.

     It would pucker and warp and fade, but never vanish; not if they stopped making love, not if they never spoke again, not even if Leon crawled back up the Tower and put himself away for good.

     Something had happened between them.

     Something that they were both struggling to understand.

     I don't think we're just messing around.

     (I don't think we ever were.)

     Before the enormity of that realization could properly hit him, Leon was violently ripped into the present moment by a tense keening in Vishnal's throat.  He put a hand over his mouth to silence him, and buried the other in his soft blue hair, gripping hard to anchor himself as he finished and willed the world to stop spinning.

     "...Okay.  I gotta run.  Kiel thinks I'm grocery shopping."

     Vishnal—still panting—knitted his brows in confusion.

     "Then why were you at the lake?"

     Leon shrugged, as though this were an incredibly silly question.

     "There's stuff you can't find at the store."

     And Vishnal nodded, as though that hadn't been an incredibly silly answer.

     "Oh.  All right."

     With a casual wave, Leon gathered his trunks from the floor and headed for the washroom.

     "See ya."

     Vishnal turned toward the wall, apparently settling into his messy bed for a sticky sun-drenched nap.

     "Yeah."

     After he'd cleaned himself up, Leon hurried out of Vishnal's room.  That whole thing about grocery shopping wasn't a lie, and Kiel probably wondered what on Earth was taking him so long.

     Okay.  Time to get back on track.

     But before he could step out of the Palace, he found himself waylaid again.

     "Hey Leon!  How's it going!"

     It was Frey; dressed in her swimsuit, cheeks faintly sunburnt, hefting a burgeoning basket of fresh cucumbers.  Forte trailed protectively behind her, carrying the watering can, which Leon suspected could very well become a lethal weapon in her capable hands.

     He took them in; their sweaty hair and swimsuits, their shins streaked with fertile dirt.  It was summer—sweet, hectic, vibrant summer—and everyone was walking around looking like this.  They had no reason to think he'd been doing anything improper.

     "...Actually, I've been wanting to talk to you two."

~*~

     It's so hard not to say something.

     Leon was slouched over the kitchen table; painting his nails with a casual sort of meticulousness, apparently lost in thought.  And Kiel sat across from him, hiding his knowing smirk behind a thick book that he was only half-reading.

     ...I'd better not.  He's funny about this stuff.

     He also reasoned that there wasn't much thrill in sharing a choice bit of gossip with the subject himself.  So he simply sat and relished in the knowing, and in renewed gratitude that his elder sister still told him everything.

     Kiel had been by the Castle that morning; to visit her, and to drop off a fresh batch of chocolate muffins as a surprise.  Forte insisted that he stay and enjoy one, so they could have some tea and catch one another up on their lives.  And Kiel—who still often missed his sister dearly, though he could easily see her home from his own bedroom—was happy to oblige.

     As he relaxed in the sunny kitchen, feeling warm and safe in her presence as always, he watched Forte put the kettle on to boil and listened to all her news and concerns; the way her adventurous wife worried her sick, Lady Ventuswill's silly behavior of late, how Leon had come by asking for romantic advice.

     Kiel's ears pricked up, eager for the latest wrinkle in the thrilling Bell Hotel saga.

     He was even more intrigued when he realized this was something new.

     Apparently, this particular tale concerned Vishnal.  Who, after their unfortunate accident, had seemingly captured Leon's heart and left him in torment.  As Forte related this information, her face was twisted into the look of genteel contempt that it always took on when Leon was being discussed, making it clear that she disapproved of his flighty, vulgar ways.

     Kiel, on the other hand, thought all this was simply adorable.

     More than that, it explained a few things; Leon's moodiness and distance, Vishnal's having been even more intense and absent-minded than usual of late, their physical ease with each other as they horsed around on the first day of summer, their eagerness to begin their morning and afternoon sparring sessions.

     Truthfully, he was surprised he hadn't figured it out before.

     But now that he knew, it was his duty to figure out what to do with this precious information.

     And I think I know how to start...

     "...Leon?"

     With one hand finished, Leon held his nails up for examination as the paint began to dry.

     "Yeah?"

     Kiel gestured at the bottle of polish on the table; a vivid shade of turquoise, iridescent and shimmery with mica.

     "Is that your favorite color?"

     It seemed a rather trivial question, but in Kiel's mind, a lot depended on Leon's answer.  He had recently read a fascinating book about how color preferences could predict romantic compatibility, and even hint at the tone and timbre of the potential relationship.

     Leon, who had little interest in such things, was blissfully unaware.

     "I like it, and it's the one that flatters me, but I wouldn't say it's my favorite."

     Kiel watched as he began painting his left hand, holding the brush a bit more adeptly in his right.

     "Oh.  What is your favorite, then?"

     Eyes still on his work, Leon answered with a casual shrug.

     "I'm a magpie.  I've always liked gold."

     As Kiel's eyes wandered from his earring to his headpiece to his garishly-trimmed clothing, he realized that he probably should have guessed.

     "Gold, huh?"

     He would have to consult the book—and talk to Vishnal, of course—but this was an excellent start.

     "Yep."

     Kiel buried his nose in his book again, more to hide his grin than anything else.

     "Interesting..."

     Leon eyed him skeptically.

     "...Do you like this color?  Want me to do your nails when I'm done?"

     The question caught Kiel slightly off-guard.  When he and Forte were little, their mother would always offer to paint their nails when she was finished with her own.  Forte didn't care for such things, so she usually declined, but Kiel—though it made him feel funny for reasons he didn't yet understand—occasionally accepted.  Even now, the sharp smell of the polish was strangely nostalgic.

     "Oh...  I don't know...  It's more something girls do."

     Rather than insulted, Leon merely looked amused.  Kiel even thought he could see a bit of pity dancing in those clever eyes.

     "I'm a man, and I'm doing it.  When I was growing up, nobody painted their nails, so it's more a novelty than anything for me."

     (...Duh, Kiel!)

     Leon was not just a man, but the model of manhood to which he so desperately aspired.  If he could walk around proudly with flashy turquoise nails, then Kiel was almost obligated to at least try it out.

     "You know, that's a good point!  What the heck?  Sure."

     Kiel set his book aside and spread his hands on the table, his mind tumbling through long-ago memories as Leon got to work.

     A real man does whatever he wants!

     The next day—his shimmering nails hidden modestly within his gloves—Kiel sought out Vishnal, his stomach roiling with pleasant nervousness at the thought of what he might learn.

     Luckily, Vishnal usually followed a schedule you could set a clock by, so it didn't take long to find him.

     "Hey, Vishnal!  What's up?"

     Just as expected, Kiel had found him behind the Castle, hanging up bed linens to dry in the sun.

     "Oh, nothing much.  Working."

     He glanced at his intrusive friend rather pointedly; violet eyes stormy and sharp, their hue deepened by the slight purplish shadows beneath.  Kiel realized he was probably tired, and felt somewhat bad about bothering him, but reasoned that this probably wouldn't take very long.

     "You know, your blanket's pretty nice...  You like that shade of green, don't you?"

     Vishnal worried the edge of the slightly-faded bedspread in his fingers, studying its peaceful mossy hue.

     "Well, the blanket was already here when I moved in...  But yes, I suppose so."

     Kiel bit at the inside of his cheek, straining to sound as casual as possible.

     "It's your favorite, huh?  Your swim trunks are pretty similar."

     Of course, he sounded like a complete dolt, but Vishnal was too wrapped up in the laundry to notice.  He secured his blanket to the line with a handful of clothespins, watching it billow in the warm breeze.

     "I find it calming to look at, so I suppose it's up there, yes.  And it's not like you can find clothing and blankets in my actual favorite color, so I do find myself choosing it often."

     Even without consulting the book, it already made a strange sort of sense; that Vishnal would be drawn to someone like Leon, that his favorite color would be something rare.

     "Oh?  What's your favorite, then?"

     Vishnal fixed his tired eyes on something in the middle distance that it seemed only he could see.

     "Silver."

     He spoke the word like a prayer or a command, without the slightest hint of indecision.  It was a very good answer, and all Kiel had left to do was figure out a natural way to change the subject so he could go home and get a fuller idea of what it meant.

     "Well, hey, you could always wear armor!"

     Vishnal frowned, his far-away gaze returning to the laundry before him.

     "Hmm.  That's an idea, but I'd probably have to put on a little muscle first."

     He was always saying silly things like that, seemingly with no awareness of how ridiculous he sounded.  Though he wasn't as meaty as someone like Volkanon—or even Leon—Kiel thought Vishnal was already rather muscular; wiry and sinuous, built on long fine bones that made certain shorter men burn with envy.

     ...He should wear armor.  He's made for it.

     (Not like me.)

     "It's just something to think about!  I think you'd look really cool!"

     A slight blush lit up Vishnal's drawn face.

     "Why, thank you!"

     Too wound-up with anticipation to wait any longer, Kiel stretched and turned on his heel, making a rather awkwardly abrupt exit.

     "Don't mention it...  Okay.  I'll let you work.  See you later, Vishnal."

     If Vishnal noticed anything odd, he didn't let on.  His eyes were fixed on that invisible point once more.

     "Take care."

     Once Kiel was safely concealed by the stand of trees that separated the fields from the sunny expanse of Airship Way, he broke into a frantic run.

     Oh, this is good, isn't it?

     He just had to get home and confirm it for certain.

~*~

     Vishnal swallowed, gasped, and wavered for a moment; releasing Leon's shaft from his mouth, counting on the other man's hands on his head to hold him steady and keep him from pitching forward.  His own hands were firmly tied behind his back, clasped together and tidily kept out of the way as he diligently worked with his tongue.

     Gradually, Leon's touch grew lighter and more tender, which made Vishnal fear he was about to pull away.

     "...Hey.  Good job."

     His voice was raspy and breathy, with a distinct note of genuine reverence that made Vishnal glow with pride.

     "Thank you."

     Vishnal rested his cheek on the solid, slightly quivery muscle of Leon's thigh; determined to draw out this single perfect moment for as long as he possibly could, doing his level best to keep the nagging guilt at bay.

     He had been of service, and had been put to good use, yet he still felt oddly low and selfish.

     There was no denying that he had submitted to the act so eagerly—at least in part—because it felt like a fair substitute for what he truly longed to do.

     (It's the closest you'll ever get to kissing him.)

     He couldn't recall exactly when or how he'd begun taking this fact for granted, but he supposed it was just as well.  The less he dwelled on what he wanted, the more he could focus on what he had; Leon's hands cradling his skull and roughly gripping his hair, the throaty sighs and gasps of pleasure, the wild earthy scent and taste of him.

     It's just like with Clorica, isn't it?

     When Vishnal thought about it, it really was; how he'd spent the early days of whatever sort of relationship they'd found themselves in pining for it to blossom into some fairy-book romance, and how he could only fully throw himself into it and begin really having fun once he figured out that she had no particular plans either way.

     Of course, that didn't mean he didn't still ache for it occasionally.

     But if there was one thing Vishnal was truly good at, it was putting up with the occasional ache.

     And so, with his head still pillowed on Leon's sinewy bronze thigh, he closed his eyes and allowed the ache to wash over him; rolling it around on his tongue like a piece of bitter candy, soaking himself in it like a too-hot bath, the kind that made your head roll back and colors shimmer before your eyes.

     All the while, Leon went right on petting his hair.

     "...I should do something for you now, huh?"

     Vishnal sighed in contentment, wishing once more that this moment could go on forever.

     "You already are."

     But Leon, it seemed, was already moving things along.  He cupped Vishnal's cheek and gently tilted his face upward, an amused chuckle dancing in his throat.

     "C'mon.  You do good work.  Demand your fair compensation for once!"

     Reluctantly, Vishnal opened his eyes, surprised to find that he was already smiling.

     "Fine, fine..."

     Leon's hands slid down Vishnal's neck and came to rest on his upper arms, bracing him firmly.

     "Want me to untie you, or are you comfy?"

     Vishnal rolled his shoulders experimentally, finding them slightly crampy and tight.

     "I need to stretch."

     To Vishnal's astonished delight, Leon simply leaned forward and began working out the knot; arms around his body, chin practically resting on his shoulder.  Vishnal leaned gratefully into the warm crook of his neck, appreciatively nuzzling his silky hair as he pulled his wrists free.

     "There we go...  Now, what's your pleasure?"

     For you to stay like this.

     For you to hold me when we're finished instead of hurrying off.

     For you to spend a night with me.

     With his hands unbound, Vishnal stretched expansively, then leaned lazily on the mattress, head resting on his crossed forearms as he regarded his capricious lover.

     "...Honestly?"

     Leon merely shrugged, ruffling his hair and chuckling bemusedly.

     "I asked, didn't I?"

     Vishnal stretched again, rather pointedly this time.

     "Okay...  First things first, my shoulders are sore."

     Leon thoughtfully kneaded the well-hewn muscles of his own arms, nodding agreeably.

     "We did go a little hard in the field earlier, didn't we...  But that's okay.  I can work around it if you need me to."

     Though he knew he wasn't actually asking for much, Vishnal felt his courage waver, his seeping needy heart squirming into his throat.

     "I need you to...  Remember when I first started training again, and you helped me put on Venti's salve so I wouldn't have to twist around a bunch?"

     Leon was laughing in earnest now, one silver brow quirked skeptically.

     "...That's seriously all you want?"

     Vishnal huffed petulantly.  As eager as he always was to yield, he couldn't help but notice that Leon also brought out an unfamiliar obstinateness in him, and he still wasn't quite sure how he felt about it.

     "No.  It's just what I want first."

     Nor was he sure what to make of Leon's response to this posture, which was predictably excellent.  With a warm smile—just a hint of sharp white teeth—he drew his long bare legs up onto the bed, settling in and motioning for Vishnal to sit down.

     "Ah, I gotcha.  Come on up, then."

     Vishnal slithered up onto the bed and sat obediently, turning his back to Leon trustingly and relaxing with a sigh.

     "...Take your time, okay?  I don't have my evening chores for quite a while."

     Gods, could you be any more obvious?

     It was true that he was feeling sore, and equally true that he wanted to be loose and limber for whatever he and Leon would attempt next.  But his true goal was both simpler and more devious; to hold Leon in his thrall for as long as possible, to postpone the hasty parting that always left him feeling sundered and cast to the wind.

     Leon warmed a dab of salve between his palms, then placed his hands on Vishnal's stiff shoulders.

     "...So you're saying I shouldn't rush my way through just sitting here, touching you, thinking all sorts of bad, bad thoughts?"

     Vishnal laughed as he leaned into that firm, soothing touch; wondering, not for the first time, just how bad those thoughts might get.

     "Precisely."

     Though he couldn't watch him smile with his back turned, Vishnal swore he could hear the teeth in Leon's voice.

     "Hmm.  It'll be tough, but I can probably manage."

     Once more, it dawned on Vishnal how pathetic he was; how ridiculous, how needy, how willing to twist himself into knots for just a few stolen moments of someone else's time.  When he let himself dwell on it, it was enough to make him feel sick.

     And yet, there was a part of him that deeply enjoyed it; to feel sorry and low and undeserving, and have someone attend to him anyway.  It wasn't unlike the feeling he got when Leon bit until he bruised, or Clorica tied him to the bed and made him beg.

     The feeling coiled in on itself, until it became just another aching need.

     "You're a real saint."

     Leon breathed out a wistful little laugh.

"I have that problem too.  It's okay."

(Vishnal)

     On the cusp of sixteen, Vishnal finally realized what it was he wanted to do with his life.

     But first—as these things usually went for him—he had to go through a bit of misfortune.

     The beginnings were mundane enough; a grim mood, a gloomy afternoon, a long walk that he hoped would set his head straight.  He took a lot of those back then, though his busy schedule scarcely allowed him the time.  He had his siblings to look after, and the house to mind, and the garden to tend.  But he increasingly felt as though, if he didn't get a few moments to himself, he would simply crack up and be of no use to anyone.

     Moreover, he had a lot to think about.

     What can I be?

     For much of his life, it felt as though the answer had been decided for him; humble gardener, patient guide, long-suffering unpaid housekeeper and preparer of ghastly but filling meals.  But his siblings were growing up quickly, and Vishnal was very nearly a man himself.  He had grown almost half a foot over the past year, and waiters were starting to offer him wine when his family went out to eat.  Increasingly, strangers would casually ask him if he was Kiefer and Izabel's father.

     Clearly, it was time to sort himself out.

     For a while, he had considered following in his father's footsteps, which would surely make him proud.  But try as he might, Vishnal couldn't imagine himself making it very far in medical school.  Though he actually enjoyed reading, it took him a while to get through a book, and he often mixed up words if he wasn't careful.  He struggled to commit abstract concepts to memory, and he lived in fear of the day people finally noticed that he couldn't reliably tell left from right.

     But if not a doctor, what would he become?

     What can someone like me do to help?

     It was this that occupied his mind as the misty drizzle began.

     Vishnal ignored it at first.  He was feeling sullen and selfish, and much preferred slight dampness to the idea of going home to his messy house and whiny siblings, all there was for him to set right.  And besides, it wasn't as though he could just hurry home before he got too wet.  His wanderings had taken him to some far-flung wealthy neighborhood on the outskirts of town, so he was getting rained on either way.

     And, in spite of the dismal weather and his even bleaker mood, he had to admit that he'd found himself surrounded by beauty.

     The homes were grand and tidy, and the gardens were colorful and well-kept; everything ornamented and sculpted and meticulously arranged.  Stately trees shaded the lane, their branches lightly tipped with the first sparks of autumn color.  The smells here were soothing and crisp, and Vishnal felt as though he could have gone on walking forever, growing ever more enchanted as he went on his uncertain way.

     But before long, the sky opened up in earnest, and he thought it best to turn around and skitter home.

     "...I say!  Young man!  Are you lost?"

     Vishnal stopped in his tracks, straining to make out where the voice was coming from over the din of the rain.

     "No!  I'm a little far from home, but I know where it is!"

     The voice, it turned out, belonged to an elegantly disheveled gentleman who had been watching the rain from the broad shady porch of his immaculate mansion.

     "If you're far from home, you should at least get out of the rain!  Come under here for a spell."

     At first, Vishnal was going to decline.  But as he looked from the dark heavy clouds, to the long road home, and back again, he realized this moneyed stranger had a point.

     "...All right."

     Arms wrapped around his drenched body, he shyly followed the glistening stepping-stone path to the mansion, where his host sat languidly on a sturdy porch swing, sipping on something so strong that Vishnal could smell it from where he stood.

     "You may sit down if you wish."

     Feeling terribly awkward, Vishnal perched lightly on the far end of the swing; body quaking with cold, stomach curdled with shame.  Unsure of what else to do, he simply stared out at the rain, until eventually—how much time had passed, he couldn't really be sure—the mansion's heavy door opened on perfect soundless hinges, and a honeyed, mellow voice slipped out.

     "...Master Gwydion?  Do we have visitors?"

     The stranger—Gwydion—looked up from his drink with a bemused smirk.

     "Just one weary traveler in from the rain."

     Vishnal's eyes widened as mellow-voice stepped onto the porch.

     "Good heavens, he's soaked to the skin!"

     He had never seen anyone so well-kept and collected before.  The man that appeared was a bit older than Gwydion; solidly middle-aged with iron-grey hair and a face that only looked all the more smooth and polished for the distinguished lines that swept merrily back from his keen dark eyes.  He was magnificent, and the last thing Vishnal wanted to do was impose.

     "Really, I'm f-"

     The elegant man cut him off with a single wave of his graceful, white-gloved hand.

     "Nonsense!  You'll catch your death if you don't get out of those wet things.  Come now."

     Vishnal followed mutely.  If he hadn't wished to impose, he was even more disinclined to disobey.  He finally found his voice again as the well-dressed stranger led him up a flight of polished wood stairs.

     "Are you sure this is all right?"

     The man turned around, regarding him warmly.

     "Of course it is.  You'll have to forgive Master Gwydion.  He has no common sense at all."

     The subtext being that he didn't need to; not with this gentle black-and-silver wraith gliding through the halls and taking care of everything.  In this light, languishing drunk all day on the porch actually seemed rather glamorous.  Vishnal wished there was someone who would take care of him half as well.

     (...No.  This is how I want to take care of others.)

     They stepped into a dimly-lit study with walls of books and a crackling fireplace.  The man vanished for a moment, then returned with a plush, wine-colored robe.

     "...I'll step out while you put this on, then I'll be back to arrange your things to dry when you're decent.  Just ring that bell by the armchair when you're ready."

     Vishnal nodded meekly.

     "Okay."

     Then he was alone; in this strange, opulent room, holding a stranger's robe that probably cost as much as his family home.  Feeling rather silly, he began to undress, letting his wet clothes fall to the floor and wrapping himself gratefully in the warmth of the robe.  He cinched the belt tight, reluctantly perched in the armchair, and gently rang the bell.

     Like magic, the man reappeared; wreathed in steam, pushing a shiny brass cart.

     "...Seems you've got a bit more color in your cheeks already.  Now just settle in and relax."

     The bottom of the cart contained a wide basin of hot fragrant water, the top a pot of tea and a fine porcelain cup.  The man placed the latter on the side table next to the bell, and the former at Vishnal's feet, wasting no time in pouring a cup of amber-colored, delicious-smelling tea.

     All this for a stranger caught in the rain?  Really?

     "Thank you very much."

     The man nodded.

     "Don't mention it.  This is my work here."

     Vishnal slipped his cold feet into the basin and sipped the tea as he watched the man string up clotheslines and drape his limp wet clothes before the fire.

     "Do you enjoy your work?"

     A gentle smile crinkled those sinuous lines.

     "I do."

     Vishnal smiled as well, feeling sleepy and warm.

     "That's good."

     The man surveyed his work, then turned back to Vishnal

     "Yes...  I'll leave you to read while your things dry.  Or would you like some company?"

     Vishnal shook his head.

     "I'm okay on my own.  Thank you, though."

     After a polite bow, the man made his efficient way to the door.

     "Very well.  I am Sebastian, the head butler here.  Just ring if you need anything else."

     With a silent nod, Vishnal settled back in the cozy chair to watch the rain and listen to the fire as his body warmed through to the bones.

     What more could I possibly need?

~*~

     Despite Sebastian's earnest efforts and peculiar kindness, Vishnal was unfortunately unable to avoid catching cold after his glum little walk in the rain.  By the time he was halfway home, he was already slightly feverish, and the logy congestion he woke to the next morning soon congealed into a lingering ear infection that consigned him to bed with the spins for nearly a week.

     The upside of all this was that he found himself with a lot of time to think.

     Temporarily freed from his myriad duties, Vishnal let his body rest and his mind wander; his thoughts returning again and again to that gloomy afternoon, and the extraordinary stranger who had unexpectedly come through for him in his time of need.  It astounded him that someone could get on top of things so quickly, and so easily anticipate others' needs.

     And yet, the more he thought about it, the more feasible it seemed.

     I think this is something I could do!

     Though Vishnal was the farthest thing from composed or graceful, caring for people was second-nature for him.  He was still a terrible cook, but was fairly adept at most other housework, and found genuine peace and satisfaction in tending and maintaining.  If he could focus and hone his skills, it was possible that he just may go on to do great things after all; mundane, subtle, half-hidden things, but essential nonetheless.

     By the time the infection had cleared and his balance returned, Vishnal's mind was made up.

     "I think I'd like to be a butler when I'm older.  How does one go about that?"

     He announced this at the breakfast table; still slightly rumpled and pale, picking at toast and tea in his clammy pajamas.  His poor parents probably thought he had relapsed and slipped into feverish delirium at first, but took to the idea once they realized he was serious.

     His father shrugged, pausing for a sip of tea.

     "Me?  I'm not sure.  But I treated a butler for an overuse injury in the shoulder once, and we got along well and kept in contact.  I imagine he could help you."

     Vishnal perked up curiously, suddenly alert.

     "...Oh?"

     Something about this did seem familiar, and it only became more so as his father went on and on; explaining that the man's name was Cedric, expounding at length about their correspondence, his children, his hobbies, his intelligence and good character.

     The more Vishnal listened, the more optimistic about the future he felt.

     And just a few days later, he was standing on the front steps of yet another grand manor; heart buzzing with anxiety, knuckles stinging from rapping on the heavy wooden door.

     "Good afternoon.  Do you need something?"

     The man who answered was as coppery and round as Sebastian was silvery and sharp, but had the same aura of calm elegance.  Vishnal cleared his throat, his mouth suddenly dry.

     "...Yes.  Good afternoon.  Are you Cedric?"

     Cedric's face lit up in merry recognition, which was a good enough answer in its own right.

     "Indeed I am!  I gather you're Kavi's eldest?  Vishnal, right?  I've been expecting you.  Do come in."

     Feeling reassured but still faintly nervous, Vishnal followed him through the splendid hallways and into the comfortingly unassuming kitchen, where Cedric poured them tea and began asking questions, smiling and nodding mildly as Vishnal did his best to answer.

     As it turned out, they got along easily, and Cedric thought he would be well-suited to the profession, despite his weaknesses and misgivings.

     And so, Vishnal's trials began.

     He doubled down on his housework, and insisted that his family do their best to drill and evaluate him.  When his schedule allowed, he made the journey to the next town over and received instruction from Cedric; who encouraged and corrected him in turns, and led by shining example.  His father even got him a job as a part-time assistant custodian at the hospital, and he began putting away money as he relished in making every white tile shine.

     There were manuals to read, and correspondence courses, and written exams.  Vishnal learned to multitask rather efficiently, and began to realize that he might not be quite as dull and forgetful as he thought.  He went without rest so he wouldn't begin to neglect his siblings, and slept in short restless bursts filled with dreams of overwrought place settings and filthy sinks.

     He began to suffer tension headaches, and a nagging fear that he was on the edge of breaking under so much self-imposed pressure, but he didn't let anything get in his way.

     I'll secure my apprenticeship soon.  Things will get easier then.

     Two grueling years later, Vishnal very nearly fainted when the day finally came and he saw that he would be sent to Selphia Castle; an outpost of the royal family where the Native Dragon Ventuswill made her roost.

     ...This must be a mistake!

     It sounded like a job for the elite, the experienced; anyone but an awkward and green young man of eighteen at the start of his apprenticeship, still desperately hoping that no one noticed his troubles with lefts and rights.

     This was a disaster in the making, and Vishnal would surely be humiliated one way or another.

     Gently, Cedric explained that it wasn't what he thought.  The Castle was small, usually unoccupied save for a few butlers and the Native Dragon herself, and overseen by a distinguished four-star butler named Volkanon.

     "He's known for taking apprentices who...  Well, who show a lot of promise.  But...  Let's say they also have some challenges.  He has a gift for helping them reach their potential."

     Vishnal was so flattered that it didn't even occur to him that he might also feel a bit insulted.

     "...I show a lot of promise?"

     Cedric laid a hand on his shoulder, regarding him gravely.

     "You're a natural, my good man."

     Natural or not, when he finally arrived at the Castle, Vishnal felt sick with nerves and thoroughly unprepared.  He'd spent half the airship ride intermittently retching in a small bucket that a crewman had generously provided, and his stomach still felt sour and uneasy.  He worried about his breath, and his hair—which seemed to perpetually linger in the most awkward possible phase of growing it out—and his shaking hands.

     But he was already very well-trained.

     "Well met, Lady Ventuswill."

     He bowed reverently, his racing heart in his throat.  She was almost too magnificent to be real, and he found it difficult to look at her for very long.

     Her wings fluttered in his peripheral vision, blowing stray leaves around the breezy atrium.

     "Lovely to meet you, young man!  Oh, Volkanon!  Your new boy's here!"

     And so, Vishnal laid eyes on his new mentor for the first time.

     "And a fine boy he is!  Welcome, welcome!  Vishnal, was it?"

     He had a crushingly firm handshake, and cut quite a different figure from either Cedric or Sebastian; pale and blocky and squarish, an aura of sandy sunbaked granite about him.

     "Yes."

     Feeling tongue-tied and disoriented, Vishnal allowed this large, rather disarmingly loud stranger to lead him deeper into the echoing halls of the modest palace.

     "...Clorica, my dear!  Why don't you show our novice here how we do things?"

     They rounded the corner to the spotless kitchen, where a slouchy girl around Vishnal's age with a thick lilac braid draped over one shoulder was slowly loading cleaning supplies onto a shiny metal cart.

     "...Huh?"

     The big man sighed, and something told Vishnal that this was a common sort of exchange around here.

     "Clorica!  This is Vishnal!  He's new and requires your aid!"

     She blinked sleepily, tilting her head like someone trying to get water out of their ears.

     "Oh...  Vishnal.  Hi."

     Vishnal offered his hand, and she took it readily.  He was surprised to find her handshake firm and brisk.

     "Hello."

     Likewise, the determined cast that settled across her sleepy features was rather encouraging.

     "Okay.  Come on."

     Though he was feeling a bit jangled from being passed from person to person a few too many times for one morning, he couldn't help but feel as though he were in good hands with her, and followed readily, nervously eager to see what his new life would entail.

     As the morning wore on, his confidence in the situation soared and dipped dizzily.  Sometimes, Clorica seemed barely aware of what either of them was doing.  Once or twice, she actually fell asleep on her feet, which obviously would not do at all.  But as soon as he resigned himself to being yoked to an incompetent bum, he would make some small mistake out of ignorance, and she would admonish him sharply, which made him feel thoroughly stupid.

     "Vishnal...  Can't you tell left from right?"

     He swore he felt the floor drop out from under him, and could hardly manage a shamefaced reply.  All that hiding and compensating, only to finally be found out at the worst possible moment.

     "I...  I'm working on it."

     Clorica's puzzled expression softened to a gentle smile, a small giggle escaping her delicate throat.

     "I have that problem too.  It's okay."

     Needless to say, things felt a good deal easier after that.

     The final chore of the morning was making up Vishnal's bed in his new room, and he fell into the task comfortably.  After the chaos that had been his day so far, he was glad to be doing something homey and familiar.

     When he was finished, he perched on the edge of the mattress and surveyed his new quarters.  Clorica sat down next to him, then flopped back luxuriously on the bed.

     "...There's about an hour and a half until lunchtime.  Want to take a nap?"

     Vishnal eyed her skeptically.  They were still basically strangers, yet here she was sprawled out on his clean bedspread in her crisp uniform.  It was patently strange, and stranger still that a butler would even think of passing out in the middle of the day.

     But he couldn't deny that he was exhausted, and that the sun that fell across the bed was wonderfully warm and inviting.

     No harm in a little rest, I suppose.

     "Yes.  That would be nice."

     With a silly thrill of abandon, he flopped onto his side and tucked up his knees, letting Clorica's soft snores lull him to sleep.

~*~

     Vishnal was quite fond of Clorica from that first stressful day, and the time he spent working with her only made him grow fonder still.  He occasionally grew irritated at what he perceived as her carelessness and forgetfulness, but he found that it bothered him less and less as they got to know each other, and she was all too willing to point out that he had some problems of his own.

     From anyone else, he would have experienced this as humiliating, bordering on traumatic.  But Clorica was so earnest—and so aware of her own faults—that it didn't particularly bother him at all.  After all, he was clumsy.  And easily confused, and over-emotional, just as Clorica was given to daydreaming and falling asleep on her feet.  They were who they were, and they would surely learn to work within themselves.  Together.

     Of course, there was also the simple fact that neither of them had really gotten the chance to talk about their problems before.

     Late at night, when all the chores were done and Volkanon and Lady Ventuswill had gone to sleep, they would lay in the dark in one of their cozy rooms and tell their stories; about Clorica's sharp-eyed family who carelessly hurried her along and berated her when she couldn't keep up, about Vishnal's many siblings and how he'd run himself ragged caring for them until the day he left home.  They spoke, they listened, and—most importantly—they cared.

     Those were strange times.

     The work was hard, and Volkanon had proved a tough taskmaster, yet it was also the first time in either of their lives that they'd ever gotten a chance to truly rest; in sunbeams in the overgrown fields, over tea and porridge on chilly mornings, in the pleasure of one another's company.

     If Vishnal was carrying a torch for her, he was barely aware of it.

     He'd never experienced anything like that before, mostly for lack of time and energy.  And if Clorica was inclined to return such feelings, she gave no indication.  She remained as blithely inexpressive as ever; taking life as it came at her easy slow pace, happy-go-lucky and half asleep.  Vishnal had gotten the idea that she wasn't one for longing or desire.

     Despite how well they had come to know one another, it seemed he had gotten her wrong.

     He had been working at the Castle for nearly a year when their feelings finally came to light.  And—as these things tended to go with him—it happened at what was otherwise a rather low point in his life.

     Vishnal had spent the previous several weeks perfecting his tea service, and had become quite clever at it, by his own estimation.  He could create a perfectly-balanced cup for any palate, and had even gotten the hang of managing not to spill or break anything.

     The only trouble with making all that tea was tasting all that tea, and by the time he had mastered the art, he was so sick of the stuff that he thought he might never enjoy a cup again.

     Worse still, all that milk and sugar seemed to have settled under his skin; a slight thickening to the waist, a puffy ring around the navel, a familiar soft blurriness at the jawline that he had only recently outgrown.  It probably wasn't the sort of thing that anyone else would have noticed, especially when he was fully clothed.  And Vishnal was somewhat aware of this, if only dimly.

     But the lines of his uniform were brutally unforgiving—to say nothing of his own critical eye as he changed in front of the mirror each morning at night—so he was in a rush to bring his body to heel once more, to become presentable again and leave this mishap behind him before the next could begin.

     As was his way, Vishnal threw himself into this project with everything he had; spending what felt like every free moment sweating his way through punishing rounds of calisthenics, skipping breakfast despite Clorica's nagging, sitting down to identical austere plates of steamed vegetables at lunch and dinner.  It wasn't long before his vision began to dim each time he stood, nor long after that before the shimmering darkness was joined by ringing in the ears and a tingly numbness in the tips of his fingers and tongue.

     He balanced his wobbling body against walls and doorways, telling himself that the harder he worked at this, the sooner he could stop.

     Of course, the first change in his appearance was that he now looked flabby and ill, which was less than ideal.  And even if it had occurred to him that someone might have found him attractive before, it certainly didn't now.  He resembled nothing so much as a loaf of pallid unbaked dough, and vowed to avoid mirrors until he had himself sorted out.

     But Clorica—unbeknownst to him—went right on looking.

     Vishnal was resting against a windowsill when she approached him that afternoon; riding out a sudden dizzy spell and trying not to forget what he was doing, which had been happening disconcertingly often of late.  He squinted in the sun as he clutched the damp rag in his hand, searching for some anchor to tether himself.

     You're still cleaning windows.  A few more, and then lunch.

     "...Vishnal?"

     He started slightly and turned around, temporarily blind as his eyes adjusted to the shadows.

     "Hmm?"

     Clorica was standing next to him, looking sleepy as always and slightly peevish.

     "Can I say something?"

     Though her tone was as mellow and casual as ever, Vishnal couldn't help but feel a flutter of nerves in the pit of his stomach.

     "Sure.  Go ahead."

     Her gaze sharpened as she looked up to level her tired eyes with his own.

     "How is anyone supposed to think you can maintain things for them when you can't even maintain yourself?"

     Vishnal felt his cheeks redden and burn with shame, and realized he was sucking his stomach so hard that his diaphragm ached.

     "Clorica, I-"

     Before he could stammer out some apology or excuse, she smartly tapped the sole of his shoe with one shiny leather toe.

     "Look at your poor boots."

     Obediently, Vishnal looked down at his boots, which looked much the same as they always did.

     "...What's wrong with them?"

     Clorica sighed, as though either the state of his boots or his apparent ignorance were a personal offense.

     "They're scuffed."

     Indeed they were, but of course they were.  They were boots, after all.

     "Oh."

     Her expression softened instantly, that familiar sleepy smile spreading across her face.

     "Want me to show you how to make them nice?"

     Vishnal was blushing again, and the sensation was much more pleasant this time around.

     "Yes.  That would be lovely."

     Heart fluttering with some mysterious anticipation, he followed her to her room, where she lazily motioned towards the bed.

     "Sit down."

     Vishnal sat.

     "...Should I take them off, or-"

     Clorica shook her head briskly, lilac bangs fluttering around her shadowy golden eyes.

     "Leave them on."

     Whatever she was doing here, she had obviously prepared for it; an assortment of tools and tins and a basin of water already sitting on her nightstand.  Vishnal nodded placidly, suddenly feeling very safe and relaxed.

     "Okay."

     And so, she sat down next to him and got to work; lifting his legs so she could prop his feet in her lap, scrubbing away the dirt with a mild clean-smelling soap.

     "Just tell me if you aren't comfy, all right?"

     Vishnal nodded again.

     "Yes.  I will."

     Somehow, he couldn't see that happening.

     Even as her touch grew ever more bold and intimate as she toweled off his boots and began to polish; one hand moving in steady circles, the other resting confidently on Vishnal's inner thigh.  He felt incredibly comfortable, wrapped up in something warm and sweet, not unlike the closeness that webbed between them as they compared histories in the dark.

     "See?  This looks a lot better, doesn't it?"

     He smiled down at the shiny leather, surprised and delighted to see that it looked almost brand-new.

     "So it does!"

     After a quick buff with a soft cloth, Clorica gave Vishnal a friendly pat on the thigh.

     "All done."

     Of course, they both knew well that they were only getting started.  Clorica was finished with his boots, but she went right on touching him, and he went right on letting her; head spinning with something far more fulfilling than hunger, blood rushing to his cheeks as she tenderly cupped his face in both hands.

     By the time he realized he was about to receive his first kiss, it was already happening.

     He returned it gratefully, and hummed low in his throat as her mouth made its way down his jaw and neck.  It seemed she still couldn't get enough, so she began slowly unbuttoning his collar, hot tongue trailing down his throat.  It was only when she had him bare to the sternum that the panic made itself known.

     "I...  I promise I'm trying my best to get back in shape."

     Still straddling his hips, Clorica sat up to regard him with long-suffering exhaustion.

     "...Would I be here if I had a problem with your shape?"

     Vishnal realized she had a point, and laughed aloud in spite of himself.

     "No.  I suppose not."

     And with that, he felt everything that was troubling him melting away; the questions about what all this meant for the two of them and their future, the layer of unwanted flesh at his waist, his complete lack of experience with what it seemed they were about to do.

     After all, he was about to share his first time with his best friend in the world.

Chapter Twelve: Out of Answers

     It was true that Leon had never turned down a dare.

     And it was equally true that, if he did something once and enjoyed it, he was likely to do it again; over and over, until the opportunity stopped presenting itself, he got thoroughly sick of it, or something else took its place.  Indeed, he had come to rely on those three faithful stumbling blocks to save him from anything that had gotten a bit out of hand.

     The trouble, in this case, was that Vishnal was always ready and willing, Leon couldn't see himself tiring of him, and he was utterly irreplaceable.

     So there was nothing Leon could do but helplessly watch the situation slip from his control.

     It was, he supposed, little different from what had happened with Lin Fa; the easy revelry in one another's company and one another's bodies smoothing over the mounting sense that there was something not-quite-right about all this, the heady curiosity about where it would take them, the ecstasy of touching and being touched after spending so long alone and insensate.

     There were, of course, a few interesting differences.  The tactile experience alone was fascinatingly novel, with an almost bracing quality that came along with Vishnal's less-cushioned body, and an aperture that offered tense resistance no matter how long Leon spent working him up.

     But, over time, more subtle differences made themselves known.

     ...I'm in love with him, aren't I?

     Leon couldn't be sure, not least of all because he was fairly certain this had never happened before.  But there was undeniably something different in the way Vishnal made his heart thrill; a desire apart from what he had felt for Lin Fa, a curiosity beyond what came with his few long-ago dalliances with village girls, a shade to his feelings of fond protectiveness that hadn't been there with Maria.

     Above all, there was a yearning for closeness; a sharp hot longing that made Leon feel childlike and raw.

     And if the only way to attain that closeness without losing his mind was to pretend that everything was still as it had been—two friends at play, a game, a dare—then that was what he would have to do.

     Somehow, it felt as though his very life depended on this silly, futile feat of the mind.

     Of course, Leon was slowly beginning to realize just how futile it really was.

     "...I'll do my best!"

     The Spring Harvest Festival had finally arrived, and the time had come for Vishnal to exhibit his prized, vibrant, much-fussed-over Legendary Leek.  Leon watched from the back of the crowd, trying—as much to convince himself as anyone else—to act as though the contest itself were supremely interesting.

     In his defense, it wasn't as though that was entirely untrue.  The sheer variety of crops in the world fascinated him, and the questions his neighbors asked during the farcical "appeals" process were always entertaining.  And naturally—in the old world and the new—Leon had always loved a good festival.

     But here in the resplendent late-morning light, it was difficult to ignore that he loved Vishnal even more.

     He's being especially cute.  That's all.

     Vishnal, in that moment, was far beyond "cute."  He was poignantly, heart-tuggingly gorgeous; standing straight and tall despite his obvious nervousness, the warm breeze tossing his hair as the sun turned it glittery and translucent, his skin beginning to darken as the days grew long and bright.

     "...Yes, lots of love!  Thank you very much, Amber!"

     The leek was almost as tall as he was, and likely quite heavy, but Vishnal managed to keep a firm hold on it, even as he bent down obligingly to listen to the small young woman's silly questions.  It slipped a bit as he straightened up again, but he didn't let go.

     "Okay.  Who's next?"

     His nerves came through as a slight shakiness in his hands and a sweet pink tint to his sunkissed cheeks, but Vishnal obviously relished being listened to and treated as an authority on something, even if it was just a vegetable from his own backyard.

     "Ah...  All right.  I suppose it couldn't hurt."

     As carefully as he could with one free hand, Vishnal tore off a strip of the tender greens and handed it to Dylas, who chewed thoughtfully and nodded his approval.  Vishnal's posture relaxed in relief, and he nearly lost hold on his leek.

     "...Oop!  Well, then.  Glad you enjoyed that.  Anyone else?"

     Though an unfamiliar shyness had come over him, Leon could never resist a chance to yank Vishnal's chain.  He felt the tension in his head that usually meant his ears were going flat, but raised his hand all the same.

     "Yeah!  Me!"

     Vishnal turned an even brighter, lovelier shade of pink.

     "...Yes?  Leon?"

     Leon took a deep breath, a mischievous grin spreading across his face.

     "Is that a leek in your hand, or are you just happy to see me?"

     The whole town groaned around them; save for Arthur and Margaret, who were laughing so hard they couldn't breathe and had to cling to each other to stay upright.  Clorica—listlessly clutching her Pink Turnip to her chest—simply looked even more exhausted than usual.

     Vishnal merely blinked in stunned confusion.  But before long, he was wearing a silly grin of his own.

     "Um, well...  Why not both?"

     Volkanon cleared his throat pointedly and all but shooed Vishnal off the stage.

     "...All right!  I should think we've heard all we need to hear from this one!  Next!"

     Vishnal took his place beside Clorica, who playfully punched him in the shoulder.  Leon waved at them, a sappy smile plastered on his face.  Vishnal glowered, but waved back anyway, clearly trying not to laugh.  Then everyone settled down, waiting for the winners to be announced.

     It was no surprise that Frey took first, because she usually did when farming or combat were on show.  But when Volkanon called the second-place winner to the stage, the crowd erupted in stunned delight.

     "...Vishnal!"

     The head butler wrapped his stunned protege in a fatherly, rib-squeezing embrace, then released him with a firm pat on the back, presented him with his prizes, and returned his unwieldy leek.  Vishnal graciously met with each of his neighbors and accepted their congratulations as he made his way through the crowd, but there was obviously someone he specifically wanted to see.

     "Leon!  Don't you go slinking away!"

     Just as Amber was stepping up to receive third prize—for a small but particularly well-formed Four-Leaf Clover—Vishnal caught up with Leon, who was waiting eagerly on the outskirts of the crowd.

     "Here.  Let me take that thing for you."

     Vishnal surrendered the leek readily, grimacing slightly as he rubbed at his wrist.

     "Thanks...  That silly stunt of yours could have cost me the appeal, you know."

     His voice was stern, but it was easy to tell that his grasp on seriousness was flimsy at best.  Leon caught him in a friendly headlock with his free arm.

     "Hey, I think I won the appeal for you!  People usually remember whatever gets a reaction."

     Vishnal glared at Leon through his choppy bangs.

     "That was the most juvenile thing I have ever-"

     Leon cackled as he relaxed his grip, scrubbing his hand over Vishnal's scalp just so he could watch him struggle to fix his hair once he'd straightened up.

     "...The most?  Ever?  With me around?  C'mon."

     To Leon's surprise, he didn't bother.  Instead, he reached into his pocket, retrieving something solid and bright.

     "Anyway...  Even if your ridiculousness didn't win us any prizes, your overwatering certainly did, so I think it's only right that you have this."

     It was a gleaming silver Dew Pendant, which had apparently been Vishnal's mystery prize from the contest.

     "...You sure?"

     Vishnal sighed wearily, his expression almost apologetic.

     "I...  Have terrible luck with jewelry.  It'll be safer with you."

     Leon shook his thick banner of hair to the side and let Vishnal fasten the clasp around his neck.  The pendant was smooth and heavy against his bare chest, and still slightly warm from Vishnal's pocket.

     "Thanks.  Maybe it'll help me overwater you all the way to the top next time."

     Since Vishnal hadn't fixed his own hair, Leon found himself doing it instead; tenderly smoothing it over his crown, tucking the awkward short bits behind his ears.  As he pulled his hand away, he couldn't resist lightly brushing his fingers down his soft cheek.

     Vishnal said nothing, but blushed rather sweetly.

     (You should kiss him.  It feels right.)

     Leon adjusted the heavy leek under his arm, and silently watched the feeling pass.

     (What the hell is wrong with me?)

~*~

     Arthur reclined on the back steps of the Manor, adjusting his clipboard on his lap and feeling oddly nostalgic as he noted that the trees in the courtyard had gone almost entirely green, their fallen pink-and-white blossoms melting into the Earth and feeding the hungry roots.

     He took a deep breath of balmy-warm air—already carrying the various scents of summer—and exhaled rather noisily.

     "...It's been an eventful season, hasn't it?"

     Leon—fiddling absent-mindedly with a skinny braid in his hair as he watched the birds quarrel in the trees—nodded distantly, his expression oddly introspective.

     "You can say that again."

     Arthur couldn't help but laugh as he remembered Leon's ridiculous plight.  Nor could he resist giving him a bit of trouble.

     "Certainly a season for change."

     Leon wound the braid around his finger like a thread around a spindle, then let it unfurl and drop.

     "Yeah."

     For a few silent moments, Arthur feigned intense interest in his paperwork.

     "...Trying a new look?"

     His companion studied the narrow braid again, then flicked it over his shoulder dismissively.

     "Nah.  It's just something I let Clorica do the other day.  She likes playing with string."

     Arthur smirked knowingly.  He had a feeling that Leon had some reason for hanging around the Castle so much even after Vishnal was back on his feet, and this one made a hell of a lot of sense.

     "Ah.  Clorica."

     Leon nodded again, wearing the dull expression of a man who didn't know what was being implied, or indeed that anything was being implied at all.

     "Yep."

     Of course, that look didn't fool Arthur for a second.

     "Excellent choice, my good man."

     He'd expected Leon to laugh and reveal the game, but the dull look remained.

     "...Huh?"

     Arthur gestured pointedly with his pen, stabbing vigorously at the air.

     "Well, she's unmarried, for one.  And personally, I've always found her rather beguiling...  She's much feistier than she seems, you know!  Plus, there's just something so fetching about a woman who can cook, an-"

     Leon cut him off, looking gratifyingly mortified.

     "...Arthur, what are you going on about?"

     It was only then that Arthur realized he might have gotten the wrong idea.

     "You mean you're not-"

     He couldn't help but notice that Leon's ears were flat against his skull, and that he was bearing his teeth like a cornered wolf.

     "No!"

     Though he wasn't sure how, Arthur had clearly touched a deeper nerve than he'd been aiming for.

     "Oh.  Duly noted, then."

     All at once, the courtyard was strangely quiet.  A few of the last dying blossoms drifted to the ground.  Arthur returned to his paperwork, filling the silence with the skittery scratch of his pen.

     Before he could fully give himself over to the task, Leon sighed raggedly.

     "...Not with Clorica."

     Arthur racked his brain for a moment, wondering who it could be.

     Frey is too faithful...  Forte can't stand him...  He's not Volkanon's type at all...  Lady Ventuswill takes her position too seriously...

     "I...  See."

     ...By simple elimination, it could only be Vishnal.  And—having once encouraged the earnest young butler to try on a delicate pair of half-rimmed spectacles—Arthur could easily see the appeal there as well.

     Leon was now sitting with his forehead on his knees; ears still flat, tail wrapped around himself, his body curled and armored as a six-foot-tall pillbug.

     "Make fun of me all you want, I guess."

     Arthur laid a gentle hand on his shoulder, the tension he felt there tugging at his heartstrings.

     "Leon.  I'm not going to make fun of you.  Honestly, I'm just impressed that one of your mishaps worked out so well for all involved!"

     Leon glanced askance at him, his normally knife-slender pupils blown with anxiety.

     "...You assume a lot."

     Though he was beginning to realize that this conversation was something far more serious than he'd assumed, Arthur couldn't stop a chuckle from rising in his throat.

     "Well, whatever the case, I'm sure it's better than what went on with Lin Fa."

     Leon uncurled slightly, resting his chin on his crossed arms.

     "I don't think it's like that."

     Arthur wasn't sure what he meant.  He only knew that Leon's ears hadn't relaxed since the moment he realized he wasn't talking about Clorica.

     "Oh?"

     Leon squinted into the middle distance, as though trying to make out something on the far horizon of his mind.  After a few seconds of this, he gave up and studied the petal-sticky cobbles at their feet.

     "It's more like...  I don't know what it's like."

     That, to Arthur's mind, made two of them.

     "Ah."

     Another silence.  Arthur didn't even bother to take up his paperwork this time.  He simply let his mind wander aimlessly as he watched Leon resume fiddling with his braid.

     "...How did you know when to declare your intentions with Margaret?"

     How, indeed?

     Before Margaret made her feelings known, his only true intention was to work until either all the work was done or his body simply broke down, whichever came first.  It was her intentions—earnest, sweet, sincere—that had rescued him from such an unimaginative fate.

     "Well, it was easy for me...  She did that part.  In fact, maybe you'd have better luck talking to her about all this.  You're both the hands-on type."

     Leon blinked in confusion.

     "It's...  Really different now, isn't it?"

     Arthur merely shrugged.

     "I couldn't say, because I didn't live in your time.  But yes, I imagine so."

     At long last, Leon relaxed; though it seemed less like he'd calmed down, and more like some spring inside him had finally snapped.  He sighed wearily, then filled his lungs again, twisting the thin braid as he spoke.

     "There used to be rules for this stuff...  Men, women...  And I know I'm not big on rules, but...  I don't really know how to say it.  They didn't feel like rules back then.  No more than it's a rule that water flows downstream."

     In light of all this, Leon's tense awkwardness of late made a great deal of sense.  All this time, he'd been moving against the current, groping blindly for handholds in the swift, dark water.  Arthur found himself wishing he had thought to say something sooner, but was embarrassingly unsure what he would have said in return.

     "Yes, I'm sure it's confusing, and I might not be much help...  But I'm sure you've noticed that there are a few same-gender lovers in this town who might be able to advise you.  Why not start with Frey and Forte?  They're Selphia's model couple, in my humble opinion."

     Leon shrugged, his practiced dismissiveness almost absurd.

     "I dunno.  Maybe."

     And it was that very absurdity that nudged Arthur's playful side back out of hiding.

     "...Leon?"

     His ears pricked up curiously.

     "Yeah?"

     A devilish grin split Arthur's face as he aimed his pen at Leon.

     "I dare you."

~*~

     Vishnal sat on the shores of Dragon Lake, watching Leon's distant form cut through the sparkling water.  He felt fragile and bereft; filled with a desperate longing to swim out to him, to clasp onto him until they sank together into the silent blue.

     But he was a poor swimmer, and something told him that Leon would rather be alone.

     "I think I'm gonna go take a dip."

     "All right.  I'll probably do some wading myself in a bit."

     "Don't feel like you have to or anything."

     Before Vishnal could explain that he wanted to, Leon had vanished into the glittering lake, leaving him alone on the sunny shore.

     Or rather, he would have preferred to be alone, but his friends could be rather obtuse.

     "Whoa!  How'd you get this!? And, uh...  Those?"

     Doug was gesturing at a fresh bruise on the back of his arm, his stone-grey eyes wandering over the adjacent faded ones.  Vishnal shrugged apathetically.

     "Sparring injuries."

     In truth, though a few were from Leon's well-placed strikes, he had acquired most of them tripping over stumps or stumbling over his own feet.  But since he had happened to be sparring at the time, he figured it was more of a flattering truth than an outright lie.

     Still, there was a flash of guilt when Doug looked mildly impressed.

     "So Forte finally thinks you're ready to fight, huh?"

     Kiel—who had given no appearance of paying even the vaguest attention—glanced up from his book and paused for a cool sip of iced tea.

     "Actually, he usually trains with Leon these days."

     Doug thoughtlessly grabbed Vishnal's elbow, grinning as he awkwardly angled his arm to better study the injuries.

     "Oh yeah?  He kick your ass or something?"

     Vishnal jerked out of his grasp, pointedly crossing his arms over his bare chest with a peevish sigh.  If Doug knew anything, he would know that both he and Leon preferred an open palm.  No kicking involved.

     But of course, he didn't know anything, and neither did anyone else.

     That, Vishnal suspected, was exactly how Leon needed it to be.

     "Not...  Not quite, no.  You know how it is with me."

     Doug—knowing nothing—nudged Vishnal in the shoulder with a sturdy blunt elbow, cackling rather mean-spiritedly.

     "...Like that time you fell up the stairs over by Meg's place?"

     Vishnal glared at him, in no mood to be reminded of his many failings.

     "Oh, be quiet!"

     This did nothing to quell Doug's laughter, and it wasn't long before Kiel joined in.

     "...Or the time he threw half a sandwich into a sink full of soapy water and stuck the knife in his mouth?"

     To look at them, this was the funniest thing they had ever heard, and the laughter continued until Doug abruptly silenced, squinting confusedly into the middle distance.

     "...I don't think I was there for that."

     Kiel shrugged as he returned to his book, taking a deep breath to fill his emptied lungs.

     "It happened when you weren't talking to anyone last year."

     Doug sighed mournfully.

     "Man, I missed all the good stuff, didn't I?"

     Though his eyes were focused on the page, Kiel had started giggling again.

     "It was also around then tha-"

     Vishnal knew that Kiel could be referring to a number of humiliating things, and he didn't particularly feel like hearing about any of them.

     "...Honestly, both of you!"

     His tone had been a bit more snappish than intended, and his silly friends both fell immediately silent.  The relief, however, was short-lived, because Kiel's hushed, fussy concern—hand on Vishnal's shoulder, voice patronizingly soft—was far more infuriating than his laughter ever could have been.

     "...You okay, Vishnal?"

     Vishnal shook him off, drawing up his legs and resting his crossed arms on his bare knees.

     "Excellent."

     That, unlike his attempt to frame his bruises as something more rugged and noble than they actually were, was a blatant lie, and both of them probably knew.  No matter how hard he tried, Vishnal could never quite mask his emotions.

     And the truth was, he hadn't been doing well for days.

     The gloom had crept up on him suddenly, and the shock was disarming and unpleasant after the lovely stretch of buoyant giddiness that had followed that first savage morning with the parry blades.  There was the triumph of having cleared some invisible hurdle together, the raw joy of Leon making wild breathless love to him on a near-daily basis, and a dizzy feeling of release; like popping a stiff neck, or Clorica undoing the ropes that held him to the bed.

     But not long after his surprise victory at the Harvest Festival, something began to change.

     Vishnal couldn't be sure what it was.  All he knew was that—unless he was literally inside him—Leon suddenly seemed miles away.

     Come now.  You expected this.

     As much as he'd been hoping otherwise, Vishnal assumed, on some level, that this adventure came with an expiration date.  Leon bored easily, and no one thing—no one food, no one game, no one lover—could ever hold his interest for long.  Even if he eventually returned, he was just as quickly off again, in search of the next thrill.

     And that, Vishnal supposed, was what he was.

     A thrill.

     An eager, biddable lover with a taste for pain and an aching need to be overpowered.  Someone soft and reactive to poke at.  A man, just to mix things up.  Leon had dove into their little experiment with inquisitive glee, and now that his curiosity was satisfied, the fun was winding down.

     Vishnal could have accepted this with few hard feelings, if it seemed like they would at least remain good friends.

     But Leon was always finding some reason to go straight home when they were finished, and when they weren't caught up in the heat of sparring or sex, there was always a sense that his mind was elsewhere.

     Gods, take a hint.

     (You can back off, too.)

     But Vishnal had never been one to back off of anything.  So the only solution he could comfortably enact was to keep the sex and the sparring as frequent as possible.  To provoke Leon into smacking or gagging him during their games so he could see the fire in his eyes and feel the passion in his touch.  To pretend he'd fallen harder than he really had during practice, so Leon would ask if he was all right and help him up.

     It was the only way he could still get him to take his hand.

     As he watched Leon bob in and out of the water—sunlit, unreachable, swift and silvery as a mackerel—Vishnal found himself clasping his own hands together.

     Of course, like many things he had tried over the years, it was a poor substitute for what he really wanted.

     "...How now!  The melon has arrived!"

     Vishnal started, and whipped around to see Arthur arriving at the beach; lanky and awkward in his ridiculous orange trunks, sleek dark shades perched on his pointy nose, face lit with an unprincely crooked grin.  Not far behind was Dylas, sullenly lugging a vibrantly ripe Conqueror Melon and an unwieldy sledgehammer.  All five young men exchanged pleasant greetings, then Kiel set down his book and hopped to his feet, cupping his hands around his mouth and hollering out over the lake.

     "Hey Leon!  Melon time!"

     Off in the distance, Leon turned toward the sound, then dipped below the surface, gliding through the water like a blade.

     "...So it is, huh?"

     Once back on land, he looked somewhat ungainly, but remained uncannily gorgeous as always.  He shook out his ears and tail, then ambled over and plopped down between Vishnal and Kiel.  Arthur settled himself across from them, crossing his long legs beneath him and propping his elbows on his knees.

     "So, what's new with you lot?"

     Kiel playfully nudged Leon in the shoulder.

     "Not much here.  But apparently, this guy's been putting Vishnal through the paces."

     For some reason, it looked as though Arthur were trying not to laugh.

     "Oh?"

     In what almost seemed to be a spectacular return to his old rough-and-tumble self, Leon caught Vishnal in a playful headlock.

     "Sure have!  He's pretty tough, too."

     Dylas looked skeptical, raising one shaggy eyebrow and gesturing at them with the handle of the hammer.

     "In that case...  Want to have at it, Vishnal?"

     What Vishnal wanted, of course, was to stay like this forever; Leon's strong arm around him, his bare skin smooth and bronzed and smelling of the clean, clear lake.

     "Oh, I don't know..."

     But before he could politely refuse, Leon let him go and all but shoved him to his feet.

     "Sure he does!  Go on!"

     Vishnal straightened up with a sigh, figuring that it had been too good to last either way.

     "Fine, fine..."

     He accepted the hammer, got into position, and focused the anguished pent-up energy that had been building inside him.

     The hammer came down, and the plump fruit exploded into tasty, fleshy pink.

Chapter Eleven: In Bloom

     The instructions Leon had been given were brief, but somehow vague enough that he had no clear idea what he was meant to be doing.

     "Arrive early!  Bring your halberd!"

     Even more intriguing, Vishnal had delivered them in the same tone he'd used to suggest Leon see what happened when he tugged at his harness; chipper solicitous mischief, the barest hint of an apologetic whine around the edges, too adorable to resist.

     And so Leon—who typically preferred to snooze until the sun was high and bright—arrived at the palace while the morning was still dewy and blue, his spear on his back.  He stepped into the atrium, exchanged the customary bantering greeting with Venti, then headed for the butlers' quarters, where his mysterious assignment awaited him.

     He only made it halfway down the hallway before a cheerful voice rang out from the kitchen.

     "...I hear sandals!"

     Leon rounded the corner to find Vishnal standing at the kitchen table, a long narrow parcel laid out before him.

     "Don't tell me you can actually tell the difference."

     Vishnal shrugged casually, and Leon couldn't help but notice that he was already dressed for swordplay; sleeves rolled, hair messily tied, hands sheathed in gloves.

     "Of course I can.  Most people wear different shoes, and everyone has their own unique gait.  If I can hear who's coming, I have a better chance of anticipating their needs, so if I find myself spending a lot of time around someone, I usually make an effort to memorize the sound of their walk."

     His expression as he explained himself was so serious that Leon couldn't help but laugh.

     "...You're pretty intense, you know that?"

     The illusion was quickly broken as Vishnal blushed, the familiar softness settling over his features once more.

     "Thank you...  I think."

     Leon gave him a companionable pat on the head, then rested his chin on his shoulder to get a better look at the mysterious package.

     "It's probably your best quality...  Anyway, what do we have here?"

     Vishnal snipped the twine and slid back the paper, revealing an elegant leather case.

     "Well...  I realized I've been neglecting my defensive tactics, and I had some Gold saved up, so I ordered myself a set of parry blades."

     The case was opened—snappy latch, silent hinges—and Leon saw a peculiar pair of swords nestled inside; much like the simple steel blades Vishnal practiced with daily, but with one interesting difference.

     "Huh.  I was reading about these at Kiel's a while back."

     Both blades were deeply notched along one side, meant for catching an assailant's weapon and thwarting their attack.  Vishnal picked up one of the swords and inspected it thoughtfully.

     "You'll have to lend me that book!  I only heard of them recently, but I knew I had to get my hands on some.  And...  Well, they're not exactly something one can use on their own..."

     Leon was suddenly aware of the weight of the halberd on his back, straightening up and absent-mindedly adjusting the strap.

     "...What about Forte?"

     Vishnal sighed woefully.

     "Forte refuses to swing at me.  Says we're poorly-matched, and she'd probably kill me."

     Unbidden, a deluge of bloody memories flooded Leon's mind; the red in the dirt, the weight in his arms, the gleaming cruel staples.

     "Vish...  The last time I came at you, I did almost kill you."

     Undaunted, Vishnal lifted one of the swords from the case, reverently stroking the straight edge of the blade with a leather-clad thumb.

     "...I almost killed me.  If I can manage not to fall on my own blades, we should be safe.  And besides..."

     Then he turned to face Leon, who was caught somewhat off-guard by the fire in his violet eyes.

     "...Besides?"

     Vishnal picked up the other blade and crossed them over his chest, smiling smugly.

     "I doubt you could hit me anyway.  Not while I have these."

     It was an unusual look for him, and Leon felt a sudden urge to smack—or kiss—it right off his infuriating, beautiful face.

     "You sound awfully confident."

     Relaxing to hold the blades at his sides, Vishnal looked Leon dead in the eye, haughtiness still purring in his throat.

     "Then why not take me down a peg?"

     Leon reached out to grab his jaw with fond, playful roughness, forcing the gaze to linger.

     "Keep talking like that, and I might have to."

     Vishnal shook off his grip with ease, turning pertly on his heel and heading for the fields.

     "Then it's settled!  Come, now."

     Leon—who never could bring himself to turn down a dare—followed almost too eagerly, though anxiety still squirmed in his stomach.

     "If I hurt you..."

     Already, Vishnal was easing himself into his battle stance; grip firm, legs apart, eyes ablaze, lithe and ardent and earnest.

     "...Then you'll carry me to the Clinic.  You've done it before."

     It was almost pitiful, how powerless Leon was to resist him.

     "If you insist, I guess..."

     ...Oh, he's going down!

     Caution forgotten, Leon drew his halberd and charged.

     At first, there was a thrill of fear; of what would happen when the speed with which he'd leapt into action met Vishnal's lackluster reflexes, at the sharpness of all that clanging steel and the softness of his opponent's vulnerable body.

     But all of that vanished in a single, squealing, brain-rattling instant.

     "...Ha!"

     Vishnal was unharmed, panting with exhilaration and grinning ear to ear.  Leon was unsure of exactly what had happened, other than that his palms stung and the clatter of metal was still ringing in his head.

     "Don't get so comfortable!"

     He charged again, intending to merely tap Vishnal with his spear, the way they did during sparring matches at the Temple.  But before he could get within range, the notched blade had his halberd again, tilting it awkwardly to the side and nearly ripping it from his hands.

     Vishnal, infuriatingly, was overjoyed.

     "Don't lose your head!"

     Another thwarted strike.  Leon gritted his teeth in rage.

     "Now you're just making me mad on purpose!"

     Leon jabbed at Vishnal savagely, fearing for a moment that he had lost control and would actually harm him instead of simply tapping him on the shoulder to end the match.

     Of course, there was nothing to worry about.

     "What?  Can't take what you dish out?"

     Vishnal parried him effortlessly, the sharp tug on his weapon nearly pulling him to the ground.

     "Gah!"

     They went on like this for a while; Leon charging, Vishnal parrying, Leon growing more and more furious as he was yanked this way and that by those nasty little notched blades.  Their game was quickly descending into sweaty brutality, and it was all he could do to remind himself that it couldn't go on forever.

     Just stay cool.  He'll screw up eventually.

     Vishnal was quick, and the parry blades combined with his new joy in battle made him quite the formidable opponent in this incredibly specific instance.  But in the end, he was still clumsy and given to overthinking his moves.  It was inevitable that he would leave himself open.  All Leon had to do was keep on striking until his defenses failed him.

     And eventually, after much strife and fussing, they finally did.

     Leon saw an in, jabbed Vishnal roughly in the collarbone with the blunt end of his weapon, threw the spear like a javelin so it stuck in the dirt several yards away, and tackled him to the ground.

     Through it all, Vishnal went right on laughing.

     "...Oh my!  That got to you!"

     His words caught in Leon's brain, as roughly as the blades on his spear.

     "Ah!  Shut up!"

     Vishnal didn't shut up.  He lay cackling in the dirt, and finally released his grip on the blades so he could wrap his arms around Leon and stroke his back soothingly.

     "Good heavens, Leon!  Get a hold of yourself!"

     Leon didn't want to be soothed.  He wanted to keep being mad, but it was already a lost cause.  Before long, he was laughing as well, leaning into Vishnal's touch as he gently scritched the fuzz on his back with his lovely gloved hands.

     "Just...  Don't fight anyone seriously with those!  Someone's really gonna want to hurt you!"

     Vishnal's eyes glittered innocently, though his mouth was set in an acidic smirk.

     "Do you want to hurt me?"

     In truth, he did, but not exactly in the way he'd been talking about.  Almost questioningly, Leon wound a few stray locks of Vishnal's hair around his fingers.

     "Not unless you want me to."

     Then he clenched his fist, savoring the way Vishnal grimaced as he arched his back beneath him, his voice breathy and strained.

     "...Shall we blow off some steam, then?"

     Leon smiled fondly as he gazed into the soulful violet depths of his eyes.

     "Good idea."

     As Leon lifted him from the field, Vishnal craned up to whisper in his ear.

     "Don't hold back, okay?"

     I couldn't even if I wanted to.

     That thought was both wonderful and terrifying.

~*~

     Clorica settled into the shadows of the overgrown garden behind the Flower Shop as she half-listened to Amber telling some long, rambling story in her joyful, lilting voice.  The Earth beneath her was soft, the sunlight was honeyed and dappled, and moss softened the outer wall of the shop just enough to make a comfortable place to lean.

     This was normally when she would have fallen asleep, but she found that her mind was too busy.

     "...Anyway, it got me, and it poisoned me just a little, but I had my hammer with me, so I whacked it good, and...  Clorie?  You falling asleep?"

     Clorica listlessly shook her head, with as pleasant a smile as she could manage.

     "No.  Just listening."

     Amber beamed, her colorful wings fluttering giddily.

     "Okay!  Where was I...  Oh!  The hornet.  I felt a little bad for it, but I got a lot of honey.  Well, not a lot a lot.  It didn't take me very long to finish it."

     Her mind wandered a long, lazy path; honey to tea, tea to work, work to Vishnal, Vishnal to Leon, Leon back to Vishnal again, and inevitably to what—if anything—she could do about whatever was happening.

     Eventually, it occurred to her to smile at Amber again.

     "I bet not.  You're the honey queen."

     Amber raised her hands triumphantly, shaggy green hair gleaming as she twirled in the sun.

     "Maybe I should have a honey crown!"

     Clorica giggled, forgetting her troubles for the briefest moment.

     "Wouldn't that get a little sticky?"

     Amber unconsciously cleaned her sensitive antennae with her fingers as she mulled this over.

     "Maybe...  But it might draw bees?"

     Clorica quirked a questioning brow at her ebullient friend.

     "...That's a good thing?"

     After one last twirl, Amber responded with a self-assured nod.

     "They might lead me to more honey!"

     What was there to do but laugh?

     "Right."

     Both girls giggled brightly until Amber went off on her next tangent, and Clorica tipped her head back to watch the clouds roll by through the verdant filigree of leaves.

     ...You don't even know what's wrong.

     That, of course, was half the problem.

     To all appearances, Vishnal and Leon were still getting along fabulously.  They kidded and bantered and goofed around, and generally did their best to wear one another out and exhaust their reserves of restless energy.  She often caught Vishnal working with a moony smile on his face, and it seemed he was always coming to her with new marks and some terribly lewd story of what they'd gotten up to the day before.

     But increasingly, she had also caught him looking far-away and wistful, or heard the squeak of him anxiously fidgeting around on the mattress at night.  He was clingier and more demanding than ever, and seemed particularly emotionally unstable.

     She genuinely felt for him, but it frankly made her tired.

     And increasingly, she found that her sympathies lay with Leon.

     Clorica knew all too well how easy it was to get more involved with Vishnal than expected, because she had come to realize that the very same thing had happened to her.

     I never meant to...

     Before she could finish that thought, she felt a small insistent hand on her shoulder.

     "Hey!"

     She blinked sleepily at Amber's dainty, perplexed face.

     "...Huh?"

     Amber plucked a honeysuckle blossom off the lush vines that crawled up the wall of the shop, popping it into her mouth and babbling as she chewed.

     "I said these taste good, and I asked if you knew how to eat 'em!  I mean...  Not like me.  Like most people do."

     Clorica smiled faintly as she turned her head toward the flowers, resting her cheek on the cool moss and breathing their sweet fragrance.

     "Oh.  Yeah.  I do."

     Amber regarded Clorica gravely as she ate another flower.

     "If you're feeling sad, you should have one."

     Clorica shrugged indifferently, but found herself delicately plucking a blossom from the vine all the same.

     "...Who says I'm sad?"

     Carefully, she twisted off the flower's green tip, gently drawing out the pistil until a drop of nectar appeared.  She touched it to her tongue, and allowed its fragrant sweetness to spread through her mouth.

     ...I never meant to fall in love with him.

     Clorica had liked Vishnal from the day they met, and quickly grew to love him as a friend, but pursuing him felt out of the question.  She didn't know what life held after her apprenticeship, where she would go next, or when they would inevitably part; swearing to keep in touch, slouching on with their separate lives.

     Moreover, he wasn't what she needed in a partner.

     Her family having been all too eager to make her aware of her own shortcomings, Clorica knew that she needed someone who would discipline her and protect her from herself; a stern brow and a firm hand.  Not a sweet, deferential, melodramatic klutz, with plenty of weakness of his own to overcome.

     And yet...

     "You look all gloomy."

     Clorica put on a wan smile.

     "I'm just sleepy."

     ...And yet, she found herself pursuing him all the same; perhaps not for romance per se, but for something.  She was restless, frustrated, and woefully untouched back then, and it had made her recklessly brave.  As awkward and mired in work as they both were, it was obvious that they were one another's best chance, so it was only sensible.

     It helped, of course, that Vishnal was absolutely dreamy.

     He was tall and bright-eyed and chivalrous, plush-haired and soft-cheeked.  His delicate ivory skin deepened to an unexpected, delicious milky brown in the summer.  His posture—at least when he was standing still—was always impeccable.  There was an unpretentious gentleness about him that made her melt.

     Even his clumsiness was rather endearing, once she had come to care for him.

     "...Oh!  Have more, then!  Sugar gives you lots of energy!"

     As though to demonstrate, Amber flapped her wings wildly, kicking up a gust that ruffled Clorica's bangs and stirred in the white blossoms, filling the air with their temptingly sweet scent until she simply couldn't help but take a second taste.

     "Okay.  Guess I'll partake, then."

     She pulled up another drop of nectar, sucking at it thoughtfully.

     He always knew we were just playing.

     Perhaps it would have done her well to remember that Vishnal was painfully serious and sincere in everything he did, even if it was only meant as play or practice.  But they were both content enough with the arrangement, so it never seemed to matter much.  They played, and they experimented, and slowly became inseparable.

     On occasion, she disciplined him, and protected him from himself.

     And now it was dawning on her that maybe this was what she really needed, no matter what she'd been told.

     I needed someone to rely on me.

     And Vishnal—who had been taking care of people since he was the world's most tightly-wound child—so badly needed someone to rely upon.  The way a man lost in a desert needed a cool drink of water, or a sailor at sea needed a bushel of juicy oranges so his body wouldn't start falling apart.

     Clorica sighed as she flicked the spent blossom away.

     Leon was a lot of things—many of them excellent—but "reliable" wasn't exactly one of them.

     Amber had done her best, but it was becoming clear to Clorica that sugar alone wouldn't sustain her.  She was quickly growing too tired to think, and welcomed this as a relief as she slumped against the mossy wall, drifting down into green, sun-dappled dreams.

     (...You have to make a choice, don't you?)

     When she finally woke, the light that filtered through the leaves was well past evening's fire, and had mellowed to the powdery blue of incipient dusk.  There were stippled indentations where her cheek had lain on its bed of moss for a few hours too long, and the taste of nectar had gone sour on her tongue.

     Most perplexing of all, she was adorned with wreaths of flowers; crowning her head, draping her neck, frothy and strangely funereal in the eerie gloaming.

     Amber was nowhere to be found.

~*~

     Vishnal blinked in the soft blue light, awakening to what felt like just another dream; instantly and surreally lucid, yet disoriented in that curious way that always seemed to accompany waking after the sun had gone down.

     Where...

     ...His room, obviously; cool and quiet in the fading evening, blankets nested around his curled bare form.  There was a brief pang of sorrow at having missed the day, but as his memory began to reassemble itself, it quickly faded.

     I suppose I did more than a day's worth of living, didn't I?

     Vishnal sighed contentedly into the pillow, feeling warm and relaxed all over.  He was deliciously sore inside and out, and his muscles were too flaccid and exhausted to hold the nervous tension that usually plagued him.  All was very tranquil and still, and he supposed there was only one person to thank.

     Leon had wrestled him down and hollowed him out, and all he had to do was lay back and say yes.

     It seemed the list of things he wouldn't do had shrunk by one.

     Stretching his achy shoulders and rolling onto his back to regard the skewed rectangle of dusky light drifting its languid way across the ceiling, he absent-mindedly pressed on the growing bruise where the butt of Leon's spear had collided with his collarbone.  Stomach fluttering a bit at the shiver of pain, he let his hand wander up his neck; sucked red and purple, still slightly warm and damp under his fingertips.

     "Don't hold back, okay?"

     He hadn't.

     Leon had tossed Vishnal onto the bed and unleashed the full force of his lust and fury, impatiently tugging off his clothes and nibbling at every inch of freshly-exposed skin.  To both men's relief, he had mostly gotten the hang of Vishnal's uniform, and had him down to his harness after a few hectic minutes of tugging and fiddling.

     Getting out of his own diaphanous clothes seemed to require little more than relaxing his posture and letting them fall about his feet, and Vishnal looked on in wonder as Leon slipped into view; his fine brown skin and well-hewn muscles making him resemble an icon of polished wood or faceted topaz, his long comet-tail of hair and the patches of silvery floss that adorned his body pale and stark against that rich warmth.

     Leon grinned, and his sharp canines flashed in the morning light.

     "Ready to get what's coming to you!?"

     "I anticipate it!"

     Vishnal was eager yet complacent, for it began much the way it had in the early days; Leon bearing down heavily, biting at his neck and pulling roughly at his hair, enthusiastically grinding him into the bed.  By now, Vishnal had been taught this same lesson many times, but—being a slow learner, after all—he was grateful for it all the same, and arched his back willingly, pressing against Leon and anticipating the familiar denouement, quick but satisfying.

     Instead, Leon stopped and pushed himself up, regarding Vishnal at arm's length.

     "I...  I think I need to do more to you this time."

     "Oh?"

     His eyes glittered hungrily, and his smirk showed his keen fangs, but Vishnal couldn't help but notice the nervous twitch in his ears, and the slight breeze kicked up by his thrashing tail.

     "Yeah."

     "What do you have in mind?"

     Vishnal felt a bit silly for asking, because they both already knew.

     "You should know I've never done this before.  But I've been doing a lot of reading, so I think I can figure it out."

     "Sounds like you're a sight more prepared than Clorica and I were the first time."

     There were times—this being one of them—when Leon showed another side to himself; sincere, silly in a way that differed from his usual silliness, strangely and poignantly vulnerable.  In Vishnal's mind, this was the very thing that pushed him over the line from "attractive" to "irresistible."

     "Okay, I'll say it again...  You two have a weird, weird relationship."

     "Be glad for it.  It means I already have a bottle of body oil right in that drawer."

     After a moment's nervous laughter, Leon opened the nightstand drawer and retrieved the bottle obediently.

     "Remember...  Well, I haven't done this before.  I don't want to hurt you."

     "I know you won't."

     Vishnal turned onto his stomach, trying to make himself as welcoming as possible.  Leon still seemed slightly apprehensive.

     "No, I don't mean like, 'trust me," I mean 'hold still and let me work."

     "Oh.  Of course."

     This being one of Vishnal's particular talents, he eased into his task quickly; allowing Leon to tilt his hips into position, trying to keep his shivers small as he felt appreciative hands running along his back and flanks and tugging authoritatively at his harness, gasping through clenched teeth as Leon firmly gripped his waist.  At this, Vishnal felt a brief sting of mortification—having spent the weeks he usually took to get in top shape for summer recovering in bed—but he relaxed just as quickly.

     Judging by the way he was tracing absent-minded circles with his thumbs into the soft valley between Vishnal's ribcage and hips, Leon obviously liked what he felt.

     "...You ready?"

     "Gods, Leon...  I've been ready for fifteen minutes or a fortnight, depending on how you count!"

     Vishnal started as a loud clap rang out; the back of one thigh stinging sharply, the sensitive nerves tingling in a perfect outline of Leon's firm hand.

     "No getting impatient!"

     "Right.  Excuse me."

     That hand slid up to grasp his waist again, and before the sting even had a chance to fade, Vishnal yelped as he found every cavity within him suddenly filled.

     "...Are you okay?"

     "Not if you don't keep going!"

     Vishnal was slightly disappointed when his backtalk didn't earn him another smack, but he supposed Leon was a little busy.  The thrust of his hips was slow and methodical, so different from the heated desperation he had come to expect, and Vishnal experienced it as crashing waves inside him, knocking him down again and again.  He thought he'd been prepared, but Leon was girthier than what he was used to, and it sometimes felt as though there was scarcely room to fill his lungs.

     It was almost too much, yet Vishnal already felt like he could never get enough.

     He did his best to hold still, to do his part and not be a distraction, but the pleasure was so great that his body could barely contain it, and he sometimes couldn't help but squirm or cry out.  Fortunately, Leon was there to keep him in line; grabbing him by the harness when he thrashed around, pulling him back up by the hair when his muscles slackened and gave out, pressing his face into the pillows when he got too loud, striking him on the buttocks and thighs when he got even louder.

     Vishnal endured it all greedily, feeling almost disappointed when the pressure building inside him told him that his work would soon be over.

     Leon, too, seemed close to the edge.

     His thrusts had become more erratic, and he had begun muttering to himself; a strange staccato full of sharp consonants and musical rolling vowels that Vishnal couldn't understand.  It was hauntingly beautiful, but it made him worry that he had somehow broken Leon's brain.

     Thankfully, it didn't take him long to realize what was going on.

     He was hearing the language that Leon had prayed in, long, long ago.

     It seemed a sacred temple had formed around them, and without Leon firmly keeping control, Vishnal surely would have screamed it down; nerves singing from sacrum to brainstem, a bright line of light racing upward to explode behind his eyes, hectic stars to keep him from blacking out in bliss.

     Leon pulled away, leaving him hollow but strangely fulfilled.

     They exchanged a strange, glittering glance before falling onto the bed, where they lay back-to-back for nearly an hour, getting their bearings and catching their breath.

     Vishnal watched the trees outside his window sway in the breeze, the fading blossoms spiraling down.  He could feel the rise and fall of Leon's chest, and the soft fuzz on his back gently brushing his skin.  The feeling was comfortable and soothing, like when Clorica played with his hair.

     Just as he felt himself drifting off, Leon cleared his throat.

     "...Do you want lunch?"

     "No.  I think I want a nap."

     The mattress creaked as the weight of Leon's body lifted, though his heat lingered for a few seconds more.

     "Okay.  Guess I'll head home, then.  See you tomorrow."

     "See you."

     By the time it occurred to Vishnal that he could have asked Leon to stay, he was already gone.  Blearily, he staggered to the washroom to clean himself up, undid his own harness, let the ropes fall to the floor, and collapsed onto the bed.

     The sun that fell across his pillow was friendly and warm, velvet-red behind his eyelids.  It shone down on him as he fell into a thick, dark midday slumber.

     And when he finally awoke, it was nearly gone.

     Vishnal watched the blue glow fade, until a warm light clicked on in the hallway and a familiar set of footsteps echoed through the Castle.

     "...Clorica?"

     She was standing in his doorway now; eyes sleepy as ever, a wreath of honeysuckle and Pink Cat crowning her tousled lilac head.

     "Yeah?"

     He hoped her day off had been as enjoyable as his own, but he somehow doubted it.

     "Join me?"

     A lazy smile spread across her soft features in the evening gloom.

     "Of course."

     She settled in next to Vishnal on the bed, the heavy sweet scent of the blossoms she still wore tickling his nose as they crumpled against the pillow.

     I'll tell her in the morning.

Chapter Ten: Out on a Limb

     Though everyone had mostly moved on from the bloody incident of several weeks past, Leon didn't feel himself fully exhale until he arrived at the astle to find Vishnal standing in the field, blades crossed at his feet as he tied up his hair.

     "...Ah, hello Leon!  You've caught me at a busy time, but you're free to watch if you'd like.  I had my last-follow-up yesterday, and Jones finally cleared me for proper exercise, so it's time to get back in practice!"

     The elastic did a poor job of containing his awkward, peculiar haircut—Leon suspected it had been unintentional, and that there was a funny story there—so a few locks still hung free in his face, wispy as silk in the morning light.

     "I'd like...  Though, I'd like it even more if you were wearing those little shorts."

     Leon cackled.  Vishnal primly brushed the stray hair behind his ear.

     "Oh, well...  I ended up having to throw those out.  And besides, Forte put a stop to that.  Apparently, you don't dress for swordplay the way you do for calisthenics.  No more slip-ons, either."

     Vishnal smartly tapped the heel of one boot with the toe of the other, smiling apologetically.  Leon shrugged as he settled on the back steps.

     "Hey, as long as you're safe."

     Leon watched as Vishnal carefully removed his jacket and folded it neatly, ceremoniously placing it in Leon's lap.

     "I'm sure I will be...  If you can manage to sit there and behave, that is."

     The jacket was of a good make, and surprisingly heavy.  Leon smirked fondly as he ran his thumb along the delicate stitching.

     "Oh, I learned my lesson that day for sure.  Pretty sure you might've killed me if you didn't fall on your ass first."

     Vishnal sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly.

     "Yes, I really need to work on the whole 'falling on my ass' thing, don't I?"

     Somehow, he looked like he was about to cry and laugh at the same time.  To Leon, it felt as though Vishnal had his heart bound in ropes, relentlessly tugging at the cords.

     "Wouldn't worry about it.  I'll catch you."

     Vishnal smiled shyly, his face glowing a healthy pink.

     "You're too kind."

     Leon felt himself blush as well; grateful for the concealing brown tone of his skin, and the way it reliably burnished and darkened at the first sign of lengthening days.

     "I've been called a lot of things, but that's a new one."

     Vishnal rolled his eyes, then turned on his heel and faced the open field, where his blades lay waiting.

     "Must you always bluff?"

     He unbuttoned his crisp white cuffs, rolled up his sleeves, and produced a set of fine leather gloves from one of his pockets; slipping them over his slender hands, listening to the slight squeak as he clenched and unclenched his fists.

     Suddenly, Leon all but forgot those old shorts had ever existed.

     "Must you always complain?"

     Vishnal glared back at Leon with a huff, then picked up his swords and got into his battle stance, letting frustration guide him as he swirled into motion.

     Huh.  Guess it really was just a matter of time.

     There was no denying that Vishnal was terribly clumsy.

     But that didn't matter much, because his appeal didn't lie in balance or poise.

     It was in how cute he was when he got worked up like this, and how clearly his face showed effort and emotion.  It was in the supple sinuous lines of his body, even as he moved it awkwardly through space.  The way the fluttering locks of hair grew lank with sweat and slipped free, veiling his intense eyes.  His bared forearms, flashing in the sun; one side corded and sparkling with pale downy hair, the other blue-marbled and velvet-soft.

     Leon had run his tongue along those diffuse tracks of painterly blue.  He had held those exquisite wrists in an iron grip, feeling the tendons flex eagerly as Vishnal arched his back to grind against him.

     You broke that poignant concentration, and scarred him forever.

     Guiltily, Leon studied Vishnal's movements for any sign of lingering injury; any pain or stiffness, any awkwardness beyond the norm.  But if it was there, he couldn't see it, and he couldn't see the use in any more self-flagellation, either.  It was over and done with, and Vishnal had lived to fight—if rather ineptly—another day.

     So he simply watched him spin and slice his heart out, until it occurred to him to start looking for something else.

     (...Think he's wearing a harness today?)

     Leon followed his outline intently; trying to determine what might be hiding beneath the pristine white of his shirt and vest, keeping his eyes open for any suspicious flicker of shadow.  He watched for any odd corrugations on his shoulders, scrutinized his trim waist for the slight indentation of rope biting at soft skin.  He was carrying himself a bit proudly, but it was ultimately impossible to tell.

     Guess I'll just have to find out when he's done.

     A cocky, knowing smirk touched Leon's lips as he reclined back on the steps on his elbows, watching Vishnal's silly, swirling, frenetic dance.  He wondered what battles he was fighting in his mind, and found himself longing to jump in there and help.

     (...Nah.  Jumping in doesn't lead anywhere good, remember?)

     All there was for him to do was keep his eyes on Vishnal until he slowly twirled to a stop.

     "...Phew!"

     Without even having to think about it, Leon instinctively stood and crossed the field, letting Vishnal pass him the heavy little blades.

     "Tired?"

     Vishnal bent double with his hands on his knees to catch his breath, then reversed the curve of his body to stretch his lower back, wincing just enough to show his teeth.

     "I'll say.  I believe I overdid it a bit."

     Leon let Vishnal relax against him, holding both swords in one hand so he could put an arm around his limp shoulders.

     "You still got some of Venti's magic goop or whatever?"

     Vishnal straightened up again, casually holding onto Leon's forearm so he wouldn't let go.

     As if I'd ever want to.

     "Waiting for me right in my room."

     Leon held him even closer as he walked them back to the palace.

     "Let's head on in, then."

     Once they were alone in the tidy sanctuary of Vishnal's room, Vishnal began to disrobe, starting with the gloves.

     "...I sense a good bit of laundry in my future."

     As he removed his vest, Leon saw that his button-down and undershirt were both translucent with sweat, finally giving him a look at what was underneath; rosy-tinted skin, ribcage rising and falling as he regained wind, no ropes this time.

     "That's good, right?  Didn't you say you liked doing laundry."

     Vishnal laughed as he unbuttoned his shirt, letting it flutter into the hamper.

     "I did, yes."

     Leon smirked as he flopped on the bed, leaning back against the wall.

     "Offer's still open to do mine."

     Finding the hamper already filled to the top, Vishnal frowned peevishly.

     "...I'll try to make the time."

     He topped the pile with his undershirt, then settled down on the mattress, taking the jar of salve from his nightstand drawer.

     Leon—quick as a cobra—put a hand on his shoulder to stop him, and snatched the jar away.

     "Here.  Let me do that for you."

     At first, Vishnal seemed as though he might protest, but he instead smiled bashfully as he sprawled out on the mattress with a grateful sigh.

     "Oh.  Okay."

     Leon dipped his fingertips into the mysterious substance, which really was rather fascinating; almost the same cloudy white as any ordinary balm, but with a peculiar hint of jade-colored iridescence.

     "...There we go.  That poor back has done enough twisting this way and that for one day, I would think."

     Still admiring that strange shimmer, Leon began rubbing the salve into Vishnal's sore muscles, reveling in the quiet sighs of satisfaction and the license to explore the contours of his lover's back to his heart's content.

     ...Who knew you were so perfect under that stuffy uniform of yours?

     He ran his hand up the dip of his spine, feeling the bones that sat under the skin like yet another row of pearly buttons.  Then down again along the unguarded softness of his flank, ending at the bony plateau of the pelvis.  Mind pleasantly blank, he retraced this path several times, feeling his friend—or whatever Vishnal was to him—growing ever more relaxed.

     Of course, Leon couldn't go very long without getting into mischief.

     Biting his lip to keep from laughing, he slipped his hand below Vishnal's waistband, gently cupping one of his firm buttocks.

     Vishnal propped his head on his fist, shooting Leon a playful, sleepy glance.

     "Hmm...  Might we have ulterior motives?"

     Firm, and pleasantly taut, but still a good squeezable fistful.  Since Vishnal didn't seem to mind, Leon allowed himself a satisfying squeeze.

     "Perhaps...  How'd you guess?"

     Vishnal laughed low in his throat, sweaty locks of summer-sky hair falling over his eyes.

     "Because I do, too.  You get a sense for these things."

     Leon slipped his hand free and firmly grasped Vishnal's shoulders, rolling him onto his back.

     "...Remember what I said about provoking me?"

     Vishnal smiled up at him sharply.

     "All I ever needed to know."

~*~

     "Bye, Lady Ventuswill!  See you soon!"

     The regal Native Dragon huffed casually, kicking up a small gust that stirred Kiel's brassy hair.

     "Oh, please!  I wish more of you would actually listen and call me Venti now and then."

     The young man laughed, turning back to wave his goodbyes again.

     "Um, okay...  Bye, Venti!"

     She waved back; a brisk flap of the wings, another friendly gust.

     "Bye now, Kiel!"

     Kiel waved one last time as he left the palace, stepping out into warm yellow light and long shadows.  It was nearly dinnertime, but he couldn't quite bring himself to let go of such a pleasant afternoon.

     Guess I'll take the long way home.

     He had ostensibly come to the palace to help his sister and her wife get things ready for a sale at the haphazard little shop they sporadically ran out of their front window, but had ended up spending quite a while lingering over tea and cake, and lingered an additional hour more in the fields as Vishnal showed him his prized leeks and caught him up on this and that.

     All in all, it had been a restorative day, and it was nice to remember that not every conversation was a confounding minefield.

     Kiel sighed as he shrugged off his cape and slung it over his shoulder, then carefully peeled off his gloves and shoved them into a pocket.  The weather was warming up in earnest, and the omnipresent stiffness had been gradually leaving his joints.  His hands had even been good enough to cook three meals a day and enjoy some leisurely arts and crafts without the usual vague soreness, so he should have been happy.

     Well, it isn't like you aren't.

     For the most part, Kiel's mood had been good.  But he was also operating with a certain level of baseline annoyance, just because Leon had been so erratic of late.

     Leon, of course, was erratic by nature; doing whatever his whims commanded, changing directions so quickly and deftly that it was difficult to keep up with him, saying the strangest things imaginable in any given situation.  It was part of what made him so much fun, and Kiel was mostly used to it by now.

     But what had come over him recently seemed altogether different.

     He grunted, bristled, and stared into space.  He vanished into the wilderness for hours to do Gods-knew-what, and grouchily insisted that Kiel could not come along.  When he was home, he had taken to spending a lot of time in his room, gazing broodily out the window and reading the same strange little selection of books over and over again.

     Something was obviously wrong, but he somehow knew that asking him about it was a bad idea.

     Kiel idly opened and closed his fists to ward off the building stiffness, then shoved his hands into the warmth of his pockets.

     Then again, what wouldn't be wrong?

     Leon was so outwardly carefree, and so ordinary in ways, that it was easy to forget his actual circumstances.  But when one stopped to think about it, was it only natural that he would fall into a mood now and then.

     He lost everyone.

     Kiel thought back to when he lost his mother; how the grief was so great that his body all but fell apart, and how he still hadn't quite managed to put it back together.

     Though he never spoke of her, Leon almost certainly had also had a mother, and had lost her as well.  He had also presumably lost his father, without even the brief mercy of stable intervening years that Kiel had been afforded.

     And with his parents—his entire family—had also gone every friend, teacher, and neighbor he had ever known.

     His village.  His country.  His world.

     He closed his eyes one day, opened them another, and found himself alone.

     Even thinking about it sent a shiver up Kiel's spine.

     ...I probably would have died.

     Despite the golden sun and frothy falling blossoms, these morbid thoughts gave a somber mood to his stroll down Melody Way.  He walked with his eyes on the cobbles and his fists clenched in his pockets, purposefully numb so as not to begin weeping in public.

     (Like a baby.  Like a little girl.)

     Fortunately for him, it was difficult to stay in a bleak mood for too long in this town.

     Kiel was startled out of his doldrums by a noisy thud from above, jumping slightly as he tried to locate the source of the noise.

     "Hey, doofus!"

     It was only Doug; pressing his face against the window of his room above the General Store, banging his palm against the glass and grinning down at his passing friend.  Kiel smiled back as he waved, his melancholy all but forgotten.

     "Hey, troublemaker!"

     He continued on his way with a laugh and a spring in his step, the clouds in his heart parting and letting in the evening sun.

     Even with all he had lost, Kiel had gained a lot as well.

     He had made it happen, and they had made it happen for him, day by day by day.

     And that, he supposed, was the lesson to be learned.

     He couldn't give Leon back his world, but he could be his friend in this one, whether or not he ever decided to share what was on his mind.  And by the time he had circumnavigated the village and hopped onto his own shady porch, he was ready to face him once more.

     "Hey Leon!  What do you want for dinner?  Or should we just fend again?"

     Leon—who seemed more or less his old breezy self—was leaning next to the open refrigerator, eating something sticky straight from the jar with a spoon.

     "Hey, Kiel!  Been waiting for you."

     Kiel smiled fondly.  He rather liked being waited for, and it was one of the things he missed most when his sister moved out.

     "Oh yeah?"

     Leon swallowed, spooned up another wad of whatever-it-was, and spoke through the gluey mouthful.

     "Yeah...  I'm just dying to ask you...  What is this stuff?  Besides tasty."

     At first, Kiel couldn't answer, because he didn't know himself.  But it took only a few seconds of squinting at the jar in Leon's grip before it finally dawned on him.

     "...What the heck!?  Did you just eat my entire sourdough starter!?"

     Leon poked curiously at the jar's remaining contents with the spoon.

     "Uh...  Not quite, I guess."

     Furious as he was, Kiel was almost impressed.  He had tasted a dab himself just to make sure everything was coming along okay, and found it to be so sour it was almost foul.

     "How!?  That's disgusting!"

     Leon shrugged as he began digging around in the jar again.

     "I like it.  It's tangy and kinda bubbly.  You should try some."

     It took a surprising amount of restraint to keep from slapping the spoon out of his hand.

     "...I wanted to try the bread, and now I can't, because you ate it!"

     Leon, for his part, was trying his mightiest not to laugh.

     "Jeez, calm down.  Isn't it just flour and water?  The kind from the big bag in the cupboard and out of that tap over there?"

     Kiel thought Leon's face suddenly looked even more slappable than that wretched spoon.

     "And a week and a half of fermentation!"

     Still irritatingly unbothered, Leon examined the jar closely, watching the bubbles with rapt fascination.

     "...Fermentation, huh?  Interesting.  Wonder if I'll get drunk?"

     The mischievous spark in his eyes—usually so engaging—was enough to send Kiel over the edge.

     "I'm sure you will!  Then you'll fall asleep and leave those stupid plum pits everywhere so we'll get ants!  But hey, what do you care?  You'll probably just eat those, too!"

     Leon sighed, his face showing an utterly alien flicker of guilt.  He left the spoon in the jar, and meekly offered it to Kiel.

     "Here, here...  Don't get all bent out of shape.  You can probably still make a little with what's left, right?"

     Kiel recoiled.  There wasn't enough left, and even if there was, it was nothing he would want to let sit for several more days and bake into bread.

     "No!  It's unsanitary!  It's all full of your spit now!"

     Leon shrugged again, scraping the spoon around in the jar and taking another sticky bite.

     "Suit yourself, then."

     Kiel stiffened, stalwartly refusing to acknowledge that this whole situation was patently hilarious.

     "...You're actually finishing it, aren't you?"

     The spoon clinked around in the jar, Leon speaking thickly as he swallowed.

     "You said you didn't want it."

     Kiel sighed, suddenly feeling very tired.

     "Nope.  It's yours.  That was what you wanted for dinner, I guess."

     Leon smiled greedily, as though he'd been gifted a spectacular treasure.

     "I can live with that.  What about you, though?"

     Unable to stand even looking at him anymore, Kiel waved him off dismissively as he slumped to his room in defeat.

     "Not hungry anymore.  Just...  Close the refrigerator, okay?  You're letting the cold out."

     He waited until he heard Leon kick the door closed, then flopped on the bed and buried his head under a pillow before allowing himself an anguished groan.

     There was no doubt in his mind that Leon often seemed moody and chaotic because he had endured great loss, and was carrying equally great pain.

     But sometimes...

     ...Sometimes, he was just a jerk.  Plain and simple.

~*~

     Clorica gently pushed aside the towering leek greens as she squatted in the field, peering at Vishnal like a predator in the grass with her sleepy golden eyes.

     "These are a little...  What are you going to do with them?"

     Vishnal carefully eased himself down on one knee, scanning the soil for nascent weeds and delicately plucking up any errant sprouts.

     "What do you mean?  They're for the contest."

     She gently twiddled a juicy bladelike leaf between her fingers for the sharp fragrance of it, then sat down in the dirt to tend her own plot.

     "One of them is for the contest, and you have a whole little forest here.  And they give you back your entry at the end, remember?"

     Vishnal shrugged as he flicked another jagged little weedlet onto the pile.

     "I recall you saying you were going to make vichyssoise?"

     Clorica huffed exhaustedly, as though even the thought of stirring such a titanic pot made her tired.

     "...We'd have to drain the lake."

     He wasn't sure why she looked so put-upon.  Certainly, if such an absurd situation were possible, he would be the one to dive to the bottom and pull the plug.  She probably wouldn't even have to ask.

     "Oh, I wouldn't worry about it either way...  They're good with a lot of things, so I'm sure we'll use them up."

     Leek fried rice, leek quiche, leek flatbread, grilled fish with leeks, leek and potato cakes...

     Clorica nodded listlessly, as though Vishnal were monologing out loud and she was quickly tiring of it.

     "True.  But you'll do the chopping."

     ...I'd make a rank mess of it all.

     Vishnal sighed in defeat.

     "As long as you do the cooking."

     Another tired sigh.  They worked in companionable silence for several minutes, until Clorica peered inquisitively through the leeks once more.

     "...Vishnal?"

     Only half-listening, Vishnal went right on pulling up weeds.

     "Hmm?"

     Clorica stared at him flatly, a knowing spark already dancing in her half-lidded eyes.

     "Why don't you sit down?"

     Vishnal froze, trying to think up a good excuse.  He supposed he could say that he didn't want to get too dirty, or that he would just have to stand up and start watering anyway.

     But the simple truth was that he couldn't, at least not without causing himself an incriminating amount of pain.

     He had pushed Leon a bit far the previous evening, and tested his own limits rather daringly as well.  By the time they finally wore themselves out and collapsed on the bed in a weary tangle to grind listlessly against one another until completion, Vishnal's behind was a rather alarming shade of red.

     When he woke—before the sun as always—it was to a pale-but-deepening violet, and an emptiness he could not name.

     "Oh!  Well, you see..."

     Clorica—who knew well what was going on, and had seen him eating his breakfast standing over the counter while pretending to inspect the stacks of dishes in the cupboards—cut him off with a giggle.

     "...You let Leon treat you pretty rough, don't you?"

     Vishnal felt himself blush furiously as he stood to fetch the watering can.  His plot was now devoid of weeds, and he dreaded being without something to do with his nervous hands.

     "Let," indeed.

     Though he supposed she was technically correct, the phrasing was a bit off.  A better word, perhaps, would have been "begged."  For harder strikes, more pain, more passion.  To be left gasping, his heart pounding and his body threatening to buckle under him.  It was the only thing that reliably shocked him out of the anxious buzz of his thoughts.

     More importantly, it seemed to be the only way to make Leon fully lose himself in abandon.

     "It's...  How he works best."

     Clorica grinned up at him playfully; raising a hand to affectionately ruffle his hair out of habit, though this was impossible from her place on the ground.

     "Aww.  You're made for each other."

     Vishnal stooped slightly; so she could mess with him at her leisure, and to pick up her watering can in his free hand.

     "...I thought we were made for each other?"

     Clorica shrugged as she scrubbed a hand over his scalp and sent him off with a brisk pat on the cheek.

     "You can be made for more than one thing.  Like the leeks are."

     He grinned over his shoulder at her as he loped toward the well.

     "True enough."

     After a brief pause to splash his face, Vishnal filled both cans with cool, clear water, then returned to their little vegetable patch, standing obediently at Clorica's side.  She eyed him inquisitively as she stood and stretched lazily, unwilling to let the matter drop.

     "So, was he just, like, smacking you, or...?"

     Vishnal felt himself turning even more red, letting his hair fall over his face to hide it as he set the cans at their feet.

     "...The former, yes."

     Clorica nodded mildly, casting her eyes to the side in a playful parody of modesty.

     "Mmm.  Of course.  You're very smackable."

     She, he figured, would be one to know.  Clorica, after all, had done a fair share of smacking herself; with slender green willow branches, the back of her hairbrush, her own warm open palm.  It was the last of these that she playfully clapped against Vishnal's sore behind through his well-tailored trousers, making him jump.

     "Ow!  Honestly, Clorica, I think you've been doing these things just to torment me."

     Having gotten the desired reaction, Clorica giggled and smiled sweetly in satisfaction before turning deadly serious again, raising one quizzical eyebrow.

     "Maybe, maybe...  So you haven't...?"

     Vishnal sighed, his shoulders slumping as he picked up the heavy can with both hands.

     "...No.  Not yet."

     He tipped the can, keeping his eyes insistently on the soil as it grew rich and dark under his little handmade rainshower.  But Clorica, it seemed, was having none of this.  She leaned forward to stare him relentlessly in the eye.

     "But you want to?"

     This, too, was familiar territory to her; the occasional discarded candlestick, one incident with a small but well-shaped cucumber, most often her own dexterous fingers in careful twos and threes.  At first, Vishnal had found the intimacy of it almost unnerving, but it was that very intimacy that became reassuring with time.

     After all, it was difficult to doubt your own worth when someone had found their way inside you and came out, if anything, loving you even more.

     (...And yet, I still manage.)

     Vishnal eyed Clorica skeptically.

     "What kind of question is that?"

     Clorica shrugged, picking up her own watering can and gently sprinkling her turnips, sparkling droplets gathering on the lush dark greens.

     "A curious one."

     Vishnal sighed, as though a great weight were squeezing the air from his sorry lungs.

     "There's...  Things Leon doesn't do."

     It wasn't just penetration that he was referring to.  Leon also wasn't one for lingering around in bed when they were done fooling around, or really much physical affection at all beyond the reassurance and light roughhousing that had become their new norm that season.

     He would pin him down on command, but he wouldn't hold him close unless he was crying.

     He would bite and suck at his skin with wanton delight, but wouldn't kiss him on the mouth.

     In point of fact, even those animalistic ministrations had been increasingly limited to his buttocks and thighs of late.  Beach season, Leon said, was coming.  Anything else would show.

     There didn't seem to be any consideration as to whether Vishnal might want it to show.

     Clorica sidled up to him, winding her free arm around his waist.

     "...Things he doesn't do yet.  Not everyone jumps headfirst into everything like you, you know.  Just give him a chance."

     Vishnal felt himself clench, the way he always did when he was reminded of exactly how well Clorica knew him.

     What right do I have?

     What right did he have to expect so much so soon?  To expect so much at all?  To want, childishly and ceaselessly, until he made himself sick with shame?  It really was the cruelest of all embarrassments.

     For Vishnal's greatest want was simply to want nothing at all.

     To become a different sort of person entirely; glacier-like, hard and chiseled and coolly dignified.  Someone who demanded no affection or reassurance.  Who moved with grace and confidence, never cried, ate only for fuel and never for comfort, and felt no need to try the way he did, but always came up perfect anyway.

     Someone who relied on no one, but could always be relied upon.

     Leaning in to rest his cheek on the crown of Clorica's head, Vishnal laughed so he wouldn't start crying.

     "I do do that, don't I?"

     She gently nuzzled into his neck, her breath warm and soothing.

     "Yeah, well.  You're...  A special kind of person."

     What she likely meant, of course, was that he was an exhausting kind of person; tedious, needy, melodramatic.

     And yet, day in and day out, she put up with him.

     Loved him, even; in a funny, chummy sort of way.

     Vishnal smiled warmly as he held her even closer.

     "So are you."

     Their lips met briefly; tongues delicately touching tips, as was their way.