#c: sinclair

“Er, thanks, Iilene,” he said as the little courier scurried off to her next assignment. He could feel Delucius watching him, and suddenly remembered that he’d just received a package in the middle of the town square. “Don’t--”

“A gift from an admirer?” Delucius asked.

“Dammit, Delucius.”

“It’s Valentine’s Day,” Delucius reminded. “What else am I meant to assume it is? Here I thought you and I had something special, one nosy miscreant to another.”

Sinclair sneered. “You’re not my type.”

“Ah.” Delucius leaned back in his seat. “You’re a bottom then.”

Sinclair decided that he wouldn’t dignify that remark with a response, and tore open the letter with what he hoped was a casual air. In actuality, his heart was racing. There was only one dragon from the mysterious Clan in the Mists who would write to him, and that dragon was a fascinating one indeed--perhaps even more so than the clan itself.

This letter could contain anything, from small talk to just the breakthrough Sinclair had been waiting for. His hands trembled as he removed it from its envelope, setting aside the attached package for later. (Though what may lie within tempted him greatly.) As expected, it was from Darnell; even if the Spiral hadn’t signed it, his handwriting was unmistakable.

The first thing he noted was that Darnell had referred to him as “ever-sweet.” He was infinitely grateful that Delucius couldn’t snoop with a table between them, because he was certain the rat bastard would have had something to say about that. His eyes flicked up to check Delucius for any signs of a reaction. Delucius waved.

“It’s nothing,” Sinclair insisted, “it’s just an informant checking in.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Well, I guess he’s a friend too.”

“Yup.”

What was he doing? He didn’t need to justify himself. After all, there was nothing going on between them; he’d never once considered Darnell anything more than, at most, a very good friend. Friends could call each other sweet. Friends could send each other packages on Valentine’s Day without it meaning--

“You oughta see the red in your cheeks,” Delucius teased, but Sinclair didn’t need to see it. He could feel it, a hot blush creeping across his face the more he read of Darnell’s letter. “What’s he saying? That he misses you? Wants to see you again?”

“Die,” Sinclair hissed.

“Are you gonna write him back?” Delucius asked.

“Of course I--” Sinclair took in a deep breath. He was giving Delucius what he wanted by getting riled up. It was the same tactic he used on Dreamweaver; to think he’d fallen for his own ruse. “Of course I am,” he said coolly. “When a friend wishes you a happy holiday, it’s only polite.”

“You blush when all your friends write you?”

Sinclair groaned again. “So what if he’s more than a friend?” he snapped. “Is there something wrong with me having a romantic relationship with someone? If you wanted me to yourself, you should’ve asked me out sooner.”

“Nah,” Delucius said, his grin widening, “you’re not my type.”