#writer unknown

Me: You type and delete, 2943 times. You rethink. Then do 19 hours of research to correct it. You reread and wonder if you've ever even grasped the concept of language. Then you revise 42 times.

Person: And then you're done?

I hope you all enjoy this as much as I do~

——————————————————————————————————————————

Idónea

Asra opened the door of the shop and stepped inside, appreciative of the peace of the place after the long adventure of returning.

Normally, Asra brought home crystals. He found them in shops or dark markets where the scented smoke of incense hid treasures. Even in dimness, the gems would catch light. Polished to glassy smoothness or in raw prisms and geodes, Asra would be drawn to what he had been looking for from the first step of his journey. A few moments would be devoted to careful inspection, but it was mostly for show– Asra’s magic didn’t use crystals, so his understanding beyond basic principles was limited. The decision often came down to what seemed most beautiful. Because beauty was always fitting for Val.

Val, who invited him with the greatest kindness to learn what crystals could do. It began when Asra brought home a slice of jade that Val stroked with gentle fingers, something that could aid in meditation. From another trip, a striking column of ametrine, a marriage of sunset and twilight colors that Val accepted with happy disbelief and told him was for balance. The fat cabochon of moonstone that Asra had been soon excited to bring home… well, that had ended up mostly decoration, bouncing light into the shop from its place on a windowsill. But the pretty streaks of blue in the gem made them both smile, and Asra knew that was a kind of healing. Happiness was a powerful magic.

From this journey he brought something much… humbler. When he found it, half in the water of a stream, he felt immediately that it was what he was meant to bring home to Val. Faust, who intuited its importance right away, had made a game of trying to keep it in the water and Asra had to work to get it, laughing as his familiar splashed in the pebbly shallows. At the time it seemed to make the gift even more right, that the gain of it was so happy a time. But now that Asra was back in the shop and saw his other presents hung around the room, even the moonstone gleaming cheerfully in the sill, he found himself fidgeting. He ran his thumb over the treasure– he hoped it was a treasure– in his bag. Val would never say a gift was unwelcome, Asra knew Val would never even think it. But would this gift be too plain? Could it be useful the way he’d dreamed?

He felt somehow shy. Val was watching him from behind the glass case of the shop with a gentle smile. It stirred and soothed Asra as it said welcome home, beautiful one, welcome home, I am so glad you have returned. Even with the counter and most of the shop between them, Asra knew Val could sense his nervousness. No crystal was necessary for the shaman to know these things; Val took in emotions as thoughtlessly as a plant drew air and water and sunlight. It was only the two of them in the quiet of midmorning, too, the time of their reunion an hour when things were naturally clearer for anyone who would look.

There was no point, then, in trying to hide his feelings. Asra walked to the counter, steps sheepish but open about it, and the honesty made the movement easier. Val’s eyes– silver under the moon, perception; hematite, protection; anhydrite, to dispel fear– were like living metal, melted by the warmth of the smile below them. The sweetness of it all felt like a reward to Asra. A greeting did not seem necessary, in the face of that much love.

“I like to bring you beautiful things and hope they are useful,” Asra said softly, leaning on the glass case. He slid his fingers around the present and lifted it out of the bag. It felt just as warm as it had beside the water, as though it had absorbed sunlight and kept it safe to share.

Val assured him with a quiet “You do,” and then waited. To Asra, Val radiated patience and calm joy, and the magician knew it was on purpose. So he allowed himself to be calmed, and to take in the sight of the source of all the tranquillity. In the gentle, private dimness of the shop, the obsidian gloss of Val’s curls somehow found scraps of light and looked shiny-soft. The truth they made clear was that Val’s hair was one of Asra’s favorite mysteries, and the one he wanted to touch most in all the world.

“I think you can make this beautiful,” Asra said, revealing what he’d brought home.

In his palm the river stone looked like a tablet, wide and almost flat. The weight of it still felt warm. It was so smooth Asra said what he thought when he saw it the first time: “Maybe one of your mandalas?”

Val blinked, face concealing nothing. The naked appreciation of lashes and lips that trembled and tears that looked like selenite (calm, funnily enough, Asra remembered) showed him he had made the right choice after all. Val’s hands cupped his, so they were gently surrounded by stone and shaman, and he felt as home as he would with a mug of tea in his hands.

Val was quiet for a long moment. They looked at the stone. Asra looked, too, and saw a gradient of gray and the brown of their hands, graceful and wholly natural. The simple stone looked like a treasure this way, cushioned in their palms like an offering.

“Idónea,” Val finally said, and their voice was a reverent whisper, the word full of feeling, their touch full of gratitude and love.

The last of Asra’s uncertainty melted away. He leaned forward to bring their foreheads together as his hands rested in Val’s on the glass of the shop case and they both smiled. Their breathing mingled, then found a rhythm that centered and strengthened.