#zzzz.

   That was the big thing, wasn’t it? Jhin lounged aside the sofa, head now resting on the shoulder while the rest of his body sat lazily askew, Zed somewhere beside him and on top of him. 

   Predictability was a byword for boring as far as Khada Jhin was concerned, and he took great care to make ally and enemy equal parts uncertain. Apprehension’s fun in its own way, not in the least helped by his talent for a strong personality to begin with.

   He opened his arms and Zed wasted no time with the opportunity.

   It was quaint, like that: Master of Shadows pinning up the Demon in the Demon’s own cottage, no sound save for the distant tweeting of birds come to feast on the nuts and berries of his backyard garden. Four years ago the scene would be absurd. Walk back six more and nigh unthinkable. But time is strange— no greater salve to heal, no greater force to change opinion.

   Jhin’s nose twitched. However slight. He still played with the idea of Zed made two through an ivory spear, but he had since saved those thoughts for when Zed was offensive.

   Or just annoying.

   “You’re fine looking,” Jhin admitted finally. “You won’t chase away any maidens when the mask comes off, at least.”

   Now Zed was the one laughing. “Oh, really? Why, I never thought you capable of such pleasantries. I suppose I have to thank you.”

   Hmpth!

   Speak of the devil.

   Jhin might’ve regret allowing Zed to seize a position that let him stay above him the way he was, undoubtedly grinning something vile. But then, Jhin knew the easiest way to shake him:

   “I want to make dinner.”

   Like magic, the shackles of Zed’s heftiness lifted and Jhin slipped out onto the floor like an uncooked eel, coiling back after to a stand. 

   How many times had it been, now? Jhin hesitated on the thought as he walked into his kitchen and examined his cabinets, pulling free a pot which to fill with water and leave on his stove once he’d shoved in a log to burn and clasped the iron door shut. It followed him through even as he opened a basket of raw noodles to simmer up with the boil for ramen. How many times? Cooking for him, wasting for him, Divines, even lending him a—

   —He decided it was one too many times to be dwelling on it.

   Jhin caught a glance back at Zed, who was moseying himself comfortable on the sofa, looking at nothing in particular. He’d seen enough of Jhin’s house to be disinterested save for the few occasions that they compared exotic collections, something that Jhin took pride in being able to best him once or twice. His library of rare first-printed manuscripts could scarcely be beat, but Zed had the advantage of a hoard growing on a scale several magnitudes quicker from constant conquests this side of Ionia.

   The pan squealed and Jhin looked away again. Bastard. Somewhere between thirty-minutes and an hour ticked past before Jhin returned, balancing a platter of ramen bowls and sushi trays.

   “You’re fine looking as well,” he caught Zed saying as he put the platter down. He squeezed out a grin but released it once he got a hold of his chopsticks.

   “Is that so?”

   “Don’t push it.”

   “Mhmm,” Jhin said, mouth already full. Always with don’t push it. He hadn’t yet encountered anyone as guarded about emotion than Zed, but then, was the dress ill-fitting? He must’ve been guarded even before he strode up the stage to separate Jhin’s body from head all those years ago. It made him more amusing and by extension worthier of keeping Jhin’s interest. He would just hate to be attached to a bothersome gnat… even if that dress wasn’t so ill-fitting either.

   So they ate, silenced by either noodle or salmon. Jhin’s proclivities (or the lack thereof) with dumpling-cooking had little effect on his cooking elsewhere, yet it continued to surprise him somewhat that he held Zed eating his own food in his periphery. It seemed only yesterday that Zed refused to eat so much as breadcrumbs from Jhin’s dish knowing how effortlessly he might have poisoned them. And Jhin would still be miffed at the fear— keeling over dead certainly would’ve been effective, but since when did Khada Jhin play in the solely effective?

   Maybe Zed was a Master of more than only Shadows. Perchance, Projection?

   He unfortunately caught Jhin’s smile. “What are you thinking of now?”

   “Nothing unusual.” He put his chopsticks down and wiped his chin. “Just amusing.”

   “At my expense.”

   “Wouldn’t dare it.”

   Jhin was nonplussed at Zed’s stare. Would be far from the first time, and after all, they had just eaten. His belly was too full to be spitting real fire so soon— or so the excuse would have gone. His shoulders dipped and he sighed something pleasant, not yet willing to get up again and clean. 

   “Well.” Zed clapped his hands together. “I enjoyed the meal.”

   “Are you staying?”

   “Why?”

   Jhin’s head rose and he met him plainly, as if to say You know why.

   Zed’s eyes rolled. “Not every visit ends that way, Khada Jhin.”

   “Not every.” Jhin held up a finger. “Most.”