Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Autumn 3, 1615

“Shit—!”

Meg’s fingers stumble over the restaurant’s piano, but she manages not to completely lose her place in the song. She’s quite proud of this accomplishment, right up until her brain catches up with the fact that the disturbance which had almost caused her to lose her composure had been the unmistakable sound of something shattering, accompanied by a slew of muttered curses.

Abandoning any pretence that she’s going to keep playing—the only customer at the moment is an exhausted Dr. Jones, who Meg is sure won’t mind the break in the ambiance—Meg swivels on her bench to peer into the kitchen. She’s a little ashamed it took her this long, but she’s grown very accustomed to tuning out the sound of all of Porco’s nonsense coming from that direction.

Porco’s nonsense usually doesn’t involve broken dishes, though. Only inconveniently cleaned-off ones.

“Dylas? Are you okay?” Meg can’t see anything except the top of his head, but she can hear him still muttering away behind the counter. She can’t be sure if that’s a good or bad sign from here.

“Did anyone get hurt?” Jones asks, quicker than Meg to drag himself out of his seat and over to the counter, despite the fact that from what Meg’s heard, he’d been up all night tending to a tourist with a nasty fever.

Meg quickly hops off the bench and rushes over to the counter to try to get a better look, too.

“It’s fine,” Dylas says. Meg can hear his scowl before she gets close enough to see it. “Just a plate. …Or, a few.”

“GAAHH!!” Porcoline yells, on the opposite side of the kitchen from Meg. She feels a spike of panic graze her heart, until she sees the look in his eyes, and the spike melts into her lungs instead and evaporates into a sigh.

“Porco, be seri—”

He talks right over her, the jerk. “Just a plate? Just a plate?! It was a masterpiece! A marvel of creation!”

Meg’s close enough to fully look over the side of the counter, now, and she doesn’t miss the way Dylas's hand pauses in its reach for one of the larger, somewhat food-coated shards littering the kitchen floor, or the way his shoulders tense up. She can’t actually see his face from this angle, but she can picture the wince and the grimace well enough. She would be mad at Porco for kicking a man while he’s obviously down, but she didn’t see what happened, so she’ll reserve her judgement until she hears the full story. It’s very unusual for Dylas to drop a plate, so who knows? It’s possible that Dylas deserves it.

“Just a plate, he says! Has he no shame?!”

Although, this is Porcoline. So maybe not.

“Porco.”

“Dylas, my own room and board, how could you wound moi so?” He leans up against the fridge dramatically, ladle pressed to his forehead. He’s obviously not hurt, but Meg is edging closer to wanting to change that herself.

“Porco!”

“Porcoline,” Jones butts in, de-escalating with all the grace his good bedside manner allows, “you aren’t injured, are you? Did either of you cut yourselves or…”

Jones falters just a moment, trailing off as his eyes drift shut just a little too long to be a normal blink.

Choosing his next words with apparent care, he continues, “If either of you cut yourselves… If you could please tell me where…”

Dylas shakes his head harshly, standing up so quickly that Meg is somewhat concerned he might actually cut himself now, on one of the larger pieces of the broken plate that he has gathered and is still clutching.

“I’m fine. Really. It’s fine.”

Jones looks less than convinced, but before he can say anything else, Porco pipes up again. He has not dropped the ridiculous pose.

“It may take me some time to recover, but the only thing that’s been wounded is my pride. But, oh! The cut is deep! Alas! I fear—”

“I’m sorry, okay!” Dylas barks. He takes a breath, and continues in a slightly less aggressive manner, “It won’t happen again. I…wasn’t thinking.”

Meg’s been eying his hands suspiciously, to make sure he hasn’t cut himself and lied about it to avoid troubling anyone. For this reason, she notices now that he’s…fidgeting? She would have expected clenched fists or even for his hands to be shaking with the nerves of surprise and frustration at making a mistake, but what he’s actually doing is turning one of the shards over between his fingers. Still nerves, but certainly not the ones Meg was expecting.

Interesting. It isn’t really like him to get so distracted while he’s working, but is it possible that his mind truly was elsewhere?

Porco hums loudly, and finally drops his arm and pushes off the fridge. He makes an exaggerated face as though he’s considering what Dylas is saying, but Meg wonders if Porco’s just using it as an excuse to look him over. He’s probably just as curious as she is to know what Dylas could have been so preoccupied thinking about.

“Well, I suppose I could find it in this vast and deep heart of mine to forgive you… If you were to cook something especially for moi!”

“Huh?” Apparently Dylas hadn’t been expecting that.

Meg isn’t sure why, since he basically brought it upon himself. Meg likes cooking well enough, not that it’s a passion of hers by any means, but she can’t say she would ever have chosen to take lessons from Porco or to willingly make him any sort of food as a treat without a good reason. No matter how good a cook and, likely, teacher he is, giving him one speck of food is more than enough to invite him (in his eyes) to beg for more. Like a poorly trained puppy.

It is cute to watch them cook together, though, so Meg won’t be the one to bring any of that up.

Porco, apparently doing well enough to drop the dramatic act for a second, turns to Jones, gesturing towards the half-finished bowl of fried rice he’d left behind at his table. “My good doctor, we’re just fine. Why don’t you go finish eating, and let us fuss over our little mess here? You’ll waste the precious pre-lunch rush worrying over us!”

Jones casts one more evaluating look over both Porco and Dylas, but he doesn’t seem to find anything amiss. That, or the burst of energy he’d had that carried him out of his chair has completely been used up. He looks dead on his feet, enough that Meg is surprised Nancy actually let him walk all the way to the restaurant instead of insisting he go straight to bed. She’s probably got her hands full after taking over watching their patient, though.

“Very well… But, if either of you need any assistance, please,” he unsuccessfully tries to stifle a yawn, “don’t hesitate to ask.”

Meg steps closer to him, instinctually wanting to help somehow, but he waves her off before she really gets anywhere near him.

“Thank you, but I’m fine. Just had a long night.”

Meg isn’t so sure that’s how she’d describe it, even with the limited information she has, but he seems steady on his feet, if exhausted. That doesn’t mean she won’t fuss over him just a little, since Nancy and Dolce aren’t here to do it.

She purses her lips and hums before relenting, “Well, then, finish up quick so you can head back to bed.”

His smile says he sees right through her, but he simply says, “I think I’ll do just that.”

“And,” Porco cuts in, “I do hope you remember the great generosity and thoughtfulness some of the residents of this wonderful town possess when the time comes for the next yearly check-ups—”

“Porco!” Meg wheels back around so she can waggle a finger in his face. “You are not getting out of that, and you know it.”

Jones laughs softly as he returns to his seat. As he pulls out his chair, he makes knowing eye contact with Meg.

“Not to worry. I’m well aware of how kind everyone in Selphia is. That’s why I have to make sure I do my part…for everyone.”

Porco squacks, and Meg shares a slightly sardonic smile with Jones. He’s pretty good about being universally pleasant most of the time, but Meg kind of likes whenever he shows more of his snarky side. Maybe she should tell him to come to her directly when it’s time for Porco’s checkup this year. It would probably go faster that way, anyways.

She’ll have to do that later, though. For now, she turns back towards Porco and Dylas, who has already ducked back behind the counter again.

“Dylas, you’re actually going to cut yourself if you keep picking them up like that. Let me at least get you a broom,” Meg says, already going around to grab her recently reinforced cleaning tools from the cabinet.

Meg had been planning on doing a thorough deep cleaning of the second floor (since apparently no one else will; honestly, she loves them, but all three of her boys are completely hopeless). Now, she’s glad she had asked Frey to get her those extra cloth materials for an entirely different reason. Keeping the kitchen clean and free of potentially dangerous shards is more time-sensitive than the bedrooms, as bothersome as the state of the latter is.

When Meg gets back to Dylas with a mop in one hand and a broom and dustpan in the other, he’s staring at the floor. Meg would make a joke about how the floor should be the one glaring at him and not the other way around, considering who dropped what on whom, but Dylas isn’t actually glaring. He’s just looking at it, distracted, almost. Something is definitely up.

Meg clears her throat.

Her eyebrow raises steadily higher when Dylas doesn’t even move. Being willfully ignored is one thing, but this is like he hasn’t even heard her. She looks at Porco, who simply shrugs at her and doesn’t do a single thing to help. Honestly, she’s not sure what she was expecting.

In the end, she only gets Dylas's attention when she bops him on the head with the broom handle. And she gets more of it than she was expecting.

“What—?!” he squacks, flinching hard and fumbling with the largest piece of plate he’s holding before fully dropping it.

His face scrunches up at the sound of the shard breaking apart even further. When he straightens up to face Meg directly, his ears are flicked back in annoyance. Then he catches sight of the broom still held up in Meg’s hand, and he has the decency to look a little less angry and a little more embarrassed, though the frown remains.

Meg is… She’s very confused by whatever is going on with Dylas today; she hasn’t seen him anywhere near this shaken up or jumpy since all that business with the Sechs. And even then, he’d been more angry than anything. Meg isn’t sure what exactly he is right now, but clearly something is bothering him.

Well. She may not know exactly what’s going on, but she does know the best ways to get Dylas to fold and own up to it. Asking never works, unless she wants to wait a week for him to mull it over in his thick skull until he realizes it’s bothering him, and then another week after that for him to wrestle himself into actually asking for help.

So instead she narrows her eyes just so and is pleased when Dylas breaks eye contact first. And people think he’s the stubborn one between the two of them. It’s laughably easy to push his buttons.

“What,” he snaps, but it lacks the usual bite because he’s also blushing, and he refuses to meet either her or Porco’s eyes anymore, all but completely turning his back to them.

Porco tuts, “My, my! Where has our cool and collected Dylas gone? To think, we’d bear witness to such a stoic creature with such ruffled feathers!”

Meg stifles a laugh, but based on the look on Dylas's face, she doesn’t do a very good job of it. Well. Now that she knows he’s okay, he’s not going to be spared any. He did break restaurant property and waste perfectly good food, after all.

“Porco, I can’t believe you’re able to call Dylas ‘cool’ or ‘stoic’ with a straight face.”

Dylas huffs at her. Judging by the slight tilt of his head and the flick of his ear, Meg knows he’s rolling his eyes. She smirks and leans in further, trying to make him face her directly through the force of her willpower alone.

Or, almost alone. Teasing always helps, too.

“You know, just last week, I could have sworn we received a bunch of complaints…something about one of our wait staff getting into a screaming match with—”

Meg is cut off when Dylas whips around and looks directly at her, almost frenzied. She can’t tell if his face has gotten redder or grown more pale. Maybe even Dylas’s face hasn’t decided what the correct course of action is.

“That has nothing to do with it,” Dylas says, far too quickly to be believed.

Ah. That…could actually be a problem. And here Meg had thought they’d finally gotten over all the fighting.

Meg silently replays last week’s incident in her head.

...Okay, so maybe not all the fighting, but at least the serious stuff. She’d been so sure they’d gotten past the kind of thing that would bother Dylas so much that he’d be this worked up. Worked up enough to make more work mistakes in the past 10 minutes than Meg’s seen him make probably the entire time she’s known him.

“Dylas.”

“It doesn’t.”

Meg puts every ounce of her belief in that statement into her expression. Which is to say, no belief at all. She sighs and says, “So then, you’re telling me you two didn’t manage to get into another fight?”

Dylas looks indignant as he snaps, “No. It’s— We’re—fine.”

Meg frowns at him, but he’s being surprisingly steadfast in his expression, considering how quickly he’d broken just moments ago. She can tell there’s still something he isn’t telling her, though.

He sighs and grumbles, “Meg, seriously, we didn’t get into a fight, okay? Drop it.”

As much as Meg loves making Dylas uncomfortable and watching him squirm, she doesn’t really want to push the matter if it’s actually bothering him. And besides, they both need to get back to work before the approaching lunch rush gets underway.

She does want to make sure she gets the last word in, though, so she reaches over the counter to straighten out the sleeve of Dylas's uniform. (He’s been doing a great job wrinkling it while they’ve been talking.)

Dylas jerks like he wants to yank his arm away but quickly gives up before going through with it. He gives her a flat look, and Meg smiles sweetly in response.

“Really, Meg?”

“Hm?”

Meg usually prefers to be direct with people, but she knows the faux-innocent sweet act grates on Dylas's nerves more than almost anything else. She blinks at him with too-wide eyes.

“Just making sure my dear coworker looks presentable for work! We do represent the image of the restaurant, you know!”

To drive this point over the edge, she leans even further over the counter to fiddle with his collar. (That, there’s nothing wrong with whatsoever.)

Meg can practically see steam rising as Dylas's blank stare deteriorates into a glare. She is endlessly grateful for how easy it had ended up being to learn how to read Dylas. She had been worried about it in the beginning. But now, it means she can get the full amount of enjoyment possible out of this.

Just because she can, Meg pushes her luck by reaching up even further as though she’s going to mess with the part of Dylas's hair.

She can count in with perfect timing exactly when Dylas decides he’s ‘done with her dumb shit.’ He smacks her hand away (quickly, but fairly gently) and leans back from the counter.

He snaps, “Meg, enough already! Cut it out!”

“Well, I’ll leave you to it!” she trills.

She cackles in what she’s sure is a very unflattering manner as she skips back over to her piano. Not like it matters; Jones (their solitary current customer) only has eyes for Nancy, and Dylas and Porcoline have both seen far worse looks on her. Of course, none of them are her beloved girlfriend either, but Meg would still like to maintain a certain image to the town at large, if possible. She has standards, and she’s a performer to boot; image can be important.

That said, it definitely would have still been worth it even if any of those things had been different solely for the look of fond disgust she catches on Dylas's face when she reaches her bench and throws one last smile at him.

He huffs and rolls his eyes, grabbing the broom and getting back to cleaning the kitchen, but the slight quirk to his lips speaks for itself. Meg can’t believe he was ever legitimately concerned he wasn’t capable of smiling.

Well, except that she absolutely can. It doesn’t really get more Dylas than that.

Meg’s musing is interrupted when the front door is thrown open and someone loudly complains, “I’m starving!”

From her seat at her piano bench, Meg has a pretty good view of the front entrance. She watches as Kiel catches the door behind Doug and lets it fall closed much more gently than it was opened.

Kiel laughs, “Doug, you’re always hungry.”

Doug wheels around so that he’s facing Kiel and walks backwards further into the restaurant.

“Well,” he counters, “you’re never hungry enough! Maybe if you ate more you’d be as tall as Forte.”

Kiel slows to a stop and gives Doug a very deliberate once-over. He cocks his head to the side.

“I’m sorry, do you really wanna play the height game with me?”

Doug shrugs in response. Meg can’t see his face from this angle, but she can imagine the stupid grin he’s probably wearing.

Kiel all but confirms her suspicions by sighing and shaking his head.

“I mean…dunno about you,” Doug drawls, “but I’m pretty tall for my family.”

Watching Doug trying to goad Kiel of all people, Meg belatedly remembers the conversation she and Dylas had just been having. He’d insisted the two of them hadn’t gotten into another fight, but…

Unfortunately, when Meg glances over to the kitchen, Dylas's head is still down, focused on cleaning up his mess. If he’d reacted to Doug and Kiel’s entrance, Meg had missed it entirely. Shoot.

Changing tracks, because she knows Jones is still working off no sleep and likely doesn’t want to be a captive audience to unnecessarily loud and pointless bickering, Meg turns her attention back to her two new customers.

She clears her throat loudly to get their attention, and pointedly says, “Welcome, guys! Feel free to sit anywhere you’d like.”

She uses her best customer service voice: polite and cheerful enough to be taken well by strangers, deliberate and forced enough to make a point to the people who know her well.

Kiel laughs and waves, completely unbothered. “Oh, hi, Meg!”

Doug takes a split second too long to turn around, which Meg probably wouldn’t have thought twice about except that when he does turn, he smiles at her with his eyes closed and both his laugh and his, “Yo, what’s up?” are a touch off to Meg’s well-trained ears.

Before she can put her finger on exactly what sounds wrong with his tone (and decide if it’s something she should be getting mad about), he turns to the nearest table and says, “C’mon, Kiel. We’ll sit here, Margaret.”

Even though he addresses her by name, at no point does he make direct eye contact with Meg. And was that almost an apology for being disruptive?

Well. Meg had honestly been mostly joking when she’d first brought it up with Dylas before, but if Doug’s acting weird too, there’s no way it’s just a coincidence.

Another glance at the kitchen shows Dylas has all but vanished. Meg can see the handle of the broom and hear Dylas shuffling and porcelain clinking, but it’s very suspicious that he’s decided on now of all times to duck so completely behind the counter.

Honestly, these two.

Meg will never understand how they can seek each other out so frequently and spend so much time together talking to each other or talking about each other without the smallest acknowledgement that they’re friends. At bare minimum.

She isn’t surprised by either of them being stubborn or uncooperative, but this level of denial is really just ridiculous.

If Meg has to suffer through one more argument that’s just an elaborate excuse to aggressively flirt… Well, frankly, she knows it’s wishful thinking to even consider them going anywhere near that topic in particular. She’d gladly settle for them admitting they’re friends—best friends, even, if she’s feeling especially generous with her faith in them.

Meg considers the piano keys in front of her. Would it be too obvious to play a ‘coincidentally’ relevant love song?

Probably.

Not to mention, if they are arguing, that could only make the situation worse. Fine. Love songs are out, then.

Meg purses her lips and puffs a bit of air out of her nose. While it’s fun to irritate Dylas (something she has to grudgingly admit she and Doug may have in common), she knows well that there’s a line where it becomes straight-out antagonizing and ceases to be enjoyable for anyone. Meg starts playing something calming and simple instead, hoping to influence and counter any possible crossings of that line.

She hasn’t been paying attention to Doug and Kiel’s conversation now that they’re seated and speaking at a restaurant-appropriate volume, but she does notice when Doug raises his voice again.

“So much for customer service, huh, Kiel?”

“Doug…”

Somehow Kiel sounds both resigned and admonishing, though his smile never falters. Meg can relate, though she’s much more used to Kiel being on the receiving end of an eerily similar look on Forte’s face. The inflection is decidedly different, but the face that he’s making… Meg spends so much time with the both of them together that sometimes she forgets they’re so similar in some ways until she sees them apart again.

Doug hooks his arm over the back of his chair and tilts his chin up and to the side without turning around all the way.

“What? C’mon, it’s obvious this place has really gone downhill lately, but I just can’t put my finger on why…”

Meg plays a single sour note on purpose, just because she can. Unfortunately, Doug either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care.

Kiel puffs something somewhere between a laugh and a sigh.

“You know,” he tells Doug, at a much more reasonable volume, “the same joke gets less funny the more times you repeat it. And also the longer it’s been when you’re still saying ‘lately.’”

“Joke? No way, man, I’m serious! Porcoline really needs to do something about the service in here.”

“Uh huh.” Kiel has turned his attention towards the kitchen, and he tilts his head slightly to the side as he takes in the sight of only the top of Dylas's head that is visible above the counter’s edge.

“I mean,” Doug’s voice is rising again, “how long does a guy have to wait to be acknowledged by a server in here, y‘know? Sheesh. Like, just yesterday—”

Doug is interrupted by the sound of Dylas harshly slamming the dustpan into the trash, banging the side a couple more times than strictly necessary. His face is beginning to get flushed, and if that’s any indication of how pissed he is already, Meg wonders if maybe she needs to step in and put a stop to this before it gets really ugly.

Before Meg can fully make up her mind about it, Dylas looks up, making direct eye contact with Doug, who has now fully spun around in his seat at the other side of the restaurant.

Doug is smiling tauntingly, obviously a challenge. Kiel looks torn between speaking up or taking notes on whatever’s about to happen so he can tell everyone else all about it later in great detail. Dylas's ear twitches.

Meg is barely playing the piano anymore. She’s not sure where exactly Porco ran off to, but she can’t believe he’s missing this.

Meg could swear Dylas's face is still getting redder, but he doesn’t totally blow up, like she expects. Instead, his frown abruptly breaks out into a very severe, extremely forced grin. Dylas is very bad at smiling normally on purpose on a good day, but for once it feels more like he’s smiling badly on purpose. Meg isn’t afraid of the smile, or of Dylas in general, but the idea that Dylas might be evolving enough to have the self-awareness to use his terrible smile to his advantage is more than a bit frightening.

Doug’s smile falters a little, but before he can open his mouth to dig his grave a little deeper, Dylas starts into motion, swinging around the counter and striding into the restaurant proper on his frustratingly long legs.

Meg is no longer playing the piano.

It’s really Doug’s own fault, especially this time, but Meg still kind of feels for him when Dylas is approaching him with such an evil look on his face. Even if Doug was asking for it. It’s like watching an airship wreck; Meg just can’t seem to look away.

Doug smiles again, a bit more genuine than the last. Meg’s surprised that his voice is much steadier and tone more even than she expected when he starts saying, “Dylas, you know I—”

As abruptly as he started moving, suddenly Dylas stops, and Doug’s voice peters out with him. Dylas turns away from Doug and Kiel’s table (and from Meg, totally blocking her view, which is the real tragedy). Only now does Meg notice that Dylas has stopped at the side of Jones’ table. She had kind of forgotten Jones was still in the restaurant at all.

Meg can’t see Dylas's face, but his posture is more relaxed all of a sudden, and if she had to guess she’d say he's probably giving Jones a real smile rather than the terrible grimace he’d directed at Doug.

“Sorry for the wait, Jones. Can I get any of this stuff out of your way?”

Meg knows Dylas is only being as exaggeratedly polite as he is to antagonize Doug, but she can’t help but be genuinely proud of how far he’s come with his customer service. She feels like a proud mother bird watching the baby she’d thrown out of the nest start to fly just like she’d known he would.

Jones—whose face Meg can still see—looks amused by the whole thing. Or, at least as amused as he can be when he’s a couple blinks away from not being able to keep his eyes open at all.

“No need to apologize; I only just finished. Go right ahead, and while you’re at it, here’s what I owe.” He sets a small stack of gold on the table and yawns, covering his mouth with his hand. “I ought to get going, anyways. As nice as the restaurant is, I would much rather fall asleep in my bed than on a table.”

Jones stands, yawning again. Dylas starts bussing the table.

Now is the part where Dylas should thank the customer and give them a pleasant farewell, both of which he neglects to do. But there’s notable improvement in socializing, and then there’s wishing for a miracle.

Meg’s sure Jones wouldn’t take offense even if Dylas was just a stranger, but considering how well everyone in town knows Dylas at this point, Meg knows Jones takes Dylas's slight head nod to be the warm goodbye that it is.

Before Jones turns to leave, a thought seems to strike him, so he calls out again before Dylas can retreat to the kitchen with the dirty dishware leftover from Jones’ meal.

“Oh, and Dylas? When Porcoline gets back, can you tell him I appreciate the meal, but next time he really doesn’t need to make something special for me? It was delicious, of course, but he doesn’t need to make me something that isn’t even on the daily menu.”

Meg knows for a fact that Porco won’t care about this message and won’t listen to it for a second. Stopping Porco from doing whatever he wants is a war Meg has been losing for years, even when she manages victory in certain battles, but it’s sweet that Jones cares enough to have considered it.

Dylas simply says, “Sure.” He also bobs his head slightly in an affirmative.

“Thank you,” Jones replies. “And, Dylas, if you find any cuts or anything from before, please do come to the clinic and let Nancy or myself know. I would hate to see you get an infection of some sort.”

“I’m fine.”

Jones laughs good-naturedly. “Yes, I’m sure. But please, if anything is wrong, it’s always worth treating sooner rather than later. The same goes for Porcoline as well, of course.”

“Sure,” Dylas huffs, fooling exactly no one with his show of annoyance.

“I’ll make sure they make their way to the clinic if either of them needs to, doctor,” Meg puts in from her spot behind the piano.

Dylas doesn’t respond to the barely-veiled threat. Then again, his back is still to Meg, so he very well might be pulling a face, especially if the chuckle Jones lets out is any indication.

“I’m sure you will. Thank you, Margaret.”

“Anytime!”

Jones seems to be laughing softly as he finally heads for the door to return home. Meg’s glad to see him smile, considering the grim state he was in when he arrived.

He affords Kiel and Doug a small wave and a nod as he passes them. “Nice to see you, boys.”

Kiel waves back and says, “See you later, Dr. Jones!”

Doug is glaring at Dylas still, evidently—and worse than before, perhaps he was more bothered by Dylas's little cold shoulder stunt than Meg realized—but he tears his eyes away from his self-proclaimed rival when he hears Kiel.

Long enough to distractedly say, “Uh, yeah. Later, doc,” at least.

And with that, the best distracting buffer for Dylas and Doug’s inevitable squabble is gone. Where in the world is Porco, and what does he think he’s doing, leaving Meg to deal with this nonsense on her own. She does not get paid enough for this. (Actually, Porco pays her more than enough. It’s just that no one could ever pay her enough to put up with Dylas and Doug’s particular brand of stupid. The things she does out of the goodness of her heart.)

As soon as Jones is out the door, Doug is back on Dylas like a weagle.

“What was that all about? Stub your toe on the counter, or something?” Doug’s arms are crossed and his tone is taunting, but Meg can’t help but notice an edge to his expression.

Or maybe she’s wrong about that. If there was anything there, Meg loses sight of it when Dylas quickly wheels around, shouting, “That was—!”

He swallows down whatever the end of that sentence was going to be. Huh. Maybe Meg was right after all, then?

Dylas's ear twitches. So does his tail. Actually, just in general Dylas has been very twitchy today. Unusually so.

For the most part, Meg ignores Dylas when he’s acting like he has something to say because he usually ends up caving and telling her eventually anyway. She’s found that the explanations are always better when Dylas comes to her on his own terms than when she forces him to spit it out. Getting a bunch of nonsense shouted in her face isn’t exactly Meg’s preferred method of communication.

And, given the number of easily-flustered people in her life these days—or at the very least, the two very important people in her life who are both very easily embarrassed—Meg knows it usually helps to have a bit of patience so that they can find their words and express themselves properly.

That said, Meg likes to think she knows Dylas rather well by now. And everything she knows about him is telling her that he’s been very twitchy, today.

And maybe she isn’t the only one who’s noticed. Doug would probably be very offended if Meg said anything to this effect, but she doesn’t find it hard to believe that Doug knows Dylas well enough to read him, too. They spend too much time together for that to be surprising.

Now, whether Doug consciously realizes he’s learned the nuances to Dylas's behavior or not is another story altogether.

Whatever the case, Doug’s eyes narrow, and his arms remain stubbornly crossed as he leans back into his chair further. “What, don’t tell me you tripped and hit your head earlier, and that’s why you forgot you had to do your job?”

So, it’s gotta be subconscious. Unless Doug seriously thinks the best way to get Dylas to tell him what’s wrong is by getting into a fist fight with him, but that’s…

Wait. Wait.

That would explain so much—

“Hey, Meg?”

“Eep!” Meg squeaks and nearly falls off her seat, saved only by Kiel using the hand he’d just used to tap her shoulder to grab said shoulder and keep her upright.

Once she gets her balance back, she turns to point an accusing finger in Kiel’s face.

“Kiel, you scared me! You can’t just sneak up on people like that!”

Meg won’t tell him that her first thought had been that one of the ghosts Dolce likes to joke about clinging to everyone’s shoulders and lurking behind their backs was real and was coming after her to enact karma for eavesdropping, or to tell her that she needs to keep playing music forever to keep it happy and if she doesn’t it’s going to dangle her somewhere very high for a very long time and go after all her friends and family and—

Well. Yeah. Meg’s not going to say any of that, of course.

Not that Kiel isn’t used to that kind of thing. But Meg likes to pretend that she’s better about it than his sister. It’s nice to feel like there’s one way she could protect Forte instead of it being the other way around.

“Um, sorry, Meg.” Kiel’s looking at her like somehow she’s the one who just snuck up and terrified him. “I did call your name a couple of times, though…?”

Oh. That explains the look.

Actually, now that she thinks about it, Meg had been so focused on whatever was going on with Dylas and Doug that she hadn’t even noticed Kiel get up, never mind him walking towards her or calling her name.

Meg sighs. Just her being too nosy and getting herself in trouble again, then.

“No, sorry, Kiel. I’m the one who should be apologizing. I was just,” she glances back at Dylas and Doug—who has apparently stood up to get further into Dylas's face. “Uh…thinking. About. Something…”

Kiel laughs. “Um, okay? If you’re busy, I can come back later. I just wanted to make sure I didn’t forget to deliver Forte’s message.”

That gets Meg’s attention. He should have led with that.

“Forte? What did she say?”

“She wanted to say sorry, but something came up that’s going to keep her busy longer than expected, so she wanted to know if it would be okay to start your date tonight a little later than planned.”

“Oh, is that all? Of course, that’s perfectly fine. Did she tell you what time she thinks—?“

“Dylas, seriously?! What is your problem?”

Meg is extremely serious about her relationship with Forte, and very excited about their date. However, that’s tonight, and she and Kiel can continue this conversation later. Therefore, she immediately whips around to give her full attention to whatever’s going on in the restaurant proper.

Doug is, as she’d noticed earlier, up out of his seat. He might be even closer to Dylas than the last time she’d looked up. It seems he’s ditched the annoyance tactics and is attempting direct confrontation tactics.

Dylas is frowning harshly. “Doug, seriously?” he imitates. He’s not yelling quite as loud, but it wouldn’t take much to get him there.

“Oh, real mature. Can’t believe I bothered worrying about you at all.”

Meg gasps softly and grabs blindly for Kiel’s arm. Her hand snags somewhere on his sleeve.

So he really has gone direct now, huh.

“Kiel,” Meg whispers, gaze locked on the pair in the restaurant, “tell me I didn’t just hear Doug admit he’s worried about Dylas out loud, to Dylas's face.”

“Uh? Is that so weir—”

Meg quickly shushes him, free hand blindly estimating where his mouth should be, when Dylas starts talking again.

“It’s not a big deal!” he growls through clenched teeth. “I’m fine.”

“If it’s not a big deal, then just tell me already, dammit.”

Dylas groans in frustration. “I’m telling you, it’s nothing—”

“And I’m telling you, I don’t believe that for a second if you won’t just tell me—”

“FINE!” Dylas shouts. He takes a breath and, a bit quieter if not any less angrily, explains, “Fine. I broke some dishes earlier, okay? It’s seriously nothing. I don’t get why everyone’s getting so worked up about it!”

Interesting. Dylas is definitely blushing now. Meg can understand why he’d be embarrassed about this, but…

“You—” Doug starts, angry expression dropping, but he’s cut off by a Dylas who doesn’t seem to hear him.

“Porcoline can just take the money for the replacements out of my salary! He shouldn’t even be paying me in the first place, since I’m staying here for free—still!—and I picked up all the shards already so the kitchen should be safe now and—”

“You picked them up?! Like, with your hands?!”

Doug reaches out and snatches one of Dylas's hands. His eyebrows pull together as he examines said hand closely, completely oblivious to the way Dylas freezes, eyes wide as the shattered plates had been before he’d dropped them.

Meg is going to lose her mind. She tightens her grip on Kiel’s sleeve by her side and hisses, “What.”

“...Not,” Dylas starts, voice faltering.

He rips his eyes away from where his own hand is being held between Doug’s, and covers his mouth with his free hand, which does very little to cover the blush overtaking his face.

It does make it a little harder for Meg to catch what he says next, but her ears are very well trained, and she refuses to miss this.

“...Not. Uh, not all—I—just the big pieces—Meg got me a, um, broom…”

Doug turns Dylas's hand over. He doesn’t seem to find anything wrong with it. He looks up, expression openly concerned, but he doesn’t let go of Dylas's hand. Meg doesn’t remember the last time she breathed, but she doesn’t dare move for fear of disrupting the precarious balance of the moment and reminding them of where they are.

Doug’s eyes narrow slowly as he considers Dylas's face. If Meg could somehow hold her breath even harder, that’s exactly what she’d be doing.

“Wait,” Doug says slowly.

He leans in a little closer, like he’s seeing something important written in Dylas's face. Meg truly cannot believe any of this. The slight pause before he speaks next takes an eternity.

“What were you doing that you managed to break a bunch of plates?”

Meg lets her lungs deflate ever-so-slowly as she allows herself to breathe again. These absolute idiots. They are so, so close to something important.

Dylas's face is still red. His tone leaks back into defensive as he shoots back, “What, so I’m not allowed to break things? No one ever freaks out when Xiao Pai breaks plates!”

“Well…yeah, duh. That’s the point. She breaks plates all the time. You never do. One time I saw you burn your hand—don’t think I forgot—getting a plate of food away from Porcoline.”

Dylas scoffs. “Would you drop that already? He was holding it fine; how was I supposed to know Porcoline is a freak of nature?”

Doug gives Dylas a flat look that Meg both agrees with and is offended by in equal measure.

“Shut up,” Dylas snaps, but it lacks any real heat.

“Right. Sure. That still doesn’t explain why you were able to hold onto a plate hot enough to literally cook your flesh without dropping it but you somehow managed to break multiple plates just now when you had one whole customer in the restaurant.”

“That’s—!” Dylas's eyes happen to drop back down to where Doug is still holding his hand, and they stick there like they’re caught in a trap. “That…”

Doug follows his gaze, but he barely has time to blink before Dylas is abruptly snatching his hand back. Doug’s hands hover uselessly in the air for a moment before he seems to process the situation, his cheeks flushing to better match Dylas's. They’re both suddenly very interested in anything that isn’t each other. Doug sets one hand on his hip and scratches at his cheek with the other.

“Ahaha…” Doug laughs, forced and awkward. Then his hand stills and his eyes jump back to settle on Dylas again. “Hey, wait! Don’t think you’re getting out of answering my question that easily!”

Dylas fidgets, tail swishing. He does not return eye contact, and now he’s turned at such an angle that Meg can’t get a good look at his face, so she can’t see his expression.

Doug, however, definitely can. And whatever he’s seeing there (almost certainly embarrassment) seems to be bringing him some amount of joy. He flashes a grin, and the hand that had been on his own cheek drifts away from his face, so that he’s loosely holding up a finger in the air between them.

“Ah, wait,” he drawls, “I think I’ve got it—”

“So! You made such a big deal about bad service and now you’re not even going to give me your order, huh?!” Dylas shouts, very obviously deflecting.

He meets Doug’s gaze as he does it, challenging him to try finishing whatever stupid taunt he was about to give. The longer they stare at each other, the wider Doug’s smile grows and the more Dylas's jaw clenches. They are both flushed. Neither of them choose to comment on this. Meg would like to strangle them for being this way.

In fact, she does the closest approximation of it she can, waving Kiel’s sleeve around a bit uselessly. She gets a small under-the-breath chuckle from him in response.

When it seems to become apparent to Dylas that Doug feels like he’s won and is going to keep silently smirking, Dylas breaks the silence.

“Shut up, you pebble!”

Shockingly to Meg, and infuriatingly to Dylas, Doug elects not to go for the obvious comeback. Which is, of course, to point out that he was not, in fact, saying anything at all. He doesn’t even go for the rote response, which would be to throw back a horse-related insult. He doesn’t reply at all, really. If anything, his smile simply grows larger, and his eyebrows raise slightly.

At much too high a volume, Dylas continues, “Just—! Gimme your order already!! What can I get for you t—”

His shouting trails off as he takes in the completely vacant table behind Doug, confusion painting his features.

“—Two…?”

Dylas glances around the restaurant, argument forgotten. Doug frowns, perhaps displeased to have lost his attention.

“Huh?”

Doug looks over his own shoulder and blinks at the empty table. Before Meg can shove Kiel towards the restroom so it looks a little less like the two of them have just been sitting here watching them this whole time (which is of course exactly what they’ve been doing), Doug happens to catch sight of Kiel behind the piano as he turns around.

Praying the piano provides enough coverage that Doug can’t see it, Meg drops Kiel’s sleeve like it burned her, quickly slapping her hands into her lap. The picture of nonchalance.

“Oi, Kiel. What the heck are you doing over there?”

Dylas follows Doug’s lead, so now the both of them are staring at Meg and Kiel. Meg feels her face burn with a little bit of rightly earned shame, but they both look more confused than accusatory. Even still, Meg isn’t very good at coming up with excuses for this sort of thing on the spot.

Luckily for her, Kiel speaks up before she can.

“Oh, hey, Doug!” he says brightly. “Does that mean you guys are done? Sorry, I wasn’t sure how long you were going to be, so I figured I had time to deliver a message for Forte while I waited.”

“Wh—”

“That’s—”

Doug and Dylas splutter simultaneously. They share a look before quickly and pointedly looking away from each other. It should all be very comical, but Meg’s head is spinning a little. She presses her lips together to stop herself from saying anything stupid.

Chancing a glance at Kiel, she finds that he has a pleasant, carefree smile on his face. Not that he’d lied or anything, but he looks the picture of innocence, in complete contrast to the way Meg feels like she’s been found with her hand in Porco’s ‘secret’ cookie jar. Meg knows from experience that Kiel can get so caught up in his own head that he has trouble with noticing obvious social cues, but this—

Kiel’s sunny smile turns to shine on Meg. Expectantly, he prompts, “So?”

Meg blinks, unprepared to be put on the spot.

“So…?” she echoes.

“So, what’s your answer? About your date?” Kiel explains patiently, smile refusing to dim.

It still takes her half a moment too long, but she does get there. “Oh! Oh, right, of course. I mean—that’s my answer! Of course that’s fine! Please tell Forte I’ll meet her at the later time!”

Meg tries her best to return Kiel’s smile, but she’s unconvinced that her attempt is anywhere near as good.

Thankfully, she’s not the only one a bit off-balance, and it appears to have been good enough, which is all that really counts. Doug looks cowed, as though he really hadn’t realized that he’d completely ditched Kiel to talk to Dylas. The tips of his ears are red, for what Meg assumes is likely a different reason than a couple minutes ago. For his part, Dylas staunchly refuses to look at Meg. Or anyone, really.

“Oh. Cool, cool,” Doug says weakly.

There is a beat of silence in the restaurant. A rare rest in the usual chatter.

Then Doug fake coughs. With everyone’s eyes on him, he says, “Well, uh, if you’re done over there, maybe you should get back over here and order before Dylas really loses it.”

“Hey!”

Doug turns back to Dylas with a grin. “So, did I hear that Porcoline added a fried rice special to the secret menu today?”

Dylas scoffs. “Only for people who contribute essential, life-saving services to the community.”

“Lame.”

“And like I keep telling you, there is no secret menu.”

“Right, right, I know! Of course there isn’t.” Doug winks exaggeratedly.

Dylas smacks a hand over his forehead and takes a deep breath.

Kiel laughs (out loud, this time) at their antics. “Well, I should probably let you get back to your job. Nice talking to you, Meg! I’ll be sure to let Forte know.”

Meg laughs too, but she’s not entirely sure at what anymore. She feels a little defeated.

“Yeah, thanks, Kiel. Talk to you later,” she says, more a request than a pleasantry. They have a lot to talk about.

Kiel steps around the piano, towards Dylas and Doug. With his back to them, he winks at Meg.

“Yep! See you later!”

Meg watches him turn and join Dylas and Doug’s conversation as he and Doug return to their table, but she’s not really listening to them anymore.

She sets her hands back on her piano and starts playing something simple and familiar while she lets her thoughts settle.

Meg’s always known Kiel is incredibly intelligent, but he’s always so direct that apparently Meg has never even considered that he could be sneaky when he wants to be. She wants to replay every time he’s ‘accidentally’ spread a rumor about Forte or told Meg specifically something embarrassing about his sister (or, more accurately, something Forte is embarrassed by, regardless of whether it’s something truly embarrassing), to reconsider whether he truly didn’t realize what he was doing or whether perhaps it was all a ploy to get Forte to open up more and to get everyone to understand her better. As much as she wants to, though, Meg unfortunately has a more pressing issue that demands her immediate attention.

Meg had been legitimately concerned when Doug had first walked in. Concerned that he and Dylas were about to get into it. …Again.

But now, considering everything that’s just happened, she’s forced to reconsider the evidence. Yes, they had still argued and bickered and insulted each other, but that was a given with them. And while it was obvious to everyone in town—and most likely even to many of the tourists—that they both genuinely cared about each other, it was rare they let themselves show it. Or, rather, it was rare that they’d consciously let themselves show it, especially in each other’s presence and with no other pretences to hide behind.

Probably the only time Meg has seen either of them express direct, explicit concern over the other, and go as far as acting on making sure the other was okay in an obvious and clear way, was when Dylas had gone to check on Doug after Doug had been attacked by the Sechs soldier in the Town Square.

That, though, had been an actual injury, and a serious one at that. Dylas might have only gone into the clinic to check on Doug in person the one time, but he’d been on edge the entire time Doug was stuck there. Meg has an inkling that it hadn’t only been on account of the threat of a possible Sechs invasion.

This, however. This is nothing like that. Dylas is completely fine, other than perhaps his bruised ego. The worst he’d done was drop some flatware, not get emotionally manipulated by way of his trauma in public and, you know, stabbed.

And yet, Doug had grabbed Dylas's hand, one might even say, held it, and Dylas hadn’t complained. In fact, he’d pretty much done the opposite, right up until he’d realized what was going on and snatched it back.

No, wait. That’s not quite right.

He’d known the whole time. There’s no way he hadn’t; Meg had seen him looking at their joined hands at the very beginning. So then, why had he snatched it back?

Dylas had broken contact when Doug had asked about why Dylas had made such an uncharacteristic mistake with the plates, right? So, did that mean it was something he didn’t want to discuss enough to warrant such a strong reaction?

Interesting.

Very interesting.

So then— But, no, there’s no way. Meg loves Dylas, but she’s never met someone more out of touch with their feelings. The constant stubborn denial is as endearing as it is aggravating.

So, surely, what Meg is thinking is impossible.

Then again… The blushing, the hands, the way Dylas was for the most part avoiding eye contact with Doug during and after the whole conversation…

Meg gasps in spite of herself. She looks over into the kitchen as best she can from her bench. Porco has reappeared and seems to be ostentatiously modeling the replacement plates he brought back with him. Dylas is completely ignoring him, and is in fact staring across the restaurant. A couple more customers have trickled in while Meg was distracted, but Dylas is very clearly looking in the direction of one particular table.

His ear twitches, and he glances at Meg, freezing when he sees that she’s already watching him.

Meg slowly lets a wide, knowing smile split her face. It only grows wider the more intensely Dylas frowns at her.

Sensing that he has (rightly) lost, Dylas huffs and stomps past Porco, growling something about how Porco had better wash the new dishes before serving anything on them.

Dylas marches to the new table to greet them. This just so happens to be in a direction away from Meg, coincidentally. She doesn’t recognize any of the newcomers, so they must all be tourists.

As Meg happens to get to the end of the song she’d been playing, she seamlessly flows into the next.

Dylas nearly drops his tray onto one of those poor tourists. His posture goes rigid, and Meg has no illusions about the fact that she would probably have to beat a hasty retreat with a well-timed Escape spell if there weren’t any customers present.

As it is, Meg’s sure these new customers are going to be leaving a poor review of their service, but Meg can’t bring herself to care too much. This is absolute confirmation that she’s right, after all.

It’s also hilarious. Meg did not ever expect to become well-versed in horse body language, but the fact that Dylas's ears give away so much of what his face doesn’t has made it more than worthwhile to embrace a very late horse girl phase.

The song Meg is playing now is the very same song she’d written at Frey’s suggestion and insistence. It’s the one she’d confessed to Forte with. Dylas always mentions when she plays it too much, complaining that it’s a dead giveaway for when Meg’s feeling ‘love-y and gross and annoying.’

Dylas finishes taking orders and spins around stiffly to glare daggers at her.

She doesn’t even bother pretending to look innocent anymore. Smirking, she hums a bit of the melody, not really loud enough to carry. On Holidays and for certain festivals, Meg will play a couple sets where she sings while she plays, but during the week it’s usually only instrumental. Which is probably for the best right now. Meg would love to sing a couple of the more embarrassing lines and be able to laugh at someone else instead of cringing at herself for writing them for once, but Dylas knows the words well enough that the effect is really the same even without the vocals.

To be sure, it’s likely only the fact that she isn’t singing the vocals that no one seems to notice the conveniently timed song genre change, keeping the restaurant at large from realizing what she’s doing, which is in turn the only thing stopping Dylas from marching right over and throttling her.

Thus, the gossamer threads of socially acceptable behavior are holding together her entire platform of publicly (but subtly) roasting one of the men Meg’s come to consider like family to her, and she couldn’t be happier to have caught him in her web. There’s no struggling to escape either, since no one besides herself, himself, Porco, and Forte are likely to have heard the song enough to recognize it by the instrumentals alone, and reacting too obviously will only serve to draw attention to the fact that Meg’s doing something at all, which will only invite questions into what that something is. Dylas is well and truly trapped into listening to the rest of the song played especially for his benefit while Meg smiles like a madwoman.

Dylas spends as much of his time as he can dodging Meg’s pointed looks while simultaneously attempting to melt her out of existence with his eyes though sheer force of will. He is not successful at either endeavor.

Over the course of the lunch rush, Meg becomes more sure than ever that Dylas, perhaps the most emotionally constipated person Meg knows, has somehow managed to figure out that he has feelings for Doug. Like, positive, romantic, non-anger feelings. Love-y feelings.

This is huge.

Meg had been focused on the smaller step of making Dylas admit that spending all his free time with or talking about the same person means that he does, in fact, enjoy said person’s company. It seems like only an obvious extrapolation to Meg that the way they both go about this also points to them liking each other, but honestly, Meg hasn’t dared to dream so big. At least, not so soon.

But maybe she was approaching the steps the wrong way. Just because she and Forte had been best friends (in that they’d both non-secretly considered the other their best friend) long before they’d dated doesn’t mean that’s necessarily going to work for these dummies.

Considering that those two have already done so much of their friendship backwards, it should have been obvious to Meg to expect the same from any possible romance. They need louder and blunter to communicate, so perhaps it only makes sense that realizing their feelings would be the same.

At least, for Dylas. Not that they aren’t still friends, but Meg isn’t as close with Doug, so she’s not as sure on where he stands. Watching the back of his head while he eats lunch unfortunately doesn’t do much in the way of helping her glean anything from him.

Meg knows she’s being nosy, maybe even more so than usual, which is kinda saying something, but this is Dylas. She wants him to be happy.

…And she knows he’s gonna stand in his own way as much as humanly possible like the stubborn fool he is. So she feels like it might be best if someone gave him a little push, is all.

If she must be yelled at a bit to get it done, so be it. That’s just a sacrifice she’s going to have to be willing to make.

The rest of lunch is much more peaceful and ordinary than the beginning had been.

Meg might have pulled out the occasional love song, but maybe she’s just in the mood for them today. For the most part, she sticks to her usual set.

When Doug and Kiel finish up their food, Doug ends up hounding Dylas back to the kitchen, begging for free dessert that he probably doesn’t even really want. If his goal is to get on Dylas's nerves, Meg thinks he might be both failing and succeeding, depending on which kind of nerves he’s thinking of.

Watching them, she can’t believe she didn’t see it sooner. The restlessness, the fidgeting, the distraction. Of course Dylas would only get like this about his own feelings.

As Meg finishes the song she’s playing, she decides it’s conveniently a good time to take a break in her set.

Meg makes a small show of getting up and stretching as she stands, to really sell the need to get up during her break. No one is paying her any attention, not even Dylas. He’s been giving her death glares every chance he gets, but right now he seems to be distracted, disagreeing with whatever Doug’s saying about the new replacement plate in his hand that he has apparently swiped from over the counter. He’s inspecting it far too closely for it to be genuine interest.

Perfect. Meg sneaks over to Kiel, left sitting alone at his and Doug’s now-clean table. He looks content enough, bent over a book and seemingly unbothered by Doug ditching him for the second time in one meal.

Dropping into the seat next to Kiel, Meg leans her chin on her hand and angles herself in such a way that she can look at Kiel while also easily keeping an eye on Dylas and Doug in her peripheral.

She leans in and half-whispers, “Okay, so please tell me you saw the same thing I did.”

Kiel calmly finishes whatever sentence he’s reading, bookmarks his page, and sets his book aside. Before Meg can tell him to hurry it up already, he glances up at the kitchen thoughtfully.

“You mean Doug and Dylas obviously flirting with each other in public?” The look on his face is the sort he gets when trying to figure out a riddle and is second-guessing the answer for being too easy. “I mean…that’s pretty normal though? Did you know they do it so much that Dolce thought they were already a couple when she got here?”

Meg actually hasn’t heard about that, but as funny as it is, she doesn’t have the luxury of time to talk about it. Either of them could come back at any moment and she’ll lose her chance to talk to Kiel.

(She’s definitely going to ask Dolce about this later, though. And if she won’t talk, Pico definitely will.)

“You’re not wrong, but no. Or, well, yes, it is about that, but it’s not the fact that they were doing it that I’m talking about.”

“Oh, okay.” Kiel still looks curious, but he no longer looks confused. “I thought it would be really weird if you hadn’t noticed until now.”

Meg kind of wants to be offended that he’d even consider it.

“Of course I noticed! I think the only ones who haven’t noticed are those idiots themselves.”

Kiel giggles. Brightly and sarcastically, he says, “But they always hide it so well! Like when they get each other really thoughtful birthday presents and give them to each other anonymously… Oh, but you didn’t hear that one from me.”

Meg snorts. “Yeah, last year on Dylas's birthday I got to the restaurant early to clean so Dylas wouldn’t have to, and Doug tripped over himself pretending he was just looking at the ‘anonymous’ gift because he needed to know what kind of fool would be Dylas's secret admirer. Alone. In the restaurant before it opened. To evaluate a birthday gift for his ‘rival’ that he obviously would have known ahead of time would be left there, in the restaurant.”

“In his defense, considering he’s been doing it every year since Dylas arrived, there is precedent for it,” Kiel can’t keep the laughter out of his voice completely. He tries to stifle it with his hand. “Did he really say the words ‘secret admirer’? They’re both too honest for their own good, I think.”

“But that’s just it though!”

Meg grabs the chance to get this conversation back on track—they can banter about this later. As much as Meg really wants to point out the fact that Kiel of all people is calling anyone else ‘too honest for their own good.’

She leans in and glances around furtively, only mildly exaggerating the level of secrecy this conversation warrants. Kiel leans in to match her, eyes bright.

“I think they’re finally admitting their feelings to themselves!”

Kiel gasps appropriately, like the good co-conspirator he is. He really is the most fun to talk to about these things; it shouldn’t be any wonder that he winds up hearing everyone’s stories all the time.

He puts on an analytical face and steals a look at the men in question from underneath his bangs.

“Are you sure? I’ve seen them be this obvious before, but it never goes anywhere.”

“This time is different. Or, well, I’m not sure about Doug, but I know Dylas has definitely realized his feelings.”

“Really?” Kiel looks at her, smiling excitedly. “How can you tell?”

Meg sits up straighter and puffs her chest out a little.

“It’s obvious if you know how to read him as well as I do.”

Kiel looks impressed, and not just for show. “Wow. I didn’t notice anything!”

Meg giggles and drops the self-important posture. She admits, “Well, that, and I played a bunch of love songs while they interacted today and I’m pretty sure Dylas has plotted out both my murder and funeral by now.”

Kiel presses a fist to his mouth, shoulders shaking slightly. Somewhat breathless, he manages to say, “You didn’t.”

“I absolutely did. I played the one I wrote before I confessed to Forte and he nearly brained a customer with his tray. And he knows that song and what it means better than almost anyone because I made him listen to it all the time while I was writing it, every time I needed to change something.”

“That’s awesome,” Kiel breathes, eyes shining. “I wish I’d noticed that. I know we saw the whole hand-holding thing earlier, but I was wondering why you were making such a big deal about it.”

“That’s the thing!” Meg plants her hand on the table (quietly, but forcefully) and turns her torso to face Kiel better. “I’m almost positive the reason Dylas has been acting weird all day is because he finally figured out how he feels about Doug!”

“Huh. I wonder if something happened? Didn’t they have a big fight last week?”

“Yeah, they did. I was here for that; it was the worst it’s been in a long time. And then they weren’t talking.”

Kiel hums. “You think that’s how he noticed? ‘Absence makes the heart grow fonder’ and all that?”

“You might be right.” Meg’s eyes drift back over to the kitchen.

She should probably tell Dylas to stop ignoring the other customers, but it looks like Porco has drifted out to talk to them in Dylas's stead. He’s probably just hunting for scraps, but Meg knows that his eccentricities are actually a great source of word of mouth advertising, so it’s probably unnecessary for her to step in. …Probably.

Kiel sighs. He’s still smiling, but he’s managed to get his giggles under control.

“So, I guess now we just have to watch them be awkward with each other on top of everything else while we wait for them to figure out it’s mutual and actually confess, huh?”

Kiel’s right. They’re both too dense to get through this in a reasonable amount of time. But…

“About that,” Meg starts, “I don’t think we should just wait.”

Kiel tips his head at her. “What do you mean?”

“I think we need to help, you know, give them a push. They don’t need to know we’re doing it or anything.”

“Like, set them up?” Kiel looks at the kitchen and considers them. “I’m not sure if there’s really anything we can even do to push them any closer to each other.”

Meg hums. “Right, but they obviously like each other, so the hard part is already taken care of. All we have to do is make sure one of them knows he can go for it.”

“That’s a good point…” Kiel meets Meg’s eyes again, and seems to come to a decision. “Well, I don’t know what I can do exactly, but I do think they belong together. I’ll help however I can!”

“Excellent! Exactly what I was hoping to hear. So, here’s what I’m thinking…”

By the time Dylas and Doug are done arguing over plates—which is a new one, and also surprisingly domestic for them, even if these are the restaurant’s dishes and not anyone’s personal set—Meg has finally gotten Kiel to cough up an exact time for her and Forte’s rescheduled date, so she has that to look forward to this evening. And now, Meg and Kiel are chatting amicably (and safely) about nothing in particular. Which is to say, gossiping. Just, about anyone other than Dylas and Doug.

Meg gives Dylas a look behind Doug’s back that Dylas pretends he doesn’t see. She has to stifle a laugh, which Dylas also pretends not to notice.

Doug doesn’t notice either thing, and if Kiel sees them he doesn’t let on that he does. Either way, Doug and Kiel exchange ‘goodbye’s and ‘see you later’s with Meg and Dylas, and then they’re gone, off to do whatever else they have planned to do today. Dylas slips away before Meg can so much as blink at him, the coward. Not to mention how short-term that solution is, when they see each other all the time.

Nonetheless, she lets him run and hide. For now. A short respite, just for him.

The rest of the lunch shift is boring. The usual suspects, some ordinary tourists. Meg cools it with the love songs and returns to one of her usual sets after her break. Nothing comes anywhere close to the excitement earlier.

Which is fine; a mostly quiet day at work should be considered a good thing. However. There’s no possible way she can just let Dylas off the hook completely.

After the last lunch customers trickle out the doors, Dylas gets to work wiping down and cleaning all of the tables. Meg walks around to the kitchen and grabs the mop she had pulled out earlier (because of course Dylas hadn’t actually put it away where it belongs). She sprays a quick, weak Water Laser across the tiled floor of the restaurant and puts some soap on top of that, and then she gets to work.

Of course, this is technically real work, as in, what she is paid to do for a job. However, the real work she needs to get to isn’t anything she’s remotely paid for.

Meg quietly, carefully, strategically makes her way around the restaurant floor with her mop, never stepping over the sections that are still drying. The thing is, Dylas has been here long enough that the two of them have worked up a sort of routine, a rhythm that makes it easy to know where Dylas starts his cleaning and where he’ll go next. Porco used to do this with her and complain the whole time, but Dylas still feels like he owes Porco (to be fair, she completely understands the feeling) and so he had insisted on taking it over for him. He’d done his best to make it seem like he wasn’t doing it specifically as a favor to Porco, but Meg could see right through him. The only issue she had with it was that it was even harder to make sure Porco got in enough exercise now—not that cleaning can properly be considered exercise, but at least it meant a little more moving around every day, before.

Porco himself has actually disappeared again, but this time Meg knows it’s because he wanted to go hand-deliver Arthur’s lunch today. She doesn’t completely know why, since he usually sends either Meg or Dylas to do that for him, but at the moment she can’t help but be grateful that he had gone himself.

Meg doesn’t go through the usual song and cleaning dance with Dylas today, though. She’s on a mission, after all. She works faster than usual and in a particular pattern…

One that has her backing Dylas into a corner. Literally.

She walks backwards, dragging the mop behind her and then she stops in front of Dylas, who she knows has just finished his circuit of table-cleaning. She takes a moment to survey her work before she turns around. It’s not exactly pretty, and she’ll have to go back and re-do it in a minute, probably, but it is exactly what she needs it to be. They are standing in a bubble of dry floor, surrounded by the slick shine of clean water drying all around them.

Meg smirks to herself, and then she does a poor impression of sounding surprised. “Oh, dear, oops. I accidentally surrounded us.” She turns around. “My bad.”

Dylas is frowning at her, brow furrowed, even before she turns, likely trying to figure out why she’s done exactly that, but after she turns around she is witness to the dawning horror spreading across his expression. Very satisfying. She leans against the table Dylas just cleaned and doesn’t even bother trying to pretend her smile isn’t smug.

He opens his mouth like maybe he’s going to say something, and then he closes it, instead openly eyeing their perimeter to find someplace he can walk around, or jump across.

There isn’t anywhere. Meg is crushing it today.

“Guess we’re stuck here until it dries, haha,” she says, eyes glinting.

Dylas simply responds, “Nope.”

And then he starts walking towards the edge of their little circle anyway, slippery tile be damned. Meg swings the mop out in front of him to tap him in the knee. It’s not really enough to stop him; he’s much stronger than she is, and more than capable of walking through her little obstacle if he really wanted to, but he obediently falters to a stop anyway.

“A-ta-ta, where do you think you’re going, mister? The floor is still wet! I can’t let you slip and hurt yourself, or I’ll have to make good on my promise to Jones, and no one wants that. Plus, I just cleaned it all, you’re not going to make me go through all the trouble a second time, are you?”

Nevermind that she’s planning on doing it anyway.

She knows there’s no way she’ll be able to pull off an innocent expression anytime soon, but she’s not above a little old-fashioned wheedling. She has the upper hand because she has years of growing up with a real sibling to draw upon, after all. And, depending on how you look at things, Dylas is technically older than her just like Daria is. Though, that’s… probably the only similarity between the two. (And, again, it’s really only a similarity if you take age to mean when it is now in comparison to what year you’re born.)

“Come ooon, Dylas. Please? Frey just helped me fix up this mop, I’d hate to wear it down again right away.” If Meg gets a little sing-song-y, who can blame her? She’s very good at singing and songs, after all.

Maybe if she wasn’t so familiar with him, the severe look on his face would be intimidating. As it is, what Meg notices is the preemptive slump in his shoulders and the small sigh that escapes his lips when he realizes that he’s really going to have to do this.

And actually, maybe Meg spoke too soon. Dylas’s attitude about it might be almost the exact opposite as Daria’s in expression, but it’s pretty much just as easy to get him to grudgingly give in to Meg as it is with Daria. Which, really, is a feat with either of them. Hm, another similarity then: bullheadedness.

Not that siblings—or, uh, siblings and people-who-share-the-same-benefactor—are what Meg is really worried about right now. Or, well, it is about one of those people, but not… It’s not about Meg, is all. Or even Meg and Dylas’s relationship.

No, no. Time to get back on track. There’s another relationship of Dylas’s that Meg would really rather talk about right now.

Dylas sighs again, only louder. “Meg…”

She grins as impishly as possible and smarms, “So, since we’re stuck here, why don’t we talk about you and—”

“Margaret.”

Meg gasps, “Why, Dilly-Dally, are you…full-naming me? After all this time?!”

“Shut the fuck up,” he snaps, pouting pathetically.

Meg laughs at him, which only deepens the pout. “Aw, come on, Dylas, don’t be like that. You know you can talk to me about anything…but if you really don’t want to, you don’t have to.”

“Good,” he replies, short and curt. There is well-placed suspicion in his eyes.

“…Buuuut, if you don’t want to talk, then I’ll have no choice but to speculate on my own,” she sings.

“Meg, please,” he begs, panic in his eyes. “We really don’t have to do this.”

“What! ‘Don’t have to do this,’ pssh. Seriously, Dylas? This is huge! You can’t really expect me to just sit here quietly about it!”

Dylas heaves a long-suffering sigh, as though he doesn’t love and appreciate Meg’s affectionate verbal pestering. Deep, deep down.

“Can you?” Meg ventures, maybe a little more gleeful than she should be.

Dylas mutters, “Not really, but I was hoping you would.”

“It’s like you don’t know me at all!” Meg says dramatically, realizing only a moment too late that she’s imitating the exact same pose Porco had used earlier after Dylas broke the plates. Huh. She files that away to analyze later.

He frowns unhappily and says nothing. And, well, okay, fine. Maybe Meg is being a little unfair to him. He hadn’t done anything like this when he’d found out Meg was pining after Forte, after all.

She drops the dramatics and sets the mop down, propped in the corner of one of the chairs and the table so that she can lean her own weight onto the heels of her hands on the edge of the table behind her, smile much more genuine and much less ‘haha, gotcha.’

“Dylas, I’m only teasing. I think it’s sweet.”

“Yeah. That’s what I’m afraid of. You know how I feel about sweets.”

Meg hums, smile pulling to the side. “Dylas… I’m just, happy for you, I guess. I mean, compared to when you first got here… It’s just nice, you know. To see you…warming up to people like this.”

“‘Warming up’?” Dylas repeats, raising an eyebrow.

Meg huffs. “You really don’t make it easy to love you, you know.”

He finally does crack a small smile at that. Almost offhandedly, he mumbles, “So I’ve been told.”

And then, like the admittance that he knows people really love and care about him is going to ruin his reputation with the town (that loves and cares about him), his eyes go wide and flick towards the front door in slight terror. If he’s thinking again about running away, he’s got another thing coming.

“So you do understand, then. Good. It would be a pain if we all had to keep telling you all the time. Unless that’s your true goal,” she says airly, hoping that joking about it will help the poor man relax a little. He really does worry too much, and that’s coming from Meg, so it’s really saying something.

He squints at her, and then his posture does relax minutely, like he actually is grateful for the joke.

“Don’t know why I’d want to have to hear that from you all the time,” he shoots back, dry as the Delirium Lava Ruins.

“Ouch,” Meg returns, smiling.

Dylas turns away even as his lips quirk upward begrudgingly. They reverse a little again when his eyes catch on the restaurant floor. “Did you really need to trap me like this?”

“Would you have talked to me at all otherwise?”

“…Hmph,” he grunts, which Meg takes to mean, ‘No, absolutely not.’

“Well, there you go.”

Dylas scrunches his face up for a second, but he doesn’t otherwise respond. He’s watching the floor, arms crossed and finger tapping on his bicep as he waits to make his getaway.

The floor is definitely drying off by now, but there’s still no clear path to safety. Meg had made sure to leave the entryway for last, so it’s still coated by a thin layer of water. If Meg wants to get anything good out of him, she’ll have to strike sooner than later.

“Sooo, when did you first—”

“Nope.”

“Dyl—”

“No. Even if we really were doing this—not saying we are—I’m not saying that.”

Meg pouts. “Mmn. Fine. …So what will you say, then?”

“I— Nothing, there’s nothing to—”

He’s cut off when the front door swings open. Meg is frankly ready to curse the existence of whatever customer decided now was a reasonable time to want a meal—there’s always someone who comes in for an extremely late lunch or extremely early dinner, but that doesn’t mean she has to be happy about it today of all days.

Only, instead of a customer, it’s Porco who peeks his head through the doorway, and Meg can’t in good conscience curse his existence.

He smiles when he sees both of them and says, “Ah, Meggy, Dylas, would one of you be willing to do a teeny-tiny faveur pour moi? I asked Arthur if he would be able to get his hands on some foreign spices, but he went ahead and had an entire shipment of ingredients imported as well. Which is quite generous and splendid of him, but I fear we shall be in need of some extra hands to carry everything home…”

“Coming!” Dylas yelps, scrambling away before Meg can do or say anything to stop him.

He takes two long strides and then vaults himself over the last of the drying water, and Meg finds herself cursing his long legs yet again. She’s not even that short, how is it that so many of the people closest to her are such giants? It’s not fair.

Porco steps aside to let him sail through the doorway as though this is a completely ordinary occurrence, and as the door slowly falls shut behind them Meg can hear Porto’s cry of, “Splendiferous!” as they presumably head off together to pick up this shipment from the airship.

Neither of them spare Meg another glance, and she can’t even find it in herself to be mad at them. She pushes off the table and stands in the dry circle of her own creation, planting her hands on her hips as she sighs fondly. Leave it to Porco to save Dylas from Meg’s curiosity. And leave it to Dylas to practically parkour himself out of having a conversation even a little bit about his own feelings.

None of this should come as a surprise to her—and it doesn’t, really. This is just about what she has come to expect from him after having known him for this long. But boy does this boy need some help, if he refuses to even acknowledge his obvious crush to Meg when he knows she already knows about it.

Well, there’s one thing that Meg knows for sure: she certainly has her work cut out for her.

Chapter Text

Autumn 8, 1615

“And I was so worried that I’d messed up and forgotten to do one of my duties that I got up again and knocked an entire shelf over in the dark!”

Vishnal pantomimes the shelf falling with a wide hand gesture, and Doug snorts. Kiel is glad to hear it, too, because he has so far been altogether unsuccessful at steering the conversation away from its current course without either of the others noticing.

Blushing deeply but ultimately undeterred, Vishnal continues, “Volkanon leapt out of bed like the building was on fire, which would have been impressive if it hadn’t been so mortifying. I’m pretty sure Clorica didn’t even move. Although, since we didn’t know each other very well at the time, I was really worried she secretly resented me for disrupting her sleep like that.”

Kiel sees another opportunity to jump in. “Ah, but there’s no way she would—”

“Wait, wait,” Doug cuts him off before he can even begin, which is both rude and extremely unhelpful to Doug’s own plight, which Kiel is valiantly attempting to help him out with. He chuckles, and if Kiel weren’t listening for it, he might not hear anything off at all. “Never mind Clorica and Volkanon for a sec. Dude, if you were that worried about it, why didn’t you just ask her? You easily could have avoided this whole situation.”

“Who, Lady Ventuswill?” If Vishnal notices Doug tense up slightly at the name, Kiel owes him an apology for ever doubting his acting skills. “Oh, no, there’s no way I could have questioned her directly! Don’t you see, that’s the problem! I was so worried I’d screwed something up and she’d hate me and I’d lose my job and I’d have to pack up my things and head back home after everyone had seen me off so happily and after I promised them I’d make the most of this—” he takes a deep, much-needed breath, “Well, honestly, Lady Ventuswill can be pretty imposing when she wants to be, no matter what the princess says.”

Doug hums, staring someplace past Kiel’s floorboards. Kiel hopes he’s distracted enough not to notice the lapse in conversation, because using it, Kiel is finally able to catch Vishnal’s eye and subtly shake his head.

One of the things Kiel likes about Vishnal is the way he always wears his heart on his sleeve. He kind of reminds Kiel of Forte. They’re both embarrassed by their own demeanors, but Kiel thinks it’s one of the reasons everyone trusts them both so implicitly.

Often, Vishnal’s range of facial expressions can be quite comical, but the way his face flows through confusion to dawning horror as he thinks back over the conversation and realizes what Kiel is trying to wordlessly tell him is more sobering than anything. Even for Vishnal himself, apparently, as he rearranges his face into something more neutral.

Really, the most shocking thing is probably that Kiel noticed Doug’s conversational discomfort first, but for better or worse, Kiel has already gotten overly-excited and stepped in it with this particular topic in the past, and probably Vishnal has not.

Vishnal shuffles in place a second, before adopting a more butler-ly posture. A little stiff, but well within the realm of expectable Vishnal behavior, even off-duty.

“A-anyways,” he says with a little self-depreciative smile that Kiel’s pretty sure Doug misses, “in the end, I still don’t know how Lady Ventuswill keeps herself warm in the wintertime, but Volkanon told me not to worry about it, so…”

Kiel can tell Vishnal is struggling for a way to organically change the topic of conversation, so he decides to help him out.

“Ooh,” Kiel gasps, enthusiasm only a touch exaggerated, “that’s gotta be something in The Handbook!”

Doug looks up from his inspection of the space beyond the floorboards to give Kiel a flat look. If he thinks either of them are acting weird, he doesn’t comment on it. “You mean the ~secret~ handbook?”

Kiel nods solemnly. He confirms, “The Secret Handbook.”

Doug also has never had a very good poker face. The twitch of a smile tugs at his lips.

“Right. The ‘secret Selphia butler handbook,’ which definitely exists.”

“I’m telling you!” Kiel insists. Thankfully, the tension from before is melting away. “It only makes sense that it exists. It’s gotta be where Volkanon learned all his special techniques!”

“I’m pretty sure Volkanon is just that good at being a butler!” Vishnal proclaims, looking very relieved to have been saved from any continued forbidden topic faux pas.

“Okay, Vishnal, what exactly does clearing huge boulders or single-handedly flinging oneself over giant chasms to build entire bridges in record time without any help at all have to do with being a butler?”

“Doug,” Vishnal gasps, betrayed, “whose side are you on?!”

Doug shrugs. “I mean, I’m just saying.”

Kiel nods again. “Yep. It’s all in that handbook.”

“Kiel, I live in the castle. With Volkanon. Don’t you think I would have seen it by now if it existed?”

“Well, that’s the thing. It wouldn’t be a secret handbook if just anyone knew about it.”

Doug bursts out laughing. It sounds much nicer than the poor imitation of it had earlier, and Kiel’s glad to hear it. “He’s got you there, man.”

The only thing is, Kiel isn’t totally joking. That handbook exists, and he’s going to read it someday.

Vishnal sighs, but he’s smiling too.

“So,” Kiel says over Doug’s laughter, “you’re going to share it with me when you’re allowed to read it, right? What’s more exciting than reading a forbidden book and learning something you can’t anywhere else?”

Doug reigns in his snickering enough to scoff, “Uh, literally anything?”

He is (rightly) ignored.

“My apologies, Kiel,” Vishnal shakes his head and closes his eyes, sighing again. “But, alas, if I were to be so easily persuaded to spill its secrets, I certainly wouldn’t be worthy of possessing it in the first place.”

This sets Doug off anew, and Kiel can’t help but join in, too. After a second, Vishnal cracks an eye open and loses the battle to keep a straight face almost before it’s even begun.

When they’ve all settled down a bit, Vishnal addresses them again, without the overly-formal affectation this time.

“Okay, but seriously though, if something like that exists—if,” he squints at Kiel, who closes his opening mouth and holds his hands up in surrender, “it existed, I wouldn’t be the one to get it, anyways. It would definitely go to Clorica.”

“Aw, don’t be like that!” Kiel argues. “Don’t give up so easily! You have to hold on tight to the things that are important to you!”

“Kiel,” Vishnal says flatly. “I still wouldn’t give it to you.”

Kiel pouts, just a little.

“It’s hard to say,” Doug says thoughtfully. “Clorica is better at the job overall, but you’re fully conscious the whole time you work…”

“Hey,” Vishnal complains, though it feels like it’s more for show and that his heart isn’t really in it.

“Doug, come on,” Kiel pouts harder. And after they finally navigated their way out of the last dicey conversation, too.

“What! Ugh, you know that’s not how I meant it. Vishnal is great at—well, okay, most of—nearly all of—his job. Clorica is just weirdly competent! She’s good at, like, everything she tries. Nothing he can do about that.”

Vishnal has a weird look on his face, like he’s surprised that Doug had been giving his comment any kind of real thought instead of just going out of his way to insult him. Or maybe he just hadn’t realized that Doug paid any kind of attention to him or Clorica, especially in relation to their work.

“Actually, that’s true. Volkanon is always saying he wants her to be more confident in herself, though.”

“Oh, yeah?” Doug gives Vishnal a pointed look. “If you ask me, you could both be a little more confident. Hell, I know what I just said, but look at who you’re talking to! You’re the only one here who can say he has a job, is good at it, and actually cares about it.”

Kiel chooses to ignore being thrown under the bus, mostly because he can’t argue with the fact that he, unlike literally anyone else in town, is technically unemployed.

He shares a look with Vishnal, and they come to the silent conclusion that they also won’t be pointing out the fact that Doug himself meets that same criteria, despite how much he pretends to the contrary. That’s something for another time. For now, they take a different approach.

“Aww, Doug, you really do care!” Vishnal wipes a tear from his eye, which in all likelihood isn’t something he conjured solely for the act.

“That’s so sweet! Vishnal, Doug’s right. You are a good butler, and anyone can see how hard you work and how much you care. You need to believe in yourself just as much as he believes in you!”

Doug groans, “Ughh, shut up! I didn’t even say anything weird!”

Regardless of whether or not they were before, the tears in Vishnal’s eyes are definitely genuine now.

“Oh, you guys…”

Doug throws Kiel a dirty look. “What, are you seriously gonna mess with this guy’s emotions just to get at me?”

“Of course not,” Kiel denies. “Two birds with one stone; I can knock you down a peg at the same time I prop him up one!”

“Seriously?” Doug is still frowning, but there’s definitely a little heat rising to his face.

“Yep!” Kiel chirps, completely seriously.

Doug groans again. “Why are you like this.”

Vishnal is actively sniffling.

“Besides,” Kiel can’t help smirking just a little, “I was only repeating what you said. I just used slightly different words.”

“I hate you.” The effect of Doug’s words is kind of lost in the red on his face.

“You guys!” Vishnal drawls, part exaggerated but mostly genuine.

He reaches out and pulls both of them into a sort of side hug with either arm. Kiel laughs and leans in to pat him on the back. Doug folds his arms over his chest, but he makes no effort to pull away.

“Yeah, yeah.” Doug’s voice is slightly muffled from where his face is partly smooshed against Vishnal. “Great. We all love each other or whatever, have you had enough?”

A long, loud gasp. “Doug, you love us?!”

“Vishnal. Come on.” Doug rolls his eyes, but Kiel can still hear the smile in his voice.

Kiel laughs happily.

Speaking of Doug’s love, though…

“Hmm… So you’ve admitted that you love us, but what about everyone else in town?” (Like, say, one man in particular, perhaps?) “Hey, Vishnal, do you think we should bring this up at the sleepover tonight?”

“Why, Kiel, I think we may have to do just that.”

It’s not exactly the scenarios Meg has been cooking up this past week, but maybe Kiel will finally be able to get an answer for her about Doug’s status for her operation if he broaches the topic in the right way.

“You guys are literally the worst. Remind me why I bother going out of my way to spend time with either of you?”

“Because you love us,” Kiel and Vishnal chorus, in perfect unison.

Doug groans louder, apparently having reached his limit.

Vishnal releases his hold on both of them. Doug walks over to pull out one of the chairs at Kiel and Forte’s dining table and throws himself into it backwards, straddling the backrest with his arms slung over it in protest.

Kiel glances pointedly from Doug to the chair and back again.

Doug raises his hand to do what Kiel has been assuming is his tribe’s equivalent to flipping someone off. Probably. Kiel is 90% sure that it’s an actual thing, but the fact that there isn’t much documentation on Doug’s tribe in general and the way he’s responded to Kiel’s questions on the subject has Kiel 10% concerned that Doug just made the gesture up purely to screw with him, since he can’t prove any differently.

It seems like a waste of time to Kiel.

Then again, there’s a smile on Doug’s face that is telling Kiel that Doug sees him overthinking and is greatly enjoying it. It’s incredibly frustrating that Kiel will probably never know the truth with certainty. It’s even worse that what Doug’s doing to mess with him is completely working.

Kiel leans back against the wall in defeat. Vishnal remains standing stick-straight in the center of the room, either blissfully unaware of or blatantly ignoring the silent conflict surrounding him.

“Oh, hey!” Kiel suddenly remembers what he’s completely forgotten to ask. “So, speaking of the sleepover tonight, I was thinking about maybe making some snacks to bring! Like, maybe bake some cookies or something? Since we still have a couple hours before we’re all supposed to meet up, I was wondering if you guys wanted to hang out a little longer to help?”

“That’s a wonderful idea! I’d love to help, Kiel! Maybe you can teach me some tips in the kitchen while we’re at it…”

Kiel isn’t super confident that his tips will help Vishnal at all, going off his past failures with helping Forte in the kitchen. Especially since from everything he’s seen, Vishnal is actually worse than Forte, which is something Kiel truly hadn’t thought possible until they’d met. Then again, at least Vishnal is organized and capable of doing a single load of laundry without somehow tearing it all to shreds in new and unimaginable ways.

Despite his reservations about Vishnal being any real help with cooking, Kiel is still convinced it’ll be much more fun to do with company. He also knows they have enough time and extra ingredients to get enough edible cookies made before the sleepover is supposed to start.

Doug smiles weakly, doing his best to not look at Vishnal. “Uh, are you sure that’s…” he trails off, looking away at a random spot on the ground. “Wait, what time did you say it was?”

Kiel looks over at the clock on the wall (one that Doug can definitely see from his current position, if he bothered to look himself). It reads 6:26.

“Well, I don’t think I did, but it’s—”

Doug evidently can see the clock from his seat. He stands before Kiel can finish speaking, quickly enough that he nearly knocks the chair he’d been ‘sitting’ in to the ground. He catches it, loses his own footing, and then very narrowly avoids sending both himself and the chair to the floor.

“Shit,” he hisses, staring at the clock like he can change the time through force of will alone.

Vishnal looks very concerned at the sudden flailing, but he doesn’t manage to come up with anything to say before Doug’s moving on.

He grabs everything he’d brought along to Kiel’s, which had been in a small pile by the front door. Kiel would be hard-pressed to remember another time he’s ever seen Doug in such a hurry to get anywhere.

“I didn’t realize how late it was already,” Doug mutters as he picks up his bag.

Kiel blinks at Vishnal, who shrugs.

“Er, are you working today, Doug?” Kiel asks.

“Huh? Hell no. I just—crap, where did I put it…”

Doug doesn’t bother looking up, clearly too preoccupied to pay Kiel any real attention. He turns in a circle one more time and finally spots the fishing rod he’d brought with him propped up on the wall. (Exactly where he’d left it.)

“A-ha! Gotcha.”

Vishnal looks like he really wants to ask, but he can’t figure out which words to use.

“So,” he tries, “are you…excited for the tournament? Oh, are you going out to practice?”

Doug scoffs, holding the fishing pole to his side, handle resting on the ground. Kiel didn’t really get a good look at it when Doug came in, but now that it’s on display he can see that the quality is really nice. Far nicer than Kiel knows Doug’s usual rod to be.

“Hardly. Seriously, who decided we need to suffer through one of these every single season?”

Vishnal hums, more focused on deciphering the puzzle before him than agreeing or disagreeing with Doug’s sentiment. His eyebrows remain drawn as he considers Doug and the fishing rod he’s holding. Vishnal had arrived last, so it's probable he hadn't even noticed it until now. And when Doug had gotten there, Kiel hadn’t had the time to question or really think about it before Doug was launching into a spirited tirade about a particularly terrible customer.

After a moment of awkward silence, Vishnal says, “Oh, right, uh…” but he trails off before he can build up any momentum.

Kiel decides he needs to step in, partially to help Vishnal out, but mostly because he is dying to hear the explanation for this. There’s really only one kind of logical conclusion to be drawn here. And, Kiel did promise Meg he’d help her gather her data and all.

“Then what’s the fishing rod for?” he questions.

“What?” Doug stares at Kiel blankly for a moment, before he seems to remember what he had been searching so frantically for and is still, currently, holding in his hand.

“Oh, wait, you mean this?” Doug looks at it like he’s seeing it for the first time. He wiggles it at Kiel and Vishnal as though they somehow could have missed it, or have been referring to anything else.

“Er…yes?” Vishnal looks like he can’t decide if he’s walking into the punchline of some kind of elaborate joke or not.

“I was gonna ask you about it when you got here,” Kiel adds, “but you were too busy complaining about customers to listen to me.”

“Well, duh. That’s ‘cause customers fucking suck.”

Kiel shrugs. In his very limited part-time employment at the Bell Hotel, he’d found speaking to potential customers to be pretty enjoyable. Although, considering how he’d kind of botched that job and managed to piss off Xiao Pai of all people (despite her kind insistence to the contrary), maybe Kiel shouldn’t be considered an expert on the subject.

The three of them continue to stand in the front room of Kiel’s house. Doug still does not explain the fishing rod situation.

Vishnal fake-coughs, and Kiel prods, “So…?”

“So sometimes I want to complain about them.”

Kiel and Vishnal stare blankly at him.

“Oh! Sorry, were you still talking about this?”

Even Vishnal squints at him suspiciously, but Doug doesn’t notice because he’s suddenly decided that the view out the front window is the most interesting thing to look at.

“I mean, it’s nothing important or anything,” he says, in a voice that clearly conveys that it is, in fact, something he cares about. “That idiot just managed to fuck up his fishing rod right before the ‘best’ festival, and he was complaining all day the other day about how he’d be at a disadvantage with a shitty rod.”

Vishnal looks very much like someone who just heard the ice crack beneath them and realized they’re at the center of a frozen lake, and now they’re scared to further disrupt the precarious position they find themself in. Kiel feels more like Meg will kill him if he doesn’t take the plunge, though. And, besides, he’s very curious in his own right.

“So what you’re saying is…” Kiel begins.

Vishnal looks over at him, part excited and part panicked, and then he does a very poor job of feigning a more neutral level of interest. Kiel manages not to laugh at this, somehow, instead letting his piqued interest show plainly on his face.

He finishes, “…Dylas was upset about his fishing rod, and he was probably too embarrassed to ask Bado or Frey to fix it, so you decided to go out of your way to get him a replacement. A nice one.”

Doug’s face immediately goes up in flames, and, like clockwork, he’s stringently denying it.

“Wh—! No! No way, don’t put words in my mouth, why would I…”

Unlike clockwork, he trails off, a look in his eyes that Kiel wishes he got more time to decipher. Unfortunately, it only lasts a moment before he turns his head to bore holes into Kiel’s wall.

“Look, I was…just telling Frey how annoying it was to hear him whine, and then she decided to do this. It’s not like I asked for it.”

“Uh-huh.”

Kiel doesn’t quite laugh at him, but he also doesn’t bother hiding his smile.

Vishnal is staring at the fishing rod with an intensity that suggests that if he takes his eyes off of it, it’s going to rear up and eat him. Kiel isn’t sure if he’s blinking. It’s honestly a little surprising he hasn’t started shouting at a volume that would rival one of Doug and Dylas's arguments.

Doug tends to get pretty overtly defensive with his body language when he’s uncomfortable, but right now he’s surprisingly still standing very openly, despite the way he’s avoiding looking anyone in the face. In fact, in Kiel’s experience, Doug is usually straightforward with people. The (admittedly frequent) exception is whenever he’s talking about something that he puts a lot of effort into. Kiel wonders how much of that is intentional and how much is simply subconscious reflex.

Doug doesn’t last long before breaking the short silence.

“I’m just gonna use it to gloat! He’s gonna be so pissed to see me carry it around without even using it.” He laughs, a little forced, but Kiel doesn’t doubt that he does find this idea legitimately amusing. “Heh, yeah, I can already see the dumb look on his stupid face when I show up and—“

Abruptly, the smile drops off Doug’s face, and he whips around to look at the clock again. It’s now 6:31. Doug smacks his forehead and starts backing quickly towards the front door.

“Fuck! I can’t believe I’m right next to the lake and I’m still gonna be late, and I literally just told you guys— Ugh, whatever, I gotta go. Have fun with your bake-off; try not to die. Later!”

Kiel blinks and Doug’s shutting the door behind him with a distracted, half-hearted over-the-shoulder wave. He only slams it a little too hard.

The room is very quiet in the wake of Doug’s abrupt exit. Kiel is debating the ethics of going out to grab Meg and let her know that apparently Doug is meeting Dylas at the lake at a pre-determined and very specific time and even bringing a thoughtful gift with him. He could also go follow Doug himself, but it would only serve to prevent any potential progress if he got caught. And, besides, he can’t just ditch—

Oops. Kiel had nearly forgotten Vishnal was even here. He doesn’t seem very upset over being forgotten and ignored, even if only for a moment, though. He’s still looking at the closed door, flapping his mouth uselessly as he seems to be getting his thoughts in order.

Haltingly he says, “So that. Uh. That was… They— Doug— Rather, what I mean to say is…”

Kiel doesn’t manage to hold it in long enough to see how Vishnal is attempting to finish what he’s saying. He asks, “So, do you think they realize that this is a date?” Then, he and Vishnal lock eyes and burst out laughing at the same time.

“Oh, thank goodness,” Vishnal manages once they’ve both recovered a bit. “I was worried it was only me, or that I was hallucinating.”

“Vishnal. They’re so obvious that I don’t even have to tell anyone for the entire town to know.”

“Well, that’s—” he chuckles a bit, “—certainly true. Huh.”

He glances sidelong at Kiel, and Kiel can’t help but feel a little indignant.

“What? Come on, I’m not stupid, there’s no way I’d be completely unaware of the effect I have on the town.”

“Ah, no, I know that!” Vishnal shakes his head, but the look isn’t completely gone from his eyes when he stops, though he seems like he feels a bit guilty as well. “Sorry, I guess it’s just weird to hear you say it outright.”

“Hmph.”

Kiel isn’t actually upset or anything; the whole town gossip reputation thing is pretty much exactly what he’s been trying to do all this time. Still, it’s more fun to act offended…not to mention, it’s a better way to make sure his secret stays hidden. If he just plays dumb all the time, maybe Forte will never have to know. Kiel is less and less sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing, but that doesn’t change his conviction to make sure it stays a true thing.

This is all something to dwell on another time, though.

“Hey, so I was serious about the baking thing, if you still want to.”

“Oh, yes, please. That is, if you don’t mind,” Vishnal replies, and even if it hadn’t been fully Kiel’s idea and he wanted to say no, there’s no way he could when Vishnal’s wearing that excited look on his face.

Kiel gets everything out and for a while his attention is completely occupied trying to make sure he watches Vishnal’s every move as he walks him through the steps. It seems like it shouldn’t be possible for someone as otherwise capable as Vishnal to mess something up that really is just mixing a bunch of measured out things together, but Kiel knows better than to be complacent.

They do make a small mess, but honestly, Kiel had been more than prepared for the clean-up involved in extending his offer to bake. All things considered, it’s actually not as bad as he’d feared.

He can’t help breathing a little easier once it’s all put into the oven, though. Kiel’s pretty sure nothing got messed up too bad in the process, but now they’ll just have to wait and see.

Now that Kiel’s able to relax a bit, no longer overseeing a potential danger to himself and others, his mind wanders a little. With Doug gone, he can’t get any answers for Meg, but, now that he thinks about it, he is afforded a different kind of (somewhat related) opportunity.

“Hey, actually, listen.”

Kiel leans forward conspiratorially. Vishnal mirrors him, and Kiel can tell he’s already caught his interest.

“So, Meg and I were talking a bit ago, and she thinks—”

Before Kiel can get anywhere, the front door swings open again, bringing with it the sounds of happy chatter.

That is, Amber is chatting happily. She flutters into the house—on her feet, though she might as well be in the air. Her conversational target appears to be Forte, who follows her in with a furrowed brow that clearly says, ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about, but I will do my very best to listen anyways.’ It’s a look Kiel is very familiar with. Rounding out the group is Dolce, who politely but forcefully closes the door behind her, directly into Pico’s face. Of course, Pico is able to just continue in straight through the closed door anyway.

“Yeah, yeah!” Amber emphatically continues whatever conversation she’s been having. “And so then, Lumie said that criminals always get what they deserve, and we untied him and let him go! Oh, hi, Kiel! Hi, Vishnal!”

Vishnal looks vaguely guilty, like he’s been caught daydreaming when he’s supposed to be polishing the royal cookie jar, even though Kiel has yet to tell him anything at all. Vishnal smiles and waves back at Amber, albeit a tad too frantically.

“Ah— Hi! Amber! Everyone! What are you all up to?”

Forte takes Vishnal in for a beat before turning to Kiel and squinting at him. Kiel smiles brightly at her, which only deepens her frown. Leave it to Kiel and Vishnal to manage to make doing nothing at all look suspicious.

Dolce is the one who responds, “What does it look like we’re doing?”

“Err… Um. Hanging out?” Vishnal looks like he’d really rather be Not Here.

Pico vaults off Dolce’s shoulder quicker than Dolce can bat her away, doing a flip that is absolutely only possible due to the fact that she can float. She lands in front of Dolce and happily exclaims, «Got it in one! Right, milady?»

Dolce sighs. Somehow, she manages to look both prim and composed as she forcefully boots Pico out of her way with a swift kick that sends the ghost spiraling into Forte’s bedroom.

“Forte,” Dolce continues, unaffected by Pico’s nearby wailing, “had us under the impression that you weren’t going to be home this evening.”

“Oh? You guys do know you’re welcome to still hang out here even if I am home, right?” Kiel laughs. Forte won’t meet his eyes, so he has a good feeling it’s not really about that.

Not that Kiel minds! He’s ecstatic at how much more involved Forte has gotten with her social life now that so many people around their age have moved into Selphia. If she wants to keep some of that socializing for herself, Kiel can only be happy about it, because it means that she really cares about it and is willing to think of keeping it, or at least part of it, purely for herself and not just to make Kiel happy.

Despite everything between them, Kiel and Forte are close, and Kiel’s determined to keep it that way, no matter what. He always has been. And he’s always appreciated that Forte, while very protective of Kiel, has never been overbearing or invasive about his friends or who he talks to and spends time with. The least Kiel can do is return the favor.

Not to mention, Forte isn’t very good at keeping secrets on her own anyway. If anything important comes up, Kiel’s sure he’ll hear about it regardless of if he’s present in the house at the time. Not that it’s usually any direct fault of Forte’s that Kiel hears about these things.

Forte huffs at him, and for a moment Kiel entertains the idea that she’s reading his mind. It would probably make some things simpler between them, if it were true.

Alas, they are very much their own people, and, unfortunately, they have no cool sibling telepathic connections to speak of.

And so it is with no knowledge of what Kiel has been thinking that Forte says, “Perhaps I want to be able to talk to my friends without my nosy little brother listening in so he can spread my deepest secrets to the whole town. Again.”

“Ooh, you mean you are going to be discussing deep secrets?!” Kiel lets his eyes shine with excitement. Again, he respects her need for privacy, but sometimes she makes it too easy.

Forte gives him an Older Sister Look of Disdain.

Embracing the opportunity to engage in childish sibling antics, which is somehow an urge only amplified with an audience of some of their closest friends, Kiel sticks his tongue out at her.

Before she can reprimand him, he says, “Okay, okay, sure, but you know Amber, Dolce, and Pico are my friends too, right?”

Forte takes a deep, steadying breath. Kiel laughs, but he decides to have mercy on her, especially in front of everyone.

“Alright, I’m done. Actually, you’re kind of right about me not being here tonight. We are having a boys’ night at Arthur’s, but we’re not supposed to meet up until a little later.”

“Oh, right. I guess I never asked about the start time,” Forte remarks, somewhat subdued.

“Woohoo!” Amber shouts, drawing everyone’s attention. She jumps up just about high enough to clear Pico’s height from the ground, and twirls as she lands with a big smile. “That sounds like fun! We should plan another girls’ night, too! OH—!”

Amber comes to a full halt, throwing her hands out in front of her so suddenly that Kiel can’t help flinching a little. Flat palms outstretched, her eyes and mouth go comically wide.

“Wait!! We should ask Frey if we can use her room in the castle to have a sleepover with everyone together sometime! Or! Even better!! Let’s do one with the entire town!! We could make Ven let us stay in her chamber—”

“Um,” Vishnal puts in hesitantly, maneuvering a little to avoid colliding with one of Amber’s widely outstretched wings, “as fun as that sounds, that many people sleeping in the Dragon Chamber…or even the princess’s quarters, for that matter, is probably a bad idea. It’s against castle policy, and it’d also be a pretty big fire hazard if everyone in town slept in one building, and, not to mention, if we still have any enemies left from the old Sechs military it would be the perfect opportunity for them to attack everyone at once, which would be especially bad if we were also in Lady Ventuswill’s chambers with her, and—“

“Vishnal.”

Dolce sets a calm hand on one of his shoulders, which have been steadily climbing as he’s been speaking. It only rests there a moment before she just as quickly retracts it, but it seems to have gotten through to him all the same.

“I doubt it would be as bad as all that, but I agree that your plan might need some work, Amber.”

Vishnal deflates, gratefully nodding at Dolce as she speaks. “Ah, yeah. That’s what I meant, too, sorry.”

Dolce waves Vishnal’s apology off like it’s a fly buzzing around the room.

Her lips curve ever-so-slightly in a rare smile as she continues, “I don’t think Venti would appreciate everyone invading her personal space, either.”

«But, Dolly!» Pico pipes up, safely on the other side of the room from Dolce. «What about that time when you— Eep—!»

Without warning, Pico yelps and vanishes beneath the floorboards. Forte and Vishnal both yelp too. Forte tries to pass hers off as a cough while she looks anywhere but the area where Pico had just been.

At first, Kiel isn’t sure what exactly had happened. Then he realizes that Dolce has wrapped around her wrist one of the ghostly gossamer threads that sometimes attach themselves to her arms and legs. She seems to have pulled on it to use it to drag Pico away somewhere, but Kiel isn’t totally sure how.

Even though Kiel has no doubt been incredibly invasive, Dolce has been a pretty good sport about indulging his questions about what it was like to be a Guardian—all of them have, really—but it’s hard to get complete information on all the consequences and side effects of being infused with so many runes when they themselves are still figuring it out. And it’s not like there’s any other concrete research examples out there for Kiel to consult.

From what Kiel knows, sometimes these threads show up like lingering marionette strings, though it’s also very possible that they’re always there and it’s just that Kiel can’t always see them. They sort of drift around and eventually trail off into nowhere.

He’s never seen Dolce use them to do anything, and he’s also never seen anything or anyone else—Pico included—interact with them like this. Kiel has noticed that when they look less like tricks of the light and more like real, tangible strings, Pico always seems to act more subdued and Dolce tends to spend more of her time indoors and less of her time in motion, even to sew or knit. This makes it a little harder for Kiel to notice when they’re there, but he has no illusions about the line he draws between his curiosity and Dolce’s discomfort.

That said, Kiel’s kind of itching to grab his notebook and add to his findings, but he knows it’s probably not the right time.

There is a short awkward silence following Pico’s disappearance. Kiel thinks he might see the slightest bit of color rise on Dolce’s cheeks, but her expression remains stoic.

She breaks the silence, saying, “Ignore her.”

Forte and Vishnal still look like they’ve…well, like they’ve seen a ghost. Kiel’s sure the both of them would very much prefer to forget this had ever happened. Or at least, Forte’s probably trying to convince herself that she hasn’t seen anything.

Amber is smiling benignly, unaware or simply unaffected.

She bounces on the balls of her feet and says, “But, that means you still think it’s a good idea, right, Dolly?”

“Mmh. Maybe.” Dolce looks off to the side, affecting disinterest. Kiel’s pretty sure she couldn’t say no to the face Amber is hitting her with, even if she wanted to.

“U-um.” Vishnal’s voice shakes, just a little. He clears his throat and tries again. “So, is she, uh…”

Kiel does understand Vishnal’s concern, since this isn’t really the usual Dolce-Pico fare. But Dolce doesn’t seem very concerned about it, so Kiel is willing to wager that everything’s fine.

Vishnal is still staring intently at the floor. So intently, in fact, that he jumps about a foot in the air when Forte very loudly and suddenly changes the subject.

“Well! Kiel!” she all but bellows. “Who ever said you couldn’t go early? You could be extra punctual!”

Kiel replies, at a conversational volume, “I mean, I don’t mind going early or anything, but since we’re staying at Arthur’s, there isn’t any point to going until he’s finished his work for the day. Otherwise he’ll be too busy to let us in, and I’d hate to bother him while he’s working.”

“Th-then! You could just have Dylas let you in.” For someone who’s grasping at straws, and more importantly for Forte who’s grasping at straws, she’s managing to hold a conversation surprisingly well.

“I guess. But I still… Er, wait.”

Dylas? Shoot, that’s right. Kiel never did get to finish talking to Vishnal, there’ve been too many distractions.

Kiel continues, “Hm. I don’t think Dylas would be able to let us in right now, either.”

He shares a glance with Vishnal, who suddenly looks much more smug and composed than he had when he’d been worrying about Pico.

Forte, of course, has no way of interpreting this look correctly.

“Well, why not?” she asks. “Even if he’s working, I’m sure he wouldn’t mind running upstairs with you. Or he’d just let you go up on your own. Problem solved!”

“You’re probably right…” Kiel taps his chin contemplatively.

At this point, he’s pretty sure Forte is just being stubborn and that she won’t actually care whether Kiel and Vishnal stay here or if they head out. However. That doesn’t mean he has to let Forte out of this argument easy. Talking is pretty much the only thing Kiel is better at than her (besides housework), after all.

“...buuut, he and Doug are having a private rod measuring contest right now, so he’s probably pretty preoccupied.”

“Pffffft—!!” Vishnal nearly chokes on his own voice, slapping a hand over his mouth so quickly it must have hurt. “K-Kiel!” he shouts, scandalized. Kiel thinks it’s more likely he’d just caught Vishnal off-guard than truly offended him, though. His shoulders are shaking a little.

“Yes, Vishnal?”

“You, you can’t just…” Vishnal’s face is beet red, but he can’t hold in all of his giggles anymore. In fact, he gives up and slides his hand up from his mouth to rest on his forehead and cover his eyes instead. “How can you just say that?”

Kiel’s trying his best not to let making Vishnal break composure like this go to his head. It ruins the effect if he isn’t using his cute cherubic face to full advantage…according to Leon, anyways.

Not without effort, Kiel swallows a smirk that would probably have had Forte running off to violently confront Leon for corrupting her poor, sweet, innocent, fully adult little brother in such a way. Even without any proof that anything happening here has anything to do with Leon at all.

Speaking of, she doesn’t seem to have picked up on the entendre yet, which is fairly unsurprising. Dolce is squinting at Kiel and Vishnal, as though unsure if she should be offended by the joke, or if she should be offended because it isn’t a joke and Kiel felt the need to share that bit of knowledge with the rest of them. Amber is, as ever, a wildcard. She’s smiling, seemingly joyful to be in the presence of laughter in general, but she hasn’t joined in herself. Based on her face alone, Kiel has no idea if she caught on to the wordplay or not.

Either way, Kiel can’t just leave Vishnal hanging, laughing by himself as everyone in the house stares at him.

“Oh, sorry!” Kiel’s poker face is seriously slipping, but he does his best. “That’s right! It wasn’t about measurements, it was just a competition over the quality.”

Vishnal has completely given up decorum and is actively wiping tears from his eyes. Kiel stops bothering with struggling to keep a straight face so he can laugh with him. And it seems two individuals laughing at the same time is Amber’s limit, because she joins in too, though not to the same degree as the two of them.

Forte narrows her eyes, but the reprimand Kiel is expecting never comes. Instead, she tilts her head slightly to the side thoughtfully.

“Oh, I see. That makes sense.”

Silence.

Then, Dolce puffs out a small noise. She turns her head to the side, but Kiel has already caught sight of the slight smile slowly overtaking her face.

Amber claps her hands together, delighted. Kiel and Vishnal nearly fall over. They hang off each other’s shoulders to avoid tumbling to the floor. Forte looks around at all of them in confusion and growing embarrassment.

“What? What’s so funny?”

No one is able to answer her right away, so with a flushed face and a frown, she presses on by herself.

“I don’t know what you think I said, all I meant was I saw Doug heading to the lake a little while ago, so if they’re together then it makes sense that Dylas can’t help you. I-I don’t get what’s so funny about it, but I’d really rather not involve myself in whatever silly competition they’re having this time, regardless.”

While she’s talking, Kiel and Vishnal manage to get themselves (more or less) under control. No longer laughing, Kiel smiles at Forte more kindly.

“No, sorry, you’re right. That’s exactly it. Apparently the two of them planned to hang out at the lake together.”

“Fishing,” Vishnal stresses. “With fishing rods.”

“Ah.” Dolce’s face is back to its usual mask of indifference, but Kiel thinks maybe he can hear both a little relief and a little disappointment in that one sound.

“Well…” Vishnal amends, tapping his chin, “I’d say Dylas is probably fishing. Doug is probably just complaining about fishing.”

Kiel chuckles. “True. He was pretty excited to get over there, though. He wouldn’t say it outright, but he was making it pretty obvious that what he really wanted was for Dylas to take his ro— Ouch!”

“Shut up!” Vishnal cuts him off incredulously, smacking Kiel’s shoulder. He doesn’t hit hard enough to hurt, but it makes a loud enough sound to warrant both the ‘ouch’ and the look of betrayal.

So maybe that was going slightly too far, then. Honestly, Kiel doesn’t think that one would have even landed if everyone’s minds weren’t already in the gutter, but the beauty of puns is that making one really sets the stage for making more, since everyone’s more aware of the wordplay connections. Language is cool; Kiel wishes he were fluent in more of them.

Vishnal shakes his head and smiles sidelong at Kiel. “Maybe you really are spending too much time with Leon…”

As if the mere mention of Leon’s name is enough to allow Forte to overcome the high conversational hurdle of double entendre, it finally seems to click for her. She inhales sharply and, instead of exhaling all that air, she expels it at a volume usually reserved for Bado.

“Kiel!!”

“Dude.” Kiel pouts at Vishnal, ignoring Forte’s shock and outrage for the moment.

Vishnal winces at Forte’s volume, looking somewhat guilty, but the only thing he offers Kiel is a small shrug, the traitor.

“Kiel. I. You—!”

Forte is apparently too overwhelmed to form sentences, which means Kiel has a bit of time to counterattack.

“Sorry, Forte, we,” he looks pointedly at Vishnal, “were just messing around. I’ve just been thinking about it a lot lately, is all.”

“You what?!” Forte screeches.

She looks torn between wanting to hide from the world at the bottom of a deep pit and wanting to hide Kiel from the world at the bottom of a deep pit.

Kiel catches his mistake.

“Oh, haha, wait. I didn’t mean I’ve been thinking about that, I meant I’ve been thinking about those two.”

Forte still looks like she swallowed a lemon. Kiel figures this will all be over much quicker if he just explains the whole thing at once.

“‘Cause, you know, Meg has been talking about them so much, and with her whole plan and everything— Wait, did she tell you anything about all that?”

Kiel hasn’t asked. He doesn’t think Meg has included anyone else in her scheme yet, but maybe she decided to tell her girlfriend?

“WHAT?!”

Or maybe not.

“Oh, hm.” Kiel doesn’t want to go against Meg’s wishes, but he’s already come this far, and he doubts it’ll take all that long for everyone to notice it anyway. “Well, she’ll probably want to tell you about it herself later, but I think I should explain it to everyone. Can you all keep a kinda-secret?”

“Kiel—” Forte sounds strangled, stopping before she can really begin.

Somewhere, Amber starts giggling again.

“Okay, so: Meg noticed a bit ago that it seemed like Dylas had realized his feelings, and then he basically confirmed it to her, and then she decided she doesn’t want to watch the trainwreck that will be the progression of their relationship without any help,” Kiel says in one breath. Before anyone is able to respond, he takes a big gulp of air and finishes, “So her plan is to set them up somehow, but she wasn’t exactly sure how to do it, so we've just been observing them for, like, a week now. And considering what just happened, I thought it could be worth talking about. After all, there's no real excuse for them to be meeting on their own at the lake today, since we're all gonna meet later at the sleepover!”

Amber's giggling becomes a delighted gasp as she claps her hands together. “That sounds so fun! I wanna help, too!”

Vishnal lets out a breath that seems part relief. For what, Kiel isn't sure, but Vishnal says, “That makes a lot of sense, actually. What does she have in mind, though? I mean, isn’t it kind of more romantic if they figure it out on their own?”

“It would be, but Meg does have a point. It's one thing if they aren't ready to even admit it's a possibility, but if they're already thinking about it, they might need a push before they're able to take the next steps. I mean, just considering how they are with each other. And Meg doesn't want to meddle too much, she just thinks we might be able to help guide them somehow, or leave more opportunities open for something to happen. Like…”

Forte takes her hair out of its ponytail and collapses into the same chair Doug had left pulled out from the table earlier. “Wait. Slow down, please…”

She stares hard at the hand holding her hair tie, and runs her free hand through her long, loose hair.

“Forte?” Kiel prods.

She looks like she's thinking very hard, and Kiel isn't exactly sure what about, since this all seems quite simple to him.

“That’s…” She worries the clip between her hands and her lip between her teeth. Then she comes to some kind of conclusion and looks up to meet Kiel's questioning gaze. “I’m sorry, I don't understand. Meg wants to... Set Doug and Dylas up? Why exactly would she need to do that...?”

Oh. Wow. Kiel has known Forte his whole life, but even he could not have foreseen this level of obliviousness from her.

“Forte,” Kiel starts, not unkindly. As gently as possible, he asks, “Haven’t you ever noticed how crazy about each other those two are?”

Forte squints at Kiel like he has grown a second head. Which isn't a great sign, until she manages control of her tongue and speaks again.

“I. Yes?” Her face is rapidly flushing, but after a beat she powers through to add, “Of course I know they're cr-crazy! About, each other. I mean.”

“Oh, so you did know!”

“Wh— Kiel, I’m not that blind or stupid, of course I, um... noticed something like that. I have a duty to, er, be aware of the citizens.”

“Right, right,” Kiel laughs, just a little relieved that he doesn't have to explain something like this to his older sister. “But, wait, then what don’t you understand? Do you think it's a bad idea to get them together?”

Forte fidgets uncomfortably. “It’s— No, but. Er. What I mean is, aren’t they…already together?”

Everyone stares at Forte, who stares back at everyone for all of two seconds before hanging her head in red-faced defeat.

“Erm. Evidently not.” Forte gently sets down her clip so she can lay her hands flat on the table as she looks back up. “But, I could have sworn… The way they act…”

“Ah. I know what you mean.” Dolce pulls out one of the other chairs, sits across from Forte, and crosses her ankles neatly under the table, all in one fluid motion. “When I first got here, I was convinced they were a couple. And not that I knew it at the time, but they had only known each other about two weeks at that point, right? They didn't even really correct me when I said something; Xiao Pai had to tell me they weren’t together afterward.”

«It was adorable, how embarrassed Dolly was that she’d read the situation wrong!» Pico pipes up from where she’d silently phased back up through the floor and sat on the counter. Forte jumps but keeps her mouth clamped shut this time.

“R-right,” Forte stutters. Kiel isn't sure if the unsettled look on her face is thanks to Pico or if it's the whole Doug-Dylas situation.

Vishnal laughs, apparently content to ignore Pico's reappearing act entirely. “They really aren't the best at hiding their feelings, are they?”

"They're so cute!" Amber flaps her wings a little, probably unintentionally, and thankfully not hard enough to blow away any of Kiel or Forte's things. “Hey! If they're arguing right now, maybe we should go over there and watch!”

Vishnal catches her by the arm before she can make a beeline—butterflyline?—to the lake. “Ah, Amber, we had better not,” he says, letting her down as easy as possible. It helps that he looks like he's disappointing himself a little by being responsible as well.

“Awww.” Amber pouts but doesn't attempt to extract herself from Vishnal’s loose grasp. “But that’s the best part!”

“Wait, Amber, are you saying you think Dylas and Doug’s arguments are the cute part of their relationship?” Kiel asks.

Amber all but scoffs. “Yeah, duh. Don't you?”

She fixes Kiel with a big-eyed stare that feels more weighty than it should, especially considering the topic of discussion is essentially roasting their mutual friends.

Kiel knows people tend to underestimate Amber, a lot of the time in similar ways to how they underestimate Kiel himself. Not to mention, as much as people like to think it does, silliness has no bearing on intelligence or wit.

But just because he’s more aware than most doesn’t mean she never catches him off-guard. Sometimes she gets this otherworldly look in her eyes, even more than the other Guardians. Which is saying something, considering how needlessly dramatic the others are: Leon very intentionally and completely on purpose, and Dolce and Dylas mostly in the way that they believe they’re too far separated from the world to be dramatic and haven’t yet absorbed that they aren’t, actually. Or that they often are, in fact, dramatic.

Amber doesn’t do all the beating around the bush that the others do, and times like these are when Kiel finds himself suddenly questioning everything he thinks he knows, in general. And in this instance, about Doug and Dylas as well.

He doesn’t disagree with her, necessarily, because it can certainly be fun to watch the two of them bicker, and yes, at times it is definitely cute, but Kiel thinks maybe he’s seen them get a little too mean a few too many times to call their arguments on the whole ‘cute’ and fully mean it.

Then again, as is usually the case, when it comes to people you know well and care deeply about, you also end up knowing how to push their buttons extremely well, don’t you? And, in a perhaps somewhat twisted sense of the word, that in itself is a form of love too, isn’t it? Kiel can’t speak to whether or not it’s necessarily romantic, but he has a fair deal of experience with it non-romantically. Either way, he certainly sees the closeness in the way Doug and Dylas interact, even and perhaps especially when they’re arguing.

Forte sighs, startling Kiel out of his thoughts. “I can’t believe… I mean, I really thought they had started going out. Er, well, o-officially, you know.”

She’s still flushed. Kiel can’t help but laugh a little at the lost look on her face.

When she turns to him, betrayed, he smiles and says, “That just means you and Meg are on the same page! That’s exactly the reason why she wants to do something about it.”

Forte blanches a bit, which wasn’t really the reaction Kiel had been going for, but she seems to have realized something as her gaze glazes over and she looks through Kiel more than at him.

“Wait… So you’re telling me that whatever they’re doing at the lake right now isn’t a date? And all those other times…”

“Hm. They really do need help, don’t they.”

«Hehe, Dolly, that’s rich, coming from— Umph!!»

Forte sighs again, ignoring Dolce and Pico’s usual shenanigans. (She is able to do this because this time Pico stays both completely visible and separate from any tangible objects she could be phasing through.)

“Well… I suppose that might be true, but it isn’t really our place to interfere, is it? This is a very private matter…”

There’s a pause as everyone considers Forte’s words. Then Amber takes a deep breath, like she’s reached an important conclusion.

What she says is: “Do you guys smell something burning?”

As everyone sniffs the air, Vishnal yelps, “The cookies!”

He runs over to the stove with an overabundance of frantic energy, and Kiel has to stop him from reaching in barehanded by physically pulling him back. He kills the heat, and once equipped with the proper protective gear and not his bare skin, Kiel reaches in to pull the tray out. The cookies are extremely charred. It’s a wonder no one had noticed them burning sooner. In fact, Kiel is pretty sure they may even look somehow more burnt than they should after the amount of time they’ve been in the oven.

Vishnal hangs his head in shame as Kiel gingerly places the slightly smoking baking tray on the stovetop. He opens a window as well while he’s at it. Kiel knows some water spells if worst comes to worst, but he’s still pretty sure this is inexplicably already a worse result than it would have been if Kiel had been cooking alone, somehow. He decides not to mention this to Vishnal.

Sniffing, Vishnal says, “Kiel, I’m so sorry. I was supposed to keep an eye on the time! Of course this would happen… And it was such a good idea, too. I really screwed this up…”

Kiel pats Vishnal’s shoulder. “Aw, it’s okay, buddy. I had a feeling something like this might happen,” Kiel crosses to the refrigerator, “so I made sure I had a bunch of extra materials!”

Vishnal gapes slightly as he watches Kiel pull the extra ingredients out and place them on the counter. He looks between them and the tray of blackened sugar lumps cooling on the stove.

He says, “I…really don’t know whether this is encouraging or discouraging.”

Kiel smiles and shrugs in return. He knows from experience that some people just aren’t good at some things, and he has long since accepted not being able to learn certain skills or to teach other skills to certain people. On a completely unrelated note, it’s probably a good thing Meg is already good at housework.

Forte incredulously calls over from the table where they’d left her, “You’re baking? Kiel, why didn’t you lead with that when I was trying to convince you to leave?”

“Oh, huh. Didn’t think of it.” Kiel sends Forte an over-wide grin, to which she sighs in response, looking much worse for wear overall than she had when she’d walked in.

Under her breath, she mumbles, “Yeah, you don’t say.”

Kiel doesn’t dignify this with a response. She has absolutely done far worse things than a few burnt cookies, in this very kitchen, no less, and she knows it.

“Should we get out of your way?” Dolce asks, standing. She’s eyeing the ingredients on the counter hungrily, but she straightens out her skirt and moves to walk around the table towards the door. Slowly. Pico’s shit-eating grin widens, but she stays surprisingly quiet as she remains in place by the table, not following after Dolce.

Amber gasps, “What? But then we won’t get any cookies!”

Forte admonishes (though, Kiel notes, not particularly forcefully), “Amber…”

“Ohhh, right, you two like cakes better. But, look, there’s enough here to make a cake! Ooh, no, wait, even better! Kiel, can you make those honey-glazed cookie things you made that one time?!”

Amber’s eyes are shining, and her antennae are twitching like she’s already trying to hunt out all the honey in the house. Maybe all the honey in the town.

Behind her, Forte and Dolce are sputtering halfheartedly, as though they truly believe anyone here doesn’t already know about their sweet tooths. Sweet teeth? Kiel doesn’t have time to debate the semantics at the moment, even internally, but he really wishes he did.

“Oh, the cookies aren’t really for us. Or, well, they are, but not until later,” Vishnal explains. He looks again at the tray. “Or they were. Er, will be?”

“We’re bringing them to the sleepover!” Kiel clarifies.

“Aww, boo! That’s no fair,” Amber frowns.

“Well,” Kiel says, “like I said, I did get a lot of extra ingredients. If you want to help, we should have enough time to make more than we need so you can have some too.”

“Yeah!” Amber looks at the other girls expectantly, utilizing an absolutely masterful puppy dog face.

“...I suppose, if you require assistance,” Dolce eyes the tray of failed cookies, “I have some time.”

Pico snorts loudly, and a tiny bit of color rises to Dolce’s cheeks as she turns to glare at her.

Everyone turns to Forte expectantly.

“What, me? Er. I’m pretty sure I’ll only slow you down.”

“C’mon, Forte! Dolly and Pico and I wanted to hang out with you today! And besides, Vishnal’s here too.”

“Urk.”

“No offense,” Amber tacks on, not sounding particularly sorry.

“No, you’re right. Even you can’t be worse than me, Forte. That’s why we have to stick together! We can take the opportunity to improve ourselves with everyone else helping!”

Vishnal and Forte lock eyes. Something in the way he’s fired up seems to get Forte feeling more motivated, too.

“Yes…you’re right.” Forte stands and pulls her hair back up into its usual style. “Let’s do this.”

Everyone cheers, and in direct contrast to her declaration, Forte gets flustered over her own actions immediately. In Kiel’s opinion, the self-consciousness is unnecessary. She’d looked honestly very cool.

The five of them make quick work of the ingredients. Or, at the least, Kiel, Dolce, and Amber make quick work of them. Forte and Vishnal are much more focused and work much more slowly, but in the end they are able to contribute (under a couple pairs of very watchful eyes).

More importantly to Kiel, though, is how fun the process is. When it’s just Kiel and Forte, they usually end up in some small squabble because one of them gets frustrated with Forte’s lack of skill and Kiel ends up cooking the rest himself, and that’s only when Forte braves the kitchen at all. Which she usually doesn’t.

To be truthful, she hadn’t been wrong when she’d said she would only slow the cooking process down. Not that Kiel has a problem with it; it’s just a simple fact. He doesn’t hold it against her. And that isn’t the point right now, either.

Kiel would have been more than capable of making cookies himself ahead of time and bringing them to the sleepover, but this was exactly the reason he’d wanted to ask Vishnal and Doug to help him in the first place. Kiel likes cooking well enough, but it’s not really a passion of his. If he’s being honest, the act of cooking itself isn’t anything very exciting or overly fun. Making something especially for someone else can be, though. And similarly, this, right now, is much more fun than being alone in a kitchen could ever be. The best thing about food is the way it can bring people together.

Once the first batch is safely in the oven—or, well, technically the second, if you count the failed dish from earlier—Kiel and Dolce step back to let Forte and Vishnal attempt to shape the cookie dough for the next tray.

It should be an easy task, and there shouldn’t be any way anything can possibly go wrong, but…

Amber hovers around them as they work, in a way that can only be described as unhelpfully helpful. Pico is sitting on top of the fridge, delighted. Every so often she hops down to stick her head in the closed oven, claiming that she has to make sure they don’t burn another batch.

Dolce has a soft smile on her face that Kiel’s sure he isn’t supposed to acknowledge. She looks like she’s having a good time. It’s nice to see it spelled out across her face for once. She turns to Kiel and startles slightly when she discovers that he’s already looking at her.

He smiles apologetically. When she says nothing, he tilts his head in silent question.

“Ah…it’s nothing.” She turns back to the chaos before them, partially obscuring her face behind one of her pigtails.

Kiel turns back to the others, too. “They’re really something, huh?”

In his peripheral, he sees Dolce turn her head slightly to look at him out of the corner of her eye. In a slow, measured drawl, she replies, “Sure. They are.”

Kiel laughs, still not looking at her directly. In the opposite way that people consider Amber to be simple sunshine and rainbows 24/7, Kiel thinks people don’t give Dolce’s sense of humor enough credit. It’s much drier and quieter than most, but that just makes it all the better if you’re lucky enough to catch it.

Even still, Kiel’s burning curiosity gets the best of him. He knows she probably has a few more great quips in there, if he lobs her the right responses, but he decides to risk changing the subject.

“Mhm. Exactly. Hey, so, I actually wanted to ask you something.”

Dolce turns back toward the kitchen, but it’s clear Kiel still has her full attention. “Then ask. I’m not promising an answer, though.”

“I know.” Kiel now turns to look at her, turning his head rather than squaring his shoulders and fully facing her. He watches a ghostly string drift between them. It’s attached to her elbow. “I didn’t realize you could use those to affect other things.”

He knows she follows his meaning. She frowns and doesn’t face him, posture stiffening a little.

“That’s not a question.”

Kiel hums, neither affirmation nor denial. She’s right, of course: it isn’t a question, technically, but he knows she knows that it is one, really.

She sighs. “If Amber can use her wings to fly or her antennae to smell the flowers or to find all the honey hidden in your cupboards,” she gestures to where Amber currently has her whole face thrust into the pantry, “they why couldn’t the marionette strings serve a purpose for me, too?”

“Oh, of course! I didn’t mean to imply that they couldn’t—I mean, I guess I did kinda say it that way—but it’s just, I haven’t ever seen you do anything like that before, so…”

Dolce sighs again. Kiel isn’t exactly an expert on Dolce-isms, but he’d say she sounds more resigned than upset or frustrated.

“Look, Kiel. It’s true we all became monsters when we took our places as Guardians, but the others were all still more or less alive. I’ve known more about the dead than I should since I was very young; that has nothing to do with being infused with excess rune energy or guarding a Rune Spot or any of that. But, out of all of us…aside from maybe Leon, especially when he was only a step away from getting stuck in the Forest of Beginnings, I have always been the closest to death. Not dying, but death itself.”

Dolce fixes Kiel with a look that’s likely meant to intimidate or scare him, and she manages to somehow use the shadows cast by the brim of her hat to full effect, despite it still being light outside on top of the lights in the house. That said, it’s all too fascinating for Kiel to be properly scared.

“But you’re still here, aren’t you?” Someone drops something that clatters in the kitchen. Kiel doesn’t really wanna know, but he looks up in time to see Pico dancing away with a mixing spoon, though that’s clearly not the whole story. “And so is she.”

Dolce looks up as well, and then she regards Kiel coolly. She turns her attention to her own hand, palm upturned. In one swift motion, she flips her wrist and grabs the string attached to it, pulling it taut. Her eyes trail the length of it, and Kiel wonders if she can see further along it than he can. He can see maybe a meter of it before it fades too much for him to make it out any more.

Her expression doesn’t change much. She murmurs, “Sometimes they’re stronger than other times, but it’s never as bad as it was all those years. What I can remember of them, at least. It’s impossible to follow these things back to their source, and I have no desire to, but I could wager a guess to what it is, if you’d like to hear it.”

This time, Kiel feels goosebumps raise on his skin when they make eye contact, and he’s almost certain the temperature around them—or more accurately, around Dolce—drops a few degrees.

And then, as though nothing happened at all, Dolce releases the string and it resumes lazily shimmering and drifting through the air. The temperature is a normal, pleasant room temperature, and Dolce looks away, picking at invisible lint on her sleeve.

“Now then, if you’re done prying. Of course, I know there’s no discretion to be had from you, but I’d hardly imagine anyone finding anything of this sort out of the ordinary for me. Or unusual coming from you.”

Kiel laughs, “Fair enough.”

It’s kind of amazing the difference in talking to Dolce now versus when she’d first arrived in town. She may not have had all her memories then, but Kiel can’t be sure how much it would have changed anything if she had. Not to mention that she had more memory of her past than Amber or Dylas did, and of course Frey had—has—it even worse than them. Either way, it’s nice that Dolce feels comfortable enough to speak her mind more freely with Kiel now.

He doesn’t touch her, but he does step forward and lean around into her line of sight when he continues speaking.

“Well, then, it’s a good thing no one would believe what I have to say, anyway.” He winks at her. She raises an eyebrow in return as her lips curve ever-so-slightly.

“I think you may have an unrealistic grasp of what other people think and expect of you. But then…” her eyes drift over Kiel’s head as she takes in the scene behind him, “perhaps you aren’t the only one.”

Dolce regards the others with what must be the warmest smile he’s ever seen grace her face. Kiel is struck with sudden gratitude that Frey arrived and released the Guardians now, in this time, not in any other. Not just because the whole process by which they became and functioned as Guardians is so interesting, or because of the vested anthropological interest of having four wildly different first hand accounts of what Kiel’s homeland was like in the past is so exciting.

More than anything, Kiel is thankful that he gets to know them all. That they’re his friends now. Maybe that’s just as selfish as the other things, but he can’t bring himself to care. There had been a time when he couldn’t imagine having this much fun with this many people. When he’d never dreamed of having a community like this around him.

It’s true that that’s not only thanks to the Guardians, that the community around Kiel and Forte had already been steadily growing even before the Guardians got here, but the town has undoubtedly felt more complete since their arrival. Missing puzzle pieces finally slotted into place.

And perhaps from the outside it would be easier to catalogue the ways the Guardians themselves have changed since they got here, but Kiel sees those changes echoed in himself and Forte and the entire town. Maybe this is selfish, too, but he can’t imagine any of the Guardians belonging in any other town or with any other group of people, either. They all fit together. It’s different from the way his family used to fit together, but it’s big and it’s warm and it’s good, and it makes it easier to hang onto what he has left by allowing him to not need to cling quite so tightly as before. Kiel and Forte don’t need to have such a tight stranglehold on each other when they’re no longer the only things keeping one another afloat.

But also, speaking of the Guardians and puzzling out places people belong and how they fit with each other…

“Kiel, do you and Margaret really think Dylas and Doug need outside assistance?” Shockingly, Dolce beats him to the very punch he’d been about to throw, and Kiel can’t help but be pleased to be on the same page as her, of all people.

“Hmm. I don’t know how Meg feels exactly, but I don’t think they need it. I just think…” Kiel pauses as he considers the best way to get his feelings across. He gets the feeling Dolce already gets it, though. “It sort of feels like a waste, you know? To not be taking advantage.”

He nods his head at the disaster zone his kitchen has devolved into, as though that will explain the way he feels. (He ignores the actual disaster within that zone, knowing full well that he’ll have to be the one to clean it all up later but not finding it in himself to care.)

The way Dolce smiles makes him think maybe she understood his cryptic answer anyway, but she shakes her head, humming quietly. “I’m not so sure about it being a waste. Sometimes things can be worth more for the effort they require. But if it’s a matter of supporting them getting over their stupid egos, of course I’d be happy to help. Anything for a little more peace and quiet.”

If Dolce really wanted peace or quiet, there’s no way she would still be here half-listening to Forte, Vishnal, Amber, and Pico arguing over the correct way to roll a ball of cookie dough, but Kiel decides to let it slide.

Dolce continues, “And, I suppose, there might be such a thing as too much effort tipping back into that type of wastefulness.” A look flashes across her face before Kiel can really parse what it is from this angle. Somewhat softer, a bit gentler, she adds, “I do think they are good for each other, but I would hate to be presumptuous and do anything to strain their relationship any. Forte has a point that privacy has its place in this sort of thing.”

“Forte is better at people than she gets credit for, especially from herself. Don’t worry, Meg is calling this an important project, but really I think it’s an excuse so she can feel like she’s gossiping productively. I highly doubt she’s going to do much of anything differently than she would if she had decided not to actively meddle.”

“And what about you?”

“Me? You mean about the meddling thing? To be honest with you, I think those two will figure themselves out on their own eventually. But as sweet and cute as it can be to watch a couple of mutually pining blushing disasters bumble around each other, I refuse to live though being a middle man to another Forte-and-Meg situation. Don’t tell them I said that.”

Dolce puffs out a surprised laugh. Ignoring the irony of Kiel’s request, she asks, “Are you telling me you agreed to help Meg stick her nose into someone else’s romantic business specifically to make sure said business doesn’t end up too similar to her own?”

Kiel shrugs. “I mean, I’m not saying I don’t also think it’ll be fun to watch whatever happens. Nothing can stop Meg from doing something once she sets her mind on it, anyway, so I’d rather be involved in it so I know what’s going on, at least.”

“Hm,” Dolce intones, only marginally less accusatory than she would have managed in normal circumstances.

“Meg’s under the impression that at least Dylas has realized his feelings; apparently he basically admitted it to her. And anyways, those two don’t know the meaning of subtlety, especially when it comes to each other, so I doubt it’ll take very long.”

“Perhaps. They are rather stubborn, though.” Dolce weighs her next words more carefully, like she’s worried about tipping her hand even though all the other cards are already on the table. “…She’s right about Dylas. He…actually said something to me not too long ago.”

“Wait, really?!”

“Yes. I don’t remember exactly what he said, so don’t ask.” The clipped, defensive tone Dolce’s suddenly using tells Kiel that she does, in fact, remember, and that there’s more to this story, but as much as he wants to press it, there are more important things to focus on. For now.

“No way! So it has to be true then. Do you think—”

“Hey!”

“Aah!!” Amber is in Kiel’s face so suddenly that he can’t help yelling and flinching back a step.

She puts her hands on her hips as she stares Kiel down and says, “Sooo, are you two just gonna stand over here giggling or are you gonna help me make sure those three don’t burn down the house? It’s your house, Kiel! You should care about it burning down!”

Kiel now notices a smirking Pico instructing Forte and Vishnal about the ‘correct’ way to heat an oven. On the bright side, it seems the first tray of cookies made it out of the oven okay and is now resting on the stove. On the dark side, that means there’s absolutely no reason to mess with the temperature of the oven at all before putting in the next tray.

“Ah, sorry, Amber.”

The uncharacteristically stern look drops off Amber’s face easily, replaced by a wide grin. “That’s okay! So what’re you talking about, anyway?”

She hops closer and looks up at them both, eyes sparkling.

The fact that she seems content to stand here and let Kiel and Dolce continue talking, so long as she is now included in the conversation, tells Kiel that she’s maybe less concerned with his home going up in smoke than he’s beginning to be.

Dolce puffs another small laugh into her hand. This has to be the most Kiel’s ever seen her laugh in one day.

Belatedly, he realizes she’s laughing at him. Specifically the look on his face, most likely. He doesn’t really know what that look is, exactly, but maybe ‘not great’ is a safe bet.

She smiles serenely and says, “Why don’t we head back over and talk about it with everyone together. We should make sure the cookies are done before you and Vishnal have to leave, anyway.”

Grateful that Dolce is here to provide a voice of reason so Kiel doesn’t have to, he agrees and the two of them return to the rest of the group with Amber, who continues to demand a full explanation.

Kiel does his best to convey Meg’s idea to everyone, and he shares some of his personal thoughts about it like he had with Dolce. (He leaves out the part about what he thinks of the beginning of his sister’s relationship, and true to her implicit agreement, Dolce doesn’t say anything about it either.)

The five of them finish the last batch of cookies and get to decorating the ones that have already cooled. Amber claims a good number of these to add a truly heinous amount of honey to the top of, and Dolce and Kiel work in unspoken tandem to finish the ones they get their hands on at a faster pace than everyone else so that the majority will be edible—just in case something were to go wrong somehow.

As they work, they brainstorm ways to help Meg with her plan. That is, if roasting Doug and Dylas while they aren’t there to defend themselves can be called “brainstorming” in good conscience.

Even Forte gets into it after a while, once she’s finally convinced that they aren’t dating. Dolce catches Kiel’s eye after one of Forte’s remarks about how ridiculous it is to be so obviously into each other and not make any moves. The eye contact and the slight inclination of her head are enough to make Kiel ruin the cookie he’s frosting.

He bites his tongue to keep his laughter in check, but he can’t help feeling delighted beyond just having a partner in on the game of quietly teasing his sister. Kiel knows Dolce has a sense of humor, he does, but maybe even he has underestimated how funny she can be. Thinking about it, he’s pretty sure Xiao Pai has said something to the effect of laughing so hard she was reduced to tears by an off-handed comment Dolce made. Maybe Kiel hasn’t been paying as much attention as he should. Or maybe it’s just that Dolce and Forte spend a good amount of time together, and he’s been too loath to interrupt by inserting himself in their conversations.

Actually, it’s been a good while since the last time he and Forte hung out with their other friends all together as one big group. Over the years, Kiel has grown used to dragging Forte to socialize with other people, or else dragging the socializing to Forte, but this is different—and exciting.

Kiel and Forte might have their own stuff to deal with, but this is nice. Very nice. Kiel can’t remember the last time their house has felt this warm and full and free. And, well, that just won’t do, will it? He makes a mental note to follow up with Amber about that town-wide sleepover.

Before they can set that up, though, Kiel and Vishnal have plans. The last batch—which is maybe a tad on the crisp side, but definitely still tasty and, more importantly, edible—comes out of the oven, and Kiel begins packing things up. Actually, nearly everything ends up edible, and most of it tastes pretty dang good, if Kiel may say so himself. And there’s more than enough of it all to leave the girls their fair share, too.

The final batch is meant to be eaten without frosting, and it’ll be even better if they’re still warm by the time Kiel and Vishnal get to Arthur’s. With the frosting on the previous batch finished up while waiting for this one, it doesn’t take long at all to get everything ready to go.

They’re seen off with a smile from Forte, a nod from Dolce, a twirl from Amber, and a wink from Pico. Kiel isn’t sure what that last thing’s about, but by the time Pico opens her mouth to speak, Dolce’s already kicking her to the side to stop her from getting a word out, so he doubts he’s going to find out anytime soon.

Amber yells something after them as the door closes, but most of what comes out of her mouth is honey-glazed cookie crumbs, so Kiel doesn’t really catch that either.

Vishnal insists on carrying the cookies, citing, “As you did more of the work to cook them, it’s only fair for me to put in the work to transport them.”

Kiel isn’t very concerned about any sort of debts owed or anything. For one, as far as he’s concerned, there aren’t any, and for two, it’s not like it weighs much of anything. It is, after all, a couple dozen cookies. But he lets Vishnal take it anyways, since he knows Vishnal does care about these sorts of things and, again, it’s just cookies.

Just after the two of them turn towards the inn, Vishnal stops short, a look of consideration on his face.

“Hmm…”

“Vishnal?” Kiel stops too, cocking his head in question.

“Oh, my apologies, Kiel. I was just wondering…” He turns around and looks back the way they came, towards the lake. “...Should we go check…?”

Kiel looks back too. It’s about ten minutes until the meeting time—not that it’s a strict schedule by any means. Kiel’s not worried about Vishnal and himself being late, either.

“Hm…” Kiel hums as he thinks it over. He can’t come up with any good excuses, so he hesitantly says, “We don’t really have any reason to go back that way though, do we?”

“You’re right, but…” Vishnal worries at his lip.

Kiel would love to go check it out. In all honesty, it’s nearly a guaranteed fact that those two are still there, unless they managed to get into some sort of really intense argument that ended in them both storming off already. However, it seems like that’s less and less likely to happen, lately.

And really, despite the fact that it’d been Doug’s idea and he’d largely organized the whole thing, the chances of Doug arriving late even without any distractions is very high. And knowing Dylas, he won’t be in any sort of rush to arrive on time to a social function, either. And if they’re together…well.

So they’re almost definitely still at the lake.

Even so…

“No, we shouldn’t,” Vishnal echoes Kiel’s thoughts before he can voice them, shaking his head perhaps more violently than strictly necessary. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have suggested it. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

Kiel smiles at him. “Yeah, you’re probably right. I won’t say I’m not interested, though. Hey, do you think Frey’s already over there? You know how she’s always in the middle of everything.”

Vishnal laughs. “True! Maybe we should ask the princess about it later.”

They (reluctantly) begin walking in the opposite direction of the lake, towards Airship Way. It’s late enough that the streets aren’t very busy, but early enough that voices and laughter can be heard coming from the Bell Hotel as they pass it.

Kiel hums a tune he had heard Amber singing earlier, until Vishnal speaks up again.

“The responsible thing,” he posits, as though there was never a gap in the conversation, “would be to wait to see if those two are on time, and if they aren’t, then we should probably go out and track them down. Right?”

He swivels his head as they walk, turning imploring eyes on Kiel, who grins more conspiratorially than he would have if they were still with his sister.

“Oh, of course! You’re absolutely right. If they aren’t there, we’ll just need to go find them. It was Doug’s idea, so something must be wrong if he isn’t there on time,” Kiel blatantly lies, choosing to ignore his previous thoughts to the exact contrary. He can visually see Vishnal make the decision to not comment something to the same effect. It almost breaks Kiel’s composure, so he continues speaking to otherwise occupy himself. “And, we need to make sure Dylas shows at all, since he always acts so uninterested in stuff like this.”

(…Never mind that the event is taking place literally down the hall from his actual bedroom, so there’s no way he can avoid it tonight.)

“Right!” Vishnal nods, a little too vigorously. “Absolutely!”

They walk past the restaurant door—it’s Monday, so it’s after closing, or at least late enough that they won’t be taking any more customers, but it’s not worth Meg’s wrath going through there if it’s already cleaned up and they go in and dirty it somehow—and they arrive at the door to Arthur’s study, instead.

Vishnal’s hands are full, so Kiel pulls the door open and dramatically says, “After you, my good sir.”

Vishnal squints at him like he can’t tell if he’s making fun of him or not, but he’s also smiling. In a voice that’s almost too good of an impression of some of the stuffy aristocratic official types that have visited Selphia before, he replies, “Well, if you insist.”

Arthur and Leon look up from their conversation when Kiel and Vishnal walk into the study. Doug and Dylas are nowhere to be seen.

“Ah, look who decided to join us, Arthur,” Leon all but purrs.

“Sorry, are we late?” Vishnal asks.

Arthur shakes his head and assures, “On the contrary, you’re both right on time.”

“What do you have there, Vishnal?” Leon asks, gesturing at the container of cookies with his fan.

“Oh, just some homemade treats for everyone! They’re still warm, but maybe we should wait until everyone arrives before we eat them?”

After only a slight hesitation, Arthur replies, “How thoughtful! I wonder if we should set them out here on the tea table before we go upstairs. I could brew something to drink with them as well, if we’d like?”

He doesn’t wait for anyone to respond to that before he’s already in motion, gathering a kettle and leaves to brew tea with. Kiel would say this is a normal thing for him to do, but he can also see the unusual tension in Arthur’s shoulders.

Leon is still eyeing Vishnal, with what is on the surface amusement but underneath it, Kiel knows him well enough to see the suspicion.

Suddenly, Kiel thinks he understands. And he breaks out laughing.

The others look at him with varying degrees of confusion.

As he gets it under control, he says, “Sorry, sorry—” and then he makes the mistake of thinking it through again, and he’s giggling again. “I just— When Vishnal— What he really means is we brought treats.”

“Um, what did you think I meant?”

“Ahhhh, I see. Vishnal, we were worried you had made something to bring on your own,” Leon explains without hesitation or reservation.

“What?” Vishnal asks, somewhat offended. “Wait, would it have been that terrible?!”

The question kind of hangs in the air, unanswered.

Vishnal sighs. “Aw, man, really…?”

Kiel pats him on the back. “Honestly, I think you’ve gotten a lot better. I still would have tried them! But, uh, yeah, we made these together. Actually, Dolce, Amber, and Forte also helped out!”

Arthur, who had definitely been using the tea as an excuse to keep his back turned until now, finally looks back around to rejoin the conversation. “Oh, that sounds fun. Did Dolce, Amber, and…Forte…” he doesn’t quite finish his sentence, and it takes everything Kiel has to not fall to the floor in another fit of giggles at the look on his face. It’s somewhere between polite and horrified-to-discover-the-family-you-thought-you-knew-was-actually-a-bunch-of-goblins-in-a-trenchcoat.

Kiel can all but see the mental math he’s doing to determine if it’s worth it to try something cooked two-fifths by Vishnal and Forte. Kiel laughs, “No really, they’re good, I promise. And I truly mean that.”

After all, Kiel has probably consumed more of Forte and Vishnal’s cooking than everyone else has combined, and somehow he’s still kicking. And this is nowhere near the same thing.

Vishnal huffs something familiar under his breath about “Whose side are you on?” and Kiel tries not to laugh again.

There’s a pause as everyone tries to process the cookie situation, and then Leon decides to break the silence.

He looks at the clock—it’s 7:03—and smirks. “So, should we address the elefun not in the room?”

Arthur laughs, “I don’t think it’s so strange that they’re late, is it?”

“Well, no… But the fact that they’re both late could mean something, no?” Leon asks, raising an eyebrow. “I suppose it depends just how late they are.”

Kiel and Vishnal share a look. Well, if Kiel has told this many people already today, what’s a couple more? And, while it’s not exactly late enough that Kiel would even call either of them ‘late,’ really, he and Vishnal had agreed on a plan, hadn’t they?

Just as Kiel starts saying, “You know, actually—” the door to the study opens, revealing who else but Dylas and Doug.

The thing is, it’s not the front door to the study, but the side door. The one that leads to the restaurant.

Doug says, “Alright, let’s get this party started!” and Dylas squints at the back of his head as though even the word ‘party’ is distasteful to hear.

Vishnal catches Kiel’s eye again, eyebrows raised all the way to his hairline. Kiel thinks he probably has a fairly similar look on his face.

Very interesting. Kiel has a sneaking suspicion tonight is going to be fun.

Chapter Text

Winter 18, 1615

Amber does NOT want to get out of bed. It’s not fair. Why does it have to be SO COLD in the winter?!

Technically, she doesn’t have to work today. So, technically, she could just stay wrapped up in her warm blanket cocoon in her warm bedroom surrounded by the fragrance of all the pretty flowers Lumie manages to keep fresh despite being completely out of season.

She could do that, but she’d done something similar on her last day off, and it had been so boring she’d been sure she was going to die.

Wasn’t there anything exciting she could do that wouldn’t involve braving the freezing winter weather for too long? Even with how tired she's been, there has to be something fun she can do.

She can’t pester Ven into going for a fly with her, since surely her wings would freeze into solid blocks of ice and leave her hurtling to the ground to shatter, but maybe she can pester Ven into playing some other sort of game?

Although…maybe not. Amber is sure she could get Ven to agree to something like that, no matter how much of a fight she attempts to put up, but that would mean trekking over to Ven’s chamber through the snow, and then they’d hang out there in the snow, since Ven doesn’t seem to have any problem keeping all her doors and windows and the skylight wide open in the dead of winter, like the madwoman she is. Aren’t dragons reptiles or something? Can’t she at least keep a heater running in there?!

So Ven is out. Which doesn’t exactly leave Amber much to do. She could of course go pester anyone else in town—maybe Dolly or Kiel? They wouldn’t mind staying inside where it’s warm, right? But they like being inside because they like doing things where they can sit still, and that’s the opposite of the reason Amber’s considering emerging from her bed in the first place.

Not to mention, today is Dolly’s birthday, and Amber knows Nancy and Jones and Pico have something planned for her. Even if she’s dying of boredom, Amber doesn’t want to get in the middle of that somehow. Besides, she wants to be able to hear all about it later, when she goes to drop off her present.

So then, what are her other options, here?

She could stay and talk to customers with Lumie, but she’s getting kinda sick of people complaining about the selection of flowers Carnation’s has in stock. But really, what do they expect?! It’s winter, of course there’s nothing good to be found in freaking WINTER!

Hmph. The bathhouse? No, that might not be a great plan. It’ll be blissful to soak in the warm bath, but then she’ll have to get out of the water, after, and it’ll be a million times worse than if she just stayed dry. Plus, Xiao Pai might not let her spend too long in the bath anyway, since apparently that’s ‘dangerous’ and ‘bad for your health, Amber, please; it seems you cannot spend all winter in the bath, and if you start falling asleep again I’ll have to kick you out, or otherwise I’ll have to get Mama involved, yes?’ And if it is Lin Fa instead, Amber knows she won’t fare any better. Probably worse, even.

Fine. It’s not like Amber wants to spend all her time sitting in one spot, anyway. And it’s not like she can take a portable version of the bath with her, or she wouldn’t have this problem in the first place.

The restaurant, maybe? If Meg is there, maybe she’ll play something special for Amber. And the kitchen is always warm! Maybe she can bribe Porco to give her any extra honey he has.

Or maybe—

“Aaaaamber! Breakfast! Come get it while it’s hot!”

Amber’s planning is interrupted by the unwanted sound of Lumie’s voice slicing through the cold morning air. Maybe if it were warmer, Amber would bound out of bed to eat whatever Lumie has put together for her.

It’s not warm, though. So instead, Amber curls further into a ball and pulls her blanket over her head. Maybe it’s childish, but she can’t be bothered to care. Not when the alternative is getting up and freezing to death. It snowed last night. Amber doesn’t dare brave exposing herself to the elements by getting up to check her window, but it’s not unlikely that it might snow today, too.

She hears shuffling from the main room of the house. Maybe if she pretends she has hypothermia, Lumie will take pity on her and turn the heat in the house up even higher. Even if, by being lucky enough to live above a flower shop, their house is essentially part greenhouse, that still doesn’t mean it’s warm enough for Amber’s tastes.

The shuffling stops outside Amber’s bedroom door. Maybe she can pretend she’s also gone deaf from the cold. That could work, right?

“Ambs, I know you’re up. Don’t make me come in there.”

On the one hand, Amber really doesn’t want to respond. But on the other hand, if Lumie comes into Amber’s room, she’s definitely going to confiscate Amber’s blanket. And that’s just unacceptable.

So, with far more energy than Amber really has at the moment, she begrudgingly pushes herself up to a sitting position. She takes her blanket with her, of course, still as cocooned as possible while sitting upright.

And, right. She needs to say something before Lumie takes it upon herself to barge in.

“Nnnnnnngggghhhhhhhhrrrrghghhhhhhh.”

Well. Good enough, right?

Even through the door, Amber can hear Lumie snort. Whatever. Let her laugh. It’s too cold for this.

“Come on, sleepyhead. I have a feeling you’ll like what I made today,” she sings.

Amber huffs, but she supposes she is a little hungry. She can eat, and then she can go back to hibernating until spring.

When she slips her feet over the edge of her bed and touches the floor, she hisses at how cold it is. The amount of fumbling it takes to find her house slippers is enough that she nearly crawls back into bed then and there, but once she has them on, it seems like a waste to kick them back off again. She stands, still clutching her blanket like a big hooded cloak wrapped over the top of her head and bunched up under her chin. Yeah, that’s coming with.

Amber sways to her feet and blearily shuffles her way to her bedroom door. She creaks it open, more by flopping her still-blanketed hand against the doorknob and then leaning her weight on the edge of the door than by actually, like, opening it. When she looks up, she is met by Lumie’s grinning face looming over her.

“Mmph,” Amber grunts, in greeting.

Lumie laughs at the disgruntled look on her face. Or maybe it’s her choice of attire—rumpled pajamas under a tight overcoat of hunched blanket burrito. Lumie, on the other hand, has changed out of her own pajamas. She’s dressed for the day (not nearly warmly enough, in Amber’s opinion), but she hasn’t braided her hair yet, so it tumbles long and loose over her shoulders and down her back.

“Alright, Little Miss Grumpy, let’s get some food in you already.”

Lumie tugs the ‘hood’ off Amber’s head and lets it drop around her shoulders, which only makes her try to retract further into her blanket shell with limited success. Lumie ruffles Amber’s hair, mindful of her antennae, but still rearranging the short green strands into even more of a disaster than they surely already were. Amber doesn’t have the energy to fight her off.

Following Lumie’s lead, Amber manages to scoot her way over to the table, somehow. She plops unceremoniously into her chair, ignoring the weird directions her blanket is pulling itself in at her hips and feet.

Lumie laughs at her again, setting down a plate of pancakes and a small jar of honey in front of her. Ven’s favorite, but add honey. One of the all-time best breakfast options there is.

And then, like that’s not enough, Lumie comes back with orange juice for the both of them. It's no mixed smoothie or gold juice, but any juice is good juice.

Everything looks very tasty. Amber’s not sure what the occasion is, but Lumie really outdid herself this morning.

Yet, Amber wraps the blanket tighter around herself and sullenly pokes at her food. Her sour mood is wasting such a good meal, but she can't seem to shake her funk.

Lumie sips on her juice, watching Amber from across the table, and finally says, “Okay, grumpypants, you've been in a bad mood all week. What's up?”

Amber purses her lips in distaste. “Winter.”

Lumie's mouth twitches into a lopsided smile. She nods knowingly and says, “Ah yes, of course, your nemesis.”

Amber grunts in response, and Lumie sighs.

“Seriously though. Is that all that's bothering you? Nothing strange is afoot?”

Amber looks up and finds Lumie watching her carefully. With her hair down, no hat or monocle, and the serious look on her face, she almost looks like an entirely different person from her ace detective persona. Everyone likes to act like Illuminata is totally clueless, and maybe she has mixed results on the mystery side of things, but there's not really much you can hide from her when it counts.

Amber sighs and sets her fork down altogether.

“Mmmm… I dunno. Just tired, I guess.”

Lumie squints at her and sets a hand on her chin. “‘Tired,’ huh? Have you been staying up too late?”

Amber scrunches up her nose. “In the cold? No thanks.”

“Hmmm…”

Lumie thinks hard, putting on her thinking cap (but not her Thinking Cap, which is aptly named but not quite as figurative).

Maybe Amber should have just taken the out when it was offered to her. She doesn’t really know what to think of the whole 'Clorica Phenomenon' thing, honestly. It doesn’t happen very often, so it probably isn’t a big deal, but it can’t be a coincidence that whenever it flares up it leaves Amber feeling so drained.

But she doesn’t want Lumie to worry about something that isn’t really a problem. A few nights of bad sleep and some gaps in her memory are far from the worst things that’ve ever happened to Amber. After all, for all intents and purposes, she had fallen asleep in one world and awoken in another, and there have been plenty of side effects with that. This is just another thing; there are more important mysteries that need solving.

So, before Lumie can take it upon herself to do something drastic, Amber supplies, “I think I’ve just been sleeping poorly. ‘Cause with how cold it is, I need all these blankets, but if I wrap up too tight then my wings get squished all weird.”

It’s a partial truth. It’d definitely been an adjustment getting used to taking her wings into account while sleeping, but after three—nearly four—whole years of doing it, Amber is basically a pro, now. If Lumie thinks it’s weird that Amber’s only bringing this up halfway into her fourth winter living here, she doesn’t say so.

Instead she squishes her mouth with her hand as she bores her eyes in the table like she’s rearranging all the pieces of a big puzzle.

“Hmm… I see. I wonder if we could figure out a way for you to sleep with your blankets off of your body…”

“Uh, out in the open?! No way! Brrr.” Amber shivers just thinking about it. Maybe using this particular excuse was a bad idea after all. “I’ll definitely sleep bad if I do that.”

“No, no, no. I mean, like, a tent or a canopy or something. To keep the heat in but so you don't need so many things to be directly on top of you.”

“Oh.” Huh. It hadn't really been a problem that needed solving, but that’s actually not a bad idea. If they can get something like that to work, it might legitimately improve her sleep. At the very least, it’d be pretty useful in the wintertime.

Lumie winks, and she looks a little more like her usual self. She says, “I’ll see what I can do. Let me know if it gets any worse, okay?”

“Sure thing, Lumie. Thanks!” Amber replies with a smile, genuinely grateful. Lumie has done so much for her, and Amber loves her so much.

Lumie doesn’t try to engage in further conversation after that, apparently deep in thought trying to figure out this blanket-canopy thing while she finishes her juice, so Amber lets her own thoughts drift back to what she’d been considering before she was so rudely forced out of her bed and into the cold.

She definitely feels better after talking to Lumie, even if she didn’t exactly say what’s really wrong. That said, she still doesn’t have much of an appetite. And if she doesn’t even particularly want to eat the nice breakfast Lumie clearly made specifically for her, would it really be a good idea to go to the restaurant? She could probably see something pretty funny, if Meg and Dylas are both there. Especially if Meg’s still trying to carry out her plan…

No, there’s no doubt about it, she definitely is. Even if it’s been a whole month—especially since it’s been so long. Meg hasn’t brought it up in a while, at least not with Amber, but that doesn’t mean she isn’t still working on it!

And speaking of Meg’s little passion project (hee hee—passion, indeed), Amber knows for a fact Lumie doesn’t know about it. She’s pretty sure Meg hasn’t been too eager to get her involved, but, maybe if it’s taking this long, it’s time to bring in the big guns, right? …No matter how unorthodox the methods of said big guns are.

Amber clears her throat and puts her fork down again and says, with the most enthusiasm she’s shown all morning, “Oh, hey, Lumie, guess what!”

“What’s up?” Lumie asks. She seems to have finished her juice and is currently halfway through braiding her hair.

“I came across a new mystery!” Amber tells her with a wink.

(…So maybe it’s not exactly ‘new,’ necessarily. Well, so what? As long as it’s an active case, Lumie will be interested!)

“You WHAT?” Lumie’s hair is suddenly abandoned. “Amber Watson, I knew I kept you around for a reason.”

Amber giggles and preens, finally finding some energy this dreary winter morning. It’s always fun to get involved in a mystery with Lumie.

“So, come on, don’t leave me hanging! What’s the story, is it someone embezzling from the castle funds? No, that’s too boring. Did an exotic prince from a faraway land stowaway on the airship, and now he’s looking to assemble an elite team to take down the tyrannical oppressors who have stolen his homeland?! And maybe he’s looking specifically for a dashing and daring detective to help him figure out who he can trust!”

“Tee hee, no, not quite.”

“Well?! Go on! The suspense is killing me, here, Amber!”

“A good showperson never reveals the trick too soon!” Amber declares, twirling her fork between her fingers. It flies out of her grip and goes scattering across the table, and Amber leaves it there as she inclines her head and spreads her arms in a mock bow.

A moment of silence for added dramatic effect. A raised eyebrow and unimpressed quirk of Lumie’s lips, a muffled giggle. Aaand…

“Okay, so get this! It’s about Doug and Dylas!”

“Oh? Those two, huh? And what sort of trouble have they gotten into now?” She rubs her hands together excitedly, eyes gleaming.

“Hmmm… Relationship trouble, I guess?”

Lumie’s hands pause. She slowly repeats, “…Relationship trouble?”

“Yep! Meg wants to help them get together!”

Lumie narrows her eyes. “Hold on. That’s not a mystery.”

Amber waggles her finger. “Not if you look at it the wrong way! But if you really think about it, isn’t it a mystery that they aren’t dating yet?”

Lumie sighs. “Amber… Sometimes these things aren’t that simple. I’m sorry, but I think maybe you found a cold lead, this time.”

“No, Lumie, you don’t get it! Meg realized they know, they just don’t know they know, and they don’t know she knows, and everyone knows that everyone else knows, so it’s silly if they’re the only ones who don’t know, you know?”

“Uh huh.” She looks skeptical, still. She mutters under her breath, “Seriously, how dense would you have to be to not notice that?”

Amber thinks a lot of people would find it funny that Lumie is saying this, but she doesn’t comment on it.

“You really don’t think those two could be dense enough for that?”

“Well…” Lumie thinks it over, holding her chin. “Hmm. I suppose that could be a problem. Maybe.”

She gives Amber a look that clearly says ‘please, go on,’ and Amber silently cheers, knowing she’s got her attention, at least.

“Well, Kiel said last month the boys all had a sleepover and they basically fell asleep cuddling! Plus Doug was the one who planned it, and apparently he made sure it was the night before Dylas’s birthday so that when he woke up everyone could wish him a happy birthday and celebrate a little without making it into some big party that Dylas would hate! Isn’t that sweet?”

“Aww." Lumie's lips quirk in a small smirk, but then she shakes her head and coughs, "Ahem. I mean, yes, it is sweet, but that doesn’t really mean it’s a mystery we need to solve. Amber, sometimes we need to know when to sit back and let people handle things themselves.”

“Lumie, Doug got him to eat a cookie.”

Lumie's eyes shine like someone flipped a light switch, but she manages to keep her expression fairly neutral.

“A cookie.”

“Yep! Suspicious, right?”

Lumie's eyes narrow as she considers the evidence. “Are we really sure Kiel is a credible source, though?”

“I mean, I think there were a bunch more witnesses if we need to corroborate his claims!”

“Hmmm… And you’re sure it was Dylas’s birthday and not Valentine’s or White Day?”

“Super sure! I helped make the cookies at Kiel’s house! I even snuck extra honey into most of them.”

“Wait, is that where all those cookies came from? No, never mind, stop distracting me. Did he really eat it? He must have complained the whole time though, right? Or…was it just a dare?” Lumie has a calculating expression on her face as she considers all possible angles to this aspect of The Case.

“Not any more than usual, according to Kiel, other than the fact that he really ate it. And not a dare, either.”

“Well, I wouldn’t normally say that’s very conclusive evidence, but I can't imagine anyone convincing Dylas to eat something sweet if he didn't want to. I think there's a possible blackmail angle worth exploring here.”

Amber isn't sure if she really means that or if she's just using it as an excuse to justify looking into their business, but the end result will be the same either way, so it doesn’t particularly matter.

“Yay! If it helps,” Amber adds, thinking back on that day, “Kiel and Vishnal also said those two had some kind of Not Date-date at the lake before the sleepover, too.”

“And they STILL haven’t confessed?! That settles it.” She throws on her Thinking Cap (the real one, this time). “Amber, I need to do some serious investigating here. This cookie-and-date thing is where I draw the line. You can’t tell me there isn’t anything going on there. And I’m going to get to the bottom of it!”

“Woooo!!” Amber cheers.

Lumie stuffs a slice of toast into her mouth and runs downstairs, her half-completed braid waving behind her like a poofy flag. Or maybe a feather duster. Amber sheds her bedding so she can skip down the stairs after Lumie, finally feeling motivated.

“Ahl thee ooo ‘ayther!” Lumie says—or tries to say—mouth full, as she zooms straight out the door.

“Oh, wait, Lumie, what about—”

Aaand, click. She’s gone.

Amber looks around the still-dark store and hums to herself.

Well, first things first. Amber goes back upstairs, finishes her pancakes, and cleans up the kitchen (…mostly). She grabs her comforter and half-makes her bed, and she changes into the warmest clean clothes she has.

Then, she goes back down into the shop, sets everything up for the day, and checks to make sure the sign is still flipped to closed. Maybe she's the one who put the idea in Lumie’s head to go investigate, but that doesn’t mean Amber’s going to take over her shift. She has her own investigation to conduct. She had kinda been hoping that maybe Lumie would come with, but, oh well.

She opens the front door and then immediately closes it again. Why does winter have to be so cold? A flurry of snowflakes chases after the blast of cold air Amber lets in and settles around the entrance. She frowns at them as they start to melt, willing the same fate to extend to the rest of their brethren outside.

When that fails, because it can never be that easy, she runs back upstairs to look for an extra layer to throw on. Lumie has some thicker warm hats (that she doesn’t often wear because ‘The aesthetic is all wrong!’), but Amber really hates wearing anything on her head anymore, thanks to her antennae. She settles for an old, too-big overcoat she doesn’t think she’s ever seen Lumie wear before which fits over her wings without pinching them and has a wide hood. She buries herself in the warm inner fuzz of it, then trudges back downstairs and braces herself in front of the door.

She would really rather nap, but she has things to do. It would be nice if she could do both. Amber may be calling her weird tired patches ‘the Clorica Phenomenon,’ but they aren't truly the real Clorica Method, unfortunately. So far at least, she hasn't managed to get anything done during any oddly-timed naps or poorly-slept nights.

So then, if she can’t do it in her sleep the way Clori can, just how is Amber supposed to figure out how to get those fools to see they’re meant to be together?

…Wait. Together… Clorica… Doug and Dylas…?

Amber suddenly feels more alert than she has all morning. She might just have a plan after all! Looks like it’s time for Amber Watson to take matters into her own hands!

It isn’t too hard to track Clorica down most days, and today is no exception. When Amber finds her, she’s sweeping up in Frey’s quarters, eyes closed as she dances unthinkingly through her butler-ly chores. Which means, thankfully, that they are safely indoors, enjoying the warmth of the castle, and Amber doesn’t have to have this conversation out in the bitter cold.

Amber sidles up to her and latches onto her arm and sings, “Heeeeyyyyy, Clori!”

“Hm?”

She blinks awake and blearily takes in first the room around her, then Amber hanging off her arm.

“Oh,” she yawns, “Hello, Amber. How are you today?”

“I’m good! Also, the Together Trio must come together once more!” Amber doesn’t waste any time getting right to it. She’s not sure how long her plan’s gonna take, but they might as well get started as soon as they can!

“Oh, that's goo— Um, wait, it...must? Why?”

“For true love, of course!”

Clorica blinks and rubs at her eyes like she isn't quite sure she's really awake. “Uh…? Amber what…exactly do you mean by that?”

“For Doug, of course! C'mon, Clori, keep up!”

“Oh,” Clori says softly, biting her lip. “Um… Amber, I’m sure he would be flattered, but I don’t think that's a…a good idea. Um, I‘m so sorry, but—”

“What?!” Amber snorts. Loudly. “No!! Not Doug and me! I was obviously talking about Dylas, silly.”

“Ohhh,” Clori sighs in obvious relief, tension draining from her shoulders. Once it does, she lifts her head again, seemingly even more confused by the whole conversation than before. “…O-oh?”

“Yep! You know about Meg's plan to get them together, right?”

“Ah, I…may have heard something about that. Vishnal is almost as bad as Kiel at keeping a secret.”

“Good! Then you know why the Together Trio needs to reform!”

“U-um…I do?”

“Yep!”

“So…”

“Oh, right! Well, we're trying to get them together, sooo…”

“Ah, I think I see what you're saying. That's a bit different than 'getting it together,' though, wouldn't you say?”

“Maybe, buuut, doesn't Doug need to get it together so he can ask Dylas out and they can get together?”

“That's… Hm. Actually, yeah, you have a point there.”

“I know!! That's why we have to have another meeting! In fact, I think we need to have a whole ‘nother lesson!”

“Well… I suppose this could be a fitting time…”

“Yeah!! Don’t we owe it to our fellow member? We made a secret club pact!”

Clori yawns widely, covering her mouth with her hand. “Actually, we didn’t. But I think this plan has some merit. We’ll have to schedule a time when we’re all free…”

“Aww, what?! No, I think we should do it right now! We gotta get it together while the iron is hot!”

“Hmm… Traditionally, when the Together Trio has met to speak with an expert, we’ve already had a pre-arranged meeting time. Not to mention, I haven’t even spoken to anyone about being an expert for us… I don’t even know who it could be. What kind of lesson are we looking for?”

“Oh! If it’s about romance, then it needs to be Nancy and Jones, right?!”

“Yes, perhaps… Mmmn, no, maybe not. Won’t it be a little obvious if we go to an expert like them for love advice?” Clori has a soft pout on her face, pressing her hand lightly below her nose as she thinks of a solution.

“Ooh, what if we get Granny Blossom to do it, then he won’t be able to complain or talk back!”

“He probably wouldn’t, but I don’t know. It’s possible she’s given him advice before, and… Well, none of this really matters yet, though. Don’t we need to tell Doug, first?”

“Aw, but Clori, you know he’ll never agree.”

“He agreed to go all the other times, and I never told you two what we were going to be doing ahead of time, did I?”

Amber pouts because that is technically true.

“Buuut, Clori, I don’t wanna wait.”

“Well…”

“He doesn’t work on Fridays, usually! So he shouldn’t be busy today! We should make our move now, while we can!”

Clori hums and murmurs, “As long as he isn’t busy…”

“So we can do it today?” Amber asks, eyes shining bright.

“I think that should be— Oh!” Clori interrupts herself, smacking the bottom of a closed fist into her other, open hand. “I just thought of who we could ask to be the expert!”

Clori’s eyes are lit up. She always looks a little drowsy, but like this she seems a little more awake due simply to how excited she is. Amber knows she takes everything she does seriously, that there isn’t anyone more responsible or kind, even though people think since she’s sleepy all the time she doesn’t really care that much. Not that any of those people are the ones who live in town full time, as far as Amber can tell, or they would have some problems to deal with (Amber-sized problems), but with the tourism in Selphia booming the way it is, it’s hard to not hear some outsider gossip.

The thing is, Clori likes to make sure everyone else is taken good care of, but she doesn’t always speak up about what she wants to do herself. Part of that could be her job as a butler working in the castle, but Amber doesn’t have anything to do with the castle, and even she has to pester Clori and wear her down before she will say exactly what’s on her mind, sometimes.

She has great ideas, though! She’s so much fun to hang out with, and anyone who says she’s boring clearly hasn’t bothered actually listening to her. She came up with the idea of the Together Trio, and when she comes into the shop to get flowers for the castle, she always meticulously picks out the best, prettiest bouquets.

And while it is fun to simply talk or walk or sit with her, she also has the best ideas for stuff to do, if you give her enough time to let her think of them. So, if she says she has an idea about which expert they should learn from today, Amber is going to listen.

And Amber thinks it should definitely be today, but if Clorica actually decides she doesn’t want to do it without planning it in advance, Amber won’t make her. The thing is, Amber thinks she probably wants to do it just as bad as Amber does, she just can’t let herself say it the same way.

“Hmmm. Well…it can’t hurt to ask him, can it?”

“Yeah!!” Amber cheers, and then she pauses and tilts her head. “I mean, yeah, no? Noooo! Yeah!!”

Clori laughs prettily behind her hand. “Yes, I don’t think that should be any problem. We can see if he’s busy, and then…well, if Doug also isn’t busy, I suppose I don’t see any reason why we shouldn’t do it today.”

Amber can tell by the glint in her heavily-lidded eyes that Clori is starting to get pretty excited about this whole thing. Amber definitely can’t blame her.

“Woohoo! Let’s do it!!”

Amber twirls, and Clori watches her with a fond smile.

She says, “I should probably finish my duties here, but while I’m doing that, why don’t you go set things up with our expert? If he isn’t busy, that is.”

“Amber Watson is on the case!” Amber says, rushing to the door. She stops before she opens it and blasts herself with cold air yet again. “Um, whose case am I on?”

“Ah, right, I forgot. Okay, so this is my idea…”

Their expert of the day is very much not busy, and very much interested in participating in their lesson idea. In fact, having him on her side makes it easier to convince Clori to let herself give the go-ahead to do this. And, luckily, Clori didn’t have many duties today, and most of them she had finished in a sleepy trance before Amber had even found her. By the time everything is settled and ready, it’s late afternoon-ish.

Their current task is to track Doug down. Amber hasn’t seen him while she’s been wandering around town, so she and Clori decide their best bet is to go to Sincerity General to ask Blossom if she knows where he might be today.

As soon as they walk in, it becomes apparent that there are evidently a couple of flaws with this plan, however.

For one, Blossom’s usual spot behind the counter is empty. And she doesn’t seem to be anywhere in the store at all, at least not that Amber can see, so that means they can’t ask her much of anything to begin with.

For two, someone who does appear to be in the store is Doug himself, so they won’t need Blossom’s help to find him, anyway.

Unfortunately, this all implies that maybe Amber was wrong, and Doug is working today. He doesn’t usually work on Fridays, but if Blossom wasn’t feeling well or needed to go see Jones…

Doug looks up at the two of them when they walk in, but when he sees that it’s only Amber and Clorica, he simply nods in acknowledgement and says, “Oh, hey,” and then he goes back to what he was doing. Which seems to be digging around in one of the novelty item shelves, either re-arranging them or else looking for something in particular.

Amber shares a glance with Clori, pouting. Clori smiles back, amused, but Amber can tell she’s thinking the same thing, and that she’s also disappointed about it.

It doesn’t seem like there’s anyone else in the store at the moment, though, so there’s no reason Amber can’t make a little noise.

She sidles up to Doug and whines, “Awww, you aren’t working today, are you?”

“Huh?” he pauses his rummaging to look at her in surprise, like he didn’t notice her walk up to him at all. “Uh, no? Granny just ran upstairs to grab some tea, so I was watching the shop for her, but she should be down in a—”

“Great!”

That’s all Amber needed to hear! She slips around behind him and pushes him towards the door.

“Wh— Hey, what do you think you’re doing?!”

“We need your help with something! Right, Clori?”

She nods. “It’s a bit of an…um, emergency, so as long as you’re not busy…”

“I— Wh— And you need my help, right n—”

Amber crowds him and pushes him a little further toward the door and says, “Yep, yep! That’s right! It can’t wait!”

She shares a look with Clorica, who hooks her arm in Doug’s and begins to lead him outside.

“Terribly sorry for the short notice,” Clori apologizes, and Amber can’t tell if the contrite expression on her face is an act or if she just feels a little bad about dragging Doug around under false pretenses.

“It wouldn’t be an emergency if there wasn’t short notice, though!” Amber says, maybe only slightly more happily excited than an ‘emergency’ situation would call for.

“Hey, I never said—!”

“It’s this way, watch your step…” with her arm in someone else’s, Clori’s eyes seem to almost automatically start drifting shut, and she yawns wide as she pulls Doug to and out the door, almost in a trance.

“Wait—”

Doug tries to resist one last time, looking wildly back into the store. His wide eyes snag on something as he looks back, and he moves his mouth like he’s going to say more, only his foot gets caught stepping over the threshold and he nearly falls over, saved only by Clori holding him up.

“—Ack!—”

Clori is yawning again, even as she says, “See, steps can be tricky…”

And then the door is closing behind them, and Amber realizes she’s still in the store. She hums a little tune from one of Meg’s songs, but before she can get to the front door, she hears the sound of another door closing, off to the side. When she pauses to look, she sees Dylas standing in front of the bathroom door, hand pressed back against the wood where he has just pulled it shut and a baffled expression on his face, and Amber realizes that he must have been that last thing Doug was looking at.

Dylas is staring at the front door like he’s never quite seen a door in his life before and isn’t sure what its purpose is for being there, but he startles when he notices that Amber is both in the shop with him and also watching him.

“Uh. Am…ber,” he says, weirdly haltingly.

“Hi, Dylas!” she replies, then looks at the front door as well and then back to him as she starts walking toward it. “Bye, Dylas!!”

“W-wait!” He holds a hand out toward her as he looks from the door to Amber and back to the door. “Uhm. Did Doug just, uh, leave…?”

“Oh! Yep! We have an emergency to go take care of. A secret emergency. Okay, cool, bye, Get It Together Squad, OUT!”

Amber giggles as she throws Dylas a peace sign and spins her way out the door.

From behind her as she goes, she hears him say, “Uh… o…kay…?”

And through the closing door, she hears Granny Blossom’s voice ask, “Dylas, did I hear that Doug just left?”

But then the door is closed, and Amber can’t hear them anymore, and she has a different couple of people that she needs to go catch up to. She speeds off down the snow-covered street (thank goodness it isn’t actively snowing right now, or Amber would be tempted to call this whole thing off).

When she reaches them, they’re across on the other side of Town Square. Amber waves at Ven as she passes the castle, happy that she even can do it again, now that Ven is back for good, and is awarded with a blast of icy air swirling around her ankles as thanks for her warm greeting and her years of dear friendship.

She shrieks, “VEN!” and jumps out of the way, as much as one can jump out of the way of wind.

Horribly betrayed by her oldest and now former best friend, she folds her arms over her chest, part to signal her displeasure, part because she’s suddenly much colder than before, and turns her chin resolutely away as she falls into step with Clori and Doug. The sound of Ven’s laughter chases her, carried on that self-same wind.

Doug is apparently trying to get Clori’s attention, and Clori is unwittingly ignoring him. It seems she has fallen fully asleep as she leads him onward.

“Clorica. Clorica, wake u— AH! Shit, Amber, when did you get here? Wait, never mind that, what’s going on?! What’s the emergency? Is everyone okay? Clorica fell asleep… Actually, how come the one thing she can’t do while she’s asleep is talk, anyway? Sleep-talking isn’t even that uncommon…”

Doug’s eyes drift unfocused as he thinks about this, but then he shakes his head to bring himself back to the present.

“No, forget that. Can you at least tell me where we’re going?”

“To the hotel!”

“The hotel? Why?”

“C’mon, Doug, don’t you trust us?”

“Uh, not when you come and kidnap me in the middle of—” he sighs. “You know what, I guess it doesn’t really matter anymore.” He squints at the look on her face. “…There isn’t actually any kind of real emergency, is there?”

“Sure there is!” Amber replies brightly.

“Uh huh. You sound awfully happy for someone on their way to an emergency, you know.”

Despite being asleep, it’s Clorica who reaches out to open the door when they get to their destination. Doug gives her a look that’s both a little impressed and a little disturbed by her ever-present, hyper-aware sleep-senses, and then he’s promptly dragged along after her by his arm. Amber giggles and trails after and watches Clori and Doug nearly run over an unsuspecting Xiao Pai on their way to the stairs.

Xiao Pai squeaks and steps back and trips over her own feet. Amber grabs her wrist to pull her back up before she can topple over.

“O-oh, Amber, haloha…” she greets, squinting after the other two, Clorica sleepwalking and dragging an apparently unwilling Doug up the stairs.

“Hi, Xiao Pai!”

Once she’s back on her feet, Amber lets go of her arm again, and Xiao Pai says, “Uhm, thank you. What… Erm. No, you know what, it seems I do not want to know. I must be leaving now, yes?”

“Aw, are you sure? You can come join us if you want!”

“Ah… It seems I’ll leave you all to it. Have fun?”

“Okay! Bye! We will!” Amber replies, smiling brightly and making for the stairs as Xiao Pai walks out the front door in the direction Amber had come from.

Lin Fa seems to have been watching the whole thing from the front desk, and she looks very amused as she says, “Hi, Amber! How are you?”

“I’m great!”

Lin Fa smiles warmly. “Glad to hear it. Don’t keep them all waiting up there, now, you hear?”

She winks, and Amber giggles and winks back, and then she finally follows the others upstairs and into Leon’s room.

Doug is eyeing Leon suspiciously when Amber walks in.

When Leon sees her, he says, “Perfect, looks like the gang’s all here!”

“Hm?” Clori starts, blinking her eyes open again. She retracts her arm from Doug’s and yawns and says, “Oh, are we here?”

Doug looks around the room, frowning. “You dragged me away…to help Leon with some mysterious something? Pass.”

“Au contraire. I’m here to help you,” Leon says smugly.

“Oh, I see. Super pass. I’ll see you guys later.”

Leon says, “Come now, Doug, no need to be a wet blanket. Everyone else seems happy to be here, yeah?”

Doug scoffs. “Yeah, well, no one else was— Urk, Amber—”

Amber jumps in front of him as he turns around, grabs his hands, and says, “Noooo, Doug, you can’t leave! You’re already here, and we need you!”

She hits him with her best pleading look, and she can see him crumbling.

“Seriously, what could you three possibly need me for?”

“We’re not complete without you!” Amber cries.

“Uh— what.”

“A fine example, my young pupil,” Leon says, looming over Doug’s shoulder to give Amber an appraising look and an approving nod. “The hand-holding, the declaration of intent, I’d give that a solid B+. Room for improvement in the connection aspect, making sure your partner understands your intent.”

Doug looks absolutely lost, like he just found out the floor is actually the ceiling, and apparently everyone else knew this the entire time.

“Okay, what the actual fuck—”

“The Together Trio, Doug!” Amber says, swinging his arms to get his attention. “We need you! Otherwise we’re just a Together Duo. No, we would just be a duo, since we wouldn’t even be together. Do you really want to do that to us, Doug? Think of me and Clori!!”

“The— Wha—” he blinks at her, and then glances at Clorica, “Sorry, I thought that got disbanded? And, wait—that doesn’t explain why the hell we’re in Leon’s bedroom!”

Clori says, “Ah, we decided to un-dissolve the Trio for one last lesson. If you’re interested, that is.”

Amber argues, “No! Whether you’re interested or not. Like we said, it’s an emergency, okay?”

Doug looks back at Clorica like she might be able to save him. “Are you absolutely sure this can’t wait?”

She hums, “Well… It…could, but it shouldn’t, probably.”

Doug sighs heavily and mutters, “I guess it was getting closer to dinner time, anyway…”

Amber catches Clori’s eye, and the taller woman is barely able to suppress a giggle. Amber turns back to Doug and sing-songs ‘innocently,’ “Dinner time? Why would that matter?”

Doug crosses his arms and doesn’t look at either of them, annoyance written plainly across his face. “Maybe I just think Porcoline does a much better job with lunch than dinner. Or maybe I think there are too many tourists out and about looking for shit to stir on Friday nights.”

“Uh huh, sure.”

“Whatever. Someone please explain to me the fastest possible way to get through this. Also: what is ‘this’?”

Amber clears her throat and jumps forward, arms spread. “Bam ba da daaa!” In her best Volkanon-announcer imitation, she says, “The Together Trio faces perhaps the most important aspect of togetherness today!” and then in her normal voice she adds, “See, Expert Leon is going to help us out!”

“That’s great. So, can literally anyone else help us with whatever is going on here?”

“Aw, don’t be so mean, Douggie, I was really looking forward to this,” Leon says.

“Yeah, see. That’s exactly what I was afraid of. I don’t particularly want to give Leon any kind of authority over me. I’m out again.”

“Nononono! Doouug, pleeeaaase?” Amber begs, hands clasped in front of her chest and eyes wide.

Doug sighs again, weakly glaring at her. “That’s so not fair.”

“Yay, he’s staying!” Amber announces to the room. Then she grabs Doug’s elbow and spins him so that the Together Trio is standing in a mini semicircle facing Leon.

He smiles and says, “Excellent. Well, class, now that we’re all here—”

“Hold up. What exactly is Leon supposed to be the ‘Expert’ of?” Doug demands.

“Why, love, of course,” Leon answers with a smirk.

“Ha ha, very funny. For real, is this some kind of magic lesson? Because we should really not be inside if that’s the case, I’m just warning you.”

Oozing gravitas, Leon says, “A very astute observation, child. Love is, indeed, a type of magic, though the properties of love magic itself and those of the more social variety are not a complete one-to-one—”

“Ohhh, I get it. Is he the expert of Talking Out Of Your Ass?”

“Ah, alright, alright. You got me.” Leon says, putting his hands up in (what is likely mock) surrender. He smiles knowingly and finishes, “I’m actually here to be an expert on flirting.”

Doug gives him a greatly unimpressed look. “Is that really the best you can come up with?”

“It is. What’s better than the truth, after all?”

Doug looks at Amber and Clorica. His face falls when he sees their expressions.

“Oh, you have got to be kidding me.”

“As a matter of fact, some kidding is necessary to flirt well, but I wouldn’t say you have ‘got to be’ kidding the entire time, no.”

Doug gapes at Leon, or maybe at the fact that no one is stopping Leon or saying that he’s joking, and then turns to Clorica, most likely because she is the one who would seemingly be the first to admit that this situation is unusual in any way, and says, “Flirting. Is an ‘emergency.’ Flirting. I— Why would that even…”

He trails off, eyes moving back and forth as he tries to put the reason together for himself. He doesn’t seem to have any great epiphany, but he does eventually look back up at Clori with some sort of sneaking suspicion on his face.

“Ah, well…” Clori rubs at her arm, flushing lightly, clearly a little embarrassed. “You know. Sometimes, it, ah…seems that way. And, well…the whole point of the Together Trio was to, you know, help us get it together, and sometimes feeling like you’re put together can, um,” she pauses as she tries to think of the right word to end her sentence, but ends up just settling for, “…help.”

Clori and Doug share a look, like maybe that explanation actually did make it easier for him to understand. Clori looks hopeful, anyway.

“Hm.” Doug’s still staring at Clorica, like maybe he almost does. He opens his mouth to say something, thinks twice, and closes it. Then he turns to Leon and sighs and says, “Alright, fine. Fuck it. I’m already here. I don’t see how the hell your methods are supposed to help anyone, but sure. Let’s get this over with.”

“Great. So let’s begin by discussing our sex lives,” Leon says, smirking. If Amber had to bet, that was simply to get a rise out of Doug specifically.

Doug’s nose scrunches up, but his reaction is surprisingly tame, even to Amber. He says, “Uh, let’s absolutely not. Thanks.”

Instead of disappointed that his ploy didn’t work as intended, Leon looks supremely interested by this turn of events. He says, “Aw, your face is so red, though, it makes it sound all the more promising.”

Doug’s face is indeed flushed, even if he’s not yelling or anything. “I— Leon, why would literally anyone want to discuss something like that with you of all people?”

“Hey, it’s not a big deal. Just a part of life. Totally a natural thing to talk about; we’re all adults here. You can speak to this centuries-old man about your troubles. Wisdom comes with age, as they say.”

“That is so not how you aging while you were a Guardian worked.”

“Oh? And what makes you the expert on that?”

Amber interrupts, “Ooh, wait, that’s true! Doug, as your senior in this club, I say we need to listen to what Expert Leon has to say! And Clori is the president, so, what do you say, President Clorica?”

Doug splutters, indignant, “What— That— Okay, again, that’s not how the Guardian thing worked—”

“Yes, let’s listen to Expert Leon,” Clori says.

“Clorica, are you serious? You can’t tell me you really want to talk about sex with—”

Leon laughs, “Okay, okay. We’ll focus on the flirting part, since I’m not actually here to be a sex expert.”

“Yeah, no shit—”

“Not to say I couldn’t be, if necessary—”

“Cool, so I’m leaving—”

“But I’ll definitely refrain from sharing any of my abundant knowledge on that subject for today. If anyone wants some private tutoring later—”

“Leon, are you kidding me?”

“No, I’m quite serious, if you would like to take me up on the offer.” He winks.

“I can’t even begin to explain how much is wrong with this whole situation. To think, right now I could have been—”

“True, do you wanna get out of here? With me, of course.”

“Do I what.”

Leon spreads his arms and bows. “And, scene. That, ladies and gentleman, is the way to deal with someone rejecting your continued advances.”

Amber “Ooh”s and “Ahh”s appropriately.

Doug makes a face. “I’m sorry, your ‘lesson’ is to just keep pressuring them after they very clearly say no multiple times?”

Leon shakes his head as though disappointed and sad that Doug doesn’t understand. “No, no. It’s about the banter.”

Doug mouths, ‘Banter,’ in seeming disbelief.

“Playing hard to get.”

“That was playing hard to get?!”

“Well, playing hard can also—”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence. Please, please, can we just do whatever we’re actually going to be doing here?” Doug looks up at the ceiling like he can’t quite believe he even has this much patience to spare. He looks back down and fixes Leon with a glare. “And it better not be just practicing to talk the way you do on a regular basis.”

“Sure thing,” Leon says breezily. “We'll partner up for this first exercise.”

It was very hard for Amber to hold her tongue enough to not laugh her way through listening to that entire conversation, but she manages to get by only through sharing looks with Clori while the boys argue.

And perhaps that is why, as soon as the opportunity presents itself, Amber immediately shouts, “I'll be Clori's partner!”

After all, Leon is tall, Dylas is tall; Leon is a man, Dylas is a man; Leon is a Guardian, so is Dylas. It's a pretty ingenious setup, if Amber may say so herself. It's not like they're gonna find a better fluffy-eared and bushy-tailed person for Doug to practice with!

Doug doesn't seem to agree, though. He takes one look at Leon's smile and he says, “Nope. Not happening.”

Leon brings a hand to his chest and says, “Ouch, the cold sting of rejection, yet again. Too cruel, Douggie.”

Doug takes a deep breath, shaking his head while he exhales. He looks at Clori and Amber and says, “You know what, I’m sorry, guys, but I don’t think I can do this after all. I—“ he meets Clori’s gaze and gives her a wan smile, “I get what you’re trying to do, I think, but I just… Sorry. This is a bit much, and I should probably get back to—”

Clori steps forward before he can leave and says, “Ah, no, wait, it's okay. I'll be Leon's partner. Sorry, Amber, but I think I'll need to see the demonstration up close, if that's okay.”

She gives everyone in the room an apologetic smile in turn, one hand squeezing her opposite forearm. Amber pouts a little, but Clori gives her an almost imperceptible flick of her half-lidded eyes, towards Doug, and, well, she has a point. This whole thing will be for nothing if Doug leaves.

So Amber chirps, “Yeah, that's okay, Clori! Right, Doug?”

Doug looks between them, but mostly Amber can tell his resolve has crumbled by the time he sees the look on Clori's face.

He sighs and turns his face away before he tells Clorica, “Yeah, alright, whatever.”

Happily, she says, “Yay!” and brings her hands up to clap in front of her chest. Amber gives Doug an extremely wide grin and gets a begrudging smile in return.

“Well then, with that settled,” Leon says, “Let’s get started!”

Partway through Leon’s explanation on the intricacies of the psychology of body language, using Clori as his model, Amber suppresses a small shiver as a light draft passes over her wings.

She had been loath to take the coat off, but the others had convinced her that it would be warm enough, and truthfully, it is very nice to have some time to spread her wings, literally speaking. The problem is, they’re so much more sensitive to the cold that she keeps feeling every tiny breeze that blows through the hotel. Whatever happened to the beat of a butterfly’s wings being the thing that blows wind around the world? How come she has to deal with the cold wind blowing her wings around while she’s inside, instead?

The draft makes her just distracted enough that she loses the plot of Leon’s lecture. It’s not her fault he’s so smart, okay? She still knows way more about flowers than him, so it’s fine.

Amber looks over to make sure Doug’s paying attention, at least, since this whole thing is for him, really, and finds that he is watching Leon and Clori, but Amber is almost certain she can see the way the words are definitely not sticking reflected in the glaze of his eyes. She would know, because she doesn’t really understand what Leon is saying, either, but at least she was trying.

Keyword: was. Now she’s much more interested in whatever Doug is thinking about.

She scoots closer to Doug and whispers, “Pssst, Doug, what do you think would happen if I tried that ‘mirroring’ thing with Leon, but I used my hands to imitate his ears?”

“What? Uh, oh, yeah, I guess,” Doug replies, distracted.

Which is...not exactly an answer that makes much sense. Amber leans in to look in the same direction as him, to make sure there isn’t something else going on that she just hasn’t noticed yet, but the only thing even there to watch is Clori and Leon.

Doug finally notices Amber’s proximity, and instead of moving away or questioning why she’s there, he leans in conspiratorially.

“Okay, doesn't that kind of piss you off?”

“Hm? What?” Amber asks, voice equally hushed—not quite a whisper anymore, but probably not loud enough to make out from across the room.

“Those two.”

Does he mean Clorica and Leon?

“What about them?”

“Just, like, them, together like that,” he gestures at how close together they are standing, staring into each other’s eyes as Leon fittingly says something about the importance of eye contact.

Is…Doug jealous, or something? Wait, but isn't his crush supposed to be on Dylas? What about Meg's whole plan? Is there more of a mystery afoot than any of them have realized?!

Trying to sound as casual as possible, she asks, “What do you mean?”

“Ugh. They're so—you know—” Doug waves his hand, apparently searching for the right adjective, and Amber holds her breath until he does. “—effortlessly gorgeous. It's annoying to exist in the same room as…”

Doug's nose scrunches up as they watch Leon spin Clorica into a dip for…some reason. Amber has absolutely not been paying attention.

“…that. Ugh, seriously? Why?! What kind of flirting does he expect us to be doing, exactly?”

Doug shakes his head and holds up his hands in disgust, and Amber can't help but giggle. So maybe this isn't another crush situation, then, which is mostly a relief but a little tiny bit disappointing, since that definitely would have been more complicated and interesting. Either way, she can't say he's wrong, exactly. Not that Amber particularly cares how she looks, but Clorica and Leon are both very beautiful people (inside and out—awww—but it’s also the honest truth).

The sound of Amber's amusement draws Leon's attention as he helps Clori get back on her feet.

“And what are you two lovebirds whispering about over there? Not bad, but I don't remember assigning a unit on snide asides.”

Doug ignores him (meaning he misses Leon’s little pout when no one acknowledges his silly situational rhyme) and addresses Clorica instead. “Alright, come on, didn't Margaret already teach us how to dance? What are we even doing here?”

Leon smirks and jumps back into the conversation anyway. “Well, well. Someone's itching to delve into the intricacies of flirting, aren't you?”

Doug frowns. “Itching to get through this whole thing, maybe.”

“Not to worry, my eager young pupil, we'll get right to it.”

“Again, you're not actually that old.”

“Never mind that, were either of you listening to anything I was saying?”

From Leon’s side, Clori frowns at Amber, like it’s her fault Doug was distracted, somehow.

“Oh, you were saying something? I was under the impression you were, like, waltzing,” Doug replies.

Amber giggles. She sets both hands on either side of the top of her head and says, “Sir, yes, sir! I was listening!”

Leon raises an eyebrow and tilts his head slightly, trying to puzzle out what exactly Amber’s doing, and one of his ears follows the slanted motion and lowers as well while the other stays upright.

She copies all of it, tilting her head and her hand and raising her own eyebrow in return.

Everyone stares at her blankly for a moment, before she gets an extremely delayed reaction from Doug as her question from before seems to finally catch up with him. He all but stuffs his fist in his mouth to stifle his laughter, but it really doesn’t do much. It does make Amber laugh, too, though, which ruins her Leon-expression-impression.

Clori tilts her head a little as well (which would be real mirroring, right? Amber really did learn a thing!) and glances at Leon to see if he’s had any more luck than she has at figuring out the joke. Only, when she sees him she does a double-take and then flicks her eyes between Leon and Amber as a smile slowly spreads across her face.

And then a laugh softly bubbles out of her too, and she turns away from Leon and covers her mouth with her hand.

“S-sorry, sorry,” she says, still shaking with laughter.

Leon’s ear flicks at the new noise coming from his side, and he starts to turn to look at Clori, but stops partway when he notices that Amber has moved her own hand. It only takes him a second to actually piece it together after that.

“Amber, are you—”

“I’m mirroring you!!” she exclaims, wiggling her hands. “Ta-da!! Told you I was listening.”

Leon is surprised for a moment, but then he breaks into a laugh. “I see. Well, thank you for the excellent demonstration, though I fear some of the actual lesson might have gotten lost along the way.”

“No, I got that part, too! Clori actually mirrored me when I tilted my head after you did, and she was trying to figure it out! Right? I’m right, right? I saw it!”

“An astute observation, my old, wise compatriot. Extra participation points to you.”

“Thank you very much, my older, wiser Expert.”

“Oh, come on, you guys.”

Leon and Amber share a laugh as Doug huffs, but he’s gotta know he makes it too easy, right? He doesn’t actually look very frustrated, so Amber has a feeling she’s right.

“Alright, everyone,” Leon says, with a surprising amount of authority considering how he usually speaks, “I have a new idea. What say we get some more hands-on practice?”

Leon explains something called ‘kabedon’ and then sets them loose to unleash chaos on each other and also his walls. Which are, coincidentally, also the walls of the hotel, which are, as hotel room walls are wont to be, shared walls. Amber doesn’t know Leon to be particularly vengeful, but she can’t help but wonder if maybe his temporary room neighbors might have done something to bother him.

Just in case they did, Amber makes sure to focus her efforts on slamming into the walls as loudly as she physically can.

It is possible that Amber maybe forgets the true objective of this little lesson. Just for a little while! Cornering people by slamming into the wall around them is way more fun than it has any right to be. Amber may have a height and size disadvantage (though, with Doug here, she’s at least not lacking too badly in the height department). However, Amber has one major advantage that no one else does, which she has a very strong suspicion that Leon had not accounted for.

Maybe flying up to use both her arms and her legs to be the best kabedon-er is cheating in a way, but it’s still winning, so.

Plus, it’s not her fault that Doug complains, “This really feels like a tall people privilege thing.” And follows it up with looking at her and grinning and adding, “Although, at least I’m not the shortest.”

So he definitely deserves the yelp and the look on his face when Amber cages him in the corner by the door, her hands and feet planted on either side of his head and body, beating her wings to keep herself aloft and loudly shouting, “Kabedon!!”

Doug is definitely surprised at first, backed up as far as he possibly can be against the wall.

Amber cackles evilly and tilts her chin up as she looks down at him. “Wahahaha! Puny mortal, look upon the true power of kabedon and weep! Never again shall you underestimate my true form!”

And Doug immediately snorts and breaks into laughter. He is good and thoroughly trapped, so he can’t exactly move, but through his laughter he says, “Yes, alright, alright, I’m sorry—ah, what a fool I’ve been, to have not seen the truth. I see the error of my ways—you've bested me!”

Amber’s evil laughter becomes not-so-evil delight when Doug actually plays along with her.

The wind she’s kicking up with her fluttering is enough to send an un-weighted-down stack of loose papers on Leon’s desk flying around the room like large confetti. Amber can’t see him, but from behind her, she can hear Leon shout, “Wh— Hey, Amber—!”

And suddenly the door is flung open, and Frey walks in, saying, “Hey Leon, I found this new spell and I was wondering if you could— Oh, uh, sorry! Um, Lin Fa didn't mention you were…busy; I can come back later.”

However, she does not move out of the doorway or take any real steps to leave the room.

“What…are you all up to, anyway…?” she instead asks, taking in the scene before her.

Amber and Doug are staring at her from the corner. Amber is still flying—ish, if hovering against a wall counts as flying—so she pushes off the wall and cleanly lands her dismount with a “Hup!”

The rest of the room is a bit of a mess, now. There are a couple papers that finish drifting to the floor, once the air in the room is mostly still. Turns out Leon is hovering over Clorica with one hand braced on the back of her chair and one on the desk in front of her— Only, she’s clearly asleep, sitting peacefully upright and unaffected.

If anything, it is the sudden absence of noise which causes her to blink her eyes open, murmuring, “Huh?”

No one says anything for a solid few seconds as everyone processes the situation.

And then Amber throws both her fists up in the air and declares, “I AM THE KABEDON QUEEN!!”

Doug snickers from behind her. “Hey, Leon, I think you just created a menace.”

Leon frowns at the mess of disorganized paper now littering his bedroom floor. And also the desk, and a couple sheets even made it onto the top of his bed. “That’s…possible.”

It doesn’t take him very long to recover, however.

He clears his throat and says, "Perfect timing, Frey. Come over here, I could use your help with something."

Frey raises her eyebrows and says, clearly amused, "Uh, you sure? Kinda seems like you've got it covered."

"Oh, don't worry, I do, but it will be so much more fun this way."

"Uh huh."

Amber snaps her fingers, realizing something.

“Oh, hey, yeah! Just like old times! Frey always shows up when the Together Trio is talking to a new expert; it's like a tradition!”

Amber knows she’s definitely right, but Doug and Clorica move in time with each other as Doug's eyes trace the edge of the ceiling and Clorica tilts her head and they both think back on the original Together Trio lessons. They share a look with each other.

Doug slowly says, “Uh…yeah. Now that you mention it, that's…true.”

"Huh… I guess I hadn't noticed," Clorica adds, a thoughtful look on her face.

Frey smiles, but it looks a bit too much like a wince. If Amber didn't know any better, she'd say she looks downright guilty. Amber doesn’t know why she would be, though. Frey getting involved in stuff always makes it more fun in the end, and honestly Amber doesn’t know anyone in town who doesn’t appreciate her presence.

Frey laughs a stilted little laugh and says, “Er. Right. So, uh, what do you need me to do? Wait a minute, did you say ‘Together Trio’?”

Amber puts on her Volkanon affectation again. “Reunited once more to face their toughest challenge of togetherness yet—”

“Uh, yeah, this time we’re taking advice on how to ‘get it together’ from Leon. Isn’t that fun?” Doug interrupts her, which, rude.

“Oh? Are you trying to imply I don’t have it together?”

Doug glances around Leon’s room pointedly, makes eye contact with and laughs at the flat look on Leon’s face, and then doesn’t comment on it.

Instead, he says, “I’m just saying, there are plenty of other people in— Hang on, why didn’t you guys just ask Frey to begin with?”

“Huh?” Clori asks.

“I’m still here, you know,” Leon says.

Doug shoots back, “Yeah, we’re all well aware. Whatever, it’s not actually important or anything, just a thought.”

Leon considers Frey and says, “You know what, that’s not actually a terrible idea, Doug. Okay, so let’s just use Frey here as a good example of what you should do, yeah?”

“What you should do to what?” Frey asks, baffled, as Leon leads her into the middle of the room by her shoulders, carefully directing them both around the floor-paper as best he can.

“Don’t you worry about it, princess.”

Amber interjects, “Yeah! That’s perfect, everyone’s at least a little in love with Frey! Good thinking, Leon!”

Frey says, “Uh, wait, what?”

“Yeah, no, sorry, I’m not interested in doing what Frey does,” says Doug.

Everyone stares at him.

Clori says, “Um, didn’t you just…”

Amber finishes the thought for her. “You said we should have asked her, but you don’t even want to listen to her, either?!”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. No, I said you should have asked Frey to be the expert, not that I wanted to use her as an example. I mean, I don’t really have any interest in running around fulfilling requests for everyone and giving weirdly specific and thoughtful gifts all the time. No offense, Frey, but that’s way too goody-goody for my tastes. Not to mention way too much work.”

“Erm. None taken?” Frey responds, baffled. “Uh, no, wait—”

Clorica thoughtfully interrupts, “Hm, but maybe that’s not what Expert Leon is saying. You’re not trying to make everyone love you, so maybe you could focus on doing things and giving gifts just to D…the person, uh, whoever it is that you might decide you’re interested in. Is that what you were getting at, Expert Leon, sir?”

“Sir, eh? While you’re at it, why not just call me—”

“Wait, wait, everybody stop!!” Frey shouts, holding her hands up. They do, and she continues, “I’m… I… what do you mean, ‘everyone is’— I mean, is that what everyone really thinks about me?!”

“What do you mean?” Clori asks, confused.

“What do I— No, I just— What are you all talking about? Like, what is this meeting about, I thought you were done with the Together Trio thing?”

“Well…yes, we were, but…” Clori starts.

“There was an emergency, so we had to take flirt lessons from Leon!” Amber finishes.

“To be perfectly clear: I did not agree to this,” Doug adds.

“Sure you did!” Amber rebuffs, spinning on him with her hands on her hips.

He puts his hands up, still stuck in the corner because she’s standing in front of him but at least able to move his arms now.

“Well, sure, after you kidnapped me from the store and dragged me here and I tried to leave like five times. I meant, I didn’t agree to this ahead of time, like, at all. Definitely not my idea.”

Frey sort of freezes, trying to process everything. It seems to Amber that she probably wasn’t really listening to anything after the ‘flirt’ thing got mentioned, why has everyone been getting so hung up on that?

Frey, wide-eyed and red-faced, stammers, “Wh— Wait! I don’t just do that stuff because I want— I mean, I wasn’t trying to, like— L-lead anyone on or coerce you or anything—!”

Clorica puts a hand on her upper arm and soothes, “Oh, no, no, Frey. I’m so sorry, we didn’t mean it like that. It’s just, um, everyone really enjoys your company, you know? And not just because of the gifts. Everyone likes having you around, that’s all.”

Leon adds, “Yeah, relax, princess. Just a joke.”

Doug gives them both a doubtful look and Amber giggles and tries to surreptitiously elbow him, but the fact that she’s laughing is very counter-productive to keeping a low-profile. Leon manages to keep a surprisingly straight face.

Clori, still rubbing Frey’s arm, says, “Frey, you must know everyone in town loves you by now, surely.”

“Well— But, okay, in the context of this… whatever the heck is happening here, are you saying… Like, l-love-love, or like-love, o-or…?”

Clori giggles. Frey’s face lights up even brighter, if that’s possible.

She laughs weakly and says, “I think maybe I’ll just head back downstairs and float face-down in the bath for awhile.”

“No, don’t. We’re just teasing you, Frey,” Clori says kindly, patting her on the shoulder and stepping back.

Amber laughs and moves into the gap she leaves behind to attach herself around Frey’s waist. “It’s ’cause everyone in town has good taste, Frey! Everyone knows you’re the best!!”

“O-okay, but, you know, all of that still doesn’t really answer my questio—”

“Alright,” Leon claps, “shall we get this lesson back on track, oh lovely students of mine?”

Doug sighs and swipes a hand down his face. “Do we really have to?”

Frey takes a breath like she wants to say something else, but then she drops the thought in a long, drawn-out yet forceful sigh. Amber can feel Frey’s tension drain through the one-sided hug. Less because Frey actually becomes less stressed about anything, and more because she resigns herself to the reality of the situation she’s facing. Amber giggles again, squeezes one last time to savor the cozy warmth Frey always puts off, especially in the face of cold, cruel winter, and then steps back.

Leon glances at the clock. “We have time for one last thing, I think. It’ll be quick. First though, oh lovely students of mine, we’re going to clean up this mess.”

Very unsympathetically, Doug says, “You know, I think you probably need to be prepared for this sort of situation, if you decide to do something like let a bunch of people into your room to ‘learn how to flirt’ from you.”

Leon flatly replies, “Yes, thank you, I’ll keep this exact situation in mind next time.”

Clorica blinks at the floor and gasps, “Wait, when did that happen?”

Everyone has a good laugh about that, and in the end, they do help pick all the paper back up. They don’t sort it back into whatever order Leon had it in originally, but at least it’s not on the floor. Leon makes a point of setting a heavy book on top of all the loose leaf once they put it back on the table.

Once he does, he turns back to the rest of the group. “Okay, final lesson time. The classic, a must-know.”

“Hating the sound of this already,” Doug snarks.

Clori absentmindedly wonders, “If Leon’s calling it a classic, does that make it some sort of super-classic?”

Leon ignores him, winks at her, and crosses the room to Frey.

She looks up at him with raised eyebrows. He offers no explanation and instead drops a hand onto one of Frey’s shoulders and says, “Hey.”

The room is quiet.

Then, Frey asks, “Did…you seriously just do the shoulder-touch?”

Leon serenely says, “Ah, I see you, too, are initiated in the ancient ways. See, the key is, you need to nail the expression. Also, it really doesn’t need to be the shoulder. Anywhere on the arm is good, especially for our more vertically-challenged friends.”

He smiles at Doug and Amber. Doug flips him off, and Amber points two fingers at her eyes and then Leon’s and says, “Remember, I am the all-powerful Kabedon Queen. Don’t test me!”

Leon actually winces a little at that. “Oh, don’t worry, I learned that lesson the hard way.”

Doug says, “Cool, so does that mean we’re done? Final lesson, check!”

“Not so fast,” Leon says. “You haven’t proven to me that you learned it properly yet.”

“For real? Touch their shoulder, look at them, say ‘hey’ like an asshole. I think I got it.”

Leon gasps, aghast. He dramatically echoes, “‘Touch’ their shoulder? ‘Look’ at them? Were you even watching?!”

“Yeah, and that’s literally what you did.”

“Wrong. Amber, correct one of the statements to steal five of Doug’s points.”

“Wait, Are you actually scoring us?” Doug asks, amused but disbelieving.

Leon doesn’t answer Doug, but Amber does answer Leon.

“Hmmm… Well, you didn’t only look at Frey, you also gave her A Look, like this.”

Amber demonstrates said Look.

Leon claps and says, “Yes, exactly! Go for a smoulder, bat your eyes, whatever you prefer, but you need to really sell yourself. Clorica, your turn. What was wrong with what Doug said about touching their shoulder?”

Doug says, “Wait, are you kidding me? Amber said the same thing I did!”

“No, no, it has to be A Look, Doug, not just a look,” Amber corrects.

“That’s— You’re literally saying the same thing twice.”

Amber shakes her head sadly. “I can’t believe it. My own practice flirting partner.”

Doug sighs.

Clorica, who has been thinking about her answer for this little pop quiz thing pretty earnestly, finally says, “Maybe, instead of just touching, it should be more, um, tender? Like, you should caress their arm, or trace your thumb over their shoulder, or something like that?”

“Ding ding! Gold star for Clorica. Finally, Frey, for all the marbles, describe how I said the word ‘hey.’”

Frey taps her chin with her finger. “Hmm… I’d have to say…” she cracks a grin, “kinda like an asshole.”

Leon smiles, clearly amused by this answer. “Hm. The results are in, class, and Frey, Doug, I am sorry to have to say it, but you’ll need to take the remedial course in order to have any hope of saving your grades.”

“Bummer, man,” Doug says. “Guess there’s always next year.”

Leon continues, as if he didn’t hear him, “Here is your remedial lesson: flirting is just another form of communication. It should go both ways, and it’s always better to be clear and precise with your intentions to avoid confusion.”

That’s more serious advice than Amber was expecting, and it’s also cleverly worded to target the Doug and Dylas situation without being obvious. Not to mention, there’s no practice part, and it’s the last thing Leon says, so Doug is likely to remember it. Credit where credit is due—Amber hadn’t realized Leon had still been so invested in the ulterior motives because she knows he would have loved to have an excuse to do something like this regardless of the reason why.

Unfortunately, it seems Doug doesn’t pick up on this, at least not right away. He scoffs, “What, the way you do? Aren’t you supposed to be the ‘expert’?”

“One must first know all the rules before one may break them. Just like with grammar. And math.”

“I…don’t think one of those is true, actually,” Clori says, concerned.

“Besides,” Leon continues with a wicked grin, “who ever said you’ve seen me flirt before?”

Doug sighs, shaking his head. “Whatever. It’s finally over now, right? Thank you so much for all the advice I will continue to blatantly ignore, Leon. Together Trio—plus Frey—this was fun and all, but maybe next time you can warn me ahead of time so I can schedule around this?”

Clori chuckles guiltily, but she doesn’t throw Amber under the bus for pushing not to do just that, even though she really could if she wanted to.

Frey tilts her head, regarding Doug. “It’s good advice, though, isn’t it? Being more direct?”

“Who, you mean me, specifically?” Doug asks, pointing at himself.

“Well, yeah, kinda,” she says, still looking at him. “Wasn’t this whole thing for—”

It’s almost like, one moment Frey is there, and the next moment she is replaced by an incredibly lifelike Frey statue. Stone-still and ashen.

Doug stares at her in disbelief for a second, and then he takes in the looks on everyone else’s faces. And then he explodes.

“For— Wh— Wait, for me?! H— I’m— Are you fucking with me?!”

“Uh oh,” Amber whispers.

Clori takes a small breath and holds a hand up to her mouth like she has just been made aware of something terrible.

Leon manages to keep a fairly straight face, but he flicks his eyes to look at Frey for a little too long, with a little too much emotion.

Doug laughs bitterly. “That’s. No, yeah, that’s. Great. You all were in on— That’s great. O-kay! Well! I didn’t realize I was quite that pitiful! Cool. I’m…going to leave now. Thanks for…nothing, actually. Later.”

He doesn’t quite slam the door behind him, but it’s a near thing.

As soon as he’s gone, Frey groans and backs up so she can slide down the wall to fold to the floor. “I’m gonna go live in Rune Prana for a while. Please forget about me forever.”

Leon sighs, “Frey…”

Amber says, “Wait, how did even you know about how the plan was for Doug?”

“Er,” Frey says sheepishly, “When you and Clorica were in my room earlier, I was on the farm. I didn’t hear everything, but I kinda pieced some stuff together while I was here, maybe.

“Well,” she laughs, only slightly hysterically, “at least there’s one less person I have to worry about having any positive feelings about me at all! Yeah, I think I’m gonna make like a Guardian and fuse my essence with the earth now.”

“Frey, it’s not that bad. Come on, get up,” Leon says, pulling on her arm to help her stand.

“Yeah, I think it went pretty well!” Amber says cheerfully.

“Just give him a couple minutes, he’ll be fine,” Leon says, still hovering next to Frey.

“Leon,” she turns on him, slightly panicked, “he literally lives here because he went on a long-lasting quest for revenge—”

“Whoa, okay. Frey, I hate to play this card, but is seeking revenge for the genocide of his entire people in any way equivalent to a simple slip of the tongue revealing an unfortunate truth?”

“Wha— No!! Of course not, I didn’t mean—”

“So, you see the logical fallacy, then? Frey, Doug has held one, very extreme, grudge in his life. If he really held onto small slights like that, he would have struck me down a long time ago, or at the very least, he would refuse to speak to me anymore. I’ve said much, much worse to him than you just did.”

“But…” Frey tiredly slumps and sighs, “Yeah, okay. Sorry, I just wasn’t expecting all this to happen today, I guess. I…still don’t know how to feel about that, um, one thing. From earlier…”

“You know,” Amber chimes in, “even if everyone didn’t love you, you don’t have to worry about everyone loving you all the time.”

Frey looks up at her, confused. “Uh… Sorry, what?”

“If somebody didn’t like you, that’d be because they’re dumb, not because of you. It’s not your job to make sure everyone likes you. You don’t have to just make sure everyone else has fun, you should get to have your own fun. Friendships go both ways, too!”

Frey almost has tears in her eyes. “Amber, that’s…”

Amber nods solemnly. “I know. I am very knowledgeable in the doctrines and tenets of fun.”

Frey laughs and says, “Thanks, both of you. I still feel like I need to apologize, though.”

Leon says, “Worry about that later. Amber’s right, we should go do something fun.”

Frey raises an eyebrow. “‘We’?”

Leon shrugs. “I’m sure you could think of something interesting to do.”

“Whatever you say, Teach,” Frey says with a chuckle.

From partway across the room comes a soft, “Hmmm.”

Now that Amber looks, she sees that Clori hasn’t moved since Doug left. She has her arms somewhat folded across her chest, holding her elbow in one of her hands and one of her long braids in the other hand. She’s staring at Leon’s bedroom door with a thoughtful frown.

“Something the matter, Clorica?” Leon asks.

“Huh? Oh, sorry. It’s just… I could have sworn he knew what we were doing at first. He gave me this look like… Hm. We must not have been on the same page, but I wonder what he could have been thinking.”

Amber watches Clorica watching the door, and, unbidden, a completely different memory from earlier today re-surfaces.

“Oh, hey, Clori! I never got the chance to tell you earlier, but get this: Dylas was in the general store when we went to find Doug! Isn’t that funny? It’s a good thing we didn’t tell Doug what the plan was before we left, huh?”

Clori’s head snaps up, and it doesn’t seem like she’s thinking about the other thing anymore. “Wait, what? Amber! Dylas was there?!”

“Yeah, I guess he was in the bathroom when we walked in! He came out right after you left with Doug. Pretty funny, right?”

Clori winces. “Oh, no. Amber, I dragged Doug off by the arm!”

“Yeah! And you fell asleep, too, it was great!” Amber laughs, but Clori gives her a look and a shake of her head. “…So what?”

“So, that’s…not exactly a great look, is it?”

“What’s the big deal?” Amber links her arm in Clori’s for emphasis. “Friends can do this, too!”

“I mean, I don’t know, would you want to see someone you like walking around arm-in-arm with someone else? Maybe I need to go apologize, too…”

Frey laughs sardonically. “Yikes. Maybe we should all just stay out of their way entirely, huh…?”

“I don’t know, I think I gave some pretty good advice,” Leon says.

Frey doesn’t have the energy to send him even a weak disapproving glare. “Good for you, but, like I said, I’ll be in Rune Prana until things blow over. Can someone tend to the farm for me? Actually, the monsters should be able to handle most of it…”

Clori looks at Amber sadly and says, “Maybe we should go hand in letters of resignation to Meg, so she knows not to ask us to try to help her anymore.”

Amber opens her mouth to respond, but Frey beats her to it.

“Wait, Meg? What does she have to do with anything?”

All three of them stare at her incredulously.

Leon cracks a small grin first. “Oh, no way. Frey doesn’t know?”

Amber says, “Whoa. I kinda thought Frey just knew everything that happened in town. Like, princess magic or something!”

Clori murmurs, “I can’t believe no one thought to tell Frey of all people…”

“What? Know about what?”

Amber, Clorica, and Leon devolve into laughter, and most of the remaining tension dissipates as Frey looks between them, absolutely lost.

“Seriously, what are you all talking about?!”

“Honey, you’re hooome!” Lumie sings.

Amber giggles, skipping the last step on the staircase and landing on the floor of their living space with her arms spread. “Lumie, I don’t think that’s how it works.”

Lumie doesn’t turn around, focused on stirring whatever’s in the pot on the stove, but she does snort and say, “It works if it works, you know?”

Even though Lumie can’t see her, Amber nods, and then she says, “That’s true.”

“You’re darn right it is!” Lumie says, stirring the pot one final time and then spinning the burner’s heat-knob all the way down with a flourish.

Once that’s done, Lumie spins and leans on one of the nearby counters. She’s sans-hat and plus-apron, and she fixes Amber with an evaluating look.

“Hey, is that my jacket?”

Amber looks down at its too-long sleeves.

“Mmmmaybe.”

She takes it off and holds it out to Lumie, an apology on her lips, but Lumie shakes her head and says, “That’s an old coat, I didn’t even know I still had that. I don’t need it, so you can keep it, if you wanna.”

Amber grins and holds it to her chest. “You know, it almost managed to keep me warm all day!”

Lumie laughs, “Oh, really? Hey, speaking of, I think I have an idea for your bed, but it’ll have to wait a little longer. Will you be alright for at least another week?”

Amber had almost forgotten about that conversation. It’s been a long day, and she’s exhausted, honestly, but it’s hard to feel it at all when Lumie went out of her way to try to fix something that isn’t even too much of a problem for Amber. Amber can’t help it, she runs up to hug Lumie around the waist.

“Whoa, okay, okay. I’ll take that as a yes, then,” Lumie laughs, hugging her back. She asks, “So, how was your day? Obtain any good evidence? Make any useful observations?”

Amber thinks back on the day she’s had. She’s not sure if anything she did, saw, or learned is exactly what Lumie would consider ‘good’ or ‘useful’ to an investigation, but she had a lot of fun, and she definitely got to see some new sides to people.

It’s still hard to believe Frey didn’t know about the slow-burning get-Doug-and-Dylas-together plan, but it had been fun to tell her about it. And Amber is sure she learned at least one thing from Leon that she’s going to be using again, sometime. (Whether or not that will be for actual flirting purposes remains to be seen, though.) And also, despite Frey’s mini-breakdown, thinking that she had messed up with Doug, Amber doesn’t actually think that the whole thing had gone too terribly.

Leon is right about Doug being quick to get over stuff. It’s, for better or worse, probably one of the main reasons everyone likes picking on him so much, because they all know it hardly ever actually bothers him, and even if it does, he’ll bounce right back. Amber is sure Frey is going to stick to her guns and make it up to him somehow, but she knows that there’s no way Frey would have to in order for them to be back to normal in no time.

And as far as the Together Trio plan went, Amber isn’t completely sure if they had managed to convince him that he should say something to Dylas, but there’s no way they didn’t at least plant the idea. Probably would have been better if it hadn’t ended the way it had, but there are worse things than Doug knowing the four of them have an idea about his crush, no matter how terrible and meddle-y he thinks they were being about it.

Also, if Doug is as good at flirting romantically as he was at flirting platonically, Amber’s sure Dylas will have a great time, too, just like she did today, and that’s what’s important in the end, isn’t it?

So Amber smiles and answers, “Yeah, I definitely did! Actually, you’ll never guess what happened today!”

“Oh, no? Try me,” Lumie dares, so Amber does.

Chapter Text

Spring 23, 1616

It's a quiet day at the front desk of the Bell Hotel. There haven't been too many customers today, and the ones who have come in have been perfectly pleasant. It’s been downright peaceful.

This is foreboding.

But, let it not be said that Xiao Pai doesn't know how to roll with the punches. She knows better than just about anyone how unpredictable life can be.

This does not, however, mean she has to be excited for the other shoe to drop.

And so, it is in this state of limbo that Xiao Pai finds herself today. She is seriously contemplating whether or not she should just tempt fate and pull out her sewing to work on it, since no one is around to distract her for once, but she is moderately worried that even she cannot predict what could possibly go wrong if she does.

But then, is there really anything worse than waiting around, wondering when something bad will happen? At least if she leans into it she knows that it’s coming, even if she doesn’t know what ‘it’ is exactly.

Slowly, so that she can catalog the exact moment disaster will strike, Xiao Pai reaches down and loosely grabs her latest embroidery attempt.

And right on cue, with timing so impeccable that she briefly considers switching professions because surely she will be more appreciated as a (mis?)fortune teller then as a clumsy hotel worker, the front door flies open the minute she situates the embroidery hoop into her lap.

And, also as predicted, the sight that greets her is decidedly not anything in the ordinary. Not that she is particularly surprised to be seeing it, either.

The cool breeze of a late spring evening flows down from the clear sunset-stained sky and through the now open door. It ruffels Xiao Pai’s hair for a moment before the door is shut again and the air is shut off from its source.

What all of this fails to explain is the reason why there's a puddle growing in the entrance way. Or why that puddle is pooling up underneath the two figures standing there.

Doug and Dylas seem not to notice or care that they are in the process of creating a slipping hazard right in the middle of Xiao Pai’s lobby. In fact, they don’t bother to pay her any mind at all. In spite of the fact that they are the ones who have come into the hotel and offered no further explanation as to why they are soaked to the bone.

At least she can piece together the reason for the rest of their disheveled current appearances easily enough. Both of them have stripped off their (thoroughly soaked) jackets, which it seems Dylas is carrying over his arm.

It’s been a bit on the chillier side this spring, which is probably part of the reason why it’s so strange to see them both only in their undershirts, arms bare. It’s been quite a while since she saw either of them wearing anything shorter-sleeved than Dylas’s uniform at the restaurant, which isn’t actually short-sleeved, just frequently rolled up his forearms.

Normally Xiao Pai might want to say something about the fact that Dylas has Doug’s jacket, but even without it Doug’s hands are full with his wrist braces, the longer second layer he wears under his jacket, and the white chest-belt things he wears over that layer. Maybe they hold them together somehow?

Actually, now that she’s looking at all the pieces of Doug’s outfit disassembled like this, Xiao Pai has some serious questions about dwarvish fashion. She suddenly wishes she had paid more attention to this kind of thing when she’d been traveling with Papa. Bado wears chest-belts like that too, doesn’t he? Fascinating. She’ll have to ask them about it some other time.

For now, she’s torn between chastising them for the slippery mess (that she will be stuck mopping up, of course, not that mopping isn’t a skill she has completely perfected over the course of her lifetime) and chastising them for arguing in her place of business—again—(not that it also isn’t a fairly normal occurrence for just about any business in this town).

That is, normally those would be the only thoughts on her mind, but Xiao Pai realizes with a start that she can only really do one of the two things she’s immediately inclined to do.

Because yes, they are dripping water all over the entrance to the foyer, but no, they aren’t actually arguing. Not with words, in any case.

And really, the strangest part of this situation by far is definitely the fact that the two of them are standing side by side and not bickering with each other (or chatting, happily, under the guise of bickering). Instead, they aren’t even looking at each other.

Dylas is scowling, which is a fairly common look on him, but the faraway set of his eyes is not so much. That plus the way his long hair and tail are dripping while the shorter hair on and around his ears seems to be wind-blown and frizzy is giving him an almost crazed look. Like…angry-crazed.

Whereas Doug… The furrow of his brow is familiar in a way that Xiao Pai had very nearly forgotten. And with his hair looking longer as it is partially weighted down with water, he really does look the picture of the quiet, antisocial boy Blossom had first taken in. And that’s…concerning, to say the least.

Are they fighting? How bad does it have to be if it has them both looking this checked-out? Xiao Pai really hopes she’s reading too far into this. If there were ever a time for her to hope she was being a little overly pessimistic, it would be now, because she’s not sure what to do if it really is as bad as it initially looks. Especially with the way the whole town has decided to make their relationship its business, which Xiao Pai has mixed feelings about. At the very least, she has been as happy as everyone else to see them getting along better, and she’d hate to see that change now.

With a sigh, Xiao Pai slides her embroidery things back under the front desk, where they probably belong. Small marvels that today’s strange mishap has nothing to do with Xiao Pai herself. It’s little consolation for her growing concern, but she’ll take what she can get.

She puts on a smile she’s not sure she feels and says, “It seems you two will be needing the bath, yes?”

Evidently they had neglected to realize that they had wandered into the inn at all, or that they’ve been standing here silently for a good while already, judging by the way they both flinch and turn to her when she speaks.

Thankfully, she manages to break through some of the funky atmosphere, and they both instantly look more present and alive than they had a moment ago.

“Shit, Xiao Pai, you scared the crap out of me,” Doug says, finally looking her in the eyes. She slowly raises an eyebrow back at him.

“…You are the one who has walked into my place of work, yes?”

Now that they look a little less shell-shocked, Xiao Pai doesn’t feel as bad letting her smile slip a bit so she can express her confusion and bemusement at the situation they currently find themselves in. Maybe she did jump to conclusions, maybe they’re just unhappy to be soaked and there’s nothing more to it than that.

There might be hope yet for a fairly normal day after all.

“Uh. Oh, right, I guess that’s true…”

Doug attempts a laugh that is truly so pitiful it would have been better had he not tried at all. Never mind. Xiao Pai is just going to go ahead and assume the worst here. That’s probably the most productive thing to do.

She doesn’t get paid enough for some of the nonsense that walks its way into the hotel, a rest place for trouble more than travelers, at this point.

Unfortunately, money or no money, she does still care about her friends.

She’s trying to figure out a way to convey this sentiment without prying or being overbearing when Doug twitches in a shiver and shifts both his weight and the bundle of things in his arms slightly. In doing so, he looks down and seems to notice for the first time the puddle spreading across the hotel’s entrance. He tilts his balance to shift his weight to the outer side of one of his feet so he can look at the sole of his shoe, as though that will cause the offending liquid to flow itself back outside.

“Oh, crap. Sorr—”

“Yes,” Dylas cuts in, watching Doug intently but seemingly not hearing a single word he is in the process of saying.

Doug all but falls over in how abruptly he swallows whatever the rest of that sentence was, and the two of them very briefly make eye contact before Dylas snaps his head forward to look back toward Xiao Pai. When he does, Doug also turns his head away again, but he looks at the ground to the side of the front desk instead.

For a moment Xiao Pai is stunned into silence, and then in the moment of silence after that, she realizes she doesn’t really know how to respond to the interruption either way.

But when the silence stretches too long without any of them moving or saying anything, Xiao Pai hesitantly repeats, “Yes…?”

The expression may be ‘walking on eggshells,’ but Xiao Pai has much more experience with ‘walking on broken dishes.’ No matter what you call it, this whole conversation has Xiao Pai on edge. She’s much more familiar with dealing with tangible problems than with anything like this. She would really hate to stumble her way into making it worse, somehow.

Doug glances back at Dylas, who seems to only be realizing he said something now that everyone is looking at him. Or, maybe it’s more that he’s realizing no one had understood what he’d meant. Xiao Pai can sort of relate. A bit of color rises to his cheeks, which is frankly heartening to see after whatever the heck the rest of this display has been.

“I meant about— Yes to the bath,” Dylas stumbles through explaining. He pauses before brusquely adding, “Please.”

“Ah.” Right. Perhaps addressing whatever crisis is happening here should wait until after they’ve gotten warmed up and cleaned off. Xiao Pai continues a tad more eloquently, “Well, um, that will be 300 gold for each of you.”

She cringes a bit at herself. Perhaps that was a little insensitive. Although, maybe they would prefer if she acted normally?

Honestly, it doesn’t seem like either of them minds what she does or how she does it at all. As soon as she mentions the money, though, Doug all but jumps forward.

“Right, I’ll get it!”

Dylas clenches his jaw hard enough that Xiao Pai can see his neck flex, but otherwise he doesn’t react. He watches Doug start to pull out the money Xiao Pai asked for and turns away as soon as Doug starts setting gold on the counter, saying nothing as he pushes past to walk up the stairs to the entrance of the bathhouse. Doug doesn’t make any indication that he’s aware he’s being left behind, completely absorbed in counting out coins correctly—maybe a little too absorbed to be believable.

Xiao Pai knows how the silent treatment works, but weirdly it feels like they’re doing it wrong. Rather than passive-aggressive anger, what’s coming through is a thick layer of guilt.

Which is somehow almost worse than if they were just yelling at each other. At least she knows they’ve gotten over that a million times before.

“And, there you go!” Doug says, too loudly, sliding the pile of coins across the desk to Xiao Pai. He’s smiling, but it’s very strained.

For a moment, she’s so busy fretting about what could be wrong that she forgets she should probably say something in return.

“Ah, yes, thank you.”

She clumsily grabs for the money, and it’s a wonder it doesn’t all wind up on the floor, but she manages to get it into the lockbox with only a few dropped and re-picked-up coins. When she straightens again, she finds Doug still standing there, looking up toward the door to the men’s bath but not moving to enter it.

She bites her lip. She’s not sure if this will help, but maybe there's something she can do to make it easier for them both to relax?

“Oh, Doug, it seems I just thought of something.”

“Huh?” Doug turns at the sound of his own name and his surprise fades to confusion. “What’s that?”

“Nothing bad. It was warmer earlier this afternoon, before the wind picked up, yes? It seems Mama set the temperature of the baths to be cooler today because a customer was complaining about the idea of strangers’ sweat in the water. But I remember that you and Dylas prefer hot baths, yes?”

Doug’s eyebrows pinch and he gives her a funny look. “Oh, uh, yeah. You pay attention to that sort of stuff?”

Xiao Pai huffs indignantly. “Of course I do. It seems some people actually take pride in working hard rather than slacking off.”

“Ahaha… Uh. Right, no, that’s not what I… Er, sorry.” He looks like he might finally be contemplating running after Dylas just to escape from her, which isn’t really what she’s going for but maybe that could work out. Before he does, though, he continues, “Well, it’s cool that you remember that, and I appreciate the warning, but I’m freezing and anything’s gotta be better than standing around wearing wet clothes like this, you know? Ah, shit. I forgot about the… I’m really sorry about the puddle; I know that kind of thing can be a hassle to clean up…”

Xiao Pai waves him off. “Don’t worry about it. It has been slow, so at least it will give me something to do, yes?” He doesn’t look convinced, but she isn’t trying to talk about apologies over the puddle at the moment. “It seems that is not quite what I meant, though.”

“What?”

“About the temperature of the bath water, yes? Mama’s customer from earlier already took their bath, so I could heat it up more for you now, if you want.”

“Oh. Wait, really?”

“Yes. It seems some people do their best to be good at their jobs, remember?”

“That’s, um…”

Doug looks maybe a little more grateful than he should, considering that it’s just the temperature of one bath. Xiao Pai won’t comment on it, but it’s more than enough to convince her that she definitely needs to do at least this much for them.

He clears his throat to finish his thought. “That would be really great, actually, thanks. …I mean, who am I to keep someone from doing their job well, right?”

He says the last part like he needs to hear a joke more than he actually wants to make one. Xiao Pai gives him an honest reaction to it, which is hopefully what he’s wanting.

She walks ahead of him and looks back over her shoulder, expression flat as her voice. “Who indeed, yes.”

He doesn’t quite laugh, but the puff of air he blows out of his nose is reassuring.

Xiao Pai grabs the handle of the door to the bathhouse when she reaches it, but just before she walks in the way she’s planning to, she remembers the last time she had to check the men’s bath while Doug was here, that time when Kiel had spread those weird rumors about the bath water. Perhaps not the best time to relive that experience in any way. He had seemed especially distraught when Illuminata showed up without warning as well, so…

Instead of walking straight in, Xiao Pai knocks on the door. She knows Dylas is the only one in here, but, well, she’s not really worried about her own comfort at the moment, is she?

“Excuse me, I’m coming in.”

When she does push the door open, Dylas is simply standing in front of the wall of cubbies for personal belongings, still fully clothed down to his shoes, glaring down at the soaked jackets in his hands. It seems pretty much like he walked in here and has been standing there brooding ever since. He looks up when the door opens and does a double take when he sees Xiao Pai, so either he hadn’t heard her or he hadn’t realized she’d been talking to him, but, well, she tried, at least.

“Hey-o. I just need to adjust the bath before you get in, it will only take a moment, yes?”

Xiao Pai doesn’t wait for an answer, nor does she wait to see what either of them do once they are in the same room as each other again. She kicks off her own shoes, leaving them in the changing room, and walks on bare feet into the bath room. She heads immediately to the temperature controls in the back, very purposefully ignoring whatever immediately happens behind her in the locker room.

Once she’s done setting that up, Xiao Pai beats a hasty retreat, throwing her shoes back on and backing out of the men’s bath with a quick, “Let me know if you need anything else, yes?”

Not exactly the full love and support of a friend that she’s meaning to convey to them, but at least the wording is somewhat similar. She’ll have to explain heating up the bath to Mama later, but she highly doubts Lin Fa will mind.

Xiao Pai steps over a small foot-sized puddle and gets her hand on the door when she realizes something.

“Oh. Hm.”

“Xiao Pai? Everything alright?” Doug asks from behind her. She turns just as he directs his own concern behind himself with a flick of his eyes. “You forget to do something?”

Xiao Pai frowns. Even if he is having a bad day, she doesn’t have to take that kind of distrust from him of all people.

She huffs, “It seems I know how to do my job, yes?”

Doug blinks and brings his attention back to the front. “No, no, that’s not what I meant, I—“

“Ignore him,” Dylas says with a sigh.

Rather than bristling, Doug freezes up a little. Dylas doesn’t really look at either of them, instead setting the soaked jackets precariously onto the edge of a cubby, like they will somehow be too intrusive or do too much damage if they take up the whole shelf.

Xiao Pai takes the opportunity to point at the wet cloth. “It’s actually that.”

Dylas does look at her then, and then back at the jackets, and then he picks them up and awkwardly holds them in front of himself.

“Oh. Uh. Is there somewhere else I should…?”

He trails off when Xiao Pai shakes her head at him.

“No, it’s fine if you want to leave them there, but it seems you will simply have the same problem as soon as you exit the bath again, yes? When you put them back on.”

Both men blink at her, like they had not considered the fact that as soon as they were done with the bathhouse they would need to redon their soaked clothes again, leaving them right back where they started, if a little warmer on the inside and colder and clammier on the clothes side. It’s true that Xiao Pai had also not considered this at first either, but as they have had more time to sit with the knowledge of their predicament than she has, she still considers it to be their loss.

Dylas glares down at the bundle in his hands like it has personally wronged him, and Doug fidgets, tapping the toes of his now-bare feet on the ground a few times. Then he crinkles his nose at his discarded shoes and socks, realizing he’ll have to put those back on, too.

Dylas makes an aborted gesture like he wants to smack his hand to his forehead before he realizes that his hands are full of wet jackets again. He sighs instead and says, “Right. We’ll still use the bath, though.”

Doug crosses his arms over his chest, frowning at the cold, wet fabric of his shirt. Xiao Pai thinks he might still be shivering slightly, but his teeth don't chatter when he speaks. “Uh, yeah, but she’s right. I don’t really wanna get all warm and clean and then put cold, gross, ruin-water-soaked clothes back on. Maybe we should go grab something dry, first?”

‘Ruin-water’? Xiao Pai is almost afraid to ask. Dylas must understand what he’s saying though, because he frowns too, like the idea is as unappealing as it sounds. Doug doesn’t look happy to be suggesting going back outside now that they’re already in the bathhouse, and Dylas doesn’t look happy that Doug’s suggesting it, either.

Dylas grumbles, “I guess,” frowning at Doug, who does seem to be shivering after all.

Xiao Pai isn’t sure when she developed a Doug-Dylas-fight sense, but she gets the feeling she maybe shouldn’t let this conversation drag on too long. And besides, she hadn’t really been aiming to send them back outside when she’d brought it up.

“Well, it seems I could set your clothes by the hearth to dry while you are in the bath if you’d like? Or I could go ask Porcoline and Blossom if they could grab a change of clothes from your rooms? I don’t think anything Mama or I have here will fit you two, unfortunately. Unless you really want to brave Leon’s wardrobe…”

“No thanks,” they answer in perfect unison.

Xiao Pai can’t help but giggle a little, and the air seems a touch less oppressive than it had been before, so she’ll take it.

Doug and Dylas finally share a look again after that, seemingly having a benign silent debate between themselves.

Dylas is the one who says, “We don’t want to trouble you.”

Doug is the one who adds, “But we absolutely will, if you’re offering.”

Dylas gives Doug a flat look and receives a cheeky smile in response. Much more standard fare to be expected from the two of them. Xiao Pai hadn’t ever thought she’d miss it, but it’s almost comforting.

“It seems it would be no problem. What would you like me to do?”

“You really don’t have to.”

Doug rolls his eyes at Dylas. “And you really don’t know how to accept help. All you have to do is say, ‘Thanks, Xiao Pai, that’s so kind of you! Really appreciate it! Next time you need something, let me know, and I’ll return the favor. Because, you know, we’re friends, and that’s how it works. We’re there for each other, mutually.’”

Somehow it sounds like he isn’t actually talking about the clothes anymore. The way Dylas frowns and glares icy daggers seems to support that being the truth, but Xiao Pai lacks the context needed to understand what Doug is getting at, specifically.

“Don’t bother Porcoline or Blossom,” Dylas says resolutely, but it sounds more like he’s talking to Doug than to Xiao Pai.

Doug mumbles something like, “‘Bother,’” under his breath, but then he turns to Xiao Pai and says at a more conversational volume, “Yeah, if you don’t mind setting some of our stuff by the fire, that would be great. As long as it’s a little less soaked, I’m sure we’ll be able to make it home fine; it’s not like it’s a long walk.”

He punctuates his claim by picking up his socks and wringing them out over a drain. Xiao Pai isn’t sure why they hadn’t bothered to wring their things out as much as they could earlier, whenever it was that they had gotten soaked, but from the sound of it they likely had other things on their mind, so she decides not to bring that up.

“It seems I don’t mind at all. You can give me whatever you want me to set out, and I’ll bring it back in about…twenty minutes? Thirty? How long do you want to stay in?”

“Uhhh…”

Doug tries to catch Dylas’s eye, presumably to confirm an acceptable time frame, and fails, as Dylas is resolutely staring at the place the bottom of the cubbies meet the floor on his own side of the room. Doug lets out a sigh that’s more the action of sagging his shoulders than actually making any noise and smacks his still very much wet socks against his leg.

He shoots Xiao Pai a smile she can tell he obviously isn’t actually feeling and says, “Yeah, twenty minutes sounds perfect. Thanks, Xiao Pai.”

She returns his smile sympathetically and says, “It seems it is no problem at all. Um, I will wait here by the door so you can pass me everything you want me to set out, yes?”

“Oh— Right, yeah. Uh, sounds good.”

Xiao Pai nods, bounces a little as she raises herself onto the balls of her feet to step backwards, glances at Dylas, who is still seemingly ignoring the fact that he’s not the only person in this room, bounces again, catches sight of Doug watching Dylas with an unhappy frown, drops back onto the heel of her back foot, and spins around as she steps back and swings through the doorway and into the hallway overlooking the hotel lobby. She holds the door open a crack and stands with her back to it, both for the sake of the boys’ comfort and modesty and so she can keep watch in case any other customers happen to come in. She should probably at least warn them of the water hazard if she can.

Xiao Pai sighs, trying to pick apart the after-images of the situation she just left behind.

She really didn’t like the look or sound of any of that, but what can she do? Sure, everyone has seen the two of them fight before, but this doesn’t feel like a usual fight between them at all. She really hopes none of this has anything to do with that whole ‘helpful meddling’ thing. That would be the worst way to find out she was right to not be excited to participate.

Maybe Mama would know what to do about this. Surely she and Papa have had their disagreements in the past, right? Although, it’s very hard to say whether that would actually be of any help in this current situation.

Probably not at all, the more Xiao Pai thinks about it. Doug and Dylas—even if they haven’t been together as long as Mama and Papa—or, well, no, even since they aren’t technically together (romantically) at all—have a very different relationship than the one Xiao Pai’s parents do.

Lin Fa and Yang Fan barely see each other a few times a year, maybe once a month if they’re lucky, twice if the stars completely align, which is very uncommon. Xiao Pai has watched countless customers ask her mother how she could deal with a long-term long-distance relationship.

(Usually while blatantly flirting— ‘Oh, that must be so hard for you, you poor woman, how could any man treat such a beauty like this?’ is such a common come-on phrase spoken in the hotel lobby that Xiao Pai has to wonder if they should just add it to their advertisements already. ‘Come, meet the beautiful woman whose husband dumped their dowdy daughter on her and abandoned her to roam the world. He’s out there seeing the sights and meeting other, younger women, while she lives in a cage of her own misery. She has rejected all who come to save her so far, but maybe you are just the person who will finally teach her that she’s living her life wrong and set her free…to be with you at all times and wait on you hand and foot, of course.’ Maybe that’s a little too overt. Xiao Pai never was great at subtlety, but the people who see Lin Fa as merely beautiful—an object to be admired and not the full true beauty of the amazing person she is—are even less so.)

The thing is, Xiao Pai’s parents constantly keep up correspondence and communication. If anyone were to see the veritable library of letters collected and saved between the two of them, there’s no way they would be able to pretend Lin Fa and Yang Fan aren’t in love in their own brilliant and perfectly acceptable way, nor that they aren’t completely happy with each other and with their lives. The problem is, no one else is ever going to see those letters, and so most people don’t have the kind of proof Xiao Pai does of the validity of her parents’ relationship. Not that they should need to have it, to be capable of respecting her mother’s boundaries, but Xiao Pai is a little too realistic to truly believe the rest of the world will honor only the good word of a good person, as unfortunate as it may be.

The point is, Xiao Pai’s parents lead very different lives, and they are perfectly happy with the few and far moments in-between when they are able to grab a little time together for themselves. They don’t need to be close physically to still have a close relationship.

Doug and Dylas aren’t like that, though. They see each other just about every day, partly by virtue of the fact that Selphia isn’t a particularly large town, and partly (mostly) because they are constantly seeking each other out. Of course, Xiao Pai can’t actually speak to if they would be able to maintain a long-distance relationship or not: she’s not them, and she’s never even technically seen them as they would be in a relationship at all to begin with.

What Xiao Pai does know, however, is what she has seen with her own eyes.

And what she has seen is the way they gravitate toward each other within large groups, the way their eyes search each other out from across the Town Square, the way they consistently sit next to each other when a group gets together to eat at the same time, the way they delight in making stupid faces at each other behind people’s backs or in the middle of their conversations or instead of having a conversation at all. The way sometimes Dylas drops by the general store even though he doesn’t need to buy anything or Doug lounges around the restaurant when it’s slow even though he isn’t eating.

And, yes, the way they make a point of getting into legitimately some of the stupidest arguments Xiao Pai has ever heard, but she thinks that’s part of the same thing. They like to get in each other’s faces about things.

Which is what makes this whole awkward avoidance thing so incredibly strange and uncomfortable.

Even back when Dylas had first arrived and it had seemed they couldn’t find any common ground, Xiao Pai doesn’t think she’s ever seen them staying so close to each other yet being millions of miles apart. It’s actually kind of unsettling. Loud-angry coming from them isn’t so strange, if not very rare nowadays.

Quiet-angry, though? That’s new, and Xiao Pai isn’t a fan. In fact, she can’t quite believe she’s even thinking it, but she would much rather deal with the yelling over this.

After maybe a minute of waiting, which feels much longer than that, the door is pulled slightly further ajar, coming away from under Xiao Pai’s fingertips.

What she expects is the bundle of soaked clothes being held out through the gap in the door. What she doesn’t expect is the gruff voice that stops her after she takes the clothes.

“Um.”

“Oh, Dylas! Is something the matter?”

‘Is something the matter.’ Xiao Pai bites back a frustrated scream. Of all the stupid questions to ask.

“No. Or, well…”

Dylas doesn’t continue right away, and Xiao Pai worries maybe she’s pressuring him in some way. He’s her friend, and she wants him to feel comfortable talking to her if he wants to, but she is well aware that there are probably other people Dylas would turn to before her to talk about this kind of thing with. She finds herself anxiously opening her mouth to speak before she is fully aware she’s doing it.

“It seems you do not have to say anything you do not want to, but if you do want to, then you certainly can, yes?” Oh, what a disaster of a sentence. It’s a good thing Dylas can’t really see her face through the door. She should probably just shut up, but instead she finds herself tacking on, “To me, I mean. Only if you want.”

“Wha— Oh. Oh. No, that’s, um…” Dylas sighs heavily. “That’s fine. Or, at least, it—it will be.”

Xiao Pai can practically hear a ‘hopefully’ stuck on at the end there, but she’s a woman of her word. If Dylas doesn’t want to talk about it, Xiao Pai won’t make him.

She isn’t exactly sure how to fill the silence after that, though, so she’s a little grateful when Dylas continues on his own. “That’s actually…not… Um, listen, Xiao Pai? I’m sorry. I mean,” he sighs, “Thank you.”

“Huh?”

“For—for offering to help. Thanks. I didn’t mean to sound ungrateful earlier. I—we—really appreciate it. I just…”

Xiao Pai can’t quite stop herself from giggling, which makes Dylas stop. But that’s alright, actually, because she doesn’t need to hear anymore. She hadn’t realized how much she had needed something like this to remind her that even if things are off at the moment, they’re still hopelessly themselves.

She says, “Ah. It seems that is just what friends do, yes?” Dylas is quiet behind the door, so she feels compelled to add, “Not to mention, you are my paying customers right now, but, also, the friend thing.”

Dylas actually huffs a small laugh at that, and Xiao Pai is very grateful to hear it. Maybe she was getting a little too in her head. They’ll be fine, right? They can figure this out. Whatever ‘this’ actually is.

Xiao Pai says, “Well, it seems I’m keeping you from your bath. Holler if you need anything else, yes?”

“Okay. Thanks, Xiao Pai.”

“It seems you’re very welcome. Anytime.”

Xiao Pai walks away from the men’s bath with the bundle of Doug and Dylas’s wet clothes held out somewhat away from her chest, to avoid getting herself soaked in the process of trying to dry the clothes off, because she doesn’t doubt that she could manage it. It wouldn’t exactly be the first time something like that has happened.

She’s still worried about the two of them, though thankfully a little less so after Dylas had awkwardly thanked her for doing something that’s genuinely not very difficult at all. Sometimes people like him make a bigger deal out of asking for help than it actually is. Why would she offer if she wasn’t willing to do it? It’s funny, because she doubts Dylas himself would do something he didn’t want to for someone he doesn’t care about, so shouldn’t he think others might not do the same?

Xiao Pai rounds the corner to start her way down the steps to the main area of the lobby and catches sight of the still-watery state of the floor. Well, at least she has something to do now…which is to worry about why her friends are soaked and angry. Trip to the lake gone wrong? Or—

“So, a lover’s spat, huh?”

Xiao Pai stops and turns to look up the stairs to the second floor. Leon is lounging at the top of them, looking as altogether unconcerned as he sounds. He smiles at her. She frowns at him.

“Hmph. It seems you think this is funny?”

Because he almost certainly does, Leon laughs and stands so he can tromp the rest of the way down into the lobby. Xiao Pai throws a pointed glance toward the entrance to the baths, knowing it’s futile but hoping Leon can keep quiet enough not to aggravate the situation anyway.

“Not funny; just interesting. I heard a commotion and figured it required my full attention immediately.”

Xiao Pai squints at him. She’s not sure she’d refer to anything any of them said as a ‘commotion’—really, she can’t say that anyone raised their voice at all—but Leon somehow has a talent for searching these sorts of things out, so she decides it’ll be better for her own sanity if she drops it.

She sighs and says, “Well, as you can see, you are too late, yes? Unless you want to help me clean up this mess.”

She gestures to the puddle by the front door. And as much as it would be kind of fun to see graceful Leon slip on his ass, she should probably point out the trail of water leading from said puddle to the baths, so she vaguely indicates that as well as she steps over it to head around to the side of the foyer opposite the front desk, where the lobby seating is arranged near the fireplace. It’s gratifying to see Leon’s face shade with genuine puzzlement for a moment before he slaps on a smirk. Seems he wasn’t paying such close attention the whole time after all.

“Flash flooding? No one told me that was on the schedule for today. I’d have come down sooner to watch.”

“Hm. I’m sure.” Xiao Pai starts setting up the grate on the hearth so that she can hang the boys’ wet clothes over it. “It seems… Wait. You said ‘immediately,’ but it seems we were in the bathhouse for some time already.”

She pauses, hands now empty and damp, to look up at Leon questioningly. As usual, she is not rewarded with an actual answer.

Instead, she is met with a smirk as Leon leans against the side of the front desk. He raises his eyebrows suggestively and says, “Wasn’t sure what kind of fun you all were up to in the bath. I’d hate to interrupt anything. And from the looks of things…” he gestures vaguely at Dylas and Doug’s wet clothes.

“Is that so? You’d ‘hate to interrupt’? It seems I’d expect you to be the first person to want to insert yourself into that kind of ‘fun,’ Leon.”

“Oh-ho?” Leon practically gasps, delighted. “Feisty today, eh? I like it. Maybe you really are looking to have some fun?”

Xiao Pai sighs. “How much did you see, really?”

“Why, was there something that happened that you would prefer I hadn’t seen? You know I would never—”

She cuts him off before he can fully sidetrack the conversation. “I am worried for them, yes? Do you think something might have happened?”

Leon hums, not looking very upset that the conversation has been turned toward a more serious topic. “When hasn’t something happened, with those two?”

Xiao Pai frowns and busies herself with starting the fireplace. Chances are that Mama won’t even notice all the heat sources in the hotel cranked up so high, but chances are also that they currently have someone staying in one of the rooms upstairs with a ‘severe fire allergy,’ or something, who is going to come down and complain about Xiao Pai lighting one during the tail end of spring, when it really shouldn’t be necessary. So Mama will still have to get involved anyway. Or maybe Xiao Pai can keep Leon talking long enough that he’s still here when that happens, so he can embarrass the customer away for her and she won’t have to deal with it.

To Leon’s question, she answers, “That may be true, but this doesn’t seem very usual. …You didn’t actually see anything, did you? You just want to know the drama, yes?”

She finishes messing with the fire and makes sure the clothes are spread out to soak up as much dry warmth as they can, and steps away to deal with the puddles, only to find that Leon is already running her mop over the trail of water leading past the front desk.

He gives her a wink as if he isn’t doing anything at all, but she can see the gears turning behind his teal eyes as he genuinely considers the situation.

While she waits for him to answer, Xiao Pai eyes the largest puddle, the one in the entranceway, and determines that they’ll probably need more than just the mop to make sure it’s soaked up. She crosses around Leon to grab a towel from behind the desk. When she straightens up again, Leon speaks, leaning against the handle of the mop instead of mopping.

“It might be true I didn’t see much of your conversation with them, but I heard plenty. And I saw them earlier, when they got off the airship. Figured I’d be in for a show if I followed them, and I’d have to say I wasn’t wrong.”

Xiao Pai had really been hoping for insight more in the direction of what to do about Doug and Dylas, but whatever. They’ll get to it, though sometimes she wishes talking to Leon didn’t involve jumping through so many hoops and deciphering so many riddles to get to the point.

Not that she doesn’t know how to hang by now. She raises an eyebrow at Leon and very pointedly directs her attention to the top of the staircase, where she had found him waiting for her. It is very obviously not in the direction of the streets outside.

“It seems that you put a lot of effort into this.”

He laughs, “Oh, not at all. But who doesn’t need some dramatics to spice up their day? Well worth climbing an extra staircase or two.”

Xiao Pai isn’t buying it. “Perhaps, but it seems you would have known about the puddle before you came down if you had walked in after them. Not to mention you couldn’t hear as much through the front door, and if anyone walked by your cover would be blown. So it seems you must have seen them outside coming this way—close enough to read their body language but far enough that you didn’t notice they were dripping wet—and Escaped back to your room, yes?”

If anything, the smile on Leon’s face only grows wider. “An interesting theory, to be sure. A shame we’ll never know what really happened.”

“Mhm.”

She waits patiently, towel in hand. There may still be a falling hazard by the door, but that isn’t necessarily unusual for the Bell Hotel. Most patrons will likely watch their step anyway, if they’re at all familiar with this place.

Leon chuckles, apparently giving up on defending his ill-constructed ruse. “I must admit, I was really hoping they were in a state of partial undress for a far more interesting reason.”

He stands back up to use the mop as a mop again rather than as an armrest. Even though he turns his back to her, she can still feel and hear his shit-eating grin.

He adds, “Though on second thought, I wonder what they could have possibly been up to that they’d take the airship and still manage to track this much,” he gestures at the ground, “water all the way here.”

“Hm… It seems I don’t know.” Xiao Pai kneels down to use the towel to start soaking up some of the largest puddle, in front of the front desk. “They mentioned that it was ‘ruin-water.’”

“‘Ruin-water’? Ha. Maybe it’s cursed to ‘ruin’ relationships.”

Xiao Pai pauses to look up at him, honestly a little concerned, and he laughs at her.

“Oh, relax, I was joking. Nothing like that really exists.”

“Really? Because it seems that love potions are a real thing, yes?”

“Well, that’s… Sure, but love magic is a real thing. Hate magic doesn’t exist.”

Xiao Pai raises her eyebrows and flicks her eyes to the door of the bath. “That we know of.”

Leon laughs again and shakes his head. “Xiao Pai, you are too funny. You realize I’ve been studying magic since centuries and centuries before you were even born?”

“So it seems there was plenty of time for you to have missed something.”

He barks another laugh and pauses his mopping to look down at her. “You’re really no fun, you know that?”

Xiao Pai doesn’t even bother looking up. “Maybe you should laugh less then, yes? Someone might get the wrong idea.”

Leon decides not to take her advice to heart as he turns to mop further back toward the stairs, laughing as he goes. Xiao Pai does glance up to watch the backs of his shoulders shake, and she smiles and sighs in lieu of giving in to the urge to roll her eyes. When did this town become overrun by people who refuse to say what they mean outright?

Maybe ‘overrun’ is a bit of a stretch, but, honestly. Xiao Pai is so very fond of them all, but they would make their own lives so much easier if they just practiced a little honesty, is all.

As though he can hear her thoughts and specifically wants to spite her, Leon speaks up again.

“So, how often do you think people use the baths for that?”

Xiao Pai doesn’t even want to know. Despite herself, she finds she answers, “…for what?”

“You know,” he says, winking at her.

She’s on her hands and knees at the shrinking edge of the puddle, and she sits back on her heels as she narrows her eyes at him.

“For…” he starts, and pauses.

He looks around the room furtively even though he knows no one else is here. Xiao Pai has a bad feeling.

He leans in closer like he’s going to share a secret, though he remains on the other side of the puddle, and finishes, “…unseemly trysts. Watery rendezvous…es.”

“Trys— Wa— Leon!”

He laughs and dances away when she attempts to lash him with her wet towel.

“I’m just saying, it’s not impossible, right?”

Xiao Pai strangles her towel and stares him down as she mutters, “It seems I will break you, and then I will throw you out with a lifetime ban if you ever try something like that. Yes?”

“I’m not saying I’m going to do it! I’m just wondering. Hasn’t it ever happened before? I mean, you know, who really knows what those two are doing right now?” he says, tilting his head in the direction of the men’s bath and wiggling his eyebrows.

He laughs at the expression on her face. How did she ever get so lucky as to have to deal with this guy?

Xiao Pai frowns deeply and says, “Not everyone is as stupid or inconsiderate as you are, yes?” and he merely laughs again.

“Want me to go check on them for you?”

“It seems I’d love it if you wouldn’t,” she snaps and turns away, biting her tongue so she doesn’t laugh, even if only in disbelief at his audacity. No need to encourage him or anything.

Aside from that, though, Xiao Pai and Leon make fairly quick work of drying off the foyer. At the very least, it’s much quicker than if Xiao Pai had done it all herself. Yet another win for gratefully accepting help instead of flinging yourself off the deep end out of sheer bullheadedness.

When they’re finished, Xiao Pai tosses all the soiled towels in the laundry basket and then goes to flip the clothes by the fire to hopefully dry them more evenly while Leon puts the mop away. She makes her way back to her place at the front desk, and he leans on the wrong side of the counter, next to her, perfectly content to undermine her one area of authority.

“If you are looking for a job, it seems we are not hiring, yes?”

“Oh? Are you sure? I know just how to draw people in, you know,” he says, giving her what is probably supposed to be a sexy, smoldery look.

Xiao Pai sighs and turns back to face front. “It seems we already have someone who can do what you’re offering, and she’s much better than you at it, frankly. People can tell when someone is disingenuous and desperate, yes?”

“Me-yowch. The claws are really out today, huh, kitten?”

Xiao Pai glares at him, hopefully sharp enough to cut.

He holds his hands up in surrender. “Just a joke, just a joke! Seriously, though, what’s eating you?”

Xiao Pai sighs again. “Sorry. I know I shouldn’t take it out on you. It seems I am just worried.”

“About those two? They’ll be fine, you know that.”

“Yes, but… It seems with everyone deciding to meddle lately, perhaps it is doing more harm than good. I don’t know.”

“O-oh? I’m sure it’s all harmless.”

Xiao Pai squints at him. “…You did something, yes?”

“Haven’t the faintest idea what you mean.”

“Leon.”

“Ah, can’t get anything past you, huh? No, really, like I said: just a bit of harmless fun.”

“It seems you are going to need to define ‘harmless fun’ for me.”

“Hmm,” Leon hums, thinking. Xiao Pai can already tell he’s deciding how to editorialize his story, which isn’t a great sign. “Amber and Clorica asked for my help. And Frey was there, too. Surely if I went too far one of them would have stopped me, don’t you think?”

“It seems you aren’t answering my question.”

Leon sighs, “Okay, honest, all I did was give Doug a little flirting advice. You can’t blame me if the opportunity to mess with him a little presented itself a few times.”

“You…what.”

“Oh, don’t give me that look, it was—”

“Leon, what makes you think for a second that any advice you have about flirting is going to help—” she gestures helplessly toward the bathhouse and lowers her voice a little just in case, “—that?!”

“Hey, ‘that’ are people, with names, and I think they would appreciate—”

“Leon, I am serious, yes? You can’t just—”

“Look, I’m not a complete idiot, alright? I gave real advice, too.”

“That’s not the—!” Xiao Pai takes a deep breath before her voice can get too loud. At a controlled, even volume, she says, “Leon. It seems they don’t actually have any trouble with flirting. I know you know this, yes?”

“Maybe so, but it would benefit them to actually acknowledge it, don’t you think?”

“I think that it isn’t our place to decide that. It seems it is cruel to push them too far if they aren’t ready.”

“You know I’ve never done that. I just like to mess with them; they make it so easy.”

“That, too.”

“What, so I’m not allowed to tease my friends anymore?”

“Not if you’re messing with their genuine feelings.”

“Xiao Pai. I don’t do that, come on.”

“How would you know?”

“What?”

“It seems there is no way you can truly know how they feel about it, yes? Unless you’ve asked directly?”

Leon narrows his eyes at her, and something petty flashes across his expression for a mere moment. “Ohhh. I see. This isn’t really about either of them, is it?”

“Excuse me?”

“I said, maybe this isn’t even about them. Maybe this is about you. My, it’s unlike you to complain to me in such a roundabout way.”

“Don’t psychoanalyze me, Leon. No one wants to be made to feel bad about a crush,” she glances at the door to the bath, “or…more, so I just want to make sure you know what you’re doing. They’re my friends too, yes?”

That hard, petty resolve crumbles almost immediately. Good, Xiao Pai is glad it does. Leon’s last line of defense always seems to be deflecting before anyone can get too close to the real heart of the matter—or more accurately, to Leon’s real heart. Close is fine, but too close and it’s all over.

And honestly, it’s actually kind of nice to see Leon’s serious side every one in a while, if only because even though he tries so hard to hide it, she knows that there is a very caring, considerate person lurking under all the bravado. It comes out now, in the otherwise quiet and still of the hotel foyer around them.

“Xiao Pai, I swear, I’ve never intended to do that. I would stop right away if it ever seemed like I went too far.”

Xiao Pai sighs. “I know you would. Just, be aware—”

“I know, I know. I am. Promise.”

They share a meaningful look, and Xiao Pai can see the sincerity in his eyes. She knows he would never be purposefully malicious, but that doesn’t mean he couldn’t hurt someone without realizing it. Maybe she did go a little overboard, though. He won’t ever say as much, but she has the feeling he might get more in his head about what she’s said to him than he should. She’s not about to take any of it back, but she doesn’t want him to think she’s actually mad.

So she smiles and says, “Good. It seems I am happy to hear that.”

Leon sighs and leans heavily on the counter. “You know, I think you might have stricter rules about me staying here than Lin Fa does.”

“Hm, well, it seems I am also one of the owners of this hotel, yes?”

He chuckles. “Yes, I suppose you are.”

They stand in somewhat tentative silence for a moment.

“…I am not sorry that I said it, but I am sorry if I was a bit too harsh, yes? I care about all of you.”

Leon regards her coolly for a moment, and then his lips twitch. “You know, with you looking out for us, I feel like nothing bad could possibly happen.”

Xiao Pai scoffs. “It seems I don’t know about that.”

Leon hums and scans his eyes across the room but says nothing more.

Xiao Pai side-eyes him, but he doesn’t pay her any mind. Eventually, she says, “And thank you for helping me mop up.”

“Anytime,” he says, breezily. That breeze gets sucked up into the tempest of his growing smirk as he continues, “So, what was that you said before about how ‘no one wants to be made to feel bad about a crush’? Speaking from experience, Xiao Pai?”

Xiao Pai wills her face not to blush. She refuses to give him the satisfaction.

“Why would that be important?”

“Hm, I don’t know. It’s always so much easier to empathize with people when you’ve been through something similar before, though, don’t you think?”

“Well, it seems lots of people have crushes all the time, yes? Would it be so strange if I’ve had one before, too?”

“You’re right. People do have crushes all the time. So, would it be so strange if you had one right now?” he counters, grin wide.

“Ughh. Do we really have to do this?” Xiao Pai whines, abandoning all pretense. It’s too exhausting to play mental chess against Leon; he always wins.

He has a wicked glint in his eyes, like maybe he actually knows something, and she really just isn’t ready to deal with whatever that’s about. Maybe he noticed something and he’s been plotting to bring this up for a while now.

“Oh, no, of course not. I would hate to make you feel badly about it.”

Xiao Pai is definitely blushing now. Ugh.

She grumbles, “It seems I really hate you.”

“Uh huh, sure,” Leon replies, still grinning, unrepentant.

Maybe she could have lived with him thinking she was mad at him for a little while, after all.

He holds the annoyingly knowing look for a few seconds and then he turns toward the other end of the lobby and taps his knuckles to his chin. “Say, how are Douggie and Dally-boy supposed to come retrieve their clothes when they’re done in there, anyway?”

“What? They won’t come out, I’m going to— Oh, crap!”

Leon fake-gasps, “Language, young lady!”

Xiao Pai ignores him. “Oh no. It seems I completely forgot to watch the time! This is all your fault, yes?”

Leon snickers and says, feigning gravitas, “Ah, then, please, allow me to make up for my grevious transgression.”

He crosses the lobby to gather up the clothes and Xiao Pai frowns at him but doesn’t stop him. “I’m warning you, if you say something to them…”

“Re-lax, Xiao-Xiao,” he says, booping her nose as he passes the front desk, “I know how to read a room.”

“That’s not very reassuring,” she calls after him, and he laughs as he pulls the door of the men’s bath open and walks through.

She trusts him, though.

…Mostly. Like, 90-10. Acceptable odds.

Wait, no. Xiao Pai could gamble 99 to 1 and she would still lose out to the 1 every time. What is she thinking?! She’s really just going to let this happen?!

Thankfully, she doesn’t have long enough to fret before Leon is slipping back out the door. She doesn’t want to know what the look on her face is with the way Leon smirks at her.

“What, didn’t think I could play delivery boy?”

She drops her head to the desk and tells the wood, “It seems I will be needing a nap.”

Leon laughs and pats her head. When she peeks up at him, she finds him perched next to her, fully sitting on the edge of the front desk, and she frowns disapprovingly.

“You make it very hard to do my job, you know,” she tells him. He snorts, and after a beat she continues, softer, “So, did they seem… how did they seem?”

Before he can reply, the door to the men’s bath opens once more and Doug and Dylas come walking out of it, so she supposes she’ll just have to see for herself. Their clothes still look a little damp in places, and a little stiff in others where they dried by the fire, but it’s unquestionably loads better than when they had walked in. They seem to have not bothered putting their jackets back on, either, but this time they’re both holding their own.

“Ugh, seriously, I feel like I can hear it squish with every step I take,” Doug is saying.

Dylas scrunches up his nose. “You can ‘hear’ it?”

Doug shakes his head. “It feels like I can.”

“Are you sure you can’t just ‘feel’ it. Like, with your feet and not your ears.”

“It’s a metaphor!”

“It’s really not.”

Leon’s tail flicks Xiao Pai in the face, and when she sputters and stands up straight to push it away she finds Leon looking at her in surprise, like he hadn’t meant to do it. Meaning, he was probably excited and really hadn’t meant to do it, meaning…

Xiao Pai glances from Doug and Dylas to Leon, whose grin has returned, and she says, “Don’t you dare.”

He ignores her (if it can really be called ignoring when he’s doing it specifically because she said not to) and calls out to the other two, “Have a nice bath, gentlemen? Now, if you don’t mind my asking, what is squishing where?”

Xiao Pai sighs and drops her head to her chest as she leans her hands on the desk. It’s not even a good dirty joke—in fact, it is neither good, dirty, nor a joke—it’s just that the way Leon says it makes it seem like it probably is all three of those things.

“What?” Doug and Dylas ask together.

They glance at each other, seemingly more out of habit than surprise that they’d spoken at the same time. When they make eye contact, something passes between them and they suddenly both frown and look away, like they had to be reminded they’re still fed up with one another by the presence of other people around to witness it.

Xiao Pai can’t deal with this right now. She stands up again and says, “It seems we should just ignore him. How was the temperature—it was okay, yes?”

“Oh, yeah, it was great,” Doug says, evidently content to ignore Leon as well. “Thanks again for the bath and the clothes and everything, Xiao Pai. From both of us,” Doug finishes pointedly. Dylas bristles a little beside him but doesn’t otherwise react. “See ya later.”

He starts to leave, Dylas somewhat trailing behind, but Leon calls out from above Xiao Pai and asks, “Aw, no ‘see ya’ for poor ol’ Leon? Doug, how could you?”

Doug spins on his heel and narrows his eyes at Leon and says, “You know what—”

He clenches his jaw, staring Leon down in a way that suggests to Xiao Pai that whatever Leon says, Doug very much did not appreciate the flirting advice, and then he smiles in a way that’s more a sneer and turns to pin his attention on Dylas, who has stopped behind him.

Doug steps up closer to Dylas, who seems to have frozen in place, unsure of what is going on. Xiao Pai can see how rigidly he’s standing, and how stiffly his ears are standing up and pointed forward. Doug reaches a hand out and Dylas’s head turns ever so slightly as his eyes track it. It lands lightly on Dylas’s shoulder, and it looks to Xiao Pai like Dylas might be holding his breath, an extremely confused look on his face.

Doug leans in a little closer and says, “Hey.” He still kinda sorta looks like he’s contemplating murder, but somehow Xiao Pai thinks the victim isn’t going to be Dylas.

Dylas, brow extremely creased, very hesitantly replies, “…Yes?”

Doug presses his lips together into a thin line, and removes his hand from Dylas’s person to gesture at Leon with it.

“Happy?”

He gives one last derisive look to Leon, rolls his eyes, spins on his heel, and marches out the door, leaving Dylas behind.

Dylas’s face scrunches up in confusion, and he squints his eyes like that will help him make sense of the situation. When that fails, he blinks twice, mystified, and turns back toward Leon and Xiao Pai as if only just realizing that Doug had been throwing that glare their way and not his. His brow is still furrowed, and only grows more so when he sees what almost certainly appears to be shock on both Xiao Pai and Leon’s faces.

Dylas opens his mouth, snaps it shut, shakes his head. Under his breath, he grumbles, “Never mind. Don’t wanna know,” and somewhat louder, he gruffly says, “Bye.” And then he leaves, too.

It’s quiet after the door shuts, for a moment, and then Leon blows out a long stream of air that breaks apart into laughter.

“Oh, he is pissed.”

“Leon, what did you—”

“Ah, but hear me out. He was madder at me than at Dylas, at least for a second. Whatever’s going on with them can't be that bad, then, right?”

Xiao Pai frowns. “It seems that is a very dangerous game to play.”

“Yeah, well,” Leon says, looking at the space Doug and Dylas had been occupying a few seconds ago, “to be fair, I can’t believe he really did that.”

And then he starts cackling.

“I need to tell the others, they’ll never believe me.”

“Leon…”

“I only brought up the whole shoulder-touch move to mess with him, and he knows it. He really got me.”

It doesn’t evade Xiao Pai’s attention that Leon appears to be more excited about this than anything. As much as she wants to tell him off, the absurdity of the entire situation is catching up to her.

“Okay, enough, it seems you must now get out of my sight,” Xiao Pai says, no longer able to fully contain her laughter.

They share a look, and even with her terrible luck, Xiao Pai knows she’ll take the odds, whatever they may be, because she does inexplicably trust him, as much as she hates to admit it. Maybe there are certain things she wouldn’t trust him with, but in the end, she does trust him. Now, if only he would stop pissing people off so much on purpose, regardless of the results.

Before he moves or does anything else, she adds, “Also, would you mind picking up some groceries tomorrow morning? I have a list, yes? It seems I would do it myself, but earlier today we received a shipment of new bedding that wasn’t what we were supposed to be ordering, and I need to figure out what happened. It seems Mama managed to get a better deal by accident, but I have to make sure everything was obtained legally after…you know, last time, yes?”

Even Leon’s smile grows a bit strained at the reminder. “Ah, yes, of course. It would be my pleasure to help out.”

“Great. Thanks,” she sighs, relieved to know that at least one thing will definitely get done tomorrow. And not because of Mama or despite Xiao Pai, either, but just because Leon is capable all on his own. Of, you know, buying groceries without incident. Xiao Pai wishes she could be ironic about admiring his skill in this area.

“No problem at all,” Leon replies easily. “Well, if there’s nothing else, then I suppose I’m off. We can finish our conversation about your crush later.”

He winks and she groans. “No, it seems we can’t, yes?”

“What was that? ‘Yes’? Great, sounds good to me! I’ll see you then!”

Xiao Pai purses her lips as Leon stops with a hand holding the door open to give her a wink. She flatly says, “Bye, Leon. Go apologize to Doug!”

She can hear his laughter echo even after the door has closed behind him. She sighs and smiles and shakes her head. So much for a boring, peaceful shift.

Xiao Pai sighs, finally finished with everything she needs to get done for the day. It’s a bit of a relief; even though the beginning of her day was so ordinary and uneventful, she had been so on edge waiting for whatever terrible thing was surely coming for her that she hadn’t really been able to relax. And then, of course, when the other shoe had dropped, that whole mess had been worrying and confusing. They probably just need time to sort things out, but still…

She pads down the stairs leading to the bathhouse level and rounds the corner behind the front desk, cleaning supplies in hand, and then she freezes.

Because, standing behind the counter and in front of the door leading to her and Mama’s private quarters, arms folded and fingers anxiously tapping out an erratic rhythm on his upper arm, is…

“Doug?”

“AHH!” He jumps a foot back from the door and throws his hands up like he’s being accused of a crime and wheels around to look at her. “Holy— Shit, you scared me. I didn’t—um.”

They stare at each other for a second in mutually dumbfounded silence. Doug takes in the cleaning supplies still clutched in Xiao Pai’s hands and then looks around at where he’s standing behind the counter.

“Uhhh— Hi, Xiao Pai! Er, sorry, I know I’m not really supposed to be back here— I didn’t see you or Lin Fa anywhere but I was just hoping you were maybe home, just, in, like, in your house-house…part of the, uh…yeah, you get it— So I was gonna knock, but I guess I don’t really have to anymore, haha, since you’re, um, here.” He winces and hisses, “Shit.”

“Erm, Doug? Are you okay? Do you need me to take you to the clinic…?”

“No! No, no. Sorry, I’m fine, I’m just,” he slaps his hands to his face and slowly drags them down it, “Ugh. Just, gimme a minute, please.”

“O…kay…?”

Xiao Pai stands and watches him awkwardly for a second before she decides she might as well do what she meant to do when she got here and starts to put away the cleaning supplies back in their places inside the desk cabinet while she waits. She ducks down and luckily has enough space to get to everything without having to make Doug move.

While she straightens back up again, she hears Doug take in a deep breath, and then, almost before she’s even finished standing, he starts speaking, rapid-fire.

“Okay, so I lost this thing— I mean, I wanted to see if you were home because I think maybe, possibly, I might have forgotten something here earlier and I retraced all of my steps today—or, well, most of them—and if I left it on the airship then there’s no way I’m ever gonna get it back and if I dropped it before that then it’s going to be such a hassle to go back to the dungeon—like, I will, definitely, but I don’t want to—but I was so sure I had it when we got on the ship at least, which means it could only be here or there and, again, I really—”

“Whoa, whoa, Doug, stop!” Xiao Pai says, setting her hands on his shoulders, “Are you really sure you are alright?”

“I—” he takes another breath, which is good, but it still seems like he practically doesn’t even see Xiao Pai. “I know it’s not really that big a deal, it’s not like I couldn’t just go get more or whatever, but those stupid stones were— I mean, I had a whole— I,” he sighs, “I don’t know. Maybe that doesn’t even matter. Stupid.”

It doesn’t sound like he’s really even talking to Xiao Pai anymore. She can’t help but be concerned. He lost something? Stones? What does that…

“Er, wait. It seems you might be referring to this?”

Hesitantly, because she can barely believe she’s asking, she pulls out of her pocket the one lost item she found during her last sweep of the bathhouse tonight. It’s a small bag, or more of a sack or pouch, really, and it’s full of aquamarine. Fairly high quality, from what Xiao Pai can tell, not that she particularly knows very much about gemstones. It had been in one of the cubbies in the men’s bath, but she had assumed maybe Bado had some new get-rich-quick scheme that involved them somehow, so she had been planning on asking him tomorrow. Now that she’s paying more attention though, the bag is slightly damp—she had just assumed it was from being in the steam from the bath, but if it was Doug who left this here earlier—

Doug raises his head and his eyes light up when he sees it, and he grabs it out of Xiao Pai’s hand and opens it to look inside with a single-minded intensity she isn’t sure she’s ever seen him possess before.

“Oh, thank fuck,” he exhales, once he sees the content of the bag. She’s almost surprised he doesn’t fall over with how quickly all the lines of tension in his body snap and go slack. “Xiao Pai, you’re a lifesaver.”

“Oh, um, you’re welcome? It seems I found it just now in one of the cubbies in the locker room.”

She’s still very confused by whatever is happening here, but she’s glad she was able to return the lost item to its rightful owner. Especially considering it seems Doug might have been legitimately losing his mind over it…?

“Er, Doug? If you don’t mind me asking, it seems I am surprised that it belongs to you, yes? Are you…crafting something…?”

“Huh?” He looks up and makes full eye contact with her for maybe the first time since she scared him. When the question registers, he looks back at the bag in his hand and winces slightly. “Oh. Uhhh…no, not really. Heh, you know me, I hate that stuff…so, uh…fiddle-y.”

Xiao Pai purses her lips. “You are aware that only makes it sound even more like you are crafting something, yes? Forging, perhaps?”

He looks into the bag a second longer, like it holds all the answers, then he sighs and pulls the drawstring tight and slips it in his pocket.

“No, for real, I’m not making anything. This is just…” he trails off like he isn’t quite sure how that sentence is supposed to end.

After a moment passes, Xiao Pai prompts, “A collection?”

He laughs and scratches at his neck.

“Er, not quite. It’s kind of embarrassing, I guess, and kind of a long story, but uh. Dylas and I ended up having this competition at the Water Ruins earlier to see who could mine the most high quality gems, and, um…” He frowns, remembering, and the hand at his neck slides forward so he can rub his jaw instead as he thinks. Then he drops it and taps both of his hands on his thighs as he comes back to attention and concludes, “I guess, I just didn’t want to lose the spoils of my victory, you know how it is.”

He laughs, but it’s obviously more than a little forced. His smile is barely half a real smile, and Xiao Pai can feel her frown remain firmly in place as she tries to make heads or tails of what’s happening here.

“That’s…sweet?” her mouth says, which isn’t exactly untrue but is absolutely not the way she would have chosen to respond if she had chosen instead of just responded.

She grimaces a little with immediate regret, but Doug laughs once, much more genuinely than before.

“Yeah, well, like I said, kinda embarrassing.”

And, oh. Okay, cool. So they’re at the point where they can joke about it, then? Maybe Xiao Pai really was a little harsh when she cracked down on Leon earlier.

“Wait, did you say you were at the Water Ruins?” she asks, feeling a couple of variables in this equation coming together a little.

“Oh, yeah. We went there to—” Doug freezes with all the grace of someone realizing they’re about to say something they shouldn’t. He restarts and amends, “Well, we went there, to the, uh, Water Ruins. Like I said.”

“Mmhm. To have a mining competition, yes?”

“Well, not ex—” Doug pauses, looks off to the side. “No, yeah, you got me. I was bragging about my dwarven heritage, you know, so Dylas told me I had to put my money where my mouth was. And, well. You know how it goes.”

There’s clearly something he isn’t telling her, but clearly it’s not something he wants to talk to her about. That’s fine, but she’s starting to think she was absolutely right that this isn’t just some normal fight the two of them had this afternoon.

Xiao Pai hums. She doesn’t particularly want to press the issue, but the problem is that she’s worried about them, and she’s worried that neither of them are going to want to talk about this with anyone else, and if they don’t talk about it, then they won’t be able to work through it. Maybe they can talk about it in more of a roundabout way?

“And…how did it go?”

“Well, like I said, I won. Easily. I mean,” (finally, a genuine smile!) “Dylas is plenty strong and all, but he lacks a patient touch, you know? You really gotta finesse this kind of thing.”

Xiao Pai is truly trying to be a good confidant and all, but even she can’t help the utterly unimpressed expression on her face. Or the sarcasm in her voice. “Oh, of course. The qualities that you possess a great deal more of than Dylas: patience and finesse. It seems very silly of me not to see that coming right away, yes?”

Slowly a grin spreads across his face, and he shrugs exaggeratedly. “Hey, I mean, what can I say? You know me. I live for waiting around and fine details.”

She cracks a smile despite herself, even as she nods. “Mhm. Absolutely.”

They both break at the same time, unable to keep up the charade any longer than that. The laughter seems to cut through all that nervous energy that seemed to be hanging over their heads like a shroud all this time, and it’s a very welcome change.

There’s still good humor in Doug’s voice when he picks up again where he originally left off, saying, “No, no, seriously though, he would have been straight-up disowned by my family. Look, I may be absolute shit at crafting and forging, but any self-respecting dwarf, at least back in my tribe, has to know at least the most basic technique and proper form for mining. Everything comes back to it somehow, you know? The whole, like, economy, or whatever.”

Xiao Pai has a sudden realization, while Doug speaks, that she’s never actually heard him talk about his family before. She knows the basics—unfortunately, everyone does now, whether or not he really wanted them to.

But knowing that someone has passed isn’t the same thing as knowing how they lived, and Xiao Pai doesn’t really know anything about what Doug’s life was like before Selphia, or who his family and all the people he loved and lost really were, as people.

She’s not sure if that makes her a bad friend, for not asking or making herself available to listen before, or if it just means they’ve now become good enough friends that he feels comfortable enough to share, or maybe it doesn’t even have anything to do with Xiao Pai herself and is just something that Doug has worked through on his own, but she can feel herself hanging onto every word regardless of the reason why they’re being spoken.

“I mean, I had to learn this stuff basically before I could even read or write, you know? And, like, you can’t just hack at the ore, obviously. That’s a way harder workout, and, besides, it takes so much longer, ugh. Total waste of effort and time. I mean, I’m not even that great at it or anything, but I know that much, at least.

“I can’t lie, though, it’s so damn nice to actually be better than Dylas at something. I know it’s dumb, but, like, fuck that guy, you know, what can’t he do? He can fight, he can fish, which I guess counts as a skill, he cooks—not that he ever lets me try any. He’s…uh…tall? I don’t fuckin’ know, but it’s all kinds of obnoxious, right?”

There’s a smile playing on Doug’s lips that Xiao Pai isn’t sure he even knows is there. But, honestly? Those don’t sound like the backhanded compliments of someone completely clueless about his affection. Nor does he sound overly insecure or unsure. Just, in Xiao Pai’s far-from-expert opinion.

She hums and says, “Well…do you really want me to answer that honestly?”

Doug laughs, “Shut up,” and then he backs up to slouch against the front counter. After a second, though, he jumps up as though only just realizing that he is in fact in the hotel and not the general store. “Oh, shoot, sorry, I’m still behind your—”

“Oh, no, it seems you don’t need to worry about that.”

To demonstrate how okay it is, Xiao Pai crosses closer to the counter next to him and turns to lean her own back and elbows against it.

“See? It seems we are closed, anyhow.”

Doug looks at her a little funny, but then he shakes his head and backs up to lean next to her. They stand in a pleasant bubble of silence. Xiao Pai traces her eyes over the antique plates and small baubles and decorations which line the shelves behind the counter—all things her father has brought back from his trips, a very few on the lowest shelf being things she herself collected on her travels with him. She doesn’t really get to appreciate this view very often, considering that her back is usually to it.

There are a lot of beautiful things, and a lot of strange things, and most importantly to Xiao Pai there are several things with sentimental value.

Sometimes, when Arthur has free time (so, almost never), he’ll hang around the front desk with her and ask about the various objects they have: where they came from, what they’re called, if she happens to know the monetary value of them or whether they’re culturally significant somehow. Which ones are her favorites. It’s nice to be able to talk to someone else who is interested.

Eventually, Doug sighs heavily. Xiao Pai turns her head to consider him and finds him chewing on his lip again.

“He’s mad at me, right?” he asks, quiet and so resigned that it almost doesn’t sound like a question at all.

Well, it doesn’t take a genius to know who he’s talking about, but Xiao Pai is surprised anyway. Not because of who it is, but because of how he’s asking. Does that mean he isn’t mad at Dylas?

Carefully and almost equally quietly, Xiao Pai responds, “It seems I don’t know.”

Doug scoffs, derisive, but Xiao Pai doubles down.

“No, truthfully. It seems that I’ve seen Dylas angry many times before, and he has never looked like that, yes?”

Doug sags a bit further into the counter with another sigh.

Carefully, she asks, “What happened?”

He laughs humorlessly. “I fucked up. Is that so surprising?”

Xiao Pai doesn’t like the little self-deprecating smile he’s wearing. Nor that he’s intentionally taking all the blame for an altercation with Dylas. She takes in the profile of his face and sees the tired reflection of someone who has spent too long feeling they aren’t worth as much as the people around them, who has run out of the energy necessary to pretend to be as worthy.

Xiao Pai thinks that sometimes that person deserves a break. Just enough time to stop pretending to be able to know what they’re even covering up behind the performance. Not that it’s as easy as just saying so.

But it is easier if there’s someone else to distract the voice in that person’s head, even just by being there, so they can focus on what they need to.

Xiao Pai doesn’t say anything, even though she disagrees with the sentiment. The voice doesn’t want to be told it’s wrong, not like this—it’ll just bite back harder. If not now, then later. The voice wants to be heard.

Doug runs his tongue over his teeth like he’s rolling the words around inside his jaw and eventually lolls his head to the side a little and explains, “I, uh, yelled at him.”

Xiao Pai does some quick mental calculations. “You are saying…that you scolded him?”

He scoffs again, softly. “Yeah, that’s one way to put it.”

“For what?”

“For…” he thinks about it and groans, “Ugh. He— he’s so— frustrating. What an idiot.”

That’s no fond, backhanded praise like before, but it’s also no empty, vague insult like it would have been a couple years ago. That’s something specific, and something Doug cares about.

“Well, what was he being an idiot about?”

“He said— No, shit, sorry. It’s kind of— It— I don’t think I can say.”

“Okay,” Xiao Pai agrees, because he probably can’t, then. It’s not very surprising that something this upsetting might be a little private, anyway. “It seems there must be something you can say, though, yes?”

Doug bites his lip and absentmindedly hugs his arms around his middle, still staring straight ahead.

“Well… Yeah, okay. After I yelled at him, it was my fault we got soaked.”

“Really?”

“Heh. Guess I shouldn’t talk about stupid, huh? I should have known better, considering where we were.”

“Oh, that’s right, you said you were at the—” Xiao Pai stops, suddenly, as some puzzle pieces snap into place. She smacks a hand across her forehead. “Ohhhhh. The Water Ruins.”

Doug blinks. "Um, yes? That's where we were…?"

Xiao Pai smiles weakly, embarrassed to have interrupted this conversation with something so silly. "Ah, sorry. Um, earlier, it seems you said you were soaked in 'Ruin-Water' and I assumed it was an adjective, not a place, yes? Like, um, ‘water that leads to ruin’ instead of ‘water from the ruins’— Never mind that, though. It seems it was just a silly mistake on my part."

Doug chuckles softly, and then his gaze settles near his feet. “Um, by the way, sorry again for the whole,” he gestures down to the floor, “you know.”

Xiao Pai shakes her head. “No, it seems it was fine. Not a big deal, yes?”

“Hm. Well, yeah. We sort of…uh…”

Xiao Pai nods, “Ah, I see. It seems sky fish can really suck when they gang up on you with Water Laser, yes?”

“Hu— Oh, uh. Yes. Yeah. The, uh, sky fish. Definitely.”

Xiao Pai frowns skeptically and Doug winces. But what else is there in the ruins…

“Wait,” she gasps, “Doug, you didn’t attack that chimera, did you?!”

“Uh.” His face scrunches up. “Definitely not.”

“Doug!”

“No, I mean it, seriously, it wasn’t the chimera!”

“Well, then, what was it?”

“It—“

“I mean, unless the goblin archers learned some new water spells—“

“We fell into the canal!”

“—I don’t see— Wait, you…what?”

Doug groans and drops his head back, running a hand through his hair.

"It seems…I don't really understand how you managed to do that."

Doug laughs helplessly, maybe a little hopelessly, and throws his hands out in the air.

“It— I don’t know. This fight we had… We’ve never gotten into an argument like that before, it’s not like— I won’t say what it was about, but it's something that I just can’t accept. Dylas is allowed to be wrong about how great fishing is all he wants, but this isn’t— We can’t just agree to disagree, you know? Or, at least, I can’t.

“So, it— I guess I got mad, and I wasn’t really paying attention when I stormed off, and I did…maybe end up in the chimera’s nest. By accident! And, uh, Dylas had followed me, even though I told him not to, so, he tried to push me out of the way of an attack, and I guess, uh…

“Well, it was still attacking, so I tried to pull him out of the way with me, only we were way closer to the edge than I realized, so… I mean, you can guess what happened.

“And the chimera was still there, of course, so we ended up Escaping out to the entrance. It was getting later and we didn't really want to walk all the way back while we were soaked, so we called the airship, but it was pretty damn cold up there, and… Well, you know what happened once we got back to town."

“Oh. It seems I understand." Xiao Pai nods and thinks on it and asks, "Why didn’t you just Escape all the way back home?”

“We—” Doug blinks and then gets stuck staring at one specific spot on the shelf. “Um.”

Xiao Pai can’t help it. She bursts out laughing. Doug slumps beside her in defeat with his brow furrowed and mouth open, like the solution she has just posthumously offered for the situation is the answer to an unanswerable question. It’s very obvious that he hadn’t even considered it before now.

When her giggling has settled down, Xiao Pai pushes off the counter to face Doug fully. He looks up at her and weakly holds a finger up.

“In, uh, our defense—”

She reaches out one of her hands and slowly lowers his for him. He exhales in defeat instead of finishing his sentence.

“Doug, I take back my previous answer, yes? It seems I don’t think Dylas is mad at you, after all.”

He looks at her like she’s lost her mind. “What? You haven’t even—”

She shakes her head before he even finishes. “It seems that he probably feels the same as you: frustrated about your argument. If he were truly angry, he wouldn’t have followed you into the chimera den and flown back with you and walked around town with you and sat in the bath for probably longer than twenty minutes—I admit I may have lost track of the time, and it seems I did not apologize for it earlier, yes?—sorry. It seems that he could have left at any time, and he did not, did he?”

“He…”

“Even if he was just being nice or felt obligated to make sure you got back after your argument, he didn't need to stay with you for so long, yes?”

Doug huffs and side-eyes her, leaning back on his palms. “Who gave you the right to be all rational about this?”

Xiao Pai sighs, "It seems it is a very heavy weight to bear, yes?"

It’s nice to share a laugh, after everything. And speaking of everything, there’s one last thing that Xiao Pai should probably make sure is cleared up.

“Hey, Doug? You know Leon doesn’t mean to be…uh…”

Doug raises an eyebrow. “An asshole?”

“Hm. Okay, it seems maybe he does mean to be an asshole.”

Doug snorts, but more out of humor than derision, which is a good sign.

“But, what I mean is—”

Doug holds a hand up. “That’s okay, Xiao Pai, I get it. I know he was…well, trying to be as annoying as possible, but I wasn’t really mad at him. Or, I was, but I’m not anymore. Just kind of needed to take out some frustration on him, I guess. Especially after that shit he pulled last month…”

Xiao Pai scrunches up her nose. “Yes, it seems he may have mentioned something about that. It seems I think it was a bit of a ridiculous idea, yes?"

“Oh, you don’t know the half of it. Not sure what you heard, but I have no idea what they thought they were trying to accomplish. Actually, can I tell you something?”

“Please do.”

“Clorica was acting all shifty when I…uh, we’ll say, ‘got there,’ right?”

“Okay…?”

“Well, it’s— Okay, it’s a bit of a long story why, but the way she asked me to stay was really similar to when she had been trying to do a bunch of stuff to, like, better herself or whatever a while ago, you know? The thing is, I totally thought she was asking me to stay because she seriously wanted to get flirting advice from Leon. Like, I thought she must be interested in someone, right? How am I supposed to say no when she just wants some friends to support her while she’s trying to figure something like that out?”

“Wait, really? Hm. Do you think maybe that could still be true? I haven’t noticed anything, but…”

“I mean— I don’t know, Frey pretty much said out loud that the whole ‘lesson’ was for my benefit, but I guess it’s possible. Honestly, I would feel a lot better about it if that was at least part of the reason any of it happened,” he groans, running a hand through his hair. “Like— Stop me if this is a weird question, but I’m not actually that bad at flirting, am I?”

Xiao Pai laughs, “Oh, not at all. Or, well, I don’t know about with just anyone, but…”

She trails off, belatedly realizing that she still isn’t exactly sure how far she should go, but she relaxes when she sees the relief on his face.

He says, “See?! Thank you. Fuck.”

She laughs, taking that as a go-ahead to add, “It seems I have no idea what they were thinking.”

“Me neither,” he agrees, shaking his head and touching his hand to his forehead.

They make eye contact again and share another laugh, not quite as robust as it might normally be, but good all the same. Xiao Pai gives him a small smile after, and nudges his arm with her elbow.

“So, what do you think?”

Doug raises an eyebrow and asks, “About…?”

“Feel any better?”

Both of Doug's eyebrows shoot up at that, and then he laughs, “Did you trick me into talking about my feelings?”

“Not really, it seems I kind of just stood here while you did it to yourself, yes?”

Doug snorts at that, and then he pushes off the counter and makes a show of shaking out his hands and neck.

He shoots a grin at Xiao Pai and says, “Alright. You know what, yeah, I actually do feel a bit better.”

“It seems I am glad.”

He grins. “Guess I’ll just have to repay the favor sometime. What do you say, got any dumb relationship nonsense or anything to get off your chest?”

She punches his arm.

“Ow, hey!”

She taps her chin and nods, pretending she doesn’t seriously consider his offer. Now isn’t the time, though. If anytime even ever is. Maybe—

No, now is really not the time. She puts all of that aside and says, “Yes, it seems you are fine after all. Now get out of here before Blossom has to come around looking for you.”

He's laughing again. “Just trying to be helpful— Wait, why would Granny come all the way out here looking for me?”

“Because it must be past your bedtime already, yes?”

“Okay, seriously, what do you actually think of me? I have no idea.”

“And it seems you never will.”

“Aw, what?”

She laughs at the offended expression on his face and says, “I am just kidding, yes? But, um, it seems I am partially not just kidding about Blossom. I'm not sure if you know what you looked like when you got here, but, um…”

“Ah, yikes. Was it really that bad?”

Xiao Pai squints at the door to her and Mama's private quarters, where she had first found him. “…Ummmm.”

“Ugh. Alright, yeah, I should probably get going, then. Thanks again; maybe you could kinda tell, but I was going a little crazy trying to find that bag. And, uh, thanks for listening, too, I guess.”

“It seems you are very welcome. Get home safe; no falling into the river on your way, yes?”

“Oi!” Doug shouts, but he breaks into laughing hard enough that he can barely make it through adding, “Too soon.”

Xiao Pai snickers and says, “Go on, then. It seems I am finally going to be able to close up and go relax.”

“Ah, sorry, didn't realize I was keeping you up past your bedtime. You coulda just said something.”

“It seems I am saying goodbye now. …Goodbye.”

He laughs, “Yeah, see ya,” with a wave, and he walks off toward the door.

Instead of going into her room right away, though, she watches him walk away and wrestles with herself over saying anything else until he gets right in front of the door.

She feels like she has to say it now, though, or the moment will be lost, so she calls out, “Oh, and, Doug?”

“Hm?” He stops and turns back to look at her.

“I’m rooting for you, yes?”

His brow wrinkles in confusion. “Huh?”

She hums, wondering how explicit she should be. She can’t help but think, after this whole conversation, that maybe everyone isn’t giving the two of them enough credit. Xiao Pai knows better than most that there’s no one right way to have a relationship. If they want to take things slow, even if that means a snail’s pace, or if they don’t want the sort of relationship everyone expects them to get into, she wonders if the others will be disappointed.

It’s not fair. Well, it is fair to everyone who knowingly got overly invested in other people’s love lives, but it’s not fair to Doug or to Dylas. Xiao Pai knows they’re only doing it because they care so much about them, but even if it’s only for a moment before everyone comes to their senses, Xiao Pai doesn't want to have to see them bear the weight of those kinds of expectations. At least, not without any support. And that, at least, Xiao Pai can provide.

“It seems…” she begins, carefully, and flicks her eyes to the door, thinking about someone else far beyond it, “you probably know what I mean, yes? But I mean it, I really am rooting for you. No matter what happens, okay? Or, um, when?”

“Ah. G-gotcha.”

Doug definitely blushes, so at least she knows he does know what she means, but he doesn’t run away or get mad. In fact, his eyes do snap away before he’s able to turn back and meet Xiao Pai’s, but he’s smiling when he does. It’s nowhere near the most confident, or the brightest, smile that she’s ever seen on him, but it’s soft and genuine and honest.

“Um, thanks, Xiao Pai. I really appreciate that.”

She nods firmly, hoping she’s properly projecting unconditional support from every fiber of her being, and it must work at least a little because he laughs and sighs and says, “Geez…”

He shakes his head and takes a step backwards, turning to leave.

Right before he gets to the door, Xiao Pai shouts, “No matter what!”

“Hey, hey, I got it already, sheesh!” he says, holding an arm up to physically shield himself from the threat of emotional vulnerability.

“You can do it! It seems it will all turn out fine! Goodnight!”

He laughs, ears red, and shouts, “Uh-huh, g’night, bye!” and the door falls closed behind him.

Xiao Pai hums to herself in the empty hotel lobby. She leans over the counter, laying partly on her stomach as she props her chin in her hands.

She really is glad that Doug feels better, but in a way she feels better herself as well. Hearing the full story—or, well, not really, but as much as Doug was able to tell her—was definitely very reassuring.

She'll let everyone else keep fussing over those two, but Xiao Pai knows in her heart that they're going to be just fine.

Chapter Text

Summer 28, 1616

Dylas’s palms are sweaty. It’s a wonder he had managed to get everything set up at all. There is a precedent for breaking dishes due to nerves over changes in his relationship with Doug, after all.

But somehow, that hadn’t happened this time.

And Porcoline had been more than accommodating with shutting the restaurant down. Arthur has been nothing but encouraging, if a little too smug for Dylas’s taste. Though really, Dylas wishes he could say the teasing bothers him more than it does.

Meg… Meg hasn’t actually said anything in words, which is weird for her. Dylas isn’t exactly known for his ability to read people, but she’s acting different than usual, he can at least tell that much. He thinks it’s in an excited way. At least, the looks she’s been sending his way and the way she’s made sure to repeatedly tell Dylas how busy she’s going to be today, how she won’t even have the time to go into the restaurant at all, suggest that she’s in full support.

He’s not entirely sure where she heard about his plan, or how she knows it’s today. (Except he is. It was definitely Arthur. Or Porcoline. One of those two.)

Not that any of their support helps with the current situation. Just because everything got set up without a hitch doesn’t mean anything, really.

He knows it’s just the nerves, but the whole town feels like it’s holding its breath this evening. Dylas has been in his head a lot lately, and today especially so, but it still feels quieter than usual.

Maybe it’s just because Meg has, as promised, made herself scarce. And he’s pretty sure Arthur is busy with some sort of business deal. It feels weird to not see either of them all day.

When did that happen? How did that happen, that now he’s feeling off-balance when he isn’t seeing people.

No, if he’s being honest (and that too, is new in its consistency), Dylas knows when and how it happened. In fact, it’s all sort of related to the same predicament. And, really, the when and the how don’t even matter. The fact is that Dylas cares about the people in this town. And somehow, they care about him, too.

Dylas taps his fingers on his thigh.

Doug usually isn’t supposed to work on Wednesdays, but Blossom has been feeling under the weather lately, and even though she hadn’t asked, Doug has been hovering and dragging his feet in the mornings so he can take care of most of the work for her on his days off.

Or, at least, the last Dylas had heard about it, that had been the case… But it’s possible that might have been last week, now that he thinks about it.

Admittedly, Dylas hasn’t exactly been the most attentive boyfriend lately.

He sighs and rubs his face. The echoes of Meg’s scolding have been ringing in his ears since yesterday. Dylas isn’t sure what’s worse: the fact that he’d been unwittingly neglecting Doug, or the fact that he hadn’t noticed that apparently his boyfriend has been acting weird, faking smiles and stuff. Or maybe the worst thing is actually the bruise Forte had given Dylas when she’d punched his arm in what had seemed like an attempted gesture of both reprimand and encouragement.

Sure, he has a good reason for why he’s been distant, but that’s not really any excuse.

He isn’t sure what to expect. Doug had been the one to come to Dylas a couple days ago to apologize and ask if it was okay if they didn’t spend the whole day together for their anniversary.

Had he done that because he’d been upset with Dylas? Or was it really just because he wanted to help Blossom with her workload?

Truth be told, Dylas had very nearly sworn at Doug when he’d asked. Not because Dylas was upset. Because he couldn’t believe he’d legitimately forgotten that the rest of the day besides dinner would even exist. It had been an enormous relief that he hadn’t had to come up with an excuse for them to not see each other before dinner, but it had been more of a relief that he hadn’t forgotten to mention anything at all. He can’t imagine what would have happened if Doug had come looking for Dylas while he was still setting everything up.

Actually, he’d been so mad at himself for being so stupid that he was more than a little worried, in hindsight, that he might have been a little too short with Doug (heh) when he’d answered. Based on what Meg said yesterday, there’s a very good chance he had been.

It’s definitely for the best that Dylas hasn’t had to see or interact with Doug all day today, though.

Dylas is determined to do this. He isn’t worried about losing his nerve, not really. But that doesn’t mean he’s not worried about saying or doing something stupid and ruining everything for himself before he can even ask.

Right now, though, before any of that, he’s standing to the side of the Sincerity General Store, staring at the sign, and his palms are sweating.

All of him is sweating, probably, but the palms are notable because he isn’t sure how else he’s supposed to lead Doug to the restaurant and keep the element of surprise.

Now that he’s thinking about it, is it really a surprise to go to the restaurant Dylas lives and works at for an anniversary date that’s specifically supposed to be dinner? It’s not surprising enough, is it? Or, is it better to lull Doug into a false sense of normalcy? But is it enough? Will it be exciting enough to make the moment memorable, or—

Sincerity’s front door opens, and out walks a tourist Dylas is fairly sure has been in town for a couple days now. Normally, Dylas doesn’t care or pay attention to that sort of thing, but this guy…

The look on the tourist’s face when he meets Dylas’s eyes confirms it. His expression sours as he starts glaring at Dylas for no good reason, yet again. Although, he probably (wrongly) thinks there’s a good reason.

The sound of Doug’s voice comes floating out the closing door as he cheerfully calls, “Thanks, come again!” But even that isn’t enough to diminish Dylas’s scowl or lessen the tension in the air.

The man scoffs in beat with the click of the door returning to its frame, and then he turns on his heel and stomps off.

Dylas grimaces.

It really isn’t that big a deal, or anything. Just one rude guy going about his day. Just one guy. He didn’t even say anything.

It’s just that, of course Dylas had to run into him now, when he’s busy worrying about making tonight as perfect as possible. What a wonderful start. The shadow cast over Dylas’s mood is greatly unappreciated. Before anything else can come along and worsen his mood or shake his already shot nerves any further, Dylas presses forward and enters the store. He passes by the sign and tries not to focus too hard on that word.

Sincerity.

Maybe crossing under signs is like the opposite of crossing under ladders, and instead of bad luck, walking underneath it will help Dylas achieve that ideal painted there on the sign. It’s wishful thinking, but a few wishes can’t hurt right about now.

Doug’s back is to Dylas as he enters. He’s reaching up to arrange something on one of the higher shelves. Dylas has the fleeting image of himself crowding Doug’s space to use his superior height to lean over Doug and take whatever-it-is out of his hand and put it on the shelf for him in one smooth, suave movement.

Then, even quicker, he flashes through a million different ways that could possibly go wrong, including but not limited to Doug somehow deciding that this was the final straw and that he no longer wants to come to dinner.

Dylas’s feet remain rooted to his spot in the entrance.

There aren’t any customers. That’s not too strange, considering that it’s almost closing time. Blossom is seated behind the counter in a cushioned chair. She smiles at Dylas as he walks in.

Then she winks at him, fast enough that Dylas isn’t completely sure if she’d really done it, and, in a polite but distant tone, says, “Welcome!”

Dylas squints at her from just inside the doorframe, but before he can figure out what she’s doing, Doug starts and turns around.

“Hey, wel—” his pleasant customer service smile lights up into something more genuine when he catches sight of Dylas before shifting into a small smirk, “—come. And what can I do for you, sir? Do you— Uh…”

Doug pauses, staring at Dylas. Just as quick as it had come, that smirk fades away again. He raises an eyebrow at Dylas, instead.

“Damn, you look terrible.”

Dylas’s heart can’t seem to decide whether that’s cause for stopping completely, picking up the pace, or dropping out of his chest entirely. Whatever the final decision is, it is decidedly Not Good.

Maybe he shouldn’t have just rushed inside after all.

Doug laughs at him, and if Dylas weren’t already freaking out he would probably be better able to hear that there isn’t any malice in it.

“Hey, no, stop it. You know that’s not what I meant.”

Dylas doesn’t know what he knows right now, so he keeps his mouth clamped shut. Doug puts down the box in his hand and crosses the room to stand in front of Dylas.

“None of that,” Doug says, waving a hand at Dylas’s entire…everything. “Obviously you look amazing. Handsome as always, I’m very lucky, blah blah blah.”

Dylas frowns. Doug reaches up and pokes him in the cheek, his own smile brightening.

“I meant, you’re doing that terrible thing with your face again.”

His hand slides out of its point so that he’s more cradling Dylas’s jaw than jabbing his cheek. With a smirk, he pats Dylas’s cheek as patronizingly as he possibly can.

“Your handsome, beautiful face. The least terrible face I know.”

As Doug pulls his hand back and laughs again, Dylas huffs.

He can’t believe he was so worried about this. How is it any different than any other time Dylas has been ten moves deep into embarrassing himself because of Doug? And if he hasn’t backed out all of those times…some of which, he probably should have, then what’s the harm in staying resolute now?

And as far as he can tell, Doug doesn’t seem upset… Although, if he really has been making a fake show of cheer like Meg said, maybe Dylas shouldn’t necessarily take that at face value.

Dylas glances at the shelf, bemoaning the missed opportunity. He should have just done it. Doug absolutely deserved it.

“But seriously, what’s got you so worked up?” Doug asks as he follows Dylas’s gaze. His head quickly snaps back when he sees what Dylas is looking at. “Wait, don’t tell me you were just judging me. I had that!”

Is Doug talking kinda fast, or is Dylas’ brain just too scrambled to keep up?

Doug plants his hands on his hips, indignant. His face scrunches up.

“Cute.”

“Excuse me?” Doug asks with faux indignance, lips drawing into a somewhat confused smile.

Shit. Dylas said that out loud? So definitely the scrambled brain option, then. Is it too much to just walk out and start this whole thing over again?

“Hey…”

Doug leans into Dylas’s line of sight, which is apparently directed at the floor now. Dylas doesn’t like the frown on Doug’s face.

“Are you okay? You’re being kinda quiet.”

Dylas blinks. Right. Speaking. He is suddenly very aware that he hasn’t said a word since he walked in.

Wait, that’s not true. He said one word, and it was ‘cute.’

There’s probably no way to be any worse at this than Dylas is.

Well he has to say something, so he goes with the first thing that comes to mind.

“Maybe you’re just being too loud.”

Huh. Cool. So maybe there is a way to be worse. And maybe Dylas is cursed to always find it.

Instead of taking offense, though, Doug freezes with a half-forced smile on his face. Or at least, Dylas thinks he might have. It could be that Dylas’s frazzled brain had been the thing that had paused, instead, because before Dylas knows it, Doug is straightening up and griping, nothing out of the ordinary. Is that what Meg had been talking about?

His brain is playing-catch up, so he almost misses what Doug is saying.

“Oh-ho, of course. It’s definitely my fault for being concerned when my boyfriend angrily charges into my workplace with a murderous glare on his face. On our anniversary. To pick me up for a date. For our anniversary. …Yeah, did I mention that it’s our—”

“I’m not…” When Dylas does catch up, he’s quick to cut Doug off. Half a moment too late, he consciously makes an effort to control his voice, “...angry.”

Doug looks unimpressed but unsurprised.

“Dear, you looked about ready to clear out an entire dungeon single-handedly when you walked in,” Blossom chimes in helpfully from the counter.

“Wh—!! I’m—not. I wasn’t. Didn’t. Look like that.”

Dylas isn’t sure why he even bothers to try to defend himself. Reflex, maybe.

Doug’s smile is lopsided with mirth. “Oh, so that was just Dylas Resting Bitch Face? Absolutely nothing happened that could have prompted it?”

His voice is colored with disbelief, but he doesn’t sound accusatory. He looks at Dylas expectantly.

“Well— Uhh…”

There had been that asshole who’d ruined Dylas’s confident entrance. Yes, he had certainly been the sole source of any lack of confidence Dylas had been feeling. It was all thanks to that guy and nothing else at all. But even so, surely Dylas hadn’t looked that angry about him, had he…?

“Uh-huh. That’s what I thought. Spill,” Doug demands, hands planted on his hips.

So maybe Dylas does look that angry about it. Great. Why wouldn’t he.

He sighs and mumbles, “That guy that just walked out…”

“What? Did he do something to you? Granny, I told you that guy was an asshole! I oughta go—”

Dylas checks Doug’s shoulder lightly as he rushes forward to block him from getting anywhere. It does get him to stop, and he turns towards Dylas instead.

“Oh, c’mon. Just trying to defend my man’s honor,” Doug complains. He’s smiling a bit too bright and wide. Dylas can tell he’s more proud of the joke than he should be.

“Don’t be stupid,” Dylas mutters flatly. And then he can’t help but tack on, “Even if you’re good at it.”

“At what, defending your honor?”

“At being stupid.”

Dylas knows Doug won’t really go track this guy down. But he also knows Doug absolutely would, and he’d make a huge scene while he’s at it.

Doug laughs, and it almost sounds like he’s agreeing with Dylas’s thought.

Once he quiets down again, he smiles, smaller and more genuine, and asks, “Seriously though, what’s up? Just don’t like his face?”

“No, it’s— Ugh. He’s been coming to the restaurant the past few days.” Dylas scowls, thinking back.

Patiently (by his standards), Doug doesn’t say anything for a few moments. Then he prompts, “Aaand… What. You hate being reminded of how your job requires customer service?”

Dylas snorts, though he doesn’t quite smile.

“Well, yes, I do. But that’s not the problem. This guy keeps harassing Meg while she’s trying to play. He hasn’t done anything Porcoline says could justify kicking him out,” he spits the last part a bit more forcefully than necessary.

Dylas understands where Porcoline is coming from. He hasn’t touched her or said anything that’s technically predatory. However, he has been making Meg uncomfortable, and it’s extremely frustrating to be so useless. Threatening the guy just made him laugh. And it’s not that Dylas doesn’t know that Meg can handle herself, or even that it’s the first time anyone’s invaded Meg’s space at work or anything, because she can and it isn’t. That said, it never fails to piss Dylas off. She shouldn’t have to deal with that while she’s trying to do her job.

“For real? Ugh. I knew that guy was a dick. He knocked a bunch of stuff on that shelf over right before he left, too.” Doug jabs his thumb over his shoulder at the shelf he’d been reaching for when Dylas had walked in.

“Doug, I believe that was an honest accident,” Blossom interjects in an even, no-nonsense tone.

Doug groans. “Maybe, but, Granny, come on. He didn’t even try to put anything back or apologize or anything. What if you’d been here alone? No way you could’ve set it back up yourself.”

“Well, it’s a good thing I pay you to do that for me then, isn’t it?”

“Ugh.”

Doug looks back over to the shelf and finally notices that Dylas has crossed to the other side of the store while he and Blossom have been talking.

“Wh— Hey! What do you think you’re doing?”

Dylas looks from the box in his hand to the shelf to Doug and grins. Maybe he missed his opportunity when he walked in, but this is a good enough consolation.

He snarks, “Well, you sounded so worried. Wasn’t sure if maybe you weren’t able to reach it.”

Doug sends him what’s maybe supposed to be a withering glare. Dylas has to stop himself from saying the word ‘cute’ out loud again, even though it would be the perfect way to antagonize him.

Instead, Dylas shrugs and puts the box back up in its place. He hopes. He has technically done Doug’s job before, once, but it wasn’t exactly an experience Dylas is hoping to recreate any time soon. Or…ever. And he definitely doesn’t remember the correct placements for things. But, it’s pretty much closing time, so Doug can just deal with fixing it in the morning.

When he turns around to face Doug again, the dwarf shakes his head decisively.

“Alright, alright. Enough about that guy. Let’s get back to the important things. This is our day, right?”

“Yeah.” Dylas makes a conscious effort to not let his face heat up too much in response to the warm smile Doug’s sending his way. It’s unfair that even after all this time it still has the same effect on him.

“Cool.” That smile. Unfair. “So, dinner, right? Are we going to the restaurant?”

Dylas feels a spike of fear—there’s no way Doug should know about that, right? Unless Meg or Arthur or Porcoline were feeling like a big enough asshole to ruin the surprise— Or it could have been Frey, considering how much time he spent borrowing her forge; even if he never offered an explanation, she has to know what he was up to, and she and Doug have gotten pretty close after all the Sechs stuff got cleared up—

Or, wait, no. That’s a totally normal place to eat dinner. Hadn’t Dylas just had this debate a few minutes ago? Doug doesn’t know about Dylas’s plans, he’s just capable of rational thought.

Dylas maybe hasn’t been so good at that lately.

“Actually…” Dylas starts. Yes, but… “I sort of, uh…”

“Hm?” Doug looks up at him searchingly, before his eyes widen a fraction. “Wait, did you plan something?”

“I— Maybe.” Dylas’s voice is clipped. There are those nerves again. He’d been too distracted being angry at that tourist to notice them for a while there.

“No way? And you even kept it a surprise? Who knew, Dylas, capable of romance.” Doug elbows Dylas with a smirk, but it’s obvious that he’s extremely pleased. “So then, where to?”

“Uh. It’s—a surprise. Just, close your eyes.”

“Close my eyes?”

“Just trust me, dammit!”

“Hmph. No fair,” Doug mutters. Only, he’s still smiling. And also, he does as he’s told without any further complaining.

Dylas is trying not to let his thoughts return to sweaty palms. He nods to Blossom, who smiles fondly, and after a split-second hesitation grabs Doug’s shoulders to march him towards the door.

“Oh, hell no.” So much for not complaining. Doug’s eyes pop open, and he spins around to level Dylas with a dirty look. “If you’re gonna insist on being all secretive and making me keep my eyes closed, the least you can do is hold my hand while you kidnap me.”

He holds his hand out and waggles his fingers at Dylas when he doesn’t take it immediately.

Well, that means there’s no way he’s getting out of this, after all. Dylas puts sweaty palms out of his mind as best he can, and instead thinks of wasting so much time that all the food gets cold.

“Fine.”

He snatches Doug’s waiting hand out of the air with more force than strictly necessary, roughly enough to jostle Doug’s shoulder a little, but he takes his time to gently thread their fingers together, sweaty palms be damned.

Dylas can feel his face heating up, but it’s not important right now. Or at least, it won’t be, as soon as Doug closes his eyes again. He can push through it.

Doug looks entirely too pleased with himself. He squeezes Dylas’s hand just a little.

Dylas is fine. He can do this. “Just make sure your damn eyes stay closed.”

If he’s going to do this, he can survive holding Doug’s hand while guiding him…up the street. To the same place they go all the time. Totally fine.

Dylas can hear Blossom chuckling at their antics. “Have fun, you two. Make good choices!”

“Ugh, Granny.” Doug attempts to sound disgusted, but it just comes out extremely fond.

His eyes are closed again, so he misses the wink Blossom aims at Dylas. And this time he’s sure it really is a wink. The look on her face is knowing, like the wisdom of her years is providing her with the ability to see through Dylas’s entire plan. Which is terrifying.

Porcoline, right? It had to have been Porcoline who told her.

…Right? Or is Dylas just being that obvious? And if he’s that obvious, does Doug already know, too?

His distress must show a little, because Blossom smiles kindly and waves her hand as if to shoo them away.

“Go on, now. I’m sure you don’t want to spend all evening here with an old woman like me,” she says warmly.

Doug takes that as his cue to chime in.

“Yeah, is the surprise that we’re just gonna stand in the store holding hands all night?” He has his free hand clamped over his eyes in as exaggerated a manner as possible, but Dylas can still see his eyebrows raise. “Because that’s not, like, the worst way to spend an evening I can think of, but I was promised food and I am starving.”

Dylas grumbles, “When aren’t you?” but he obligingly starts walking them towards the door.

He has to look away from Blossom’s warm, knowing gaze to do it, and he’s not sure if he misses the reassurance or if it’s a relief to escape it. Dylas knows how much Blossom means to Doug, and how much he means to her. If she really does know what Dylas’s true plans are for dinner, it is nice to know that she seems happy about them.

Dylas has never had much in the way of a conventional family, but he does know that some people ask parents or guardians for permission or approval to ask their child’s hand in marriage. Dylas doesn’t really get what anyone’s parents have to do with their own decisions to get married. It doesn’t seem necessary to him, but he would still like to think that Blossom approves of him and will support he and Doug getting married…

If Doug says yes, that is.

Almost unconsciously, Dylas holds Doug’s hand a little tighter. Somehow, the simple act of hand-holding still hasn’t lost the sense of wonder Dylas feels every time. Every time, all the way back to when they had only just started dating, a whole year ago. Like, back when Dylas had been so overwhelmed and distracted and just too stupidly happy he didn’t know what to do with it, and he’d broken those plates, and then he’d stood dumbly in the middle of the restaurant with his hand held between Doug’s, and all he’d been able to do was marvel at how it’d felt so right.

And really, he never could have imagined that it would. At least, if anyone had tried to tell him how nice it would be back when he’d first arrived in the present-day, Dylas certainly wouldn’t have believed them. But it’s as undeniable now as it was deniable then.

Doug keeps his eyes shut even as he dutifully waves his free hand in Blossom’s direction.

“See you later, Granny. If I don’t come back, you know exactly who led me away to be disappeared at a secondary location.”

Blossom smiles, though since Doug can’t see her, it’s really only for Dylas’s benefit.

“Sure, sure. I’ll tell Forte and the knights that you went willingly, too.”

Doug shoots her a thumbs-up.

“That’s right, really sell how cruel it was, that my trust was so terribly betrayed.”

Dylas rolls his eyes and yanks on Doug’s arm to get him moving again. They don’t actually make it too far before pausing again, though. Blossom catches Dylas’s attention and smiles at him.

“Happy anniversary, boys,” she says.

Honestly, Dylas doesn’t know what to do with the look in her eyes, but he can’t say it’s unpleasant. It’s the opposite, really.

“Make sure to have him home by curfew, Dylas.”

Doug frowns. “Gran, I don’t have a curfew.”

Dylas is now almost positive that she does know what his plans are tonight, whether she was told or whether she guessed it herself. He can’t think of any other explanation for the look she’s giving him.

Strangely, rather than rattling him, knowing that she knows calms him down ever-so-slightly.

“Yes, ma’am,” Dylas intones, flattening his voice as much as possible. He’s not sure if he gets the message he really wants to tell her across.

“Good man.” Judging by the warmth in her voice and on her face, maybe she gets it anyway.

“Oh, come on,” Doug gripes, obediently following Dylas as he finally walks them out the door. “It’s no fair if you both team up on me.”

“Sure it is,” Dylas replies easily.

He looks around the (weirdly empty?) street. It’s a much faster walk to go straight up to the restaurant, where all the food he meticulously put together is sitting idle, growing ever cooler. But…

“Is not.”

Doug is pouting, but it lacks any intensity with his eyes squeezed shut. Actually, without any heat behind it, the only thing Dylas can really think to call it is adorable. A cute little pouty pebble.

“Is too.”

Sure, it’s silly and completely pointless, but this is a familiar rhythm, and one that has Dylas smiling in spite of himself. Judging by the look on his face, Doug can hear it in his voice, too.

“Is n— Hey!”

Not without some reluctance, Dylas slows to a stop and pulls his hand free from Doug’s. Gently yet firmly, he pushes and tugs on Doug’s shoulders to spin him in place. Dylas is well aware that all he’s doing is procrastinating, delaying the inevitable. But with the plain excitement and contentment on Doug’s face and in his steps, can anyone really blame him?

No doubt his nerves are going to return as soon as they step into the restaurant, but for now Dylas really just wants to enjoy Doug’s company. Easy and uncomplicated. Before Dylas does anything that might disrupt that balance.

“Oh, so you were serious about this surprise thing, huh?”

Doug sounds amused. He’s spinning mostly under his own power now; Dylas is barely directing him with nudges to his shoulders and torso to make sure he doesn’t go spinning off the sidewalk.

“I’m serious about everything,” Dylas replies, deadpan.

Doug laughs. Not so long ago, or perhaps ages ago, Dylas would have felt conflicted and guilty to be watching him so closely, staring openly as the laughter lights Doug’s face. In contrast to Dylas himself, Doug smiles often, but even so Dylas feels a little bit of awe that he can cause this kind of look. That Doug can look so joyful over something so innocuous, a stupid four-word sentence, barely a joke, and that it was Dylas who caused it.

The reward is worth so much more than the price, but where Dylas would have once worried himself over that very fact, all he feels now is gratitude, and the desire to do it again, and again, and again.

“Hey, uh,” Doug’s voice cuts through Dylas’s thoughts. He’s spinning significantly slower now. “How long do you want me to do this for? ‘Cause, my stomach might be empty—still!—but if I get too dizzy, you’re the one who’s gonna have to—”

“Idiot,” Dylas barks, pleasant illusion thoroughly shattered. “If you were getting dizzy, why didn’t you just stop?”

Dylas holds Doug out by his shoulders so that they’re face to face. Doug’s eyes remain steadfastly closed. Dylas can’t decide whether to be worried or touched that Doug’s so invested in Dylas’s stupid little scheme that he’s willing to spin himself sick—literally. He settles safely on annoyed.

Doug can’t see Dylas’s frown, but the wide, self-aware smile he flashes sure makes it seem like he can. Especially when it grows like he knows that Dylas’s frown is traitorously curling up at the edges.

At least Doug looks like he isn’t actually all that bothered by the slightly excessive spinning.

He puts a thumb up in front of his face and continues dramatically, “Don’t want Granny to perjure herself to the knights when she reports me missing. I am wholly at your mercy. You are free to do as you please with me and my body. Wink.”

“Did you just say the word wink out loud.”

“I mean.” Doug flexes one half of his face as much as he can with both eyes still closed, squishing his cheek upwards and mostly only succeeding at looking like an absolute fool. “Is this better? Is this what you wanted?”

Dylas can’t help the soft laugh that bubbles up through his chest and puffs out his nose.

“I can’t believe I’m stuck with you,” he mutters, trailing one of his hands down Doug’s shoulder and arm so he can lace their fingers together again.

That wide grin splits across Doug’s face again, terrible attempt at close-eyed winking abandoned. He squeezes their palms together gently, then makes a piss-poor attempt at reigning his expression back into something more serious.

“Gonna take that as a ‘yes.’”

Dylas feels his own lips twitch. “Take it however you want.”

He takes the lead again. Instead of walking up the street to go straight to the restaurant, he takes a right from the store, towards Town Square.

“Gladly! I am happy to provide.”

“You know, a truly good and willing captive would stay silent. Watch the steps,” Dylas instructs, slowing at the staircase.

Doug hums, but whether it’s in response to the ‘silent’ comment or to the stairs Dylas is unfortunately unsure. He keeps a watchful eye on Doug’s feet all the way up to the top.

“Last one.”

“Thanks.”

For a second even after they reach the top, Doug says nothing, and Dylas is worried he might have miscalculated, and Doug actually is going to shut up out of spite or something. But then, as if there was never a pause in the conversation at all, Doug is continuing.

“Eh. Maybe Granny Blossom can perjure herself a little. What do I know about the laws in Selphia or Norad, anyways,” he says airly, shrugging.

Dylas smirks. “Hm. Maybe you ought to learn some of those.”

“Well, it’s lucky for you,” Doug counters, “since I don’t know any of them, I won’t be able to press any charges against your dastardly abduction scheme. Or anything that happens after.” He wiggles his eyebrows a little, in a way that’s clearly supposed to not impress Dylas. It works.

“You know, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you want me to do something to you.”

Doug gasps loudly just as Dylas tugs his arm to keep him from getting in the way of a tourist coming out of Venti’s chamber. They give the two of them a weird look, which Dylas ignores.

“My word! Why, I would never! How can you even say such a thing?”

“Are you done.”

Doug grins. “No. Goodness graciou— mph!”

Dylas pulls Doug toward him by the hand, to better shove his other hand into Doug’s face. He can feel Doug smiling against his palm.

Dylas’s ear flicks, tickled by a puff of wind. Doug doesn’t seem to notice, but Dylas turns and makes direct eye contact with Venti through the open arch that leads to her chamber. He does not appreciate the look in her eyes or the smirk on her face. Why Dylas chooses to talk to her at all, he’ll never know.

What he does know is that she’ll be a million times worse about what he’s doing than Blossom was.

Hm. Wait. Does Dylas have a type? Maybe he’s just a little predictable in regards to the kind of people he chooses to spend his time with. Insufferable, take immense joy in picking on him.

Well, it doesn’t matter right now. And besides, he wouldn’t bring Doug over there anyways. Even if they’ve cleared up the misunderstanding, Venti and Doug still don’t exactly have the closest relationship. And no matter how close Dylas is with either of them, he’d never want to force them into that kind of uncomfortable situation. After all, Doug is stubborn as all hell (to the point of being cute and aggravating in equal measure) and he hates to admit he's wrong, so interacting with Venti after everything that's happened, even ignoring the worst and most serious parts of it, is enough of a struggle of conscience on its own.

All this to mean, Dylas needs to get himself and Doug out of here immediately.

Dylas removes his hand from Doug’s face. (Before Doug can even lick Dylas’s palm to get him to let go, which is shocking.) Ignoring the way Venti’s pointed gaze is a physical presence needling him between his shoulder blades, Dylas pulls Doug forward a step.

Proud of the way he’s able to keep any sort of Native Dragon-inspired anxiety out of his voice, Dylas asks Doug, “Are you done now?”

“Well, I can think of a few more—”

“If you aren’t done,” Dylas leans closer, mock-threatening, “we can just hang out here and never make it to the food at all.”

Doug gasps loudly. “You wouldn’t!”

He’s absolutely right, considering that ‘here’ is still within Venti’s direct line of sight, but Dylas isn’t going to tell him that.

He’s also pretty sure it’s not fair for Doug to look so relaxed and comfortable with his eyes closed like this. Dylas should be the one with the advantage here, since he can see, but he feels like he’s losing a battle he doesn’t remember agreeing to start.

He huffs. “Let’s go.”

Dylas doesn’t know what his voice is doing now, but the way Doug laughs suggests that it’s doing something. The unintended consequence of this whole surprise thing is that Dylas is quickly realizing that Doug is infinitely better at reading him than Dylas has given him credit for. And Dylas had thought he’d been giving him plenty of credit.

He’s always assumed it was his face that gives things away, though—at least, that’s the way it always seems when Meg and Arthur or Frey and Venti mess with him. Apparently, Doug doesn’t even need that much, if this whole blind trust-walk thing is proof of anything.

That said, it’s still lucky for Dylas that Doug’s eyes remain closed. If the way his chest feels full and warm is any indication, his face is probably even more of a mess than usual.

The walk down the stairs on the other side of the Town Square and up past Bado’s shop is quiet and comfortable. Aside from Dylas’s instructions, the conversation lulls. Doug swings their interlocked hands between them slightly, and Dylas drags his thumb back and forth across the length of Doug’s. It’s nice.

And then, somehow both slowly and all at once, the pleasant calm is quietly shattered—for Dylas, anyway.

It’s a normal habit by now, but as soon as Dylas realizes he’s tracing his thumb across the familiar bend of Doug’s ring, he feels like he’s ready to spontaneously combust. Dylas has grown accustomed to the texture of this ring—the ring with Doug’s family crest on it, the one he’s always had. The one he keeps on his person at all times regardless of whether he’s wearing it on his thumb or on a chain or if he isn’t wearing it at all. Doug has been wearing it on his hand more often than not lately, though, and so Dylas is very familiar with the shape of it. It’s usually more of a comfort than anything. Dylas likes being able to trace the grooves on it and feel the warm metal where it rests against Doug’s skin.

However, it’s still a ring, and it’s a ring on Doug’s hand, and now Dylas is thinking about rings and rings on this particular hand and them fitting properly and them being worn, and Dylas’s pocket feels a thousand times heavier than it has any right to be, and, shit, he’s thinking about sweaty palms again, and he and Doug have never properly discussed accessories before, aside from the whole aquamarine debacle at the Water Ruins, not that aquamarine by itself is actually an accessory, or that they’d really discussed any other options, or that Dylas has ever asked Doug about it, and so in all likelihood Dylas has completely butchered any possible sense of taste and—

“Hey…” Doug squeezes Dylas’s hand lightly.

It’s a wonder Dylas doesn’t just slip away, but the pressure feels reassuring and maybe the sweat isn’t as big an issue as Dylas thinks, if Doug is bringing their palms closer together of his own volition.

When Dylas peels his eyes away from the rapidly approaching silhouette of the restaurant, he finds Doug’s face pointed toward him blindly, expression expectant.

Doug bumps his side against Dylas’s as he leans in and says, “Sooo…” A pause. “Are we there yet?”

The grin that Doug doesn’t bother hiding in the slightest is mischievous, but it doesn’t escape Dylas’s notice that Doug’s timing is a little too perfect. After such a significant stretch of companionable silence, there’s no way it’s coincidental that Doug decided to be an ass at the exact time Dylas was in the grasp of a rapid downward spiral.

Just when Dylas is thinking he can’t be any more grateful.

Sometimes he can’t help but wonder if any of this is even real. Maybe he really died for good back then, and this is some sort of afterlife or something. If it is, he supposes his sacrifice was for naught, since Venti is here with him.

Or, maybe, he’s still trapped, infused with the Rune Spot, and this is all some sort of long, improbable dream.

It’s just that everything is so nice here. Dylas is really, truly happy with his life here, and the fact that, for him, it’s barely been three years since he’d been convinced that sacrificing himself for everyone else’s sake was not only the only option he had but also the only morally correct thing to do, is…daunting. So much has changed in such a short amount of time, even if it did take a few hundred years in the grand scope of things for it to happen.

But it’s been three years, and everything hasn’t vanished on him yet. Dylas didn’t do a very good job of hanging on to things from his original time. He isn’t planning on making the same mistake twice.

Doug tugs on Dylas’s arm gently, but with enough feeling that there’s no way Dylas could ignore it. His smile widens.

“Well? Are we?” When Dylas doesn’t respond right away, he tacks on, “There yet?”

And, yeah.

Yeah, Dylas is making the right choice doing this now, because he isn’t about to waste his second chance, and there’s no other way he’d rather spend it. Dylas has never exactly been a patient man.

“We are not doing that,” Dylas states firmly, knowing full well he’s about to make a liar of himself. He gives Doug’s hand another squeeze and hopes it gets across his gratitude the way his words don’t.

“Not doing what?” The innocent lilt to Doug’s voice and tilt to his head are so far past highly suspect that they’re no longer worth questioning.

“Watch your step,” Dylas instructs. Nonchalant. Calm and cool. He doesn’t always need to rise to the bait. He’s got this.

“But, Dylas.” Doug steps carefully, as instructed. Dylas watches the conscious choice to continue being a pain etch itself across Doug’s face.

Dylas has got this, because he loves this annoying idiot pain in the ass so damn much. He’s his annoying idiot pain in the ass, and it’s going to be as official as it possibly can be if Dylas has anything to say about it.

“Dylas,” Doug continues, just this side of losing all composure and collapsing into a fit of giggles, “are we there—”

“Yes.”

Dylas slows them to a stop in front of the door. He watches the surprise flick Doug’s eyebrows upwards, the shape his gaping mouth makes. Dylas isn’t much of an artist or a poet or anything, but Doug’s face is something he could watch for hours, just to track every new twitch, every infuriating tell, every exhilarating detail. He’s so expressive, and there’s always some fascinating new arrangement of his features to take in.

Actually, Dylas may have to figure out a way to do this whole closed-eyes thing again sometime. It’s a whole new canvas to work with…and it’s also a good means to stare without being subjected to return stares and jibes about the fact that he’s staring.

Doug’s dwarven ears don’t move as much as the ones Dylas got as a reward for his time as a Guardian, or even as much as Meg or Illuminata’s elven ones, but one of them definitely twitches as Doug stumbles over his feet a little to come to an abrupt stop that he definitely wasn’t expecting. Dylas steadies him with his free hand.

“Wait, for real?”

“Yeah.”

Dylas glances at the sign Porcoline put up to advertise that the restaurant was closing early today. It’s…very Porcoline. Dylas checks to make sure Doug’s eyes are still closed, and then he seriously considers the merits of tearing the gaudy thing down. He’ll have words with Porcoline later, but as long as he makes sure it gets taken down by tomorrow, there’s no reason Doug will ever have to see it.

Dylas sighs. It’s unsurprising coming from Porcoline, but that doesn’t mean Dylas has to like it. He can’t tell if looking at it is making him more or less wound up.

Wait a minute. Has this been here all day? If Doug has already seen this—

“Oh? You don’t sound too excited,” Doug says, lips pursed. Well, shit. Maybe Dylas shouldn’t have sighed so loudly. “Don’t think you’re getting off easy! I’m not gonna lower my standards just ‘cause you’re having second thoughts.”

Doug tilts his chin up challengingly to emphasize his point, and Dylas takes just a moment to look down at him and steel his nerves one last time.

“No. Definitely not having second thoughts.”

Dylas still feels like he’s walking around with a stick of dynamite in his pocket. He’s still sweatier than the pleasantly cool evening air calls for. There’s still no guarantee that this will go well, or what Doug’s answer will be.

But Dylas isn’t one to back down from a challenge. Especially not when Doug is the one standing beside him, egging him on.

And this isn’t even a challenge, not really.

There’s no doubt in Dylas’s mind about how he feels, or what he wants. The least he can do is follow through and ask.

Dylas feels all the resolve, and all the hope, that he’d felt when he’d finalized his decision to be a Guardian. Only, then, it had simply been a matter of passively staying put rather than a matter of action. Dylas has always been better at action than inaction.

And also, it isn’t a matter of life and death, now.

It’s a matter of life.

He didn’t hesitate to put his life on hold then, so why should he hesitate to live it now that he can?

Dylas opens the door and suppresses a sigh of relief to see everything looks to be exactly as he left it. He trusts Porcoline in a lot of ways, but refraining from devouring food left unattended is absolutely not one of them.

Instead of pulling Doug through the doorway by his hand, Dylas lets go of it so he can reach around Doug’s head from behind and put his hands over Doug’s eyes. It’s cute when Amber does it, and Dylas knows he’s no Amber, but hopefully it’ll be good enough.

“Aw, what, don’t trust me?” Doug complains. It’s lacking any sort of edge, and he leans his back into Dylas’s chest so that it’s almost more of a somewhat awkward embrace than anything.

“Nope,” Dylas lies.

Doug laughs, “Asshole,” and jabs Dylas’s side with his elbow.

Dylas laughs, too. They stand like that for a moment longer, and then Dylas takes half a step back to put a little space between them again. But not much.

“Alright, prisoner. Move it.”

Dylas isn’t sure if Doug fully understands his own kidnapping plotline, because he says, “Aye-aye, sir!” and mock-salutes, tapping his hand to Dylas’s wrist where it hovers near Doug’s temple.

Dylas shakes his head and bites back another laugh. “Okay, what kind of victim are you even supposed to be, here?”

“The best,” Doug proclaims smugly.

The best, Dylas’s mind echoes helpfully.

He matches Doug step for step as they walk through the open restaurant door.

Chapter Text

Doug may have made a claim about having expectations earlier, but the honest truth is that Dylas could have dragged him to a trash heap and he still would’ve been perfectly happy.

Which is to say, Doug was prepared not to care what he finds when Dylas tells him to open his eyes.

He finds himself caring quite a lot.

Dylas lets go of Doug’s face, and usually Doug would bemoan the loss of contact, but when he processes the sight in front of him, he’s too distracted to mind.

“Whoa…” he breathes.

Look, Doug is well aware that it’s stupid and not necessarily a great system of merit to have. But. He’d also be lying if he said the way to his heart wasn’t through food.

Obviously, there’s a lot more to it than that in reality. Doug doesn’t love Dylas because he was adopted by and made protégé of the best chef in town or because he works in said chef’s restaurant and is frequently able to score free meals and leftovers that said chef has cooked. That’s absurd.

Then again. Food.

Actually, wait.

The initial shock of the veritable mountain of food piled on the table in front of Doug fades, or it fades enough, at least, that he’s able to get far enough out of his food-induced tunnel vision to realize that they’re in the restaurant.

Doug feels the fleeting disappointment that this feast must be for sharing, for a party or something, before he remembers that today is their anniversary and not anyone’s birthday, and that this is Dylas, so there’s no way he’d voluntarily choose to organize a social event instead of doing something private. Besides, there’s no one here. Not even Porcoline.

Which is odd, because it isn’t late enough that the restaurant should be closed…

Unless…

“Holy shit.”

Dylas hedges into view, not directly in front of Doug and not directly looking at him, either. He fiddles with the cuff of his sleeve and says, “Um. I guess this is the part where I say, ‘surprise’?”

“I guess,” Doug echoes, breathier than he intends. “Well, shoot. You told me to expect dinner, not a feast!”

“Oh.” Dylas is still fidgeting. “Is that… bad?”

“Terrible!”

Doug has been leaning into the banter and getting no resistance all evening, so he isn’t expecting as big of a reaction as the full-body wince he gets. Hm. That’s gotta stop.

Doug hurries to continue, “I mean, I didn’t get you anything nearly as good! No fair, man.”

Dylas lets out an obvious sigh of relief, though Doug isn’t sure if he even notices he’s done it. Actually, Dylas looks a little nervous, which is silly. It’s far from their first dinner date, and food—especially, from the looks of the spread before them, rice-based food—literally always goes over well with Doug.

Dylas has no reason to be nervous about anything, so why…

“Wait, did you make all of this?!”

Dylas blinks and finally looks Doug in the eyes. His expression is still somewhat guarded as he says, “Uh, yeah. I did. How’d you know?”

“‘Cause you’re acting cagey.”

“Wh—! I’m not—” Dylas’s eyes blow open wide.

So he hadn’t noticed. Cute.

“I mean, more cagey than usual, anyway,” Doug interrupts before Dylas is able to attempt whatever denial he’s thinking he can get away with spouting.

“Hey,” he protests weakly. His eyes flit between Doug and the loaded table. “So…” he tries, awkwardly trailing back into silence.

“So…” Doug repeats. Then he prompts, “...let’s eat?”

What? He’s hungry, alright? He thought he was hungry before, but the sight and smell of so much mouthwatering food is almost too much.

Dylas huffs and folds his arms over his chest. “Can’t you wait two seconds? I’m trying to tell you something, bastard.”

“Well, then, spit it out and let’s eat!”

“Doug…”

Doug would be lying if he said he wasn’t enjoying antagonizing his boyfriend, if only to enjoy his stupid, cute little pout, but he’d also be lying if he said he wasn’t curious about whatever’s got Dylas so wound up.

“Alright, alright,” Doug laughs, “I get it; I’m listening, I promise. What’s up?”

Dylas glances to the side before squaring his shoulders to face Doug head on. Oh, boy, is this actually something serious?

“Everyone told me I’ve been… avoiding you, lately, and I couldn’t think of what to say because I think they might be right, so… What’s that face for? Look, I just thought I’d be better at showing how sorry I was than saying it, alright?”

The look on Dylas’s face is so earnest. Doug can tell this was really bothering him.

“Uhhhh…” Doug thinks, hard, and comes up empty. “Have you been avoiding me…?”

“I…” Dylas sighs. “I didn’t mean to.”

Doug doesn’t like seeing Dylas look so defeated, but that probably isn’t the only reason he should say something right now.

“Well, uh… I kinda didn’t even really notice? So, um. No harm done?” If Doug’s voice is a little squeaky, it’s because he’s suddenly feeling very self-conscious.

It’s little consolation that the reason Doug’s been so distracted that he didn’t even notice anything was up with Dylas is because he’s been spending so much time thinking about Dylas while he’s been working on the whole… proposal thing. It’s not exactly a good prospective-husband-ly trait to be completely oblivious to your partner’s distress, is it?

Ugh. Well, great. Truth be told, Doug was kind of hoping tonight would be a nice break from thinking about all that. He should have known better, but it’s still something Doug was hoping to put out of his mind, just for a little bit. He’d been so relieved to finish all the shitty crafting business this afternoon, too.

Dylas is blinking at him, evidently still processing. Doug can’t blame him for that one.

Before Doug can figure out what else he can say, though, Dylas runs a hand through his hair and groan-sighs.

“Meg… ugh. You know, she lectured me for so long about hurting you. She even got Forte to threaten me. ...Actually, she probably didn’t ask Forte to do that, but…”

Doug feels really bad about this. When everything is said and done, he might have to convince Margaret and Forte to come with him to apologize about everything. For now, though, there isn’t really anything else Doug can say unless he wants to explain all of…everything, so he goes for the comfortable option: joke and deflect.

“Yikes. Good thing they didn’t realize I was doing the same to you, I guess.”

Doug tries to give Dylas a genuinely apologetic smile, but when he sees the harmless glare he gets in response, he can’t help laughing. At the very least, the tension seems to have dissipated some. And, really, just about anything is much better than unnecessary apologies. That’s not really something they do.

Dylas grumbles something under his breath that Doug doesn’t quite catch but could swear might have been, “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

Doug lets whatever it was slide by without comment.

Instead, he says, “Besides, who do they think I am? There’s no way I’d let you get away with disappearing on me without explanation, if you really were avoiding me like that.”

Dylas is doing his best to look grumpy, but Doug can hear relief edging his voice. He says, “True enough. If you thought I was avoiding you, I’m sure you’d bother me so much about it that I actually would start avoiding you.”

“You’re damn right I would.”

Doug beams proudly, and Dylas rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling, whether he realizes it or not.

“Can’t believe I bothered worrying about you.”

“Aw, it’s so sweet, though. Actually, I may have to guilt trip you more often if it’s gonna get me free, homemade food every time,” Doug concludes, eyes hungrily sweeping back over everything Dylas made.

“Maybe I shouldn’t let you eat any of this, since I apparently didn’t do anything wrong.”

“What? No! We can’t let all your hard work go to waste, after all! I’ll just forgive you for whatever you do next time and we’ll call it even.”

“What makes you so sure I’ll do something else I need to apologize for?”

Doug gives Dylas his flattest, least impressed look. Dylas huffs, smirk dropping.

“Same goes for you,” he mutters.

Doug counters, “Duh.”

Dylas squints at him. “Don’t expect to get out of your next apology with food bribery. That won’t work on me. Er. Not that…that’s what…I was trying to do…” he trails off, considering the table with a grimace.

Doug snorts. “You can bribe me with food anyday, no judgement here.”

Dylas frowns at him, so Doug gives him a more genuine smile. In all honesty, Doug already knows he’ll forgive Dylas for just about anything, no bribes necessary. Hell, he probably wouldn’t even really need the apology.

(That said, can you blame a guy for enjoying a free meal?)

Dylas’s expression softens, too. Doug’s no mind reader, but he has to wonder if Dylas might feel the same way. Considering the kinds of nasty arguments they’ve already been through, Doug’s pretty optimistic about their ability to make up after anything worth apologizing for. Especially since they aren’t actively trying to piss each other off anymore.

...Well, usually.

Dylas half-turns towards the table and taps his finger against the side of one of the bowls.

He says, “Actually, I was going to cook for you tonight anyways. I…may have gone a little overboard after Meg chewed me out, though…”

Doug walks forward to get closer to both Dylas and the food. He leans his hands on the edge of the table to look it over. There’s barely any room anywhere on it that isn’t occupied by a large dish overflowing with food of some kind. It’s way too much for two people to eat on their own in one sitting. Won’t stop Doug from trying, though.

He whistles lowly and says, “Thank you, Margaret.”

Dylas tsks and shakes his head as he sits down on the side of the table closer to the piano. He gestures to the seat directly across from him and taunts, “Well? You gonna eat, or what?”

“Don’t mind if I do!” Doug responds, all but throwing himself into his chair.

Dylas laughs his quiet little Dylas-laugh, and the feeling of satisfaction that settles over Doug tastes almost as good as anything Dylas cooked possibly could.

Almost. It’s a theory worth testing, at least.

Doug sighs happily. Good food and the company of a beautiful man who loves him. Does it get any better than this? Like, can it, even?

“Wish you’d look at me the way you look at food,” Dylas mumbles wryly.

Doug heard him just fine, and Dylas knows he did. Still, Doug says, “Hm? Sorry, didn’t catch that.”

Probably the only thing worth ignoring all this food over is currently giving Doug a blank stare. The barely-there smile is the only indication he has any idea what Doug’s talking about.

Dylas is really giving this food a run for its money.

Everything smells even more delicious up close, though. Eventually, Doug is able to focus again on the great task before him. He rubs his hands together as he looks everything over.

“Where should I start?”

“Ah, here.” Dylas nudges a very large plate in the middle of the table. It clinks against its neighbors. “Your favorite…right?”

And, yes, it is tempura fried rice, but Doug would hardly call it a bowl. It’s more of a mound of rice piled on a massive plate with about a dozen deep-fried shrimp lined up in a ring on top of it.

Doug doesn’t really know what to say.

He nods wordlessly.

Dylas continues, “I caught all the seafood fresh, so…”

Doug finds his voice (just barely) so he can say, “Ah, so fishing is good for something, after all.”

The hushed reverence in his tone isn’t very well masked by the words he says.

“Shut up,” Dylas replies, tapping his foot against Doug’s under the table. Doug isn’t a hundred percent sure if he’s responding to what Doug had said or the way he’d said it, but he supposes it doesn’t really matter.

He clears his throat self-importantly and says, “Well, I can hardly argue with freshness, can I?”

“You, argue? I’m sure you could manage.”

While they banter, Doug scoops rice onto his plate without any sense of urgency.

“Oi. You’re gonna ruin the charitable image you’ve got going here, nag.”

The smile on Dylas’s face isn’t particularly wide, and Doug’s sure if you asked any stranger about it they wouldn’t think it all that impressive, but Doug knows better. And it’s all the more beautiful for how natural and un-exaggerated it is, the way it sits within his face to light his eyes and lift his cheeks ever-so-slightly rather than stretch across them uncomfortably. Doug would say he’s biased, but you’d have to be both blind and stupid to not appreciate it for what it is.

Doug doesn’t usually have any reservations about telling Dylas everything he loves about him, especially because it’s almost always more embarrassing for Dylas than it is for Doug, but right now Doug’s a little glad he has an excuse to stuff his mouth before he says something stupid.

Not because he thinks it’ll be too embarrassing or because he thinks he’ll truly upset Dylas, but because saying anything at all feels like the fastest way to disrupt the balance they’ve got going and make that smile disappear. Doug’s not afraid to say he’s selfish, and sometimes he’s pretty good at acting on it, too.

He enjoys Dylas’s face no matter what expression it’s wearing, but there’s something peaceful and wonderful about this sort of quiet atmosphere that Doug knows he isn’t the greatest at preserving. And he especially doesn’t trust himself right now, with how on edge he’s been recently.

Dylas watches Doug closely as he takes his first bite, so Doug moves exaggeratedly slowly, to put on a little bit of a show, since Dylas is so politely asking for one.

He means to take his first mouthful and chew it with a contemplative look, to keep Dylas in suspense for longer, but he only manages it for all of a second before the taste catches up with him. He makes a surprised noise somewhere between a hum and a groan and he can’t bring himself to care about how ridiculous he probably sounds.

“How is it?” Dylas asks.

Doug wishes he could mess with him, but Dylas sounds so earnest and the food is so damn good that he just can’t. And besides, any time wasted on talking is time wasted not eating.

“It’s fuckin’ delicious,” Doug replies, mouth still half full.

Dylas frowns at Doug’s blatant disregard for manners, as though he has any room to judge others on politeness, the hypocrite.

“If you like it so much, maybe you should eat it properly.”

Doug can see a tiny fraction of the tension leave Dylas’s shoulders, and if he’s that worried about Doug liking the food then Doug supposes he’ll have to leave the hypocrisy be.

He shoves another scoopful into his mouth and immediately replies, “Suh-y, wha’ waf tha’?”

Dylas glares at him for all of a second before his gaze skitters away and trips over the other dishes littering the table. Not exactly the laugh Doug was hoping for. Is he…still worried Doug’s secretly upset with him? Or is he seriously that nervous that Doug isn’t going to like any of the food? Either way, avoidance isn’t a good look on Dylas.

When Doug swallows, he very heroically does not dig in for more immediately. However, before he can open his mouth to say anything, Dylas is leaning over the table with a single-minded focus.

“Here, try this too. And this one— Oh, this fish here gave me such a hard time, but it ended up tasting pretty good.”

Dylas piles several more spoonfuls of various dishes on Doug’s plate, which wasn’t exactly empty to begin with. Doug sits back and lets him have at it.

There’s a concentrated look on Dylas’s face as he picks out what Doug is sure are the best parts of each dish. Doug’s stomach may not be full yet (oh, it will be, but not yet), but his heart certainly is. …As cheesy as that sounds.

If Doug had any doubts about all the hot afternoons he suffered listening to Bado’s incomprehensible lecturing (he doesn’t) or all the nicks and scrapes on his hands (negligible) or the egregious amounts of scrap metal he’d wasted materials producing (worthy sacrifices), those doubts would certainly be crumbling in the face of the display before him now. (But, of course, any doubts he’d had about Dylas had crumbled to dust a long time ago. The problem now was simply how to explain it properly…)

Doug watches Dylas surveil all the things he’d cooked specifically for Doug. He can’t stop the soft laugh that bubbles out of him, nor would he want to. Dylas’s ear twitches, and he pauses with his hand on the rim of another dish to look up at Doug.

“Surely, I must be dreaming,” Doug mock-exclaims, purposefully letting the rough edges of his accent grate at the overly-posh language. He fans his face with his hand and puts on what is really only a very slightly-exaggerated smitten look. “All this for little ol’ me?”

Dylas, hands frozen mid-serve, seems to finally take in the overflowing state of Doug’s plate. And the even-more overflowing state of the table, and all the relatively-untouched food on top of it.

He retracts his arms.

“I…made too much, didn’t I?” Dylas says, grimacing.

“Are you kidding?! No way. I hope you know I’m taking that as a personal challenge,” Doug counters, lifting his fork in his left hand and his chopsticks in his right and brandishing them over his plate like the weapons they will be in his assault. “I’m not ambidextrous, but I’ll make it work for this, believe me.”

Dylas gives him a flat look with all the intensity of a single sheet of paper.

“Please don’t.”

“Watch me.”

Doug stabs his fork gracelessly into a cut of fish that looks enticingly like salmon belly. Before he gets it all the way to his mouth, he pauses, still staring Dylas down. He sets his wrist back on the table. With his other hand, he flicks his chopsticks forward to point them accusingly at Dylas as he leans forward in his seat. Dylas tenses up.

Doug says, “Hold up. You’ve been holding out on me! I didn’t know you knew how to make all this stuff, what gives?”

“What…gives?”

“Yeah! How come I haven’t gotten to eat any of your cooking before?! I mean, I already knew Porcoline was teaching you, but—”

“His stuff is still better than mine.”

“What, you really think I care about that?”

“You might,” Dylas snaps, eyeing the table wearily. “You’ve only tried one thing.”

“Psssh, whatever! I’ll have you know, I would be the best damn taste tester you could ask—”

“I wanted to impress you, okay?!” Dylas shouts.

Doug blinks at him, argument evaporating off his tongue.

Dylas runs a hand across his forehead and through his hair, eyes closed. When they open again, he sets his arm back on the table so he can lean forward on his elbows.

“I just— Argh!” Dylas takes a breath and a second to consider his words, and then he tries again. “I know it’s not a big deal to you, but I wanted to make something that actually tasted good for you to try first…”

Dylas’s face is flooded with a pretty shade of pink, but even as his voice dies down into a mumble, he maintains eye contact.

And, well. Doug’s chopsticks clink together almost inaudibly, which is his only indication that his hand has dropped back down to the table. And that he’s loosely clenching his fists.

Doug finds that he’s the one who has to look away first. Dylas likes to say that he has no idea what he’s doing and that he sucks at being romantic, but all Doug can see laid out between them on the table is obvious love and care, so much that it’s almost overwhelming. It’s not a competition, but Doug is absolutely losing at this anniversary thing.

He has no idea what his own face looks like, but he can hear the reverence in his voice when he finds it and looks back up to softly say, “Mission accomplished.” Then in an effort to regain some of his composure, he clears his throat a little and continues, “But, you know, I still think I’d make a good taste tester.”

As much as Doug wants to sit around and tell Dylas how much he loves him—it is one of his favorite pastimes, if a bit of an embarrassing one for them both—he would still like to get the chance to eat some of this delicious food. It was made especially for him, so it should be properly appreciated! It’d be endlessly rude not to. There’ll be plenty of time to try to outdo each other in gooey sentimentality after dessert.

Dylas’s face is still flushed and his voice soft, but he has a small smirk as he says, “I’m sure.”

“You doubt me? I’ll prove it, right now!” Doug raises his as of yet uneaten salmon in the air to accentuate his point. He slides his foot forward so that the side of the toe of his shoe is pressing against the side of Dylas’s.

Dylas nudges him back.

“Hmm. Maybe. You have to be impartial and honest to be any use as a taste tester; you know that, right?”

“I’m super impartial and super honest at all times. Just watch—I’ll show you.”

Doug finally pops the bite of fish into his mouth. It practically melts on his tongue. Doug doesn’t turn his nose up at much in the way of food (besides bread, which deserves it) but even he can tell the fish is not only fresh, but also of the highest quality. And considering that salmon aren’t even in season for another couple days, Dylas must have had to travel to the Autumn River or someplace else outside of town to get it.

Doug moans loudly. He wishes he could say it’s solely a joke, but then again the food does deserve to be fully appreciated. Dylas rolls his eyes, but Doug can tell he’s pleased.

When he’s done with that bite, mouth empty and manners abided, Doug licks the last traces of it off his lips and hums at the ceiling.

“Hmm… As your official taste-tester, my official statement—”

“Probationary. If you’re lucky.”

“—is, officially, that this salmon is delicious.”

Dylas scoffs, and he pulls it off pretty well, considering the smile on his face. “Maybe the problem is that your vocabulary is limited to the word ‘delicious.’”

“Oh, I got plenty more words where that came from: excellent, superb, amazing—”

“Shut up—”

“—good-tasting.”

Dylas raises an eyebrow. “‘Good-tasting’?”

Doug nods solemnly. “Yup. You should really take the word of your Officially-Sanctioned Taste Tester more seriously. Tut, tut. No trust.”

Dylas sighs and looks away, and Doug has a good feeling it’s because he knows he can’t hide his growing smile.

He mutters, “Dork.”

Doug is very proud of how quickly he shoots back, “Mm, actually, my name is Doug~”

Dylas’s eyes flash with something — incredulity? shock? murderous rage? admiration for his boyfriend’s impressive command of language? Such a shame that Doug will never know the answer.

He hastily shoves something else off his plate into his mouth, intending to cut off Dylas’s complaints with a silly, long-winded review of his food. Unfortunately, Doug forgot to factor in how good everything tastes, and he promptly forgets his original intentions.

“Ohhh my god…”

Dylas scoffs, frowning. He mutters, “You don’t have to pretend it’s that good every time, you know.”

Doug gasps in genuine offense. “Pretend?! It’s a good thing you have me to be your Taste Tester, if you can’t even tell when something’s this good. Take a bite of this one and tell me that it’s not the best— Hey, wait!”

Doug leans over the table and taps Dylas’s empty plate purposefully with his chopsticks, narrowing his eyes.

“What the heck, man? Eat! Or are you really going to let me eat all of this by myself?” Doug sits back in his seat and surveys the table. “I mean. I will, but.”

Dylas shakes his head. “I already tried all of it. And I made it for—”

“Ah-ah-ah, nope, not having any of that. You’re gonna eat too. And you’re gonna remember to give your compliments to the chef while you’re at it. It’s only polite, after all.”

Dylas snaps his mouth shut, but he still looks like he wants to protest. Doug isn’t about to let that fly.

So, he says, “Fine, then. If that’s how you want to play it. If you won’t eat—as much as it physically pains me to say this—then I refuse to eat another bite either.”

Dylas is pouting because he knows he has lost, and he’s still putting up a fight because he knows Doug knows he has lost.

“I highly doubt you could follow through on that.”

“Try me.” Doug smiles sweetly. “By the way, I’ll remind you that we’re supposed to be having dinner together.”

“I made no such promise,” Dylas grumbles, reaching for a plate of grilled fish of some sort. Doug lifts his hands off his utensils completely until Dylas makes a show of slowly taking a bite, chewing, and swallowing.

Doug cheers, “Woohoo!” and laughs at the grumpy glare he receives in response. “So, how was it?”

“Fine.”

“Hm? Sorry, what was that?”

“It’s fine, Doug.”

“Yeah…no, I don’t think so. I should be hearing, ‘It’s so awesome and whoever cooked it has got to be the best, ever!’”

“Doug.”

“Look, I won’t stand for you disrespecting my favorite chef like this! Give him the respect he deserves!!”

“Your ‘favorite’?”

“Yes, my favorite. I just decided.”

“Doug, we both know Porcoline is a much better—”

“Porcoline has never done all,” Doug gestures to the table, “this for me, has he?”

Dylas groans. “Alright, shut up! Fine! It’s—good. Okay? It tastes…good.”

Doug hums, “Hm. Well, it’s a start.”

He knows it’s too much to expect Dylas to act confident about any of his skills besides fishing and proving Doug wrong, but he’s going to make him be better about it, eventually. Or at the very least, until he's able to accept a damn compliment.

Dylas looks at Doug, and there’s something so unguarded and honest in his expression that Doug is suddenly finding breathing to be a lot harder. It’s something like disbelief and pure, unfettered love, and, wow, is it getting hotter in here or what? Doug’s not exactly a complete stranger to the look or the feeling, but…

The pouch of rings in his pocket, which he’s largely been ignoring, is threatening to burn a hole through his leg. But as much as he wants to jump up right now and act on it, there isn’t really anything he can do with those particular rings at the present moment. He might have had an opportunity earlier, but he hadn’t followed through.

Doug had been so relieved to finally put the finishing touches on the last piece to finish the set that he’d very nearly missed the meeting time for their date. Granny had whacked him in the leg with her cane when he’d almost bodied a customer in his rush to get through the store and to his room so he could hide his very important cargo before Dylas arrived. Truthfully, Doug probably shouldn’t have been complaining about the knocked-over shelf thing earlier. He’d kind of deserved it, after that. And if the guy had gone and taken out his frustration on Dylas afterward, that was pretty much Doug’s fault, too.

Actually, it had been a relief to make the walk over here with his eyes closed.

For one, Doug’s not sure, had he seen anyone on the way, if he would have been able to refrain from running over on impulse and handing them their ring, which would have doubtlessly disrupted their date—meaning he’d have ruined Dylas’s surprise and wasted all this food!—which would have been unacceptable.

For two, making the walk with his eyes closed had given Doug some extra time he had seriously needed to compose himself a little before he’d had to meet Dylas’s gaze for any extended period of time tonight. Don’t get him wrong, Doug loves locking eyes with Dylas any day, including today, but he’s been so overloaded with emotion while working on his project lately that he absolutely would have said or done something stupid if he hadn’t had the time to decompress.

And for three… Did Doug mention potentially missing out on the food? And Dylas’s thoughtful surprise, of course. Because Doug wants to propose to Dylas as soon as possible, but he can’t think of any more perfect way to spend their anniversary. He can get up early and deal with the rings tomorrow; there’s no way he’ll manage any sleep tonight anyway, and—

“You…” Dylas starts, and promptly stops.

“Huh?”

Doug feels like his brain is working three times as fast as normal to complete half the work. He’s not totally sure if he’d been lost in the fantasy of proposing or if he’d just been lost in Dylas’s eyes, and he’s not sure which is more embarrassing. Somehow, though, he doesn’t find himself really caring.

“Uhhh…” Dylas eloquently elaborates.

His eyes are a little wide. Doug can think of two reasons this could be. Either, Dylas himself hadn’t meant to say anything and now he’s struggling to figure out how to cover for himself. Or, Doug just said everything he’s been thinking out loud. Which would be very very bad because accidentally mentioning that you’re planning on proposing has got to be the worst proposal ever—

Dylas clears his throat a little. “You…” he blushes and looks away, “You’re staring.”

It’s weird. Doug’s immediate response is relief, but once he’s no longer worried about how he might have spilled the beans and ruined the whole thing before it could begin, he somehow gets the feeling that wasn’t what Dylas had really been trying to say. He doesn’t know what else it could have been, but he’s a little frazzled from getting so close to such a dangerous topic that he’s more than willing to let it slide for now.

“Maybe. But so are you,” Doug says back, because—teasing! Yes, teasing is good, teasing is safe.

Dylas takes a breath, opens his mouth, and promptly jerks awkwardly out of his seat and to his feet. His chair screeches across the floor loudly, and he winces a little at the sound.

Doug raises his eyebrows in surprise, but says nothing as Dylas stares him down across the table. One horse ear flicks. Doug isn’t sure if Dylas bobs his head nearly imperceptively, or if maybe Doug is the one who’s moving, but before he can figure it out, Dylas is taking another breath and continuing.

“Um. I’m, I know it’s early, but I’m going to go grab dessert. Now.”

Doug…doesn’t know what he’d been expecting Dylas to say, but it might as well be that, sure.

“O…kay?”

Doug isn’t sure how they got here exactly, but Dylas takes stilted steps away from the table, towards the kitchen counter. To grab the…

“Wait, what? Dylas, the dessert is already over here,” Doug calls out, checking the table to make sure he isn’t going crazy. Sure enough, the dessert dishes are where Doug had thought they were, clustered off to the side of the table, well within reach from their seats.

Dylas freezes with his back still to Doug.

“Not…those. This is…a special. Dessert. A dessert special.”

“Uhhh…right. Except, I’ve been facing the kitchen this whole time and I know there isn’t anything else over there? Unless it’s in the fridge, but…seeing as you stopped on this side of the counter…?”

Not that it’s out of character for Dylas to act cagey, but nowadays he usually isn’t so weird about it. At least, with Doug. Doug can’t speak for anyone else, but with him Dylas is more direct now; if he doesn’t want to talk about something he’ll say so, but he doesn’t dance around the issue entirely anymore. Usually.

Dylas sighs. “Doug…” He sounds a little pained, which Doug immediately doesn’t like. “I’m trying to—do something, here. Please.”

Doug laughs, but he isn’t sure how convincing it is because it feels kind of hollow.

“Want me to close my eyes again?” He goes for a joking tone, but his thoughts are spiraling a little.

He sees Dylas take yet another deep breath by the kitchen. He has yet to turn back around. It’s fine, that could mean a lot of things, right?

Dylas sighs and hangs his head a little. “Uh, actually, could you?”

“What?”

“Close your eyes again…?” He sounds hesitant, slightly confused, and Doug feels stupid for forgetting what he’d literally just offered five seconds ago. “Oh. Were you joking? You don’t have to—”

“Oh, right! That! Sure, no sweat!” If Doug is a little over-zealous in his reply, that’s fine too.

“...If you don’t want to then don’t.”

“No, seriously it’s…fine.” Doug pauses and ultimately decides to just ask. “Dylas, is everything okay?”

“Yes. I’m— I’ll explain, I promise. Just— just close your eyes for a second.”

Doug isn’t sure how closing his eyes is going to help anymore, but if Dylas really wants him to, he can do it. Like he said, no sweat.

…Except, yes sweat, because what exactly does Dylas need to explain?

Not that stalling is going to do either of them any good.

“Okay. They’re closed.”

“Okay. Good.”

“...Okay.”

Doug feels overly exposed, sitting here unseeing and waiting for Dylas to make his way back across the restaurant.

Because—what’s the only new thing that’s happened lately that could have Dylas regressing to a more awkward, closed-off version of himself? That would have him feeling uncomfortable enough sitting with Doug that he’d need to physically remove himself, but that he still thought they needed to talk about?

It’s just, subtlety isn’t exactly Doug’s strongest suit. Plus, he’s been asking for everyone’s help around town, so anyone else could have slipped up… Or, maybe Dylas had been home one of those times he’d been talking to Arthur—

What if Dylas caught on to what Doug’s planning somehow? If he had heard that Doug was planning on proposing and didn’t like the idea, wouldn’t he act like this? If it made him uncomfortable or upset…

They’ve talked about marriage before. Kind of. In a manner of speaking. Well, they briefly touched upon the topic when Dylas had taken Doug to the Water Ruins. Sort of. Without…using any of the official words.

What if Doug had misunderstood? He had thought they were on the same page, and that they’d been avoiding saying anything specific because it was fun and flirty to talk around it, but that’s assuming they’d both known they’d been talking around the same thing. Maybe Dylas had meant something completely different. Doug struggles to recall exactly what they’d said to each other back then, but overall his brain is drawing a huge blank right now.

Doug had been so focused on figuring out how to convey his own feelings properly, maybe he hadn’t been paying enough attention to Dylas? It’s true that he hadn’t noticed anything that Margaret and Forte had apparently picked up on recently…

It doesn’t matter how confident Doug had been that they’d wanted the same thing back when they’d left the ruins (well, okay, maybe not immediately when they left the ruins, considering the circumstances at the time, but before then, when they'd been talking about it) because that was then, and right about now, he’s caught in a spiral of self-doubt so extreme that he’s calling their whole (disastrous) Water Ruins “date” into question.

He gets far enough that he’s wondering whether they hadn’t actually gotten caught in a freak flash rainstorm or weather anomaly of some sort on their way to the inn’s bathhouse that day like Xiao Pai had suggested. Doesn’t it make more sense that he’d dreamed the whole thing up just because it’s a more fun story to explain why they’d been soaked? He doesn’t have time to figure it out, however, because he hears Dylas, in the present, stop beside his chair.

Blindly, Doug turns his face towards Dylas. Or, where it sounds like Dylas is.

Hopefully his expression isn’t as tortured as his mind is feeling. This could all just be one more silly anniversary surprise, and in that case it wouldn’t be good if he has to explain what he’s so worked up about.

It’s just, this doesn’t feel the same as the walk earlier. It feels more important, and Doug can’t help but worry—

Shit, what does his face look like? Probably not very good. He gives what’s probably a shaky half-smile and tilts his head to the side. At least if Dylas starts talking, Doug won’t have to worry about what he’s going to say.

“Doug, I…um…”

“...Yeah?”

“Actually, you can open your eyes now.”

Doug does. Dylas is standing beside Doug’s chair, right where Doug had expected him. There’s nothing in his hands, so it seems like the dessert thing was probably as much of a lie as it had sounded.

Dylas’s cheeks are dusted with a blush, but he meets Doug’s eyes easily. He doesn’t look closed off. He doesn’t look like he’s preparing to deliver bad news at all, actually. He does definitely look like he has something to say, though.

“Doug.”

A pause.

Dylas’s eyes are burning with something that has Doug’s voice sounding somewhat weak as he responds, “That’s me.” Or maybe that’s just the sound of premature relief.

Dylas’s mouth curves in a smile no less radiant for its barely-there-ness.

As soon as he sees it, Doug is struck with the realization that his relief isn’t premature, and, in fact, his fears were completely unfounded in the first place. Who puts this much effort into such a meaningful and special anniversary dinner just to—what? Break up?

Doug feels absurdly silly for thinking, however briefly, that Dylas could ever do something like that. And anyways, they’ve been through way worse than Doug wanting to marry Dylas.

But, if Doug’s worries were as foolish as they obviously are, then what is Dylas making such a big deal of saying?

Contrary to popular belief, Doug can be patient. Dylas doesn’t continue right away, and Doug doesn’t say anything either. What he does do is offer what he hopes is an encouraging smile. By the way Dylas’s widens in return, just barely, Doug is going to count it as a win.

Dylas blows out a short, resolute breath, and then he says, “When I first arrived here, I wasn’t expecting to get along with everyone. I mean, Venti took my memories and everything, but even without them— I told you before that I didn’t think anyone from my time was going to miss me, that I never relied on anyone except myself—”

“Wait, sorry.” Dylas looks startled to have been cut off, but Doug had to do it now before he could really get going because— “Seriously, I’m so sorry, I just— If you’re going to get all sappy on me—oh and, again, for the record, you were wrong, I’m sure they missed you—I don’t want you standing there just looming over me like that, so either you’ve gotta sit back down, or— No, you know what, I’ll just stand.”

He does. Dylas still towers over him, of course, but it’s definitely better this way. Their faces are a little closer, at least.

“Okay, cool, cool. What were you saying?”

Dylas is staring at him with an indescribable expression, but this was an absolutely necessary interruption of the mood. Doug feels he’s more than justified. Dylas doesn’t continue right away, just blinks at him, incredulous.

Doug doesn’t have a problem defending himself for this. “Look, you loom over me enough when I’m standing up. My neck is going to get sore if I have to look all the way up at you from down in the chair.”

Dylas’s face breaks open as he laughs. Doug is pretty sure he can confidently say that there isn’t any better sound in the world, or any greater satisfaction than having drawn it out of him. And, frankly, he’s pretty sure they both kind of needed this. Doug can feel some of the highly nervous energy in the room dissipate.

While he’s laughing, Dylas manages something like, “Only you…”

Doug lifts his chin a little higher, to punctuate the necessity of his actions, and shrugs.

Eventually Dylas manages to rein his laughter back in. (And, oh, Doug wishes he could jump on the rein-horse joke the opportunity presents, but even he has a limit to how disruptive he’s willing to be… He’ll just have to remember it for later.)

Dylas closes his eyes before he looks back at Doug, falsely exasperated.

“Yeah. Like I was saying. When I got here, I think I tried my best to not like everyone. No one made that easier than you.”

Doug barks a laugh, surprised and delighted that Dylas is ribbing him even as he’s getting back to serious, and then shrugs, smiling. “Eh. Feeling was mutual.”

And, really, Doug knows better than anyone what Dylas is talking about. Doug had sure as hell done his best to hate the town when he first got here.

Good thing they’d both failed spectacularly.

Dylas’s expression remains mirthful, but it softens a little into something perhaps more sincere as he continues, “I couldn’t figure out when or how that changed. When I started caring about everyone. And then I realized that you bugging me all the time dragged me into a lot of conversations I wouldn’t have had otherwise.” The sincerity in his expression slips into something a little more lopsided. “Somehow, you going out of your way to fuck with me whenever you possibly could made me feel more included in the town. Not to mention, taking out my anger and fear on you made it easier to open up to everyone else.”

Doug laughs, “Glad to be of service.”

There’s a moment where they just look at each other. That sincerity is back full-force, and Doug would bet his own face probably looks something similar.

Rather than breaking the silence of the moment, Dylas slides his way through it seamlessly.

“You know, I was jealous of you.”

“What, me?” Doug has a hard time believing that one. “Really?”

“Yeah. I mean, I was a little jealous of everyone, but you. Even though you were so annoying,” Dylas attempts a flat look and a flatter tone and fails both spectacularly, “you had something I didn’t.”

“...Are you referring to my good looks, my overwhelming charm, or my inspiring work ethic?”

Dylas rolls his eyes, but his smile is so wide Doug can actually see teeth. Whoa. He would give himself a pat on the back if he could. Especially since Dylas looks way more comfortable now than he had when he’d initiated this conversation. Doug hopes he is. At the end of the day, no matter what it is he has to say, Doug doesn’t want Dylas to feel like he can’t tell him.

Doug continues, “Gotcha, so all three then. Good to know.”

“No, idiot. The town. Everyone liked you. Well, they still like you, but, you know what I mean.”

Doug feels something in the atmosphere shift. Maybe it’s the open, honest, vulnerable look on Dylas’s face, or maybe it’s that Dylas is talking about something Doug himself has spent a lot of time thinking on. Whatever the case, Doug can tell the conversation is probably shifting away from shitty jokes. Or shifting toward more serious and meaningful and emotionally charged shitty jokes, at the least.

Dylas continues, “Even though you were just as ready and willing to get into a stupid argument as I was, even though you were just as nasty and just as loud when we did…and even though I found out that you weren’t from here, either, that you didn’t really belong here any more than me… Except that you did.

“You know, Porcoline sent me to pick something up from Blossom once, back when I was still pretty new, and she stopped me to tell me how happy she was to see you looking so lively. I didn’t know what the hell she was talking about. Why would she possibly be happy to see me fighting with you all the time? When I asked her what she meant, she told me that it was much better than how you’d been when you first moved here, and then she actually thanked me for spending time with you. I really didn’t get it, but I could tell how much she cared about you.

“Even before I understood why, it was so clear that you belonged here. And that everyone accepted you despite your,” his smile twitches, “obvious faults.”

Doug smiles to show he appreciates the joke at his expense, but he can’t help it if it’s more subdued than it might normally be. Honestly, Doug had no idea that was how Dylas felt, and he doesn’t think he can just let this one slide.

“You know it was the same for you, right?”

Dylas looks a little surprised. He probably hadn’t been expecting Doug to react this way.

So Doug continues, “It was! I mean, Amber is Amber; I’m pretty sure she could make herself welcome anywhere. But do you have any idea what it’s like for some weird horse-guy to just show up out of nowhere, and he doesn’t have any idea why he was some powerful horse monster trapped in some old ruins, and he doesn’t like being called a horse or being reminded of the horse monster thing at all, so apparently that’s not normal for him, and he’s super rude and extremely attractive, and everyone’s acting like all of that is just totally normal? Like, this strange dude just shows up and it’s like he’s always been there?”

Shockingly, Dylas doesn’t comment on the horse thing, though his ear does twitch at the mention of it. He unfortunately doesn’t acknowledge the attractive thing either. (Well, maybe his blush darkens a little. Nice.)

Instead of mentioning either of those things, Dylas squints a little and says, “Didn’t you just say you were fine doing the same exact thing with Amber, though?”

Doug shrugs.

“Amber’s just like that.” Dylas gives him a look, so Doug challenges, “Am I wrong?”

Dylas sighs and grudgingly confirms, “No.”

“And, like, by the time Dolce got here, it was just normal, and then Leon wasn’t even an amnesiac, so he was old news.”

Dylas snorts softly and shakes his head.

Doug insists, “No, I’m serious! After an amnesiac Earthmate and three amnesiac monster-people fall out of the sky—and one of those was extremely literally—a monster-person who everyone knew existed ahead of time, who remembers his whole life and already knows why he’s a monster-person, is just kinda boring.”

Dylas chuckles, but then he shakes his head again. “Hm. No, I don’t think I believe you.”

“What? If you think about it, Leon’s really the least surprising—”

“No, not that. All that stuff you just said about me. Even if you didn’t like me as a person, I don’t think that stuff really bothered you. I mean, it should have. You had more reason than anyone to hate me. Amber and Frey, too.”

Doug laughs bitterly. “I mean, not really—”

“That doesn’t matter. No,” he holds up a hand to stop Doug from disagreeing. “Doug, don’t you get it? That’s what I’ve been trying to say. You’re just like everyone else here. It didn’t matter who I was or where I came from, you treated me like I…”

“...Like you belonged here?” Doug finishes.

Doug tries to punctuate this with a look that says, Duh, of course you do. Dylas sighs like he receives the unspoken message perfectly fine.

He says, “I’m not easy to get along with, I know that. I have a bad attitude and a temper. I’m not good at saying what I mean. But… Everyone accepted me anyway. Porcoline, Meg and Arthur, Frey…everyone.”

Doug can relate to the emotion in Dylas’s voice. He chuckles and softly replies, “Yeah. Yeah, they’re just like that, aren’t they?”

Tone just as soft, Dylas agrees, “Yeah, they’re pretty great.”

Doug presses his fingertips into the outside of his pocket, where the pouch containing everyone’s rings is safely stashed. He probably should have left them in his room along with the other thing earlier, but he wanted to keep them on him. He has a feeling Dylas would understand why.

Doug can’t wait for Dylas to see them.

Dylas continues, “And, you… If anything, you went out of your way more than anyone to include me. Even if the way you went about it was annoying the living shit out of me.”

Doug knows that maybe he should be offended that every nice thing Dylas says about him is followed by something rude, but he can’t help the little flip his heart does at Dylas’s tone whenever he says the rude parts. When they’re talking like this, Doug doesn’t have any doubts about the true meaning behind what Dylas is saying.

So Doug’s smile is wide when he says, “See? Told ya. It was the same for you, like I said. So there’s nothing to be jealous of, and, by the way, please never say that again, it was super weird.”

Dylas huffs a laugh.

“I’ll try not to. And, I guess it was…” he says, but he looks a little distracted, like he’s thinking about something else. His eyes trail away with his voice, seeing something beyond Doug and the restaurant around them.

And then his eyes are back on Doug’s face. Doug definitely hadn’t been planning on it, but he couldn’t look away now if he tried.

Dylas says, “You were right, by the way. About…wanting to stay.”

“Oh,” Doug breathes. Does he mean…?

He must. The look in his eyes has Doug believing there isn’t any other option.

Their conversation at the Water Ruins… Doug had almost forgotten about that part of it.

Well, no, that’s a complete lie. Doug has remembered that part of it so well that it's kept him up at night, at least a few times. Even after they made up. It’s not something that's particularly easy to forget, actually, even if he’s been doing his best to respect Dylas’s wishes and not bring it up again.

“Good.”

Doug would be lying if he said it wasn’t a relief to hear. It had meant a lot for Dylas to open up so much about his past to Doug, but that had still been a scary thought. Doug is selfish, and he’s not afraid to admit it. But Dylas…

Doug still isn’t sure what he would do if Dylas ever went off and didn’t come back. Even and especially if it was for some self-sacrificial buffalooshit.

Doug nods decisively. He repeats, “That’s good. Uh, I never did say it, I think, but I’m sorry I yelled at you, by the way—”

“No. No, don’t be," Dylas sternly interrupts. “You said exactly what I needed to hear. You’re good at that, even if I don’t always want to listen.” Dylas thinks for a moment. He corrects, “Or at least, you can be, when you want to be.”

Doug laughs along with him. Fair enough.

Dylas continues, “And, I know that’s not something that I’m very good at, saying what you need to hear, but…”

Doug steps closer and reaches out to rest his hand on Dylas’s upper arm. “I think you’re doing a pretty good job right now.”

Dylas stands in stunned silence for a second. Then that small smile that Doug loves so much blooms across his features. He reaches up and takes Doug’s hand in his own and pulls it down to hold their hands together in the air between them.

“I like everyone in this town. A lot. And I do want to keep living here with everyone, I’m sure of it now. But you…”

Dylas squeezes Doug’s hand, just a little, as he rubs his thumb over Doug’s knuckles. Doug is absolutely pinned in place by the hushed intensity of his gaze and the gentle reverence of his touch. Even if Doug wanted to say something, he’s not sure he could.

“You’re the one I love. You’re something I can’t live without anymore.”

Doug watches, wordless, as Dylas reaches into his pocket with his free hand, and…

...pulls out a ring.

What.

“What.”

Did Doug say that out loud? Must have, maybe. Probably. It’s possible his brain has ceased functioning completely.

“What? Dylas, wh…” The words—or, really, mostly just the one word—dry up on Doug’s tongue as he looks back up at Dylas’s face.

“I spent hours borrowing Frey’s forge. That’s why I’ve been so busy lately… It’s not perfect, but I wanted it to be something I made with my own hands.”

Doug is speechless. He’s not sure if he wants to laugh or cry, but he isn’t even able to get that far. Because Dylas asks,

“Doug, will you marry me?”

And, really, Doug should respond, but his brain is severely lagging behind reality, and he thinks it has decided that laughing is the most appropriate, because isn’t it just perfect—

“WHAT?!”

The shriek reverberates around the room, popping the ephemeral bubble of space-time Doug is floating in.

That wasn’t him, and it certainly wasn’t Dylas.

Doug jumps in surprise and turns to face the source so suddenly that he yanks his hand out of Dylas’s (a massive loss) and trips over his own feet (a more immediately pressing issue, objectively speaking).

Maybe it would be cute to say that Doug can’t stop falling for Dylas, that he’s sure he’ll continue to do so for the rest of their lives, but in practice it sure doesn’t feel cute.

Actually, it feels a little painful when he knocks into his abandoned chair (curse bad table manners for leaving it un-pushed-in—maybe manners are onto something after all) and he sends both the chair and himself toppling to the floor.

“The hell—?! Doug—?!” Dylas shouts, but evidently he doesn’t move quickly enough to save Doug from falling gracelessly on his ass. What are those stupidly long legs even good for, then?

“Margaret?!” Dylas screeches.

And, being the perfect picture of a gentleman and caring boyfriend—fiancé???—he leaves Doug lying on the floor and stares slack-mouthed in the direction of Arthur’s study. Doug tips his head back and sees that Dylas is right. That is Margaret, and she’s standing in the now-open doorway to Arthur’s study, staring at them—or, well, at Dylas—in disbelief.

More shocked than truly angry, Dylas roars, “What the hell are you doing—?!”

“What am I doing?! You just asked Doug to marry you!!” Margaret looks agitated. She’s talking with a lot of sweeping hand gestures. More than normal.

…Huh.

Well, who cares, Dylas asked Doug to marry him!! And if Margaret heard it too, that means he hasn’t been on the floor this whole time, and it wasn’t just some concussion-induced daydream or something.

Doug kind of wants to ignore everything else around him and just float away out of sheer joy, but the argument flying back and forth over him does sound interesting. Enough to keep listening to it, at least.

“I— Yes??? That doesn’t— What are you doing here?! You told me you were going to stay away from the restaurant today—!”

“Yeah, I was lying! I just wanted you to feel more comfortable confessing!”

“Why would you lie about—?!”

“Dylas, what are you thinking?! You can’t just jump straight to marriage!!”

“I— What the hell are you talking about?! Where did you even come from?! Why were you eavesdropping when you knew—”

“Aw, Meg. You didn’t even wait for Doug to answer! Maybe we would have gotten to see them kiss,” yet another voice says.

Illuminata, evidently the owner of said voice, appears out of nowhere and casually leans against one of the plants in the front entryway. It starts tipping over, but she catches it before it falls. Doug, still lying on the floor, blinks at her. Maybe he can’t rule out the concussion-dream thing just yet after all.

Then again, it is Illuminata.

Dylas whirls around on her and shouts, “Wait, you too?!”

Then Margaret shouts, “Lumie, were you listening?! He— he proposed!!!”

Doug isn’t sure exactly what is going on, but he can at least appreciate that every time Margaret brings up the fact that Dylas proposed, he feels his breath hitch and his heart skip a beat. If this is a dream, it’s the best dream he’s ever had, as well as the cruelest, for the fact that it’s only a dream.

“This sure brings back memories, doesn’t it, Nancy?” Jones chuckles. It sounds like he’s over by the stairs. Apparently. Because why wouldn’t he be?

“It sure does, Jones,” Nancy giggles, undoubtedly from his side. Then she prompts, “Dylas, dear, maybe you should make sure Doug is alright.”

To be honest, Doug is feeling fine. Maybe too fine. Any pain he’d felt from falling had been very brief, and he can’t tell if the numbness is a bad sign or if he’s just feeling so many other emotions that pain is comparatively insignificant. Also, considering he seems to remember landing butt-first, it’s probably unlikely he could have injured anything important.

Nonetheless, Dylas is kneeling next to Doug in an instant. He leans over, hands hovering over Doug like he wants to touch him but is afraid of making anything worse. One of those hands is pretty useless, though, since it’s still clamped around the ring Dylas made for Doug and proposed with.

“I—” Doug’s still a little more choked up than he anticipated. He swallows and tries again. “I’m good.”

Then he throws his arm straight up to give the room around them a thumbs-up. Since, evidently, they have an audience.

Dylas’s hand—the one not holding the ring—finally lands on Doug’s shoulder. Dylas’s worried face floats in Doug’s field of vision. Still handsome, even with the crinkled brow. But maybe it would be better not to worry him to death immediately after he, you know, proposed.

“Doug—”

“Dylas, seriously.” Doug sits up. Dylas moves his hand around to Doug’s back, concerned frown still firmly in place. “I’m totally fine, no big deal.”

Doug puts on a smile, hoping to directly counter Dylas’s frown. It really isn’t a big deal, honestly. You know, it’s just like any other ordinary day when your boyfriend makes you a ridiculously nice dinner and proposes, and then his pseudo-sister runs in yelling about…

“…Con…fessing?”

“What?” Dylas is squinting at Doug like he’s two seconds away from carrying him straight to the clinic right here and now.

Had Doug said that out loud? But still…

Doug’s smile slides away as he gives Dylas a bewildered look, but the blank worry he gets in response is not exactly what he’s looking for. He twists around to point it at Margaret instead. The look she gives him feels much more fitting, considering the crazy idea buzzing around Doug’s head.

He asks her, “Confessing?”

Margaret flaps her mouth uselessly for a second.

Now behind Doug, Dylas calls, “Jones, he—”

Doug waves his hand back in the direction of Dylas’s face without turning around. “Shhh, shut up, I’m fine. But…”

But, the more Doug thinks about it, he can’t help laughing. It’s probably not helping Dylas think he’s losing it any less, but the idea Doug just had is too funny not to.

“No, sorry, that’s just stupid. I mean, there’s no way…”

Doug continues laughing, but Margaret’s face only grows more confused and horrified, if possible. But that’s—

No, no way. Right?

Doug chuckles again, but he’s not sure in response to what anymore.

“Come on, Margaret, you can’t really have meant… Margaret?”

She looks a little shell-shocked. And not in a happy-for-your-friends’-engagement kind of way.

Doug laughs one more time, very weakly.

“Okay, uh, this is definitely a stupid question, but…Margaret, did you…not know we were dating?”

There’s a deathly quiet that blankets the restaurant. The moment the words are out of Doug’s mouth, though, is the moment he hears how utterly ridiculous he sounds. Dylas is definitely not going to accept that he’s fine after all this. Despite how questionable it makes his sanity look, Doug laughs at himself to cut through the silence.

He says, “No, no, heh, sorry, I don’t know why I even—”

“A-ha!! I knew it!!”

Forte pops out of the doorway behind Margaret, pointing at nothing in particular. She looks triumphant for the split second before she realizes how loud she shouted, and how quiet the rest of the room has gone as everyone stares at her. She blushes deeply and steps back to better hide herself behind Margaret.

She mumbles, loud enough that Doug can still hear her, “I told you they were dating.”

“Wait, what?!”

Vishnal pokes his head around the corner of the door from inside Arthur’s study, jaw comically wide. Directly beneath his, Kiel’s head pokes out, too.

“Oh, so you really were together already? Huh!”

And then, just like that, the floodgates open. People pour into the restaurant proper from both upstairs and from Arthur’s study next door. Porcoline pops up behind the counter, so apparently he’s been in here this whole time. Doug doesn’t even know what to think about that.

Amber jumps out of the plant opposite Illuminata, flapping her wings excitedly.

“Yay! Clorica, we did it!”

Clorica is sitting on the stairs, yawning. She’s actually awake, and she looks like she’s thinking about it fairly seriously.

“Hmm. Amber…I’m not so sure that was us…”

Doug can distinctly hear Leon laughing so hard that Xiao Pai has to thump him on the back to help him breathe when he nearly chokes on his own spit. At this point, almost everyone is talking all at once.

The gist of what Doug’s getting from all of this is that the entire town had been listening in on their conversation, and more importantly—

“Wait, did none of you know we were dating?!?” Doug’s voice sounds kind of squeaky, but it feels justified. The gears turning in his brain sound pretty squeaky, too.

Dylas’s hand is frozen solid on Doug’s back.

Wait.

Doug whirls around frantically and grabs both of Dylas’s shoulders so hard it probably hurts a little. The fabric of his jacket wrinkles under Doug’s hands.

Extremely seriously, or perhaps more hysterical than anything, Doug slowly says, “Dylas. We are dating, right?”

Yeah, maybe Doug’s panicking. Just a little. But if it turns out that Doug was the only one who thought he and Dylas were dating all this time, he really is going to lose every last shred of his sanity.

Dylas looks like he can’t handle any single other thing happening right now. The hand that had been on Doug’s back hovers uselessly around Doug’s shoulder, having been detached when Doug spun around, and the hand that’s still clenched around the ring floats somewhere between their chests.

Dylas’s eyes jump between Doug, the ring, and the table behind Doug’s back. He seems to be choosing to ignore the rest of the room completely, aside from the blotchy way his face can’t decide whether to drain pale or to flood red.

His eyes grow increasingly wild as he slowly responds, “Seriously? What kind of anniversary dinner did you think this was…?”

Doug heaves an audible sigh of relief and wastes no time dropping his head into Dylas’s chest. “Oh, thank fuck.”

Doug doesn’t remove his hands, but he does loosen his stranglehold on Dylas’s jacket. Dylas doesn’t really move or relax at all, so it’s kind of like half-embracing a wooden board, but it’s hard for Doug to care at the moment.

Everything is quiet for a safe breath of calm that Doug desperately needs.

And then Margaret screeches, “ANNIVERSARY?!?”

Which prompts a new wave of discussion and pandemonium to break out amongst the other onlookers, unmistakably more incredulous than the last.

Dylas tenses further. Doug has a feeling he’s about to bolt like the spooked horse he is.

Well, okay. It’s fine. This is a Thing, but they can deal with this.

Doug sits up straight again so he can look Dylas in the eyes. Dylas’s face did end up settling on flushed, but it isn’t the same pretty sort that Doug tries his best to cause at any and all available opportunities. He looks extremely uncomfortable, and he’s staring over Doug’s shoulder at (presumably) Margaret like she’s grown an extra head and it’s telling him it’s going to eat him for dinner. His ears are stood up stiffly, pointing forward.

Doug gives his shoulders a slight squeeze, and then he stands up so he can take some of the attention off of Dylas and address this whole thing properly.

He turns around to face Margaret again, says, “Okay, slow down,” and then realizes he has no idea what he actually wants to say. The next first thing to come out of his mouth is: “What?” followed closely by: “How?!”

Margaret doesn’t answer either question, and neither does anyone else. Margaret looks a little too out of it to be able to be of any help anytime soon, but several other people are laughing, and only some of them are trying to hide it.

Doug’s mind is both racing and stalling—and, wow, this is not how he expected tonight to go—but he does manage to have a couple coherent thoughts.

Firstly, there’s no way no one knew. Forte did, apparently (even though Kiel didn’t???) And there’s also…

“Granny!!” Doug turns and shouts at her, betrayed.

She’s standing on the staircase, next to where Clorica is sitting. She smiles at him, looking much too amused, which really clinches it.

“Yes, dear?”

“You— Wait, how did you even get up there? You were in the shop when we left!”

Granny Blossom laughs behind her hand. Doug can see the way her eyes are sparkling with mirth, and normally he loves to see her look this happy and energetic, but normally the existence of his very serious and loving long-term relationship isn’t being called into question. Actually—

“Never mind, that’s not important right now! You knew, didn’t you?!”

She laughs again, the traitor. “Well, everyone knew that you two were going to be here.”

“I can see that, yes. But—”

She ignores him.

“And there are two entrances, you know. Not that it mattered, since you two sure took your sweet time getting here.”

She sounds completely unrepentant and altogether more teasing than she ought to be allowed to be right now. She smiles over Doug’s shoulder, no doubt at Dylas.

Now that Doug thinks about it, Dylas must have walked them the whole way around town to ‘throw him off’ on the way here. And now that Doug thinks about that, it should have been immediately suspicious that they didn’t run into anyone on the way over. Especially since it had been Dylas leading him by the hand, and Doug knows very well how easy and fun it is to tease Dylas about anything and everything. Someone should have jumped on the opportunity while they were walking together, but Doug hadn’t heard anyone say a thing.

Doug shakes his head to clear the thought. He needs to focus.

“That’s not what I meant! You knew everyone else didn’t know we were together!!” he accuses.

Porcoline, taking Blossom’s hand as she descends the last couple steps of the staircase, laughs loudly and exaggeratedly and not at all convincingly.

“Who’s to say who knew what? Alas, it is impossible to ever know that shining truth!”

Doug knows Porcoline knows—and has known—they’re dating. In fact, he must have known that it’s their anniversary today, too, considering that it appears that he closed the restaurant earlier than usual specifically so Dylas could put together this surprise dinner.

“Seriously?! You, too?” It’s more of a token complaint at this point. It is extremely obvious that they were both complicit in this whole situation.

Doug is trying to figure out how exactly to get his point across, and also exactly what his point even is or should be, but he’s interrupted when he feels Dylas grab his upper arm. Evidently, he stood back up as well at some point. His face is fully and entirely beet red. Doug has a sneaking suspicion he’s not doing any better himself on that front.

“We’re leaving,” Dylas claims gruffly as he starts pulling Doug towards the front door of the restaurant.

Any other day, Doug would be more than happy to spare himself embarrassment and hang out with Dylas alone instead, but as much as he wants to let Dylas drag him away, there’s no way he can leave all of this as-is.

Doug digs his heels in and throws his arm out against the length of Dylas’s so he can grab a hold of his shirt, and then he leans all of his weight in the opposite direction.

“Ohhhh no you don’t. Sorry, but we’re going to figure this out right now. We can run away later.”

Doug is too busy staring down everyone else in the room who will make eye contact with him to watch Dylas’s reaction, but Doug knows there’s no way he’s happy about this. Honestly, Doug’s a little surprised he doesn’t just try to pick Doug up and leave anyway, but he’s pleased when Dylas relents and stops pulling. Normally Doug would want to respect Dylas’s limits on embarrassment through public exposure, but he’s afraid if they leave now they’re never going to know what’s happening. Or worse, Doug will jump to a completely wrong conclusion (apparently, this is very easy to do, if tonight is any indication) and make a fool of himself—or of them both, probably—all over again at a later time.

Better to just get it all out at once so that at least they know it’s over and done and they won’t have to deal with it later.

No one says anything for a somewhat tense moment. Doug can see varying shades of surprise, amusement, shock, understanding, and…huh. So it really is the entire town here, isn’t it. The only permanent resident of Selphia Doug can’t see standing in the room now is Ventuswill, who wouldn’t fit through the door even if she wanted to.

Some of them might look surprised by how things have gone, but none of them look particularly abashed to have been caught so blatantly eavesdropping.

…Although, Doug isn’t sure if he can really blame them for that. If it had been someone else, it probably wouldn’t have been hard to convince Doug to join in on an invasion of privacy like this one. Depends whose privacy he’s invading, maybe. Dylas might not have wanted to, but Doug’s always known Dylas is a better person than he is, so he’s comfortable with that.

Granny Blossom is the one to break the silence. To be fair to her, she does look sympathetic. She does also look like she’s greatly enjoying this whole thing, however.

“Sorry, dears. Honestly, I never expected this to last as long as it did.”

Porcoline sniffs loudly and pipes up from beside her, “I certainly never told a lie, I swear! It isn’t my fault if no one believed moi when I mentioned how lovely and splendiferous your dates here were.”

Behind Doug, Dylas sighs heavily. He seems to have accepted that he’s stuck listening to this whole mess. Doug wouldn’t be surprised if his face was buried in his hands. Or, no, in his free hand. The other one is wrapped tightly around Doug’s wrist. Doug again wishes he could do something to spare Dylas from being stuck on display like this, but he just can’t run away yet.

When Doug had joked about free apologies earlier, he hadn’t really been expecting to need to make one himself quite so soon.

A light laugh draws Doug’s attention off to the side. At first he thinks it might be Leon again, but, no, he seems to have gotten himself under control and is back to looking marginally more like his usual smirk-y self— Wait, actually, now that Doug thinks about it, that may very well have been the least composed he’s ever seen Leon. Which definitely says something about this situation they’re in.

Either way, it seems the laugh hadn’t come from Leon but rather from the man standing beside him. It seems to be Arthur’s turn to lose his cool a little. His eyes are bright, and he’s using his hand to poorly hide his wide smile.

Doug locks eyes with him, and Arthur laughs again even while he does the worst job Doug has ever seen of trying to school his smile. He removes his hand from his mouth to push his glasses up, and then he waves that same hand through the air as though that will somehow magically help fix the situation.

He says, “My apologies, it’s just that a great deal of this past week suddenly makes a lot more sense now. I feel rather silly that I didn’t realize what was happening sooner.”

He doesn’t sound particularly sorry despite his words, and he doesn’t look particularly sorry with his eyes swimming with cheer as they are.

Doug feels his stomach flip as he realizes what Arthur is referring to. Oddly enough, though, it’s from behind himself that he hears Dylas quickly suck in a breath, and it’s Dylas’s grip that tightens around Doug’s wrist. Doug doesn’t really have time to consider what that’s about, however, because his brain is too busy overloading to even finish processing it.

“Wha— Th— You!” It takes Doug a second to recognize his own voice, and a second longer to realize that he is, in fact, still talking. “What the hell did you think I was— And, and you, too!!”

It takes Doug a third second to figure out that he has already crossed the room to point accusingly first in Arthur’s face, and then in Kiel’s. Arthur is still failing to suppress his grin, and Kiel blinks at Doug’s finger with wide eyes. Doug’s wrist feels colder, and he vaguely recognizes that Dylas didn’t follow him over here.

“I— Aren’t you guys supposed to be smart?!” Doug splutters.

Arthur starts laughing again.

Kiel’s mouth forms a small ‘o’ as he must put together the reason Doug would be calling out the two of them together, specifically. He puts his palms up placatingly.

“Er, sorry? I mean, you only asked us to look for…”

Kiel trails off as his eyes widen somehow larger still. He gasps as he glances over Doug’s shoulder, probably at Dylas, before he meets Doug’s stare with a wide and incredulous grin.

“Wait, then we did find what you were looking for! I was feeling all guilty ‘cause I thought we weren’t able to, but— No way, does that mean both of you—?!”

Kiel’s smirk is as wide as Arthur’s, now, and the two of them share a delighted look like the absolute traitors they are. Doug glares at them and decides he isn’t going to think about it too hard.

“I… No. You know what, I don’t even wanna know whatever you thought I was looking for.”

Doug closes his eyes and runs a shaky hand through his hair. This is all… really not how he expected any of this to go.

Of course, Doug hadn’t expected Dylas to beat him to it, either, but in retrospect maybe he should have seen that one coming.

Really, Doug’s first impulse had been to run straight out of Bado’s forge once he was finally done and just start getting the things out of his hands as quickly as possible, which, knowing what he’s come to know in the past ten minutes, would have had very interesting results. But, since he’d had his last big portion of the project to worry about, and since he’d barely made it back in time to stash that thing away before Dylas had arrived…

Well, he’d decided he’d just have to wait until tomorrow, or at least after the date, to do it. Doug hadn’t had any big plans or anything beyond ‘give out the rings.’ He hadn’t wanted to make too big a deal out of it, even if it would be easier to round everyone up in one place and hand them all out…at…once…

Doug blinks.

He swivels around to glance at the whole room, at the entire town gathered up in one convenient location, very much focusing their attention on him.

Well. From what Doug remembers and what Arthur and Kiel were able to dig up, there is a traditional way to accept a proposal, and…

Doug settles his gaze on Dylas last out of everyone. He’s extremely tense and looks like he wants to disappear, and he’s looking at Doug like he’s his only lifeline in this typhoon of absolute chaos. He looks absolutely mortified. He’s the most beautiful person Doug’s ever seen.

“Fuck it.”

Doug feels all the attention in the room on him, even more so than it already had been. He ignores them and fishes the pouch out of his pocket.

He mutters, “Not like tonight can get any more out of hand. Might as well lean into it…”

Since he’s running mostly off of pure adrenaline at this point, Doug isn’t surprised to find his hands are shaking as he reaches into the small but very full pouch that contains an entire week's worth of hard work (and much more than that of pay, not that the cost had been particularly important). If there’s some murmuring that bounces around the room, Doug doesn’t hear most of it. What he does hear is Kiel’s excited gasp from directly behind him.

The first ring he pulls out is, unsurprisingly, one of the last that he had put in. Bado had helped with sizing them all about right, or at least close enough that they’d be easy to alter to fit right if they didn’t, but other than that the design for most of them is near-identical. That said, Doug spent so much time working on them all that he knows which one is intended for which person anyway.

(The great amount of time spent was not out of misplaced perfectionism but rather out of the necessity of making sure they were even wearable at all. Not the first time Doug has cursed his shitty crafting abilities, but hopefully the last time it’s ever over something this important.)

So yes, most of them are near-identical. But he’d left the last few for, well, last, because he had wanted to at least attempt to get the extra details right. And this one is for…

“Margaret.”

Doug crosses the few steps it takes to reach her from where he had been standing closer to Arthur and Kiel. He meets her eyes for just a second as he puts the ring into her hand and sees the same shock from before, up close and personal, but he’s already moving on before he can really gauge her full reaction.

He half hears her say, “Oh, thanks. Wait—” but he’s already onto the second ring by then. He’s a little afraid if he stops that somehow even after all of this he’ll chicken out.

The second ring, like the one before it, is special in that it has a slight difference in its design. Doug turns around to march it back over to Arthur. He has the feeling he might end up doing a lot of walking back and forth.

He presses the ring into Arthur’s palm with perhaps a little more force than necessary.

“I think I might be mad at you, specifically,” Doug says, although it’s more that he feels the need to say something about how unbelievable it is that Arthur didn’t know and less out of any real sense of anger.

Arthur chuckles, but it sounds slightly off. “Ah, right. Well, that said, Doug, perhaps you should…”

Arthur abruptly cuts himself off as he glances at his palm and subsequently lifts the ring closer to his face to inspect it.

Doug fidgets a tiny bit. He watches Arthur’s reaction closer than he had Margaret’s even though it’s the same thing, really. But Arthur had been the one helping Doug with his research, so Arthur is the one who would recognize it.

And evidently he does, because his mouth falls a little slack, and he reaches up to adjust his glasses as if he needs to make sure he’s seeing it right.

“Doug…”

Arthur’s voice is soft when he speaks, and when he meets Doug’s eyes, there’s something in his expression that is definitely not making Doug feel like he’s going to cry. Definitely not, because he’s only two-twenty-secondths of the way done with this, and he refuses to lose it when he still has twenty more of these damn things to get to.

So, before Doug can feel any more of the feeling he definitely isn’t feeling, he bobs his head once in a small but decisive nod and quickly sets off across the restaurant to reach his third target—

Only to be stopped by Kiel grabbing his elbow as Doug walks past him. The look on Kiel’s face is apologetic, but his grip is firm.

“Sorry, I know you probably don’t want to be interrupted, but, um, Doug…”

Kiel pauses like he’s trying to pick his words carefully. Doug, in what he’ll be the first to admit is a colossal misfiring of his thought processes, peers back into his bag.

“What, you feeling that impatient? I mean, I can look for yours, but—”

Kiel is quick to say, “Oh, no no no, that’s not— Wait, mine? How many did you…”

Kiel leans forward to look into the bag, too, before he abruptly shakes his head and jumps back, saying, “Wait, no, that’s not important. Uh, Doug, listen, I think you might be forgetting…”

Kiel trails off again, looking back in the direction Doug had come from. His eyes widen and then he cringes at something he sees there, and before he’s able to say more or Doug is able to turn around to see what it is, they hear Margaret shout.

“WHAT is HAPPENING?!”

Doug does turn around, then, although he isn’t sure how much he really wants to, because she sounds legitimately angry. Which isn’t really the reaction Doug had expected, nor the one he had hoped for.

Doug isn’t sure what he can say or do, so he just stands there and waits for Margaret to expand on whatever she has to say. And if she really had lectured Dylas earlier the way he said she did, Doug is very much not excited to face whatever this is.

It takes her a second to even find the words, but once she does, they are very free-flowing.

“What— I— Okay. Okay. Fine. I can accept that you two are dating. I think I can even accept that it’s been an entire year and somehow I never—somehow no one ever knew. But if everything I think I just heard is true, it’s not a really terrible joke or something, and Dylas just proposed to you, what the hell do you think you’re doing?! You— you’re giving rings to other people right in front of him?!”

Doug flinches involuntarily. That might be the first time he’s ever heard Margaret swear—and in front of the whole town, no less. But just because he understands the severity of what she’s trying to say doesn’t mean Doug necessarily understands what she’s trying to say.

“Well…” He glances at the pouch like it’ll show him the answer, and then back at Margaret when it doesn’t. “...Yeah?”

Doug hadn’t thought it would matter much that the tradition wasn’t commonplace here—and isn’t Margaret from the Elven Kingdom, anyway? Maybe they have stricter proposal rules there?

Unless—shit, is it rude to essentially steal your boyfriend’s—fiancé’s???—moment by doing something like this? Even back home with his tribe, usually there would have been some time between the initial proposal and the answering reverse-proposal-acceptance part, right? Because the person who got proposed to would need time to make their rings. Fuck, Doug had never paid much attention to the intricacies of romance like that. He hadn’t thought he was particularly interested, back then.

It had just felt like the only timing that made sense anymore, but that’s no excuse if he really is stepping on Dylas’s toes. Especially if there’s some kind of cultural faux pas at play here.

Next to Doug, Kiel lightly smacks his forehead with his hand, so, he definitely did something wrong.

Margaret is only looking increasingly angry. And, actually, she’s not the only one. In avoiding meeting Margaret’s gaze head on, Doug catches sight of a couple of other less than happy faces. He doesn’t really want to start a tally, though, so he goes back to focusing on Margaret. At least if he’s facing one really angry person instead of several slightly less(?) angry people, he knows exactly where it’ll be coming from.

And what’s coming at him is: “How could you do that?! Don’t you have the dignity to at least give a proper answer first? I don’t… I mean, why would you do something like this…?”

Margaret’s brow furrows like she’s confused, but maybe Doug’s just being selective with what he sees of her distress. He’s not really sure how to respond, but before he can even try, Kiel coughs loudly from his side.

“Yes, I wonder why someone might pass out a bunch of rings to other people during a proposal of marriage, that’s so interesting.”

Doug looks at Kiel like he’s spouting nonsense because, well, he kind of is. Kiel sighs heavily, then fixes Doug with a very pointed look.

“Hm, Doug, I don’t suppose you know any good reason why someone might do that. A reason that maybe Meg isn’t familiar with.”

Doug stares at him blankly. Never has he hated Kiel’s love of riddles more; since Kiel so clearly has something he wants to say, he should just say it. Usually, nothing can stop Kiel from saying whatever he wants anyway, so Doug isn’t really sure what the big deal is this time, why he’s talking around the issue.

And obviously Doug has a reason behind the rings, and obviously it’s related to proposing, and obviously Kiel is as aware of this fact as Doug is, especially if he’s saying it like this. It’s almost like Kiel is insinuating that Doug isn’t aware of his own clan’s damn tradition, that he doesn’t know about…

Doug’s eyes widen.

Oh, crap.

No, there’s no way.

Yeah. Yeah, Doug definitely…

Did not. Explain what he was doing out loud. In the least. To literally anyone.

“Shit.”

Doug clenches the pouch in his hands and closes his eyes while he takes a deep breath. ‘Not like tonight can get any more out of hand’ his own ass. Of course he said that out loud, and not, like, any of the important shit.

And all at once he becomes acutely aware of the worst thing he’s done, or rather, hasn’t done, which is neglecting to explain himself to the one person who really needs to know.

Doug turns to look at Dylas, a million apologies already waiting on the tip of his tongue.

“Dylas—”

Said man is already (understandably) staring at him, arms crossed over his chest. The breadth of his own stupidity is still in the process of sinking in, but Doug is ready for a look of outrage, or of betrayal, or for Dylas to express being upset somehow, but what he’s actually faced with is something more like confusion. Instead of upset, Dylas looks like he’s as stumped by Kiel’s puzzle as Doug had been, which is something of a relief. Unless, of course, Dylas is just in too much shock over everything that’s happened that he’s still processing his hurt.

Either way, Doug pauses long enough trying to figure it out that he leaves room for Margaret to take action again before he’s able to finish his thought.

She walks forward so she can stand in between Doug and Dylas, and Forte trails behind her, though Doug can’t tell if she’s following with the intent to help Margaret or to stop her.

Margaret sounds more resigned and less angry than before as she says, “Doug, don’t you think you’ve done enough? I take some of the blame for this whole situation getting out of control, but I think maybe you need to let things settle and calm down a little before you do anything else that might—”

“No, wait! I can explain all of this, I swear!”

Doug is probably only making himself sound more suspicious, but he’s panicking. ‘Letting things settle’ is a terrible idea; this is definitely not the right way to leave things.

Margaret sighs, and Doug can tell by her posture that she isn’t going to budge on this. She can be just as stubborn as Dylas when she wants to be, but that doesn’t mean he’s going to give up; he can’t.

“Listen, it’s like this—”

“Doug, enough—”

“Okay.”

In unison, Doug and Margaret turn to look at Dylas.

Maybe it wasn’t just wishful thinking before? Dylas doesn’t look or sound angry or upset, if a little grumpy still to be stuck in such a compromising public situation, but Doug is also very aware that he should not be assuming anything right now.

Dylas shrugs. When no one else says anything, he continues, “I really don’t know what the hell’s going on anymore, but you might as well explain it. This has something to do with you bringing up your dad teaching you how to forge last week, doesn’t it?”

“You remember that?” Doug asks in wonder. He had kind of forgotten he’d even said anything about it to Dylas. Then he shakes his head to get his thoughts back in order, because that isn’t the thing to be focusing on right now. “I mean, yes, actually, it does.”

Margaret looks between them one last time. She shares a look with Dylas that Doug doesn’t get a good view of thanks to their positions, but whatever she sees must convince her to stand down, because she steps out of the way so that Doug and Dylas can face each other better. She hovers somewhat close but no longer directly between them, and Forte steps back with her.

Now Doug has Dylas’s full attention again. Better not waste it.

“It’s, um… My clan had this tradition. I couldn’t remember all the specific details, so I actually asked Arthur and Kiel to help—”

“Oh, right!” Kiel interrupts cheerfully. “Those documents are still in Arthur’s study, right? Those could be useful, I’ll go grab them!”

He sets off quickly toward the other room, seemingly unaware or unashamed to have interrupted. Arthur’s head snaps up at the sound of his own name.

“Ah, I rearranged some things, so now they are…” he starts, too late to stop Kiel before the door swings shut behind him. “Hm. Very sorry for the interruption; if you’ll excuse me, I’d better go help him find them.”

Arthur follows Kiel into the study, letting the door click closed behind him, as Kiel had done before him.

Doug opens his mouth, and then he closes it and turns slowly around the room to frown at everyone who’s left.

“Uh, okay. Anyone else have anything they need to do, like, right this second?”

There is a moment of suspended silence. Xiao Pai is the one to break it, much more intentionally than she usually breaks things.

“It seems the answer is ‘No,’ yes? Don’t keep him waiting!”

Amber giggles, with all the grace of someone laughing at their own joke before they tell it. “Yeah! Get it together, already, Doug!”

Their ‘encouragement’ sparks more of the same sentiment from many of the others in the room, but Doug doesn’t really hear the rest of it.

“Alright, alright!” he shouts, which does get everyone to quiet down. More to himself than anyone else, he says, “Okay. Yeah.”

Doug takes a breath and looks at Dylas directly again. He is making a valiant effort to pretend he’s unaware of their audience, and Doug can definitely appreciate that. It’s easier to figure out what to say if he pretends he’s only saying it to Dylas.

“So, my tribe had…” Doug looks down at the sack in his hands. His ring—not the ones he made, in the bag, but the one his father made, with his parents’ crest on it—glints at him from his thumb. Doug tightens his grip on the bag and corrects, “My tribe has this tradition about— About proposing.”

Doug looks back up at Dylas. He finds that the serious look on Dylas’s face, like he wants to make sure he doesn’t miss a word Doug says, is much more of a reassurance than the flushed embarrassment had been before. (Not that Dylas isn’t still a little flushed or anything.)

“It’s a pain in the ass, really,” Doug laughs as best he can, needing the moment of levity more than he’ll admit. “When you propose, you’re supposed to make rings for the whole family of the person you’re proposing to, too. It’s, like, ah, symbolism about joining your families together or something…”

Doug hears Margaret gasp softly. He’s glad she doesn’t seem to be mad at him anymore, but he doesn’t have much attention to spare for her at the moment. Even so, he thinks he might see her holding up the ring he had given her in his peripheral vision.

With a small, mirthless and perhaps morbid laugh, Doug continues, “And, well, ‘s not like either of us have any real relatives left, or anything.”

There’s no use sugarcoating the facts. And, really, considering the fairly sizable percentage of orphans in town, and the fact that everyone knows the reasons why, it’s not exactly shocking news to anyone. It’s important, or at least it feels important to Doug, to mention it, though. Because…

“I mean, you said it yourself. I want to live here with everyone, too.” Doug fixes Dylas with a soft smile. There’s a lot more he could say, but he has a strong suspicion that he doesn’t really need to. “And I know you feel the same way I do. Or, um, when I was making these I guess technically I just kind of hoped I was right and you would realize you did too, but, I mean, you just confirmed it and all. So. I, uh… I made one for everyone.”

He holds up the full pouch to illustrate his point. And then he shakes it in the air at Dylas with as much of a smirk as he can manage.

“If only someone didn’t have to always one-up me at everything, maybe I could have done it properly, too.”

Dylas slowly brings his attention back to Doug from the bag, and Doug gets to watch what he’s saying wash over Dylas in real time. Dylas’s mouth falls ever-so-slightly slack as he fully absorbs the ridiculous situation they find themselves in, and Doug is helpless to the laughter that bubbles out of his chest. He thinks maybe he can hear someone else laughing, too—or maybe that’s just Volkanon sobbing loudly. He can’t tell for sure, he isn’t altogether aware of very much outside of his current direct focus.

He says, only moderately choked up himself but still attempting levity, “You know, if I were better at forging and crafting, I totally would have been able to beat you to it.”

The exaggerated bravado earns a bit of laughter from the room, but Doug isn’t so sure if he believes his own words at all. He hadn’t known about Dylas’s plan, so Doug could have technically also taken the opportunity to propose at this dinner, considering that it’d been (purposefully) perfectly set up for it, but he’d been content to put it off. Dylas had been the one brave enough to go for it.

Doug wants to make sure Dylas knows that, and how much it means to him, but it’s going to have to wait. There is a limit to how much vulnerability one person can put on display for his entire community at a time—and that goes for Doug himself just as much as it goes for Dylas.

Besides, Doug isn’t finished with the task at hand yet. He makes sure Dylas is looking him in the eye when he says, “I’m really sorry. Seriously. I should have explained what I was doing. Guess you aren’t the only one in this relationship who’s not so good at communicating, huh? Well, okay. Clearly you aren’t, or more than, like, three people would have known we were dating before you literally proposed to me…”

There’s a smattering of laughter and heckling from the peanut gallery, though Doug doesn’t pay it much mind. He does note that at some point Kiel and Arthur must have returned from Arthur’s study, though. Doug has no idea when they did, but Kiel has a very familiar folder tucked under his arm, and Arthur is carrying an extra book aside from his usual planner or organizer or whatever the heck it is he actually uses that inconveniently star-shaped thing he’s always carrying around for.

Dylas fixes Doug with an obviously displeased look in response to him giving everyone any fuel to encourage them further. Doug flashes him a smile, but only just. He isn’t finished yet, but he doesn’t know what the best way to go about this is. He looks over at Margaret to judge her reaction after all that and finds her hand over her mouth and her eyes glistening.

Doug tries, “I…” but he doesn’t quite get wherever he’s going.

Margaret turns to him at the sound of his voice and catches him looking at her. She says, “Doug, I’m so sorry— Dylas, you too, I’m— I’ve really made a mess of this for both of you, you shouldn’t have had to deal with being forced to put on a show like this, and—”

And suddenly Doug knows exactly what to do.

“Wait, I’ve got it!”

Doug doesn’t really mean to say it out loud, or maybe he does, because it probably makes it less weird than just walking away in the middle of a heartfelt apology would. It’s probably pretty rude either way, but Doug has struck upon the perfect way to address his problems and he’s not going to be able to spare thought for anything else until he follows through.

So he does. He rushes over to the most central table in the room, which isn’t the table Dylas had set up for them to eat at but rather the one next to it. Which means it’s both close to where Dylas is currently standing between the two tables and also not overloaded with (delicious) food.

Dylas opens his mouth like he wants to say something as Doug approaches, but he quickly snaps it shut again as he watches Doug climb up on top of the table.

Then it opens again slightly and he says, “What the hell are you doing,” but he says it so softly and quietly that it might as well have just been an exhale.

Doug can hear Granny Blossom’s voice telling him, “Doug, be careful!” but it feels distant.

Even more distant, he hears Porcoline saying, “Ooh la la!” and several other exclamations around the room that are less distinct.

There’s not much true danger in climbing a table, though. For Granny’s sake, they’re just lucky they aren’t on the outside of the restaurant. The choices for a visible place to perch where Doug can achieve the effect he wants would have been a little more precarious.

As it is, the table works just fine. Granted, everyone has already been watching his and Dylas’s every move, but this feels like it needs to be emphasized, so Doug is going to use the table as a makeshift stage.

Dylas steps closer to the table Doug’s on, like he’s afraid Doug is going to topple over. Normally this blatant lack of faith in Doug’s abilities would be annoying and hilarious in equal measure, but unfortunately it has really only been a few minutes since Doug tripped and fell over his own chair, so he can grudgingly admit that it might be a tiny bit justified.

It’s weird. It kind of feels like that whole thing with the chair had happened hours, or even days, ago, even though everything has been moving faster than Doug’s been able to keep up with.

Doug doesn’t have the time to think about anything but the present, though, so he puts it out of his mind. He rolls his eyes fondly at Dylas’s hovering, and plants his feet firmly, very much intending not to move a step until he’s done. Doug would not be able to handle the fallout (ha) if he did manage to fall, after all that’s already happened just to get him up here.

And speaking of up here, Doug won’t lie. There is a little bit of a thrill to be had at being taller than Dylas. It’s not often that Doug gets to look down at his boyfriend like this. Or anyone, really, but Dylas especially has a ridiculous and irritating height advantage over him.

So maybe Doug has a small ulterior motive to being up here, besides that it’s a good vantage point. But it’s not really what he’d been thinking about when he first climbed up.

Because, ulterior motives aside, he does have a very legitimate reason to do this.

“Alright, listen up!” Doug addresses the entire room, though he finds it hard to take his eyes off of Dylas for very long. “I’m gonna make sure there aren’t any more misunderstandings.

“So! Number one:” Doug raises his hand, thumb extended, for emphasis, “Dylas and I have been dating for an entire year now—happily!—and it’s weird as hell that you all didn’t notice.

“Number two:” his index finger goes up, “do not get it twisted, the rest of you are really cool and all but any gifts I give you now or in the future, included but not limited to jewelry, are entirely platonic. Apparently Kiel and Arthur,” Doug gestures to them, “have the stuff they found for me about my clan, so that’s there, if you’re interested. Go nuts; we’re pretty cool.”

He gets some scattered laughter for his efforts while he talks, so at least he knows he’s being listened to. Which is good, because if he’s going to pull a stupid stunt, he’d much rather have it get his point across, at least.

Doug extends his middle finger to join the others, and says, “Number three.”

He looks around the room, daring anyone to challenge him on this. They don’t, of course, and he settles his gaze finally on Dylas. Since there’s no way to make this all any more public or embarrassing than it already is, Doug doesn’t see any reason to hold back now.

“Dylas, I love you.”

He kind of means to shout it. Like, ‘shout it from the rooftops for everyone to hear!’ Only more like, ‘shout it from the tabletops.’ What comes out is much warmer and less loud than that, but it still carries just fine. The room was pretty quiet to begin with.

Dylas swallows, and Doug knows they’re feeling the same sort of emotions, standing here, heights reversed, staring at each other.

Someone, almost certainly Illuminata, wolf-whistles loudly, but Doug is plenty content to ignore the sound.

And as much as Doug would love to just leave it at that, there’s one last, very important thing he needs to make sure he says as clearly as possible. He clears his throat.

“Number four.”

Doug raises one last finger. The fourth finger on his left hand, which, if Bado is to be believed and Nancy and Jones haven’t been doing it wrong all this time, is the finger on which Selphians, and presumably the people of Norad at large, wear their wedding rings.

Doug stares at his own bare finger for a moment longer, and then he drops his hand entirely and stares down at Dylas.

“UH, YES!!” Doug does yell this from the tabletop, loud enough that he thinks a couple of people in his periphery might have flinched. One of Dylas’s ears twitches noticeably and his eyes widen slightly, but other than that he doesn’t move.

Undeterred, Doug loses complete control over the width of his smile as he continues, “Yes, yes, yes. Yes! Duh. Are you kidding me?! Yes, Dylas, of course I’ll marry you!”

The room erupts into cheering from their uninvited audience, but Doug doesn’t really care about them right now. He only has eyes for Dylas, who shakes his head at Doug slowly, even as his eyes fill with emotion and a breathtaking smile overtakes his face.

Despite the noise in the room, Doug can clearly hear him when he asks, “Are you going to get down from there or what?”

Doug laughs freely and pretends to think it over. The effect is doubtlessly ruined by his ridiculously wide smile.

“Mm, I don’t know. I kind of like being taller than you for once.”

Doug steps to the edge of the table as Dylas comes forward to stand directly in front of him. The sad thing is that Doug’s height advantage over Dylas now, standing on top of a whole-ass table, is probably only slightly greater than Dylas’s height advantage over Doug all on his own.

Dylas looks up at him and rolls his eyes, still smiling and practically oozing fondness.

And, actually? Now that they’re this close? This is really weird. Doug isn’t sure if he prefers this angle of Dylas to the one he normally gets. It’s not bad, every angle of Dylas is an angle to be cherished, but it’s definitely weird. Doug wouldn’t mind getting back down on the ground at all, but he also isn’t about to admit defeat for no good reason, engagement or no engagement.

So instead of climbing down, he leans over just a little to put his hands down on Dylas’s shoulders (weird). The ring-filled pouch Doug still has clenched in his right hand bounces a bit off of Dylas’s shoulder.

“You gonna do something about it?”

Dylas hums. He doesn’t move for a moment. When he does, he points at Doug’s feet (which are somewhere by Dylas’s thighs or hips, Doug can’t be bothered to know what’s going on outside of the intense cloud of joy he’s wrapped in) and says, as flatly as he can while he’s smiling as wide as he is (so, not flatly at all), “You know you’re the one who’s gonna have to clean this table when you’re done, right.”

Doug laughs so hard he isn’t able to answer.

Dylas smiles at him. His eyes alight on his own shoulder, where Doug is still holding onto him tightly. (He’s really not gonna fall. But, you know, it doesn’t hurt to be safe, right? And, well, Dylas doesn’t make a terrible crutch.)

Dylas reaches up to pull Doug’s left hand off his right shoulder in a move that feels extremely similar to the one he’d made not so long ago, when all of this started. With the hand not holding Doug’s, Dylas holds up the ring—the ring—that he’s had pinched between his fingers this entire time.

“Don’t suppose you’ll help me finally get this damn thing out of my hands.”

“Hey, I better not hear you trash talking my ring, my fiancé worked really hard on that.”

“Your—” Dylas looks up with wide eyes, and his grip tightens around Doug’s hand a little, like he hasn’t ever heard the word before, or, more realistically, like he hasn’t considered it applying to himself until this very moment. He looks away just as quickly as he’d looked up, turning his attention back to their hands in a useless attempt to hide his face. “Y-yeah. Right.”

Doug laughs. Even if he can’t see Dylas’s face, he can imagine exactly what it looks like.

“Well?”

“Oh, shut up,” Dylas says, but the sound of it is filled with warmth.

He takes Doug’s hand and, with great care, finally does slip the ring on it. Doug watches him do it with something he can only describe as awe.

Dylas lets out an audible sigh of relief and mutters, “It fits…”

Doug squeezes Dylas’s hand and says, “‘Course it does.”

Dylas looks up again, just in time to see Doug sitting down on the table maybe a little too quickly.

“Ouch.”

“Are you alright?” Dylas lets go of Doug’s hand as he pats gently at Doug’s sides as though that will help him divine whatever the problem is. He looks concerned all over again, which is definitely not the way Doug wants him to feel right now, so Doug is quick to cut off his fretting.

“I’m fine. Seriously! Forgot I fell earlier. Might have bruised something.”

Dylas frowns at him and gently squeezes his waist and says, “Idiot.”

“Yeah, well.” Doug shrugs. His now be-ringed left hand has found its way back to Dylas’s shoulder in his effort to stop Dylas from worrying, but he lifts it again so he can move a few wayward strands of Dylas’s hair out of his face. It’s mostly just an excuse to get his hand up there so he can run his hand down Dylas’s face to cup his jaw.

Dylas takes half a step closer and winds his arms around Doug just a little tighter. The warmth decorating every inch of his face is so great that Doug could surely survive a blizzard with only it to keep him safe. He leans in—or maybe that’s Doug who moves, not that it matters—and he—

“Hey, lovebirds, don’t forget the rest of us have to eat on these tables,” interrupts a voice from off to the side.

Illuminata has a huge shit-eating grin plastered on her face, and she’s leaning up against the restaurant wall with her arms crossed over her chest and her feet crossed at the ankles. She’s probably trying to look cool, but the only thing she’s really doing is activating every single attack bone in Doug’s body.

Because just like that, the illusion that Doug and Dylas are going to be afforded even a moment of genuine tenderness while they’re still the unwitting performers of the town’s latest carnival attraction is shattered.

Well, Doug hadn’t been aiming to test the limits of the overwhelming joy he’s feeling right now, but he thinks he manages a pretty good death glare despite it all. It’s probably got nothing on the look on Dylas’s face, though, considering the way Illuminata throws her head back and cackles even harder while Amber giggles ‘innocently’ beside her.

Doug sighs and drops his hand from Dylas’s cheek to instead drape his arm languidly over Dylas’s shoulder. Before he can think of a suitably snappy comeback, Leon laughs, too, like this was an invitation to insert himself into the situation. He’s on the other side of the room, fanning his face coquettishly.

“My, my. That all really was quite something. Looks like you’ve taken my excellent tutoring to heart, eh, Doug?” He snaps his fan shut with a flick of his wrist and taps the flat of it against the bottom of his own chin.

Ah, that’s right.

“You.”

Sure, even when Doug had been doing his best to be the villain in Frey’s story, he probably hadn’t been considered any sort of real intimidating figure. It’s not saying much that Frey wasn’t afraid of him because he isn’t sure if she actually is afraid of anything, considering all the crazy stuff she’s done since she got here, but it is saying something that the biggest reaction he’d gotten out of her when he’d been threatening her had been pity.

Despite that, Doug really feels like, in this moment, he might just become capable of ending someone with a look. Which is useful, since, technically, he’s still sitting on the edge of the table and caged in by Dylas, so it’s not like he has a lot of other murderous options at present.

“Leon, I swear to the magical foxes at the top of your stupid shitty ancient relic tower, I am going to kill you.”

Dylas raises an eyebrow, but if he feels any sort of alarm at the declaration of murderous intent from his fiancé, he doesn’t show it.

Leon laughs heartily and replies, unbothered, “I look forward to it.”

“Can that wait for later, though?” Dylas asks, nose crinkled.

“My schedule is free,” Leon says airly, lazily waving his closed fan in front of him.

Doug specifically addresses Dylas and not Leon when he says, “Yeah, I guess, but he’s on thin fucking ice.”

“Oh, don’t be like that. I’m sure I was a great help,” Leon says, and then he winks.

Doug groans. “Leon, I swear to—”

“So are you two gonna get a room or what?” Illuminata chimes in, drawing attention back to herself like the shit-stirrer that she is.

“Illuminata—”

He doesn’t get the chance to finish either of these threats because Dylas sighs loud enough to demand all of Doug’s attention and then leans back in and presses their foreheads together, which demands even more of all of Doug’s attention.

Quietly, so the sound of it only exists in the private space between them, Dylas whispers, “So can we run away now?”

And Doug is immediately back to feeling lighter than air. Funny how Dylas can do that to him. He laughs, open and free and much louder than anything that could possibly be contained in their private little bubble of two. Before Dylas can complain about that, Doug tilts his head to capture Dylas’s lips in a quick, fairly chaste kiss, and then he leans back to sit up straight.

Dylas chases him back for a moment before he stops and fixes Doug with narrowed eyes and a small frown. Doug laughs again, running his hands through Dylas’s hair.

“Weeell… Yeah, we could, but…” Doug trails off, leaning to the side so he can look over Dylas's shoulder at the food-laden table across from them.

When he flicks his eyes back to Dylas with a smirk, he receives a heavy sigh as Dylas’s eyes slide slowly closed in time with his realization that he isn’t going to be so lucky as to escape this situation unscathed. Or, further scathed, at least. It’s a bit late for either of them to be ‘unscathed.’

Then, just because he can, Doug gathers all of Dylas’s hair into his hand and tugs back on it lightly. Dylas re-opens his eyes and huffs, and Doug takes all of said hair and pulls it around to drape it down the front of one of Dylas’s shoulders. He drops his hands back down to the table, setting his arms down to bracket Dylas’s where they remain around Doug’s waist, and leans forward just a little.

“…Unless you think we can carry all those dishes by ourselves, we’re gonna be stuck here for a bit while I eat.”

Dylas sighs, “Doug, really?”

“Yes, really! Listen, I only had like two bites before—you know.” He gestures vaguely at the state of affairs they find themselves stuck in. “You cooked just for me, so I’m going to enjoy it. Who knows how long that’s gonna last, right?”

“Doug, if I tell you I’ll cook for you every day—”

“No, no, Dylas, you don’t understand, this is, like,” Doug throws his arms out in front of him on either side of Dylas, towards the food, “a celebratory feast! In our honor! Are you telling me you want me to skip the feast in our honor? How could you do that to me? You know I love feasts! And us!”

Dylas slouches a little, frown sagging. He never gets the chance to plead his case, though, because Amber claps her hands together, delighted.

“Yeah, a feast! Ooh, wait, wouldn’t that be kinda like an engagement party, now!?”

Dylas frowns at the mere mention of a party, or at least one involving everyone they know being present in the same room all at once, but Doug laughs it off. And then he stops and actually considers it.

“You know, that’s not the worst idea.”

Dylas’s head snaps up so fast Doug can almost imagine he hears it click. His mouth drops open in betrayal.

“What? We’re already in the restaurant, there’s not really a better place for a party, is there? And I still need to finish handing out these damn rings. Plus, I’m pretty sure everyone skipped dinner so they could, you know, spy on us.”

There’s some chorusing of agreement from the crowd, but whether that’s about skipping dinner or spying or the engagement party thing, Doug isn’t sure. Dylas purses his lips and then cuts everyone off before they can really get going.

He snaps, “Okay, you know what. Fine. Call it whatever you want. All of you get,” he checks the clock, “one hour to say all the embarrassing shit you want. And then you’re gonna leave us the hell alone.”

“Oh ho, is that because you two need some alone time so you can—”

“Leon, if you finish that sentence, Doug won’t have to bother with killing you because I’ll do it for him,” Dylas growls.

Leon laughs, looking entirely unbothered by the threat. “Feisty. I like it.”

Dylas turns back to Doug. He whispers, overly-loudly, “Can we uninvite him.”

Doug laughs and turns his head to look at Leon with a tight smile that isn’t meant to reach his eyes. “Nah, let him stay. I do have to thank him for all that great advice he so kindly interrupted one of our dates to give me, after all. Advice about how to get someone to take me on a date, if I remember correctly, which was pressing enough to drag me away from my actual real date that I was having. Something like that. Isn’t that right, Leon?”

“Ah, just doing my part,” Leon replies flippantly, but there’s something about his posture that isn’t completely relaxed.

Sometimes it’s hard for Doug to tell when Leon’s being honest, but Doug thinks it’s possible he hit a sore spot, that Leon might be just a little bothered about the fact that he hadn’t noticed Doug and Dylas were dating. Considering his whole deal is being observant enough that he can determine what kind of comment will garner the largest reaction, it wouldn’t be too surprising that it would bother him to miss something this big directly under his nose.

Doug thinks he can count the number of times he’s had the upper hand on Leon over a matter of teasing on one finger. So, this is great! No way it’s something Doug can let himself get used to, but that doesn’t mean he can’t enjoy the moment for what it is.

“Great! Hey, maybe you can remind me of some of those techniques and I can give you feedback on how they measure up, that would be fun, right?”

Leon regards him coolly, but at this point he might as well be admitting defeat. “Sure, if you’d like.”

Doug is definitely flying too close to the sun if he actually follows through on this idea; no doubt Leon will manage to turn the situation around on him somehow, but a win is still a win, and Doug’s no stranger to being a victim to Leon’s humor, so he’ll be fine.

“Oh, but that was me and Clori’s idea anyway! I wanna hear how it went, too!” Amber pipes up, cheerful as ever.

And, right. There’s a wildcard Doug had forgotten to consider. Well, it really was nice while it lasted.

“Ah. That was our idea, wasn’t it…” Clorica softly adds. She looks up and Doug can see the apology in her eyes before she even says it out loud. “I’m so, so sorry about that. We had no idea you were—”

Doug waves her off. “No, no, don’t worry about it. I know you were just trying to help. Actually, knowing you didn’t know we were together makes me feel a lot better about that whole, uh…thing.”

Dylas gives him a questioning glance, eyes burning with curiosity, and Doug tries to say I’ll tell you later with his eyes.

Clorica is steadfast, though. She gives him a somewhat bitter smile. “Even so, that’s no excuse for thinking we knew better than you and making you do something you didn’t want to do. Especially if you were busy at the time and we didn’t even notice.”

Doug can tell she isn’t going to budge on this, so he says, “In that case, I accept your apology. But you know, I wasn’t the only one in our group who had to sit through that ‘lesson,’ so really the only thing you did was pick an inconvenient time for me. And even then, I could have told you instead of just letting you drag me away.”

For some reason, Leon takes this as his cue to sarcastically chime in. “Yes, it’s truly a wonder no one knew, isn’t it?”

“Hey, you can stay out of this, I didn’t hear any apologies from you.”

Leon shrugs and smiles and doesn’t offer one. Not that Doug really cares whether he apologizes or not or anything, but, still.

“So,” Illuminata interjects (again), “is this gonna be a sitting-on-tables kinda shindig, or should we get this party started?”

“Ooh, is that a thing?!” Amber asks. She immediately launches herself at the nearest table (which happens to be Doug’s table) and sits cross-legged on top of it, next to him. “Alright, I’m ready, what do we do next?!”

Doug legitimately can’t tell if she’s joking or not. Illuminata laughs and walks over to lean one arm onto the table besides Amber, close enough to Doug that she can wave her other hand in his and Dylas’s faces. Her smirk grows wider as Doug practically goes cross-eyed trying to track it.

Her voice is laced with amusement as she says, “For real, though, do you guys need to literally get a room or something? I know they call it ‘joined at the hip,’ but…” she trails off meaningfully, twirling her pointed finger in a loop like she’s a teacher grading an essay and Doug and Dylas’s arms are a grammatical error that needs correcting.

Doug blinks at Dylas, and looks down to find that she’s right, Doug is still seated on the table, and they are, in fact, still loosely embracing.

Very intelligently, Doug says, “Oh. Heh.”

Dylas is blushing again, but he doesn’t actually move to change their positions or anything. He doesn’t meet Illuminata’s eyes, but he asks her, “What, you got a problem with this?” It’s not very intimidating with the overabundance of color on his face, but Doug’s pretty proud of him for the attempt.

She laughs, her braid swinging behind her as she shakes her head. “Oh, no, no, believe me, I’m a fan. And we all appreciate the show.”

And, right. All of them. Because the room is still full of everyone Doug and Dylas know and love. Why do they love them, again?

Dylas’s momentary state of holding his ground seems to have evaporated, so Doug decides maybe he should do something about all this. He says, “Alright, alright.” And then he asks, grinning, “Help me down?” He’s probably a bright red mess, too, but, really, what else is new.

“You’re the worst,” Dylas says, stepping back so Doug can hop down in front of him and still be encircled in his arms.

“Yeah, but you love me,” Doug replies. He brings his left hand up to the side of the mouth like he’s going to whisper something important, and then he angles his hand just slightly more inward than is natural. At a full, non-whisper volume, he says, “And now I have proof, ha!”

Dylas rolls his eyes, but not before he smiles at the sight of the engagement ring Doug’s putting on display. When his eyes complete their circuit and land back on Doug’s face, he releases his hold on Doug’s waist (boo) and reaches up to bat Doug’s raised hand away. Only, in a move far too smooth to be allowed in a fair competition, somehow Dylas twines their fingers together as he does so, and they end up standing side-by-side, comfortably holding hands. Doug doesn’t even know how he managed that, but he isn’t about to complain.

Volkanon loudly says something from the corner of the room that Doug honestly can’t understand through the snot and the tears. Vishnal hands him a much-needed handkerchief and pats him on the back, but honestly he’s not doing much better himself. Definitely less snotty than his mentor, though.

Doug turns to share a look with Dylas but finds that his fiancé is tiredly running his free hand down his face, like he already can’t believe what he’s agreed to do. Doug’s right hand is still occupied with holding his Bag o’ Rings, but he does his best to use it to muffle his laughter anyway. It doesn’t work very well.

When Dylas turns to pin him with a look that clearly says, This is your fault, Doug nudges his side with his left elbow.

Dylas ignores him, electing to lean backwards so he can address Illuminata around behind Doug’s back. “Is this an acceptable level of ‘joined at the hip’-ness?” He lifts their linked hands as emphasis.

Illuminata hums, and then with a wicked glint in her eye she says, “Well, I dunno. What do you think, Doug?”

Doug has no doubts this could go on all night, but with impeccable timing, his stomach chooses this moment to loudly growl.

“I think, that’s my cue to get back to dinner.”

He gets some laughter from around the room, which is somewhat gratifying, but now that he’s thinking about it he really is hungry. How have they gone this long with all this food just sitting there?

There’s a wave of murmuring through the uninvited crowd (or rather, newly invited crowd?) as everyone seems to agree that this is a good idea. Before that can get too far, Dylas clears his throat and says, “One. Hour.” He stares every individual interloper down briefly as he turns in a circle, daring anyone to challenge him.

“Right. So,” Doug resists the urge to comment on how grumpy and cute Dylas looks doing this and instead pulls him over to their original table. He gestures at the food and looks around the room with a wide smile. “I’ve got my dinner. What will the rest of you be having?”

Chapter Text

Dylas had said he’d tolerate this for an hour, but he’d known even as he’d said it that this whole thing was going to last far longer than that. He’s fine with it—he was the one who said he wanted to be part of this town, to live with everyone, and he meant it. He just doesn’t always want to do this kind of living with everyone all the time.

He knows Doug is enjoying himself though, and at the very least the mortifying affair that this night has been makes Dylas much less worried about their wedding day itself. Nothing will be able to top the specific kind of mortification and anxiety that Dylas has felt tonight. Probably ever.

Not that Dylas is having a terrible night, by any means. This has to be one of the best days of his life, if not the best, really. It just happens that it has also been embarrassing to a previously unimaginable degree. Hopefully someday he’ll be able to look back and laugh at how terribly, terribly wrong his plan has gone.

After Dylas’s proposal was horrendously hijacked out from under him, and all of the general misunderstandings were cleared up, Dylas feels exhausted. It’s one thing to be emotionally prepared to serve your heart up on a silver platter to the person you’re in love with, but it’s another beast entirely to do it and then find out everyone else you care about has been just as privy to all of it.

And who even does something like spy on their very good close friend who in absolutely no way indicated he had any desire to be observed in a private setting? Dylas loves this town, but boy does he hate them all. This seems to be a pattern with him.

Right now, he’s glad everyone’s giving him and Doug a little space. At least, it seems like everyone who wanted to talk to them has said what they wanted to, and no one else has capitalized on the fact that Dylas and Doug are currently alone and unbothered.

Not to say they hadn’t done exactly that earlier.

Dylas thinks back on the beginning of this impromptu ‘engagement party.’ After violating Dylas’s privacy—and trust, honestly, why does he bother telling anyone anything ever?—everyone had still had the audacity to complain when Doug had told them they couldn’t share the food Dylas had made him. It doesn’t matter that Doug had (mostly) been joking; Dylas doesn’t understand how these people get away with this stuff.

They always do, though. Doug had complained loudly, but once he got a little bit of everything onto his plate, he hadn’t fought too hard to keep the rest for himself. Actually, he’d seemed pretty damn pleased to be able to show off and brag about ‘his fiancé’s delicious cooking.’

Dylas may have gone overboard with the proportions when it was supposed to be just for the two of them, but that doesn’t mean it was a feast meant for twenty. So Porcoline had whipped up some extra food to make sure everyone was properly fed, since ‘You can’t have a celebration without food!’

And while all of that had been going on, people had taken the whole ‘engagement’ part of the party seriously. Dylas has maxed his socialization quota for the next month in one night, thank you very much.

Learning about Doug’s clan’s tradition had been cool, though. Dylas really wishes he had known about it sooner, but he supposes he can’t blame Arthur and Kiel for not telling him when they hadn’t even known Dylas and Doug were dating. Which still makes little to no sense when Dylas tries to wrap his brain around it. So he decides he’s going to stop trying because it’s really a pointless endeavor, and he has more important things to think about. Maybe if he’s lucky he’ll just forget about it entirely.

Whatever Doug says, Dylas is extremely impressed by all the rings he managed to put together. They all look great too, no matter how much Doug says he can’t craft for shit. Next to them, the one ring Dylas agonized over for so long looks like child’s play. And Dylas is fairly proud of that ring, even if it definitely isn’t perfect.

It’s a relief to not have to worry about carrying it around anymore, honestly. But it’s a joy to look down and see the ring he was given in return.

It had been comical to see Doug dig into his food earlier, only to realize after three bites that he never had finished passing his rings out in the end. Including Dylas’s. But when Dylas had asked him for his right then, Doug had refused, saying, “Nope, I can’t give it to you until everyone else has theirs. That’s the rule!”

Dylas had grumbled about that. He hadn’t even seen it yet, and he was kind of dying to put it on. Not that he’d said that part out loud.

Doug had stood up and told the room, “Okay, everyone stop what you’re doing! I’m gonna pass these out now, quickly, and then I’m finally going to get back to eating. And since it’s my party, you all have to do what I say.”

And Dylas had watched, equal parts amused and impressed, as Doug passed them all out. And he’d realized that it was never going to be impossible to find a reason to love Doug even more than he already did. Dylas hadn’t been close enough when Doug had given Meg and Arthur their rings, but once he got the chance to see them up close, it had been very hard not to lose composure completely.

Dylas hadn’t realized it at first, but all the rings Doug made were inlaid with aquamarine. Very specific aquamarine, if Dylas had to guess. Dylas is certain his heart had never felt more full. At least, up until Doug finally had given out all the other rings, and after a moment of hesitation finally pulled a separate, smaller pouch out of his pocket and pulled out the ring he made for Dylas.

And, well, that’s a conversation Dylas is sure he won’t ever forget.

Doug had fiddled with the small bag for a moment and quietly prefaced, “It’s… I mean, it’s not the highest quality ring you’ve ever seen, but it’s the best damn thing I’ve ever made, you know? Which maybe isn’t the highest standard, but…”

Dylas had laughed in disbelief when he’d caught sight of it. A silver band with two strips of aquamarine inlaid along the middle of the length of it, on either side of a crest similar to the one on the ring Doug’s father had made. Similar, but not the same as far as Dylas could tell—and not just due to the difference in crafting ability between the two, as though Doug had attempted to replicate his father’s and failed; this looked like something purposefully different. Dylas had later found out he was right, with a union of marriage a new crest would be created, a mix between each individual’s parents’ crests.

Of course, Dylas had never been a member of Doug’s clan and had no such crest, but evidently there was even a tradition in place for marrying outside the clan. Doug had apparently lucked out that one of the accounts Arthur and Kiel found had been written in an autobiography of a human spouse who had married into the dwarven clan. Since they had included an illustration of their ring in the book, Doug had been able to approximate the design in a feat of detail-oriented reverse engineering that Dylas is frankly touched Doug bothered to put the effort into figuring out.

But when Dylas had first seen the ring, he hadn’t known any of that. What he had known was what the ring itself looked like. And what it looked like was not only that Doug had used silver, and the aquamarine they had mined from the Water Ruins, but he had also inlaid two small ruby accents at the end of both strips of aquamarine. Who can blame Dylas for laughing at that, really?

And yet Doug had been watching him nervously, like somehow he had gotten it in his stupid pebble brain that there was any possible chance that Dylas wouldn’t absolutely love it. Like he was worried Dylas was laughing for any reason other than pure joy.

“You’re kidding me, right? I will kill you if this is all some elaborate prank or something.”

“Uh… Wait, what?”

Dylas had thought that at least the confused look on Doug’s face must have been a joke, but when it never cleared up, Dylas had been forced to consider the alternative.

“…Doug, the rings we made.”

“Yeah…?”

“Notice anything about them?”

“What?”

“Doug, for the love of… Look at them. You sure you’re not joking right now?”

But Doug’s mouth had dropped open when he brought his own hand up to compare the ring he was wearing with the one in his hand, and Dylas might have slipped a little further into the ‘hysterical’ side of laughing. He had been completely breathless by the time Doug had finished comparing the two and looked up to meet Dylas’s eyes again. The look on his face was one of pure, unfettered joy.

When Dylas finally managed to catch his breath (enough, at least), he had asked (between chuckles), “What, did you seriously not look at it before?”

“Hey, I was a little distracted at the time, okay? There was a lot going on!”

“Well, you’ve got that right, at least…”

“Ugh,” Doug had grunted, but he’d been smiling and his eyes had been shining, “so are we just the cheesiest fuckers on the planet or what?”

“Uh…?”

“Like, we both separately came up with just the grossest expression of sentiment I’ve ever seen.”

Doug had held up both rings together, and Dylas had felt inclined to agree with him. Even now thinking back on it, he can’t help but feel the same way. Because, while the designs were definitely distinct from each other, the rings were unquestionably a matching set. It’s one thing that they’d both used aquamarine—that day at the Water Ruins had been the first time they’d ever gone anywhere near the subject of marriage, and despite the argument they had ended up getting into right before they got attacked by the Chimera, Dylas knows that stupid mining competition had been important to both of them. So it’s not surprising that they would both keep and use the stones they had gotten then.

They never really discussed fashion, though, and especially not jewelry, other than when Doug had told Dylas about his ring.

Because, Dylas at least easily could have left it at the aquamarine and said that it was something to remind Doug of him, or was representative of himself and therefore his personal feelings—the location it had come from was more than enough to justify its symbolic relevance to Dylas, but even the color could be reasonable enough to explain the choice. That is, if Dylas had been trying to make a ring for Doug that would represent himself alone.

The thing is, that sentiment hadn’t felt good enough. Not in a self-deprivational way, but because that’s not what the ring was about. The ring was about their relationship, not about Dylas on his own being someone Doug cared about, but about them, together. It’s a fine line, but to Dylas, the difference matters.

For a long time, Dylas hadn’t imagined ever getting married. He hadn’t been opposed or anything, but there had never been a reason for him to care or to think about it at all, really. It was never really a goal Dylas felt he needed to achieve. That’s why he can’t possibly imagine getting married for any sort of selfish reason. It’s him and Doug together, one hundred percent, or it’s nothing at all, and that’s fine.

It’s especially fine, because Doug kind of blew the one hundred percent thing out of the water. Dylas never could have believed anything as perfect as both he and Doug planning to propose at the same time, with such similar rings even! And yet, something more perfect than that had happened. Maybe part of that had been that Doug just happened to have a very cool tradition related to his cultural background, but he hadn’t really needed to do any of it. Dylas is so, so grateful he had, though.

And as much as Dylas is extremely over this engagement party business, having the whole town involved feels right, somehow. And the meaning behind Doug’s tradition…

Of course, of course, Dylas wants Doug to be his family, more than anything. And he will be—and that’s incredible—but Doug had beautifully put to words, or, rather, to physical ring form, the feelings Dylas has for the entirety of Selphia. Dylas is sure he would be more than happy to just have Doug for the rest of his life, but that doesn’t mean that’s all he wants, anymore, and that’s as terrifying as it is exhilarating. And knowing that Doug feels exactly the same way he does… Even thinking about it makes Dylas’s heart skip a beat. How can he still be falling more in love even now?

And that’s why the design of the ring had felt lacking with only the aquamarine. The small ruby accents had just seemed so right. The stones had fit, just the way they do. The ring was better with all its pieces together. And the fact that Dylas gets to wear one, made just for him but with the same meaning and sentiment behind it? It’s almost overwhelming.

Not to mention the whole crest thing. Dylas still can’t believe he didn’t know anything about that beforehand. No matter what Doug says about it being unnecessary for Dylas to make any extra rings, since Doug had already covered the whole town, Dylas is going to make one more, at the very least. The ring Dylas had proposed to Doug with was good—not the work of a craftsperson, but still good enough to pass Dylas’s standard for what Doug deserved to receive—but it was lacking one very, crucially important detail. Dylas isn’t sure if Doug’s clan has some tradition about wedding bands, or if they make separate rings from the engagement ones for the wedding specifically—he will find out later though, dammit: he’s going to get everything he possibly can from Arthur and Kiel now that he knows they’ve got it, and he’s going to study his ass off. But no matter what those traditions say, Dylas is already planning a second ring for Doug. He needs to get to have one with the crest—his crest—their crest—on it, the way everyone else in town already does, thanks to him.

In all honesty, the real challenge is going to be figuring out how to get any time to go hide away in either Frey or Bado’s forges without arousing suspicion. Dylas gets the feeling it was only so easy this first time because Doug had been equally avoiding him. They had really lucked out that they had just so happened to ask either one of Frey and Bado rather than both going to the same person. Who knows what might have happened then.

That won’t exactly be a problem this time, but he’ll have to be sneakier about it. And probably also less frequent. But Dylas can work around that, and as an added benefit, he can probably get away with not using any of the gemstones this time. And as far as design goes, there has to be some sort of special, meaningful design Dylas can put together using those records.

There has to be, considering that Doug had put together those few alternately-designed rings. The ones for Meg, Arthur, Porcoline, and Blossom.

Doug had given Meg and Arthur their rings first, obviously, but as it turned out, he ended up saving Porcoline and Blossom’s for last. Or, well, maybe it’s not so much that it turned out that way than it is that Arthur had strategically pulled the other three aside as soon as he could, and they’d all stood off to the side apart from everyone while Doug had been busy making sure all the rings were received by their proper owners. A feat which Dylas had been very impressed by, due to the fact that the rings were all near-identical, aside from their sizes.

At least, that’s what he’d thought at first. After all, the only ones he’d had anything to go off of were the ones he’d seen Doug pass out up to that point, before he’d given Porcoline, Blossom, or Dylas theirs. He’d been too far away to see any details when Doug had given Meg and Arthur theirs, not to mention a little confused and generally overwhelmed and distracted.

Dylas hadn’t thought much of it when Doug had upturned the bag and dropped the last two rings into his palm. Other than perhaps noticing that there were only two left, yet there were three rings Doug had yet to give out, meaning Doug had put Dylas’s somewhere separate (or else, misplaced it, not that Dylas really thinks he would do something like that).

Other than that, it had been nothing strange. It was a relief to see only two remaining, signifying that Dylas’s tour of public exposure was nearing an end, at least, the required part of it. The only benefit of Doug having to talk to everyone at least a little was that it meant at the end of the night Dylas would be able to say he had spoken to everyone at least once, so there was no way anyone could complain.

Doug had looked almost surprised once he put together whose rings were left, though. He had set the empty bag down on a table and lifted his hand to get a better look and said, “Oh, these are…”

And then Arthur had appeared out of seemingly nowhere with the other three in tow and said, innocuously enough, “Pardon the intrusion. It seems Meg and I never got the chance to properly thank or congratulate you, earlier. And seeing as Blossom and Porcoline haven’t yet received theirs, we thought we would all head over together.”

He had smiled, and if Dylas didn’t know Arthur as well as he does now there’s no way he would have seen any of the mischief in it. As it was, he’d been immediately suspicious that Arthur was up to something, he just hadn’t known what.

Doug had, though. From the way he flinched when Arthur appeared to the way his eyes had widened when he realized who he was with, it had been obvious.

Doug met Arthur’s eyes, and he must have seen completely through his plan, because his eyes got very wide, and then he promptly hid his face in his empty hand, as a blush took over his face.

He had mumbled, “I forgot…”

Arthur had said, “It seemed like the best way, don’t you think?”

Doug had groaned something unintelligible into his hand while the tips of his ears burned bright enough to match his hair. Arthur had laughed at him, and the others had all looked on with amusement and clear curiosity.

When Arthur had caught sight of Dylas’s confused frown, he had laughed again. “Wow, I’m shocked. Kiel really didn’t say anything?”

Meg had said, “See, I told you so! Now, are you going to explain what you’re up to, or…?”

“Would you like to do the honors, or shall I?”

Doug had taken a deep breath, dragged his hand down his face, and crossed his arms. His face was still dusted pink when he said, “You did this on purpose, didn’t you.”

Arthur had simply smiled, and Doug had sighed, apparently resigned to this particular conversation. He hadn’t done anything more to further said conversation, but his blush had started to fade a bit from its initial depth.

Arthur had chosen to continue on his own until Doug wanted to participate, saying, “Well, let’s start with this: here’s the ring Doug gave me. And this one, I borrowed from Forte a moment ago.”

“Wait, is that what you two were talking about?”

“Mostly, yes. Would you mind showing yours as well, Meg?”

“‘Mostly’? What is that supposed to— Oh, alright, fine. Like this?”

Arthur had held out the two rings in one hand, edge out, and Meg had somewhat reluctantly slipped hers off her finger to do the same.

“Doug, would you mind?”

Dylas hadn’t understood the request, but Doug had, and he’d sighed again and then held up the two rings he was holding, as well.

And then he’d said, “Look, I’ll spare you Arthur’s riddles. Your rings have a different design than the rest of them. Happy?”

Funnily enough, Arthur had leaned further in than anyone to look at all the compared rings, despite being the one who suggested it. But then Dylas had realized he’d really only been looking at the rings in Doug’s hand, and whatever he saw in them had caused a soft, wide smile to spread across his face. Dylas knows now that he had been confirming a hypothesis, but at the time it had been a little infuriating to not understand what the hell was happening.

“Yes, actually. Very,” Arthur had said, still smiling, which had done absolutely nothing to clear up any of what had been happening.

“Hmph,” Doug had huffed, and then something seemed to register and glanced from Blossom and Porcoline to Arthur and quickly added, “Wait— how did you know…?”

“Lucky guess,” Arthur had replied, with a wink.

Truth be told, Dylas had been more than fed up with all the cryptic nonsense by that point, but thankfully he hadn’t had to wait too long for answers. And really, they were answers that were well worth a wait, anyway.

“This is fun and all, but can someone please just say what’s going on already?” he’d snapped.

Doug had sighed and leaned into him slightly for support, which hadn’t really been the intended reaction, but Dylas had put an arm around him anyway. The grateful look he had gotten in response had been more than worth it. Doug had looked up at Dylas and seemed to draw confidence from his presence, enough to say what had come next. And what had come next had been…

“Okay, so… Like I said, this is a tradition from my tribe. The thing is, it was kind of made with, uh, non-orphans in mind, I guess? No, actually, that’s kind of wrong.” He had looked down at the rings in his hand. “The tradition is really about family, but it’s about recognizing how family is important. So, there are specific designs that you’re supposed to use for specific relationships—like, here, this one is for a son, from my parents,” he’d twisted his hand to hold up the ring on his own thumb, “and, well, everyone else’s rings are just sort of the same base design, but these are, um…”

And then he had taken a breath and broken Dylas apart by finishing, “Well, these ones are kind of for… A mother, father, brother and sister.

“I-I guess. I mean, it— It’d be for blood relatives if there was another line, at the hooked part at the—here—at the top, so it’s not. I’m not trying to—replace anyone, or say— Ugh. Look, Arthur, Margaret, I know you both have real families, apart from here— I wasn’t trying to overstep boundaries or anything, but…”

“Doug, it’s— It’s really beautiful. I love it,” Meg had said, eyes sparkling with held-back tears.

Porcoline, on the other hand, hadn’t bothered holding back his as he’d dramatically sniffed, “And what about poor old moi? Am I not allowed to have mysterious family in far-off lands?!”

Someone had said, “Were you listening? It wouldn’t be the same unless you have secret kids stashed away somewhere or something,” and it had taken a Dylas a moment to realize it had been himself.

And then once he had realized it, he had felt his entire face go up in flames and he had buried his face in Doug’s hair and even as he hid he had half-consciously whispered in awe, “How the hell did you get through making those?”

Doug had shook his head, apparently word-ed out, and Blossom had rushed forward.

Doug had started saying, “Oh, um, h—” and that’s as far as he got before she pulled them both into a big hug. And it had taken no time at all for the others to join in after that. Dylas knows they had been in the same room as the rest of the town, but that moment really feels like it had just been for them, and Dylas will always treasure it. Even if he’d cried a little. Maybe especially because he had.

When they had separated, Doug actually had given Blossom and Porcoline their rings, which he’d been clutching so hard in the hug that they’d left funny indents in his palm. Meg had crowded the two of them to get a better look, and Arthur had turned to Dylas and Doug.

He hadn’t said anything for a moment, but he’d given them a warm smile and then apparently realized he needed to wipe the tears from his face and glasses before he’d be able to properly look at them.

As he’d put his glasses back on, he’d said, “You two are just full of surprises, aren’t you? And what a fool I’ve been this past week, huh? No, that’s alright, I can admit when I’ve made a mistake,” he’d laughed, cutting them off before they could even try to defend him in any way. “I’m very happy you both trusted me enough to consult me, and, Doug, I’m happy I was able to help you find that information, but I wish I had realized what was really happening so I could have properly supported you both.”

Doug had shaken his head vehemently and said, “Without you, I couldn’t have—” and waved his hand at the rings in Arthur’s.

And Dylas had said, “You did, though. You didn’t have to know to support us properly.”

It had been more eloquent than he’d been hoping for, really, but it still hadn’t fully covered it. Arthur had truly done more than he’d known when Dylas had been freaking out, planning the proposal, and Dylas will always be grateful for that, regardless. What he thought he’d been helping Dylas with doesn’t matter.

The three of them had laughed over sorting out the mess that was both Dylas and Doug anxiously half-confiding their plans in Arthur, but never coming right out and saying it, which of course would have clued him in on the whole thing. They’d traded stories for a while the way Arthur usually trades stock, only much more valuable, in Dylas’s opinion, and then eventually Arthur had given them both another hug and set off to go return Forte’s ring and enjoy the party.

When Meg had come up to them, or more specifically, to Doug, she’d started with:

“So, if I wear this, then you have to call me Meg.”

“Huh?”

“You still call me Margaret! If you’re— If you’re gonna be my little brother—little brother-in-law?—then you gotta call me Meg. Th-those are the rules.”

“Litt— Uh—”

“I’m warning you, I’ll— I’ll badger you until you break! Ask Dylas, he knows.”

“Y-yeah…uh, you should probably just do it.”

Meg had bullied Dylas until he stopped being ‘overly formal’ with her, not that he really ever was formal with her at all. He probably could have stood to be a little more polite, when they’d first met, but he supposes it all turned out alright in the end. What he had been, though, was hesitant to adopt the nickname without her express permission. Dylas hadn’t ever been close enough with anyone to really use a nickname before when he first got here…that he’d remembered at the time, at least. And even then, Venti had asked him to call her that herself.

He’d had no idea Meg was even bothered by him ‘acting distant’ by continuing to use her full name for so long until she’d said something. He had assumed it was only her close friends who were allowed to do it. He just hadn’t realized he’d become one of those friends somewhere along the way.

She hadn’t ever called him her ‘little brother’ before, though. At least, not out loud.

She had continued, “I’m so— I’m so happy for you guys. And I’m really, really sorry about all of that, before. I had no idea, but I still shouldn’t have done it.”

Doug had laughed, still somewhat pink in the face as well, and waved her off. “Nah. Honestly, if you had been right and we weren’t dating yet, you probably would have been justified to do way worse than that.”

She had sighed, even while smiling. “Yeah, well. You know, I don’t know what the big idea is, but you two have really ruined the rest of our chances to ever have a proposal story as good as this. Maybe that’s our penance, I guess,” she’d laughed.

When Porcoline had come up to them, he had claimed, “Boys, I won’t ever be taking this off again.”

Dylas had, barely even thinking about it, looked down at his own ring and thought the same thing. And then he’d looked up and caught Doug looking up at the same time from doing the exact same thing, and even in something as innocuous as that look, Dylas had fallen in love with him all over again.

Except, then Porcoline had taken the opportunity to say, “My daddy ring.”

And if that wasn’t illusion-shattering, Dylas doesn’t know what is.

Doug had looked as horrified as Dylas had felt when he whispered, “What have I done.”

Porcoline had danced off before either of them could stop him, possibly hoping to antagonize and mentally scar the rest of the population in the exact same way. Dylas isn’t sure if the community, collectively, will ever recover.

And finally, Blossom had stepped forward to cup Doug’s cheek with wonder until she’d needed to let go again to wipe a tear from her own.

“Thank you, Doug. I never thought I’d receive such a beautiful gift at my age. I’m going to show it to every single customer, and you aren’t going to complain or be bashful about this anymore, you hear me?”

Doug had laughed, wetly but also happily, and shrugged, lips quirked. “Guess that settles it. Never argue with the boss lady, you know?”

And Dylas had pulled him in closer to drop a kiss on his hairline and sighed, “They’re perfect. I don’t even know what to say, Doug. This is really…”

“Heh. Thought you might like ‘em,” Doug had replied, but Dylas is sure he’d heard some relief in there. Especially once Doug had collapsed into Dylas’s chest in a tight hug.

And Dylas can relate. Like, he’d known Doug would love all the food, of course he would, but that wasn’t enough to stop himself from doubting it anyway while he was in the middle of making it, or right when he showed it to Doug, and before he got to hear his actual reaction to it. This had to have been like that, only cranked up to eleven. Or higher, really.

Even now, with everything that has happened, it seems like Dylas must just be dreaming. How else could he possibly have gotten so lucky?

Dylas is brought out of his reverie of reliving the past hour or two by the feeling of Doug leaning closer to wrap an arm around his waist. He speaks into Dylas’s ear, not exactly whispering, but with the noise around them he might as well be.

“Hey, come with me a sec?”

Dylas is a little surprised to see Doug watching the crowd instead of looking at Dylas. He has an easy smile plastered on his face, but he looks far too much like he’s faking acting natural. Dylas is immediately suspicious.

He slowly asks, “Why…?” and then he catches that Doug is facing the direction of the makeshift dance floor everyone has cleared in the middle of the restaurant, and he much more quickly adds on, “No. I told you, I’m not dancing.”

Doug snorts, and he does look at Dylas directly then. “Relax, dude, I’m not gonna make you dance.”

“Don’t dude me. We literally just got engaged.”

Doug smirks. “Yeah, sure, anything for you, broski. C’mon, get up.”

As he says this, Doug grabs Dylas’s hand and stands himself up. He looks down at Dylas expectantly.

“Doug, I’m warning you—”

“I promise, we’re really not gonna go dance, just, hurry up already!”

Dylas grumbles, not completely convinced he believes that, but he reluctantly relents and lets Doug lead him out of his seat. Doug turns to face Dylas with his back to the rest of the room, and then he lifts his free hand to tap his lips in a shushing motion.

Dylas frowns and opens his mouth to ask what the hell Doug’s planning, but before he can say anything Doug is pressing his finger to Dylas’s lips in a similar but much more direct shushing motion. Dylas isn’t sure what kind of face he makes at that, but Doug starts laughing at him, so, probably nothing good.

Doug looks over his shoulder furtively, still looking far too suspiciously like he’s putting on a nonchalant facade, and then he walks around Dylas to start pulling him toward the wall. They walk around the edge of the room and come to a stop closer to Meg and her piano.

Dylas tenses in anticipation of whatever scheme Doug is planning now. Only, a minute passes, and he doesn’t do anything else.

Confused, Dylas leans over and whispers into Doug’s ear, “What are we doing?”

Doug shakes his head, so it’s obvious he heard him, but he doesn’t look at Dylas nor does he answer the question. Dylas is about to resort to some sort of a more drastic measure to get Doug’s attention when the chorus of Meg’s song picks up.

Meg is actually singing tonight, which is always nice to hear, but when she begins the more recognizable portion of this song, which happens to be more up-tempo and less classical than a lot of what she normally plays as restaurant ambiance (and apparently it’s a well-known, popular song in this time, though Dylas can’t claim to know much about music in his past or in the present), a lot of the other townsfolk start singing along. Meg encourages them with both the excited and welcoming expression on her face and with some sort of back and forth singing where she pauses to let everyone else sing a line before she jumps back in.

It seems like she’s having fun. This must be an easier section to play because she’s able to spare one of her hands to emphasize the places the audience is supposed to sing or not with a point or an open palm. Dylas doesn’t get to see her perform perform a lot, and he knows she misses it sometimes, so this is—

“Now!” Doug hisses, and Dylas only just hears it because he says it right as Meg points to the crowd again and the noise in the room swells as everyone around them sings whatever lyric they’re supposed to sing now.

Doug is in action before Dylas can really try to figure out what that lyric is. Unlike Dylas was expecting and fearing, he does not get pushed forward, toward the crowd. Instead, he’s pulled—with a great deal more force than he was admittedly expecting—backwards. He stumbles to get his footing, and before he knows what really happened, he finds the sounds of the music and the party decreasing significantly.

When he gets his bearings, he discovers that Doug has dragged him into Arthur’s study, which would explain why the music is quieter. Doug has his hands—oh, he must have let go of Dylas’s after flinging him through the doorway, then—on the door still, like he had been careful to close it manually rather than let it simply fall closed behind them.

Doug stands frozen like that for a second or two longer, and Dylas is so baffled by his behavior that all he can do is stand and watch.

Seemingly satisfied, Doug backs slowly away from the door. He keeps his arms raised and palms out like he’s half-expecting it to open up and swallow him, and he tilts his head slightly like he’s listening carefully for the sound of it pouncing. Then, like nothing had just happened at all, he’s suddenly straightening up. He lets out a sigh of relief and turns to give Dylas a double thumbs-up and a smile.

“Think we’re in the clear.”

“Wha— ‘The clear’? I’m sorry, what,” Dylas pauses when he realizes he isn’t sure how he even wants to finish that question. And in the end he decides to just not, but maybe that’s okay, because it actually sums up what he wants to know fairly well, all things considered.

Doug laughs, likely at the confused look on Dylas’s face. “Well, I promised we could run away ‘later,’ didn’t I?”

“Run… Hold on, did you wait for the loud part of the song so we could sneak out the side door?”

“Pretty much, yeah. Lucky you, landing yourself a fiancé with brains, eh?” He winks.

Dylas isn’t sure whether he’d rather smack his arm or kiss him. He decides to do neither.

Instead, he rolls his eyes and drawls, “My hero.”

Doug doesn’t seem to mind that choice, if the laughter he gets in response is any indication.

Dylas frowns. If he’s being honest, he’s a little miffed Doug decided to let go of his hand earlier, but he doesn’t really want to flat out admit that’s what he’s frowning about, so he thinks of something else to harmlessly complain about instead.

“Is it really ‘running away’ if we just stand around in the room next door, though?”

“Hmm, you’re right. Let’s go, then!”

Like he can read Dylas’s mind, Doug reaches out to grab Dylas’s hand again, so he can pull him toward the door. Or maybe it’s less about reading minds and more that he had been missing Dylas’s hand in his as much as Dylas had.

Dylas lets him take the lead, but once he realizes where they’re headed, he wonders, “Wait, are we going outside?”

“Well, yeah. Nowhere to really run to in the same building everyone’s in, is there?”

Dylas gives him a doubtful look, though he doesn’t resist walking in the direction Doug is leading them.

“Doug, my room is upstairs.”

“So?”

They pause at the threshold of the room, standing on a small ornately designed rug that Arthur bought and laid out directly in front of the doorframe, which is apparently customary in some other country—Dylas can’t remember what Arthur had said the name of it was.

Dylas isn’t sure if his suspicion from earlier is actually gone, or if it’s just redirected. It’s true that Arthur’s study is probably the fastest and easiest escape to get upstairs, considering getting up all the stairs in full view of everyone would take much longer than slipping through a door, but if Doug just wanted to get outside, he probably could have taken Dylas directly to the door leading out from the restaurant side. Surely no one would have stopped them, even if they were spotted.

“So…why exactly did we come over here if you just want to leave?”

Doug glances around the study, at the door, and back to Dylas.

“Well, the door is closer to the piano, and there wouldn’t be a weird difference in lighting like there would be if we opened the front door. Plus, Margaret was looking towards the front door from her piano.” He looks Dylas up and down with a smirk and continues, “Why, is it really such a great inconvenience for you to have to walk the extra couple steps through an empty room instead of a crowd of dancing people? Poor you.”

Dylas doesn’t comment on being mocked because he’s pretty sure Doug is just deflecting. He’s just not sure what from, exactly.

“You don’t really think any of them would have stopped us if we left, do you?”

“No, ‘course not.”

They have a short impromptu staring contest, which Dylas wins easily. Doug looks away with a soft sigh.

“Look, I just didn’t want anyone to see us leaving. And I don’t think they did; we really nailed that timing.”

“Doug.”

“Yeah, yeah. It’s, ah…” Doug purses his lips and scrunches up one cheek before he continues, “I might have one more thing I still need to give you. Show you? Whatever. It’s back at the shop, though, so…”

“Oh? And why do you sound…scared about that?”

“I’m not scared!” Doug snaps, way too quickly to convey anything other than fear. “Ugh, no, really, I’m not. Just, uh, nervous?”

“Isn’t that the same thing?”

Doug looks away again and settles his gaze behind and to the side of Dylas, on the floor somewhere. He mumbles, “Not really.”

“Doug, if you—”

“Look, it’s— Can we just go stop by the shop? I won’t be able to sleep tonight if I leave that thing in my room without showing you. And I don’t know if I’ll have the nerve to bring it up in the morning… Please?”

Dylas isn’t really sure what could be all that scary, considering the fact that they’d essentially just both proposed to each other with all of their closest family and friends (but aren’t those kind of the same thing?) watching, and that was pretty fucking anxiety-inducing altogether. But even if Dylas doesn’t have any idea what it could be about, he’s not about to say no to such a genuine request. Not that he’d really say no to anything that Doug seriously asks him to do. Dancing excluded.

“Yeah, of course, that’s fine. I just don’t get—”

“Great!” There’s some of that fake cheer again. Dylas knows that earlier it had only been so he could watch the room and make sure no one witnessed their escape, and not really for Dylas’s benefit, so Dylas isn’t sure what to think about it now. “Let’s go, then!”

Doug pushes the front door open, and he turns back to look at Dylas with a mirthful grin that’s much less fake than before.

“Hey, should I make you close your eyes now? Just to really bring it full-circle?”

“No—”

They both come to a sudden stop as Doug turns back around and Dylas exits the building, and they are both able to catch sight of what’s—or rather, who’s—waiting for them outside.

“Aw, what a shame,” she says. “It was quite cute when you did it earlier.”

“Wha— G-Granny? What are you…?” Doug’s mouth drops open in surprise. Maybe they hadn’t been as stealthy as he thought, then.

Because sure enough, Blossom is standing on the street outside the building. And not just outside the building, but directly outside the door to Arthur’s study and not anywhere near the restaurant door, so either she had known they were in there and was waiting for them, or she really wanted to check the Harvest Report at the last minute but had gotten cold feet for some reason and had to psych herself up first before going in.

Blossom laughs at the distress on Doug’s face, and then she steps forward so she can pat his cheek with an amused smile.

“Don’t worry, I didn’t tell anyone I saw you leave. And I made sure none of the others would follow me, either.”

“O-okay…?”

Doug looks and sounds mystified. Honestly, Dylas is more than a little surprised to see her out here, too. Blossom chuckles again, even as she reaches out to straighten one of Doug’s lapels.

“Well, it is getting rather late, don’t you think? Too late for these old bones to keep up with any lively dance parties, that’s for sure. I thought I might ask a kind younger gentleman to accompany me home. Assuming he was already headed in that direction.”

The twinkle in Blossom’s eyes suggests that she probably knows exactly what the “thing” Doug wants to show Dylas is, which only makes him more curious to know what Doug’s hiding.

She says, “Well? If it’s too much trouble or you’re headed in a different direction, that’s quite alright.”

If Doug really does want to stop by his room for something, they’re definitely going to be headed in the same direction as her, and Dylas is pretty sure Blossom is someone he should want to make a good impression on now more than ever. (Even if she knows him pretty well by now and her opinion isn’t likely to change, Dylas can’t shake the feeling that there’s still time for him to fuck up somehow. He and Doug aren’t married yet, after all.)

On the other hand, Dylas doesn’t really have much experience walking women home, and especially not elderly women. He has seen Doug and Blossom walking together, and it always seems like Doug walks on the side opposite her cane, with her holding his elbow.

When Doug doesn’t move out of the space between the door and Blossom, still evidently mystified, Dylas awkwardly steps around Doug and tries to copy what he’s seen him do plenty of times before. He does, unfortunately, have to drop Doug’s hand (again!) to do this.

“Um, is this…”

“Oh my! How polite. If only all young men were as conscientious…”

She gives Doug—who’s still frozen in the same spot he’s been in since they saw Blossom waiting out here—a look that’s obviously much more meant to be teasing than truly critical. Somehow it’s enough to snap Doug out of his stupor.

“Wh— Hey, excuse you. If all it takes to be polite is to walk around with you, I’m plenty polite.”

“Do you not like our walks, Doug?”

“Huh?! No, that’s not—”

“And I believe the more polite expression is ‘excuse me.’”

“‘Excuse me’? For what? What exactly am I excusing myself for in this context, Gran?”

Blossom shakes her head sadly and pats Dylas’s arm as she leans a little closer to him.

“Kids these days. You’re a smart boy, Dylas, make sure you don’t turn out like this one, won’t you?”

“Hey!”

At this point, they start off down the street towards the general store, and Doug falls easily into step with them on Blossom’s opposite side. He doesn’t offer his own arm, though, so Dylas has hopefully correctly guessed how the cane situation works.

As far as the conversation goes, if it’s about ribbing Doug and taking the attention off of how he’s absolutely sure he has no idea what he’s doing or if he’s doing a good job of it, Dylas is more than happy to join in.

So he nods solemnly like he has been seriously considering Blossom’s advice. “No need to worry, Blossom. I definitely won’t.”

“Rude.” Doug moves a half step ahead of their pace specifically so he can poke his head around and give them both an exaggerated dirty look.

It doesn’t last long, because soon enough all three of them are laughing. The town, and by extension the walk, is pretty quiet with everyone else still back inside the restaurant, but somehow the sound of their laughter is enough to fill the empty space in the air rather well.

Once they’ve quieted down again, Doug says, “By the way, Granny. I don’t think you’re allowed to call us kids anymore, now that we’re engaged.”

Blossom scoffs. “Oh, please. You’ll always be kids to me, even if you have kids of your own. You should know that.”

Doug suddenly seems to find something very interesting to consider about the tree they’re passing on his side of the path. The lighting isn’t exactly great, since the sun has already gone down and dusk is starting to settle, but Dylas is pretty sure the tips of his ears are red. Then again, his own face might not be the calmest at the moment, either.

Doug stammers, “Ah— Uh-huh. R-right.”

Dylas doesn’t trust himself to say anything much better than that on this topic, at least not at this current moment in time, so he keeps his mouth tightly shut.

Granny Blossom tsks at Doug—or maybe it’s directed at them both. Probably, it is.

“Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about it! You’d better decide if you want kids sooner than later, because if you do want them, I had better get to meet them.”

“Granny,” Doug whines.

She sighs good-naturedly. “I know, I know. Too much for one night, I get it. I was engaged once, too, remember? Just keep it in mind. I’m not sure how much time I have left, and I’d rather meet the little buggers while my brain still works the way it should.”

“Granny…”

“Oh, hush, I’m not trying to be morbid. I’m happy enough I get to see the two of you married, I was getting worried you boys would keep dragging your feet.”

“What?” Doug laughs. “Gran, we haven’t been dragging our feet, we only just finished making our rings—”

“Well, you’ve been together a whole year already!”

“That— Gran, that’s not a very long time. People wait way longer than we did all the time— Hell, Forte and Margaret—er,” Doug glances at Dylas like he's been caught doing something he shouldn't and corrects, “Meg—have been together longer than we have, and they aren’t married.”

“That’s true…”

“Yeah, it is—”

“But, I know you knew you wanted to marry him a long time ago.”

“Urk— I don’t— Granny—!”

“And don’t think you’re off the hook, either, mister!” she turns to Dylas and he’s pinned in place more by the look in her eyes than he could ever be by her arm in his. “Boys, I know it’s hard to imagine, but I was young and in love once, too. I remember the feeling well. Besides, I have eyes. Neither of you is as good at hiding it as the town’s ignorance of your relationship status would seem to indicate.”

Dylas has been quiet most of this short walk, content to listen to Doug and Blossom bicker with each other. And, he isn’t feeling particularly pressed to change that. His mouth stays firmly shut so he doesn’t say anything incriminating about any of this.

Doug has no such reservations, evidently, because he takes a deep breath in like he’s gearing up to say something.

“Granny—”

“Look at that, we made it! Sometimes that walk just flies by, doesn’t it? Doug, would you be a dear and get the door, please?”

Doug deflates—literally, if you count the whooshing sound of air being blown out of his mouth—but he dutifully walks forward to unlock and open the shop’s door.

“You’re lucky I love you,” Doug says, turning around after opening the door to stand in and block the doorway with his hands on his hips.

Blossom smiles beautifully and plainly says, “Yes, I am. Very,”

“Ew, Gran, gross,” Doug responds immediately, but even though he makes a show of scrunching up his nose, his smile in return is just as beautiful.

His puffed-up door-blocking posture falls apart, and he steps closer to give Blossom a big hug. Dylas sort of feels like he should give them space, but his arm is still linked with Blossom’s, and now it’s pressed up against Doug, too, in between Blossom’s hand and Doug’s side.

So Dylas just sort of hovers for a moment until the two of them separate again, but only far enough so that Blossom can give Doug a kiss on the cheek. She also lifts the hand not still holding Dylas’s arm so she can reach over to fix the part of Doug’s hair and then rub his cheek fondly. However, this hand had been the one holding up her cane, so Doug has to reach out to grab it as it begins to topple over when she takes her hand off of it.

“Hey, don’t just drop this! It’s kinda important?”

Blossom laughs and pats her palm against Doug's cheek where it's resting.

“I knew you would catch it. You see, we’ll make a gentleman out of you yet,” she says with a wink.

“Ugh.” Doug rolls his eyes, smiling widely.

Blossom sweeps her hand through the ends of Doug’s hair again, and then she moves it down to fiddle with Doug’s collar and eventually smooths it over the fabric of the shoulder of his jacket. It's like she's reluctant to take her hands off him, like she’s trying to memorize all the little bits and pieces of him as best she can. Dylas can relate.

Blossom and Doug share a quiet look that, again, Dylas feels like maybe he shouldn’t be watching. It feels like they’re having a conversation he can’t hear, though he could take a guess at what it’s about if he wanted to, and he probably wouldn’t be too far off. He’s no stranger to the sentiment he sees in them.

But it probably isn’t his place to speculate on, and he isn’t sure whether he should be looking away or not because it’s almost as though they’ve forgotten he’s there at all.

Or, so he thought. Because then, with a scary level of synchronicity, they both turn to look at Dylas at the exact time with extremely similar looks on their faces. Since he’s still standing so close to them, hovering well inside of whatever an ordinary level of personal space would be for this sort of exchange, and since he hadn’t yet decided to look away and has therefore been caught staring, Dylas is stuck and unable to escape the full force of their gazes.

“Uhh.”

He watches matching smiles spread across their faces at his extremely intelligent response.

“Dear, you didn’t think you weren’t going to be included, did you?”

“Yeah, no. You’re not getting out of this so easily, man.”

Before Dylas can figure out how to respond to either of them, he finds himself inexplicably being drawn into a second, larger hug. He freezes, arm suddenly liberated and any notion of personal space thrown out the window, unsure how to proceed.

Blossom and Doug laugh, so evidently ‘Just stand there like a scarecrow’ is not the best option available. Doug tugs him a little closer and butts his head lightly against Dylas’s shoulder.

“C’mon, I know you know how a hug works.”

“I may be an old woman, but I’m not so fragile I can’t handle a hug, if that’s what you’re worried about.” Blossom laughs and tacks on, “And I don’t bite, either.”

Dylas brings his arms up to wrap around them, still somewhat rigid. Where is the correct place to put your hands for one of these things, anyhow?

Dylas is fairly used to this level of closeness with Doug at this point, but he’s pretty sure he’s never been this close to Blossom, especially for this long a time. She doesn’t seem to mind the distance at all, nor does she seem to mind the stiffness in Dylas’s posture. Doug, however, might mind a little, because he glides his hand up Dylas’s back to grab the end of his hair and give it a small tug.

He doesn’t say anything, though, and Dylas can’t bring himself to be the first to speak, so he says nothing. He does try to catch Doug’s eye to express his displeasure that way, but Doug has the side of his face resolutely pressed into Dylas’s chest, so Dylas can’t actually see his eyes.

Dylas isn’t sure if he actually loosens up at all, but either he does or Doug decides he doesn’t mind because Dylas’s hair is left alone after that. Doug pulls them both in just a little closer and tightens his grip. When he speaks, his voice is soft and quiet, like it’s only meant to exist in the pocket of space formed by their little group hug.

“I love you. Both of you.” He lets out a breath and leans into Dylas’s chest more heavily. “Thank you.”

He doesn’t specify what the thanks are for, but Dylas has half a mind to tell him off for how unnecessary they are. It's not like anything Doug could be thanking them for is anything either of them aren't happy to do regardless. He doesn’t get the chance to, though, which is probably for the best, because Blossom responds first.

“Oh, Doug. I love you, too. You’ve done more for me than you’ll ever know.”

Doug flashes her a beautiful smile, and then he leans in and kisses her cheek. When he stands back up, Blossom’s cane has made it from his hands, where it’s been since Blossom dropped it, even during their little group hug, back into Blossom’s hands, where it belongs. Dylas hadn’t noticed a handoff at all, though, so he allows himself to be suitably impressed over how smoothly it was done.

He’s so distracted thinking about it that he startles a little when Blossom reaches over to give his arm a little squeeze.

“Thank you for the walk, dear, it was lovely. Maybe we can do it again sometime.”

“Ah— Y-yeah.” Dylas considers it, really considers it, and honestly concludes, “I think I’d like that.”

Another squeeze, and then a pat for good measure. “Me, too. Goodnight, kids. You two don’t stay out too late now, you hear me?”

Dylas blinks. “Out?”

Blossom smiles kindly at him, but she doesn’t explain. She turns around and presumably levels Doug with a look, if the way he chuckles nervously and scratches the back of his neck as he steps aside to hold the door open for her is any indication.

“We won’t, Gran. Promise.”

“Good man,” she says fondly, giving his arm a quick squeeze as well on her way past and towards the stairs.

Doug and Dylas watch her go. It takes Dylas a few seconds after that to realize that he is, in fact, just standing awkwardly outside the doorway, and Doug is still standing inside it, holding the door— maybe he means to invite him inside?

Or maybe not, considering the way Doug starts and immediately holds his hand out in front of Dylas when he starts walking forward.

“Ah, hold on,” Doug says sheepishly. “Sorry. Would you mind waiting out here a sec? I just need to grab something and then we can go.”

“Uh. Okay…?” Go where?

“Great. I’ll be right back!”

And with that Doug ducks into the store, and the door closes behind him. Dylas is less worried about the fact that Doug is literally shutting him out and more worried about why he’s doing it. What could he possibly have in there that’s so nerve-wracking? Especially after the day they’ve had. Or is he just being needlessly dramatic to make the reveal of whatever it is more impactful?

Wait a minute.

More importantly, Dylas never said ‘I love you’ back after Doug said it earlier! Blossom had said it, and then Dylas had gotten distracted watching the two of them— Well, shit, he can’t leave it like that, can he? He has just resolved to say it as soon as Doug gets back when Doug re-emerges from the shop.

“Doug, I— What the hell is that?”

Dylas isn’t sure what he had been expecting when Doug had said he had something he needed to show Dylas, but it hadn’t been anything as large as the bundle in Doug’s arms. It could just be that the quilt is larger and thicker than Dylas remembers it being, but he’s almost positive it’s wrapped around something. That 'something' undoubtedly being whatever it is that Doug is so nervous about Dylas seeing.

Doug looks down at it and then back up at Dylas. “Umm. A surprise…?”

Doug looks down at the thing like he’s expecting it to bite him, and, actually, it’s probably big enough to hide a small monster in there, if one really wanted to. Why one would is beyond Dylas, though.

Doug fidgets with it in his hands a little before he gives Dylas an apologetic smile. “It’s, um— Do you mind if we go somewhere? I don’t think this is the right place for it.”

“Uh, yeah, sure, I guess. Why—?”

“Cool! Awesome, yeah, let’s go.”

Ignoring the question altogether, Doug grabs one of Dylas’s hands in his and starts pulling him along, hanging a right out of the general store, following the same initial trajectory they had taken only mere hours ago, when Dylas had been the one leading Doug. It feels like a week’s worth of things have happened since then.

As they cross the Town Square, Doug can’t stop glancing over at the castle. To the point that for a strange second, Dylas half expects Doug to lead him over there. The thing is, Volkanon, Vishnal, Clorica, and Frey are all at the restaurant still. And even if any of them had snuck back through the farm, Doug would have no way of knowing that. So why…

Doug catches Dylas watching him, and he goes unusually rigid for a moment before flashing a shaky smile and speeding up a little, tugging Dylas along past the castle and down the stairs to the other side of town. Maybe Dylas had conjured the idea that Doug wanted to go toward the castle out of nowhere because he suddenly seems to want nothing more than to get away from it.

…Or maybe, Dylas thinks, kicking himself for not realizing it sooner, this has something to do with Venti, and I’m an idiot.

Dylas’s mind turns the rest of the trip as he automatically follows Doug’s lead. What is Doug thinking exactly, though? Is it something that their engagement would be affecting?

Engagement…which leads to marriage. Which means a wedding.

Dylas has attended one wedding in his life, literal centuries ago, but the one thing that is no doubt a constant in this time as it was in that one is that Venti officiates Selphian weddings. In fact, Dylas is almost certain he has heard Lin Fa tell stories of her wedding day which include Venti performing the service. Nancy and Jones, who, if he’s not mistaken, had come to Selphia before they even lived here specifically to ask Venti to marry them, so they wouldn’t have to deal with finding a more traditional officiant, have told stories as well. He thinks they've even said that the wedding had been so nice that it had been a factor in them deciding to stay.

Dylas is so otherwise occupied mulling over his recent revelation that he barely registers that Doug has led them to the lake until he is physically forced to a stop.

At which point he asks, “Wait, the lake?”

Doug hums in affirmation, looking out over the water. “It’s…nice here. I mean, I know you like being here, and it’s a good spot for a private conversation… er, not that there’s that much danger running into anyone in town right now…”

Doug releases Dylas’s hand to hug his weirdly-sized bundle to his chest. Without seeming to realize it, he runs his thumb over the ring Dylas gave him for comfort.

Dylas supposes he’s not wrong for thinking this was a conversation they needed to have, but he really hopes Doug isn’t this worried because he thinks Dylas is going to be upset. Really, he wishes Doug wasn’t so worked up over this conversation of all things, but he knows it’s probably not that simple.

Doug fiddles with a fold in the blanket, and there is a quiet pause. Dylas can’t decide if he needs to wait for Doug to be ready or if he should help start the conversation. He desperately wants to touch him, hold him, but he isn’t sure if he should do that, either. His indecision evidently gives Doug enough time to get his thoughts in order, though.

He plops himself down cross-legged on the grass. “Dylas… I’m sorry. I know I’m being…” he trails off, and then he takes a deep breath to steel himself before starting again. “Okay. Okay, so, the thing is—”

Dylas, whose brain really seems to be out of commission at the moment (maybe he’s even more drained from earlier than he realized), cuts him off. He sits down with him, almost too quickly, and he puts a hand on Doug’s knee, and he cuts him off, because he truly seems to be incapable of rational thought at present.

And what’s more; somehow, instead of saying anything about Venti at all, what comes rushing out of his mouth before he can stop it is, “Doug, I love you, too. I didn’t— I didn’t get to say it earlier. Outside the shop.”

Doug blinks, obviously startled to have been interrupted, but then he fixes Dylas with a small, surprised smirk. “Wait, was that bothering you this whole time? I already know you do, though.”

“Oh fuck off, you know why I— It was a whole— A whole moment, or whatever! Blossom—”

“Dylas,” Doug interrupts Dylas’s deflecting, tone genuine, “I didn’t say it because I needed to hear it back. I’m not— You don’t have to keep count or anything.”

“Hmph. What if I want to?” Dylas fires back.

“What?”

“What if I want to keep count, so I can make absolutely sure you hear it just as often as you say it?”

“You…” Doug stares at him with his mouth slightly agape before he leans forward to bury his face in Dylas’s chest. To Dylas’s shirt, he says, “Dammit. How are you real? And you claim you’re terrible at romance! How’s a guy supposed to top any of the stuff you’ve done tonight, huh?”

“You don’t—”

“Have to?” Doug finishes, snapping his head up off Dylas’s chest to look at him directly, entirely too smug. He turns and shuffles his position so he’s able to settle more comfortably against Dylas’s side as he looks out over the lake. Dylas wraps an arm around him almost subconsciously. “Hmm, yeah. That’s what I thought.”

Dylas sighs. He knows there’s no point arguing over this because they both feel the same way. It’s not a transaction or a competition, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to do or say nice things in return for what he’s given. He’s well aware that just as much as he’d tell Doug that just being with him is plenty more than he’d ever dared dream, Doug would say the same. That doesn’t mean he’s going to promise to change or anything, though.

After a comfortably quiet moment passes, Doug hums and continues, “You know, you should be careful about promising something like that.”

“Oh, yeah? Why’s that?”

“Well, it sounds like the sort of thing someone without strict morals could easily take advantage of, you know. Not that I would ever dare to do such a thing, of course.”

“‘Strict morals’?”

Doug nods, his hair dragging across Dylas’s jacket and getting stuck up at odd angles when he stops. “Yeah, strict morals and, like, discipline.”

“Right. What do those things have to do with anything, Doug?”

“Hm, well, you know. If, for example, I was one of those people— Just, hypothetically.” Doug sits up a little so he can look Dylas in the eyes as he explains.

Dylas snorts and inclines his head slightly. “Of course. Hypothetically speaking.”

“Yes, exactly. So, in our hypothetical instance, if I were that kind of person, couldn’t I just…say it as many times as I wanted to hear it? Like…”

Doug turns his head up to look at Dylas’s face. After all that build up, Dylas is expecting to have to focus to keep count of rapid fire declarations of love so that he can properly come out on top of this argument. He is not expecting the extreme sincerity Doug sends his way, instead. The fire in his eyes alone simmers Dylas to his core.

“I love you. No, really, truly, I love you.”

“I…” Maybe Doug’s goal was to get Dylas so choked up he can’t say anything at all, so he wins by default. Too bad for him; it doesn’t take Dylas hardly any time at all to unstick his throat and say, “I love you, too. So much. I love you…more than I knew I could love anyone.”

Doug smiles effortlessly, the weight of everything they still need to talk about seemingly let go for the moment. His eyes sparkle, all but glowing liquid silver in the light of the moon.

“Hey, Dylas?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

It’s no less genuine for the smirk-adjacent curl to Doug’s lips that comes with it, but it does feel somewhat more playful than the other times. Playful enough to mess with him a little.

“…Hm.”

“Oh?” Doug sits up fully and scoots only far enough away that he can swivel his body to lean his folded legs partially on top of Dylas’s thigh. He puts a hand just above Dylas’s knee so he can lean forward and better get in Dylas’s face. “Give up so soon? And here I thought you were a man of your hypothetical word!”

Dylas tries to press his smile into submission, at least long enough to deliver his next sentence. “I never promised when I would pay you back. Hypothetically.”

Doug barks a surprised laugh, and then he turns his head away for a moment and takes an overly loud deep breath to attempt to compose himself before turning back and saying, “Well, okay, but what if you accidentally say it too many times, then? Would you have to take the extras back? That doesn’t sound very nice of you, Dylas.”

“No, I wouldn’t take it back.”

“Oh yeah? Then wouldn’t the numbers be unbalanced?”

“I thought you said keeping count to keep things even didn’t matter? All I said was that I would say it as many times as you did; I never said anything about the other way around. How evil would I have to be to dictate what you say? I can’t believe you think so poorly of me.”

Doug’s resolve finally crumbles completely as he falls into a fit of laughter. The sound of it and the smile on his face and the shake of his shoulders all make Dylas want to tell him he loves him again, immediately, but he had really been planning on pulling it out again later, and he always could, of course, but he might be able to get Doug to laugh like this again at that later time if he waits, so he manages to hold it in for now.

Once Doug’s laughter quiets down again, he shakes his head and sighs, “Ah, dammit. You know, it’s still not fair, though. Maybe I don’t want every time you say it to be a reciprocation, you know? Or what if you’re so busy saving up the ones you’ve counted that you don’t just say it whenever you want to, huh?”

What, is Doug a mind reader now? Still, Dylas gets exactly what he’s saying.

Dylas huffs a small breath and relents, “Fine, fine. I love you. And, you’re right.”

“Oh, the sweet, sweet sound of the best two sentences in the world.”

“Shut up.”

Doug is laughing again, and Dylas can’t decide if he regrets trying to be ‘suave’ or whatever or if it was worth it just for this.

Doug asks, “So that means you’re done with this eye for an eye business, yeah?”

“Can’t believe you don’t want me to tell you I love you.”

“It’s not that. I know you love me, it just seems silly to say it for a reason like that.”

“You’ll only have yourself to blame if I forget to say it very often, then.”

“Oh, don’t worry, I won’t let you forget,” Doug grins confidently.

Dylas doesn’t doubt that the self-assurance is well-placed, but he rolls his eyes anyway, just ‘cause. They enjoy a moment of peace, listening to the quiet lapping on the shore of the lake and merely enjoying each other’s presence cuddled up side-by-side.

Then, Doug sighs lightly and says, “Okay. As much as I love you—have I mentioned lately that I love you?—and as much as I appreciate the distraction, we should probably get to the real reason why I brought you out here, huh?”

Dylas hums. “It’s Venti, right?”

“It— H-huh?”

“Thought so.”

“Wh— How did you…” Doug sighs and curls in on himself a little. “No, I guess it’s not actually that hard to figure out, is it.”

Dylas decides not to mention how long it took him to realize what was going on. Instead, he says, “Doug, you don’t need to be so worried about it. It’s not a big deal; we can—”

“Not a big deal? Dylas, come on, you know—”

“No, it really isn’t. I’m sure Volkanon knows how to do it, if you would rather have him perform the ceremony.”

“I—” Doug pauses, brow furrowed. “…what?”

Dylas clarifies, “Venti doesn’t have to officiate our wedding. Honestly, I don’t trust her not to say something stupid anyway. It would kind of be a relief if it wasn’t her.”

Apparently the little joke doesn’t quite land, because Doug blinks at Dylas like he’s trying to explain the wonders of the sixth dimension to him.

“Oh. I didn’t… That makes sense, though.”

He frowns, thinking it over. Dylas can’t help but ask, “You didn’t really think she was the only one who could do it, did you? And I know she’s my friend, but, Doug, it’s your wedding. You should be able to set your own boundaries for it.”

“R-right.”

“What is it? Please, Doug, talk to me.”

“Er,” he smiles awkwardly and doesn’t meet Dylas’s eyes, “Um, honestly, I didn’t know that was one of her jobs. I’ve never been to a wedding here or anything… But I get why she wouldn’t want to marry us— or, well, me…”

Doug looks down and tightens his grip on the secret blanket-wrapped thing in his lap, and Dylas suddenly realizes he has made some kind of incorrect assumption about Doug’s meaning. His chest clenches at the expression on Doug’s face.

“What— Doug, that’s— That’s not at all what I— I mean, I thought— Isn’t that why you were uncomfortable…? Er. Right, I guess not…” Dylas stumbles through a jumble of words that mean nothing, wanting nothing more than to fix whatever mistake he has made. Doug looks miserable and Dylas can’t help but know it was his fault. “But then, if it wasn’t about that… but you said it’s still about her? I’m sorry, I don’t think I understand.”

Doug gives him a somewhat bitter smile. “Maybe not so easy to figure out, then. Well— here. It’ll be faster if you just look…”

Doug passes the bundle in his lap to Dylas. It’s heavier than he expected—not that he’d expected it to be light, but he hadn’t realized how solid whatever’s in here is. Nor how circular. It kind of feels like…

A ring.

Sort of. One practically big enough to wear as a crown instead, or maybe a very large bracelet.

But, no, it’s a ring nonetheless, if only because it has a very familiar design to it. One Dylas has seen almost two dozen times already tonight.

And suddenly, Dylas feels very singularly stupid. Of course Doug wasn’t worried about the officiant for their wedding— Hell, he hadn’t known for sure there was even going to be a wedding before a few hours ago, why would he have something related to that holed up in his bedroom before he and Dylas even went on their anniversary date? Why would they need to talk about that right now, tonight?

It’s just, Dylas hadn’t even thought… He knows Doug loves the town as much as he does, and he knows he sees everyone the same way he does. It doesn’t exactly get any clearer or more explicit than reviving and sharing an all but lost tradition used for the express purpose of joining people together as family.

And maybe Dylas should have expected this, after the rest of it. He knows Doug better than to think he’d take the easy way out, not when it really matters. Of course he wouldn’t leave Venti out.

But Dylas knows that there’s that history between them, through no fault of either of them, and maybe it’s on him for letting that blind him when Doug is able to see past it. It’s truly unfair how much the Sechs empire took from them, but nothing more so than what they took from Doug and Venti. And it’s— it’s their prerogative, if they want to form any kind of relationship now that everything is said and done. Dylas will be the first to help them do it if they ask, but it’s not his decision to make.

But this is… It doesn’t mean that they’re there yet, necessarily, and Dylas already knows Doug is aware of how much Venti means to him, but this is so much more than that. Dylas hasn’t had the time to read all the stuff Arthur and Kiel found, but he doesn’t need it to know the importance of this statement.

“This is… Doug, it’s…” Dylas is almost embarrassingly choked up, to the point where he nearly can’t get the words out at all.

Doug smiles, but it’s so small and melancholy that Dylas kind of wants to slap it off his face. “It’s nothing special, or anything—“

“‘Nothing special’? Please tell me you’re joking. Doug, it’s beautiful, I didn’t— I can’t believe you spent this much time working on all of this—”

“No, really, there’s this weird bit here, and this part isn’t smooth—”

“It’s perfect.”

“It’s really not.”

“I think I get to be the judge of that. You made it for me.”

“Well.” Doug pauses, running his hand over the side of the large metal ring, scrubbing at a nonexistent stain with the pad of his thumb. “Actually, I made it for…her.”

“So then Venti will be the judge of it.”

Doug sighs, still not quite meeting Dylas’s eyes. “Yeah, well. Not exactly up to the same standard as the usual offerings for ‘Ventuswill, the Divine Dragon of Wind,’ is it.”

Dylas can’t help it. He snorts at the overemphasized title, and Doug frowns. Dylas tells him, “Maybe, but she hates all that fancy shit. The pomp and circumstance kills her.”

Doug gives him a flat look, like he doesn’t quite believe him.

Dylas shrugs and says, “Seriously, all that holier-than-thou stuff is just an act. She’s more crass than I am.”

“Buffaloo shit.”

“I’m not kidding. You really think someone who demands respect would ever be friends with me? Hell, it’s the same with everyone else: look at who her closest friends have been all this time. Amber’s sweet, but she doesn’t even begin to pretend to care about other people’s expectations or manners, especially with personal space. Dolce’s nice but she’s as blunt and rude as they come, and she comes as a package deal with Pico of all people. I won’t even bother to get into how much some straight-laced fancy type would hate spending time with Leon. And Frey is great, but I’m not sure ‘polite with her close friends’ is any way I’d describe her…”

Doug is genuinely smiling by the end of Dylas’s mini-speech, and Dylas isn’t sure if he feels winded because he’d been in such a rush to say all of that or because it’s such a relief to see that it worked or just because Doug is smiling at him, that Doug is smiling because of him, in direct response to what he has said.

Doug drops his forehead into Dylas’s shoulder, which unfortunately hides that smile, but it’s not long before he lifts back up to look at him.

“Fine, I guess you have a point. But even if you’re a little right, like, somewhat right…” Dylas rolls his eyes, which seems to be what Doug was aiming for because his smile widens as he continues, “I still think the rest of them could pretend to fit in with high society for way longer than you could. ...Except maybe Amber.”

“She can be a real terror if she wants to be.”

Doug snorts and sits up a little so he can lightly push Dylas over. Even though he's the one who brought it up in the first place, Doug counters, “Maybe that’s just because she’s fun and you hate fun.”

Dylas over-corrects righting himself so he can knock into Doug in return. “I don’t hate fun.”

Doug laughs and leans right back into him, and then they stay like that, leaning against each other. Dylas leans over to press a kiss to Doug’s temple, and Doug takes one of Dylas’s hands off Venti’s ring to lace their fingers together. He looks down at their joined hands for a moment before raising them up a few inches and dropping them back down on Dylas’s thigh as he hums and leans back just far enough to see Dylas’s face again.

“Actually, I take it back.”

“So you admit I don’t hate fun?”

Doug smiles and lies, “No, you definitely hate fun, that’s just a fact. I take back Amber not being able to pretend to be all fancy and sophisticated.”

Dylas raises an eyebrow as he waits for Doug to continue because he’s pretty sure there’s some sort of catch in there. On the one hand, Amber could probably fit in anywhere simply because she would fit herself in, but on the other hand, it seems like a stretch to say Amber could ever really ‘fit in’ with the rest of a crowd.

Doug says, “She could do that. It’s just, she never would, because she wouldn’t want to.”

Dylas laughs. That’s almost along the lines of what he’d been thinking. “Fair enough, I guess.”

“No, honestly, she might be more stubborn than you. She just smiles more, so it’s way harder to not give her what she wants. You, on the other hand…”

“Shaddup.”

Unfortunately, Doug does, with a shaky exhale, and the seemingly good mood they had been building up falls like incorrectly prepared bread. Which isn’t exactly what Dylas had been aiming for. Especially not when Doug worries at his lip with his teeth, looking down over the large ring critically, like he’s used up every last ounce of levity he possessed that was shielding him from spiraling anxiously in self-doubt.

Before Dylas can think of a good way to draw him back in, Doug sighs and slumps against Dylas’s side, eyes falling closed. “It’s not actually a ring-ring, do you think that makes it weird?”

“Huh.”

Dylas looks it over. It is one continuous band of metal, the way a ring would be, but it might be a little smaller than what he would expect to fit over Venti’s knuckles? Although, Dylas has never really thought about Venti wearing jewelry before, and his proportions of her are all off sometimes. There are days he still walks into the Dragon Chamber expecting to see the smaller, younger Venti he left behind. But just as much, he feels like there are times he overestimates the ways she’s changed in his head and doesn’t realize it until he sees her again. She’s still Venti: a bit more grown, but really not very different from who Dylas knew at all. He supposes such a long-lived life might do that to someone.

That said, he doesn’t exactly get it. The not-ring isn’t on a chain—maybe with its size it’s meant to be decorative rather than worn?

Doug doesn’t extrapolate, and Dylas decides he needs to save his poor lip from its torment. He nudges Doug with his arm and he asks, “What do you mean? Looks like a ring to me.”

Doug fidgets. “It’s— Well, she doesn’t exactly have hands.”

“Yeah…?”

Doug tucks his head back into Dylas’s side and mumbles, “I thought maybe it would be uncomfortable for her to wear on her claws or whatever, so, maybe, she’d rather have something to decorate one of her horns. I know it’s stupid, and I won't pretend to know anything about dragon anatomy, but—”

“Doug, that’s…” Dylas will not cry over this, but, fuck. He loves this man so much. “She’s going to love it.”

Doug scoffs, “Sure.”

“Hey, I mean it. She will.”

“I just… Honestly, as long as she accepts it, I…”

Dylas barely just notices it, but Doug’s hands are shaking, even resting in his lap like they are. Reaching over to take them in his own is almost more reflex than conscious action on Dylas’s part. He wants to help, but the best solution to this situation is probably just to get Doug to go talk to Venti so she can prove Dylas right.

It’s no wonder Doug is concerned about it without knowing Venti the way Dylas does, though. From what he’s gathered, it seems like offering the rings to all the appropriate family members is of the same importance as the family actually accepting them.

Dylas adopts a slightly lighter tone than he’s feeling, and he squeezes Doug’s hands as he says, “Which one of us has known her for hundreds of years?”

Doug laughs, but it’s lacking the usual luster Dylas knows his laughter is capable of. “Okay, you know you haven’t actually known her for hundreds of years though, right? All you Guardians are the damn same, I swear.”

“Whatever. I don’t even need hundreds of years to tell you she’ll accept it, Doug, come on.”

“No, but, I mean,” Doug huffs in frustration. “I don’t mean as just some offering or trinket or whatever, Dylas. Technically, if she doesn’t accept it, I— we…”

Firmly, Dylas says, “Doug, she will. If you don’t believe me, we can go ask her right now. I’d bet my life on her accepting it— Accepting you.”

Doug meets Dylas’s eyes, and Dylas can see how badly he wants to argue. If the idiot would just listen to what Dylas is saying, maybe he wouldn’t have to. Instead, he looks away again and says, “But why would she? After I…” Maybe Doug finds his answer out along the tree line, because after a moment he throws his head back, brow still furrowed, and adds, “Ughhh. I hate this town. How is everyone like this. You’re all the worst.”

“Right back at you.”

“Please.” Doug rolls his eyes.

Dylas holds the large custom-made horn-ring up in Doug’s face. “Remind me how long you spent working on this?”

Doug makes a face that Dylas can only call a pout and mumbles, “‘S not the same.”

“Sure it isn’t.”

There is a moment of silence, and Dylas almost lets himself believe Doug has finally accepted reality, but then he speaks up again, voice too quiet.

“Me aside though, she’s, I mean, she’s basically a god, right? Am I even allowed to do something like this?”

Dylas shrugs. He knows Venti won’t care no matter what the ‘official’ protocol is, if there is one, and the whole godly supreme being thing is mostly an act, anyway. Well, and perhaps a circumstance of the great power she possesses. Underneath it all, she’s just a person, and she’s lived long enough by now to make her own decisions.

Dylas isn’t sure if that’s what Doug wants to hear though, so instead he says, “I sort of doubt anyone else has ever done it before. Don’t be so quick to decide how she’ll react.”

“If no one has done it before, then you don’t know what’ll happen, either.”

Dylas purses his lips.

“Alright, enough. Stand up.”

“What?”

“Get up, pebble brain.”

Dylas sets Venti’s ring down on top of the blanket in the grass and stands himself. He holds his hands out to Doug to pull him up after him. Doug stares at them for a moment before sighing and taking them, allowing himself to be dragged to his feet.

They stand there staring at each other for a few seconds before Doug says, “Okay, so, I’m up.” The what do you want from me goes implied by his expression and tone.

Dylas doesn’t reply immediately. Instead, he releases Doug’s hands so he can set his own down on Doug’s tense shoulders as he tries to get this one thing through Doug’s thick skull. He tries to convey everything he wants to with his eyes alone, but he never planned to stop there.

He presses a little on Doug’s shoulders and says, quietly but with no room for argument, “Doug. Trust me. It’s gonna be fine.”

Doug sighs shakily, his shoulders deflating with the motion. Dylas doesn’t think there’s anything to be worried about at all, but he understands why this scares Doug. And because he understands the fear, he’s not going to let it get in Doug’s way. He also won’t make Doug deal with it alone.

“We’ll go together. It won’t be as bad as you think, you’ll see.”

“Don’t see how I have much choice,” Doug says wryly, but he squeezes Dylas’s hand on his shoulder as if to say, thank you.

Dylas squeezes back, and he rubs his thumbs across the tops of Doug’s shoulders before he drops his hands to take one of Doug’s in one of his. “We can wait. We don’t have to do it right now if you’re not—”

“Oh, no. That would be so much worse. We should just get it over with.”

Dylas takes in Doug’s subdued expression and the way he’s tapping his fingers on his thigh. The funny (sad?) thing is, Dylas really thinks Doug and Venti would get on like a house on fire (nope, fuck, way too fucking soon, bad choice of metaphor, Dylas, fuck) if things hadn’t started out the way they had.

But there’s no use thinking about how things could have been, so Dylas offers, “You know, I could also go give it to her by myself, if you don’t want to come.” It’s not ideal, because Dylas still thinks the best thing would be for Doug to see in person how wrong he is about what Venti thinks of him, but Dylas would still do it, if Doug asked.

But Doug sighs, “No, that defeats the purpose. The whole point is that I’m supposed to be honoring your other important relationships, and out of anyone, you’ve known her the longest. I have to go. I mean, honestly, I’m kinda supposed to give these things out on my own, so I’m already breaking tradition a little by bringing you along…”

“Think your parents would have it in them to forgive me?”

It’s a bit of a risky subject to broach, but even so a somehow nostalgic smile slowly stretches across Doug’s face. He chuckles and looks off to the side, like he can see it happening in the water lapping at the edge of the beach. “Yeah, they would. Ugh, they would love you.” He slides his eyes back to Dylas and drawls, “Can you just imagine? That would be terrible. All of you would have so much fun ganging up on me.”

Dylas gets the distinct feeling this would not be terrible, and also that it would be fun to gang up on Doug with them, if he could. He says, “See? Somehow I knew we would get along.”

Doug’s little smile doesn’t falter, until he seems to think of something. He gives Dylas a curious kind of look as he tilts his head slightly and says, “Huh. You know what?”

“What?”

“My mom actually really liked fishing. When I was little, she used to let me carry the bait for her. Which was literally never as fun as she tried to make it sound.”

“Oh,” Dylas says.

That hadn’t exactly been what he’d expected to hear, but he mentally files it away with everything else Doug has told him about his family. It’s precious information because it’s precious to Doug, and if there isn’t anyone else to remember it then Dylas will be damned before he forgets any of it, either.

Doug stares out over the water of the lake, and for a moment Dylas doesn’t do anything other than stand with him and watch. Then he squeezes Doug’s hand, and Doug squeezes back, and Dylas says, quietly, “You’ve never told me that before.”

“Yeah,” Doug replies, equally hushed. He squeezes Dylas’s hand again. “I dunno, I guess I just haven’t thought about it in a while.”

Dylas looks out over the water and tries to see it, too. A woman with silver eyes, Doug’s smile. A young, redheaded dwarven child, bored out of his mind, fidgeting by the edge of the water. Maybe he tries to splash in it and gets scolded, maybe he tugs on her arm and asks her when they’ll get to leave. Maybe he tromps around the forest and makes so much noise no fish will come anywhere near their bank, and maybe the woman doesn’t mind because she finds herself watching him instead of the fish. Maybe it was all an elaborate ruse to force a nap time, and the boy sleeps with his head pillowed in the woman’s lap while she holds her fishing rod in one hand and strokes the other through his hair.

Dylas turns back to trail his eyes over Doug’s profile, and he finds he can’t help but feel endless gratitude for these people he’ll never get to meet. He never will get the chance to thank them, but they’ve given him more than they’ll ever know.

Wordlessly, Dylas uses his free hand to brush a tear off Doug’s cheek. He blinks, eyes refocusing, and glances out of the corner of his eye at Dylas’s hand, like he hadn’t realized he was crying at all. Then he looks up at Dylas with a little lopsided smile.

Dylas gives him a small, kind smile in return as he gently clears off Doug’s other cheek. He clears his throat and prays he won’t completely ruin the mood as he says, “Well, it’s always good to know I don’t have completely horrible taste. At least you have the blood of a fisherwoman in there somewhere.”

“Hahaha, hey!” Doug protests, lightly shoving Dylas even as he continues laughing. The look in his eyes reassures Dylas that he appreciates the levity. Or maybe it’s just that he’s glad to still be up to their usual song and dance, even while they’re being more serious than usual.

Dylas nudges him back, but it doesn’t escalate much further than that.

Doug takes a deep breath and tips his head back to exhale loudly. He lolls his head to the side, looking at Dylas, and then he stands back up straight and says, “Sorry, I guess I just…”

“No.”

Doug scoffs, eyebrows raised, incredulous but with good humor. “‘No’?”

Dylas suddenly feels a little self-conscious. Maybe that wasn’t the best explanation of what he meant. “No, don’t apologize. You can always tell me as much of that stuff as you want.”

Doug laughs, “Great, well, as I was trying to tell you…” Doug pauses meaningfully. Dylas winces a little, and Doug laughs at him in a way that tells him he’s not actually mad. “...It’s just, I didn’t really realize it, but that stuff has kinda been on my mind a lot lately, with all the research and stuff I was doing, you know?”

“Oh, yeah. That makes sense.” Maybe it’s thinking about the way Doug said it, but Dylas is suddenly compelled to add, “Good.”

Doug raises an eyebrow in question and repeats, “‘Good’?”

“Yeah. That, uh, you were remembering it. You know.” Yikes. What does Doug see in Dylas, anyway? Dylas really doesn’t know.

Doug, not privy to Dylas’s internal plight, echoes, “‘Good,’ huh? Hm.”

“Yes. It’s— I think it’s much better to remember than forget. Despite everything.”

Understanding dawns in Doug’s eyes. “Ah. Huh. Well, I guess you would be the expert on that.”

“I—”

“No, no, you’re right.” Doug’s eyes float over the surface of the water, and then he turns to Dylas with a sly smile and nudges Dylas’s side with his elbow. “Who’s telling who what they need to hear now, huh?”

Dylas sighs, “Don’t get used to it.”

That sets Doug off in laughter that sounds lighter than it should after such a heavy conversation. Or maybe not. Maybe sharing that kind of weight is what allows the rest of it to be lighter. Then again, the first time Dylas tried to be open and vulnerable with his oversized emotional baggage, he’d managed to get them into that whole weird, tense fight in the Water Ruins, so maybe he’s no expert. That had eventually turned out alright though, hadn’t it? And the eventual results have certainly taken a heavy weight off Dylas’s shoulders. Hopefully they can skip the tense part like this from now on, too.

Dylas can’t help but join in on the laughter, because now it feels like it’s not even about the joke anymore, and he can’t just stand there merely watching. And then he’s struck with the feeling that he also can’t just watch and not touch, so he reaches out to take hold of Doug’s face.

He swipes the pads of his thumbs under Doug’s eyes one last time for good measure, and then he cradles Doug’s head in his hands and leans down. But instead of going in for a kiss, he simply presses their foreheads together and closes his eyes and gives himself a moment to just breathe in this private space with just the two of them. Private for real, this time. Doug’s laugher pauses for a moment until they’re situated and it picks up again, and Dylas can feel the warmth of it as literally as he can figuratively. Then it’s quiet, and they stand together, foreheads and noses touching, and Dylas can’t think of a single place he’d rather be. Doug weaves an arm behind Dylas’s back to brush his fingers through Dylas’s hair, and Dylas sighs, wholly content.

After what feels like mere seconds but was probably much longer, Doug breaks the comfortable silence, because of course he does, by saying, “Isn’t this kinda like that thing people do in all the horse media where they lean their heads together when they finally make a connection and understand each other?”

Because of course he does.

Dylas almost doesn’t want to bother responding. Unfortunately for some unfathomable reason Doug takes his silence as permission to gleefully continue, “You know, that unbreakable bond between horse and rider or whateve—

“Ow! Haha, hey— Uncle, uncle, I’ll stop! I’m done, I swear!” Rather than run away to escape Dylas’s assault of fingers being jabbed into Doug’s sides, all he does is wrap his arms around Dylas and cling to him even tighter, laughing into his chest.

And what can Dylas do but hold him in kind? Well, maybe he could still manage to tease, “You’re lucky y—”

“So lucky,” Doug interrupts breathlessly, melting into what’s now just a full-on embrace.

Dylas groans and squeezes his eyes shut and lightly knocks his head against Doug’s. “I hate you.”

“So. Lucky,” Doug breathes into the crook of Dylas’s neck.

Dylas hums and hugs him a little tighter, trying to breathe the embrace into his lungs so he can feel it both inside and out.

Then a breeze stirs the chill evening air, and while it’s technically still Summer, it’s definitely starting to feel more and more like Autumn. In a somewhat counter-intuitive move, Dylas and Doug take this as a cue to detangle themselves.

Before they fully separate, though, Dylas leans down to capture Doug’s lips in a short, sweet kiss. It's comfortable and pleasant and it makes even the rest of the small private bubble they occupy by the lake fade away because for the time it exists, it is everything. And then they separate, except they don't, because they both move in tandem for one last, short peck. For good measure.

Now fully released, Doug rocks back and forth on his feet a moment, looking around the beach and smiling. Then that smile tilts up on one side and he looks at Dylas and nods his head towards the blanket and Venti’s ring. “Think I’ll be lucky enough to not have to carry that?”

Dylas responds with a flat look and, “What happened to ‘I need to be the one to give it to her’?”

Doug clasps his hands under his chin and obnoxiously bats his eyelashes. “I can still do that. Just, once we get there.”

Dylas rolls his eyes, but he also gathers up the blanket and the ring and tucks them both under his arm. “Happy?”

“Very,” Doug says, and Dylas knows he’s not just talking about the fact that Dylas agreed to carry his stuff.

Dylas hums and says, “Me, too.”

“Good,” Doug says, looping his arm through the one Dylas isn’t using to hold Venti's ring. “Hey, you don’t think everyone else is heading home by now, do you? I really don’t wanna run into anyone on our way there.”

Dylas makes an ‘I dunno’ sound and shrugs. “Why?”

“Don’t wanna explain that,” Doug replies, pointing at the metal poking out from under Dylas’s other arm.

Dylan tightens his grip on it and smiles. “She’s gonna love it, Doug.”

Doug looks from Dylas to the ring to the path directly ahead of them. He hums doubtfully and says, “Guess I just have to take your word for it.”

“She will,” Dylas promises, and it even manages to draw a small smile out of Doug. Which promptly vanishes when Dylas adds, “Also, you know everyone is gonna see it tomorrow when Venti’s wearing it, right?”

“Oh. True. Well, if she wears it.”

“When. What, you seriously didn’t think of that?”

“Shut up! I was really focused on getting it finished; I didn’t think about after.”

Dylas laughs. “Well, that’s fine. It’s probably—no, definitely—better that I get to go talk to Venti before anyone else can tell her about that mess in the restaurant earlier, anyway. Her hearing that story from someone else will be way worse than people noticing the ring.”

Doug looks at him sideways. “You do know she’s still going to hear about everything that happened, right? Like, there is no way Frey is gonna keep her mouth shut about all that. Just sayin’.”

Dylas frowns and mutters, “Having so many people care about you is exhausting.”

Doug laughs, bright and clear, and Dylas can’t hold the sour expression for more than half a second when he’s faced with such brilliance.

“Yeah, poor you. Hey, maybe you should close your eyes this time, since I did it twice for you earlier. My turn to lead you blindly through the town, dontcha think?”

“No, thanks.”

“Boo! How lame. You know, you really need to let me take the reins someti—”

“This. This is why I don’t do things for you,” Dylas’s voice shakes with malice that’s just a little, only partially, genuine.

And even arm-in-arm, he is required to shove Doug to the side for such a stupid fucking pun. Doug is barely able to return the gesture through his laughter.

“Hey, hey, remember when you asked me to marry you earlier?”

“Yeah, what’s the return policy on that.”

“No refunds! Sorry, buddy.”

Dylas forfeits the battle to keep his smile down, going so far as to laugh along.

Yeah, he can’t say he ever expected to be here. Dylas had known when he’d decided he was definitely going through with the Guardian thing that there was a good chance he’d end up somewhere completely different than what he knew, if he ended up anywhere at all, but even still he had failed to consider just how much could change. With the world, yes, but even more than that with his own life. He couldn’t have guessed this was how it would be in his wildest dreams.

And he refuses to take it for granted. If waking up in present-day Selphia was Dylas’s second chance, he’s going to make the most of it he possibly can. He’s off to a pretty good start. As infuriating as everyone here can be, Dylas has never felt more included in his life. Or more loved. The least he can do is return the favor, and he intends to.

And Doug will be there with him every step of the way, just like he is right now. What more can Dylas ask for, really? Now and forever, whatever comes next, Dylas wants to keep loving this place, these people, and especially this person that he’s come to call home. The promise that he’ll get to is worth more than maybe anything else he’s ever been given.

Despite all the obstacles and stumbling blocks along the way, the sounds of Dylas and Doug’s high spirits dazzle the air around them on their way to tell Venti the good news, as they make their way towards a new beginning, a sequel of sorts to the story they’ve already written together, and Dylas wouldn’t have it any other way.

-Fin-