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It’s stupid. He’s stupid. There’s no reason to be so worried about something like this. He’s a Specialist — he’s been trained to fight the worst the Otherworld has to offer, has faced down scrapers and Blood Witches recently, moved forward despite the all-too-real prospect of his own death and that of those closest to him. He’s supposed to be a soldier, and that means he’s supposed to be brave in the face of danger.
And yet, despite all of that, the idea of the bag shoved into the corner of his dresser drawer still scares the shit out of him.
He picked it up on a whim a few weeks ago, an impulse purchase as he’d passed a shop window in Blackbridge. When he looks back on that day, it’s easy to blame the decision on the fact that he’d been drinking, a casual afternoon with some of his fellow Specialists before the winter break that he’d ducked out of earlier than he ordinarily would have on the excuse of a sparring session with Musa — a session he’d scheduled just so he could do that. He’s still finding his own feet again — they all are — but on the sparring mats, with her, it’s easier. Neither of them has to think.
(But he does think, all too much. It’s something he doesn’t share with most people, when it’s too reminiscent of the hopeless nerd he’d been his first year. He’d run from that, replaced sense with attitude in his second year, and then spent so much of the time after that reeling. Two extremes, and neither feels right anymore. Sometimes he’s not sure what does, except the moments they spend together on those mats.)
But he’d seen it in the shop, and it had made him think of her and smile, and he’d wondered, for the first time in too long, what it might feel like to stand with his feet firmly planted again. It’s a surprise to realise he wants that.
And … more, too?
Easy to think this is just trauma bonding. He reads; he knows the reputation he’s got, but in the wake of everything, with a roommate sinking more and more into himself and the world he’d known putting itself back together, he’s been trying to figure out everything he can. And he’s pretty sure that whatever he’s feeling isn’t just the result of what’s happened. Which brings him right back to scared shitless. Maybe it’s just as well she wears those limiters for their sparring sessions, though he trusts her not to pry. If he’s learned anything about her, it’s that she’d really rather not feel any of that.
The holidays get closer and closer, and the bag sits in his drawer, buried under an old hoodie he hasn’t worn since his first days at Alfea. It’s not for lack of opportunities; they spar on the regular, even as the air grows cooler and the last leaves fall and the promise of snow is in the air. He likes watching her in the cold: her cheeks pink even without the exertion, the fluffy collar of her favourite coat brushing her ears when she shows up hunched into it. Once upon a time he might have done nothing; once upon a time he would’ve left it at a crass comment. The Riven of now does neither of those, but neither does he act — not until Terra drops a comment in the greenhouse one afternoon about how weird it’ll be having the dorm to herself in a week once the girls go home for the break.
“All of them?”
She’s focussed with the calendula in front of her and, thankfully, doesn’t comment on his sudden frown. “Yeah — sounds like most everyone’s families want them home for the holiday? Which isn’t that surprising after what happened, but —”
(But he’s not listening, mind already awhirl. He could do nothing and maybe when she comes back the moment will have passed, but — and it surprises him — he doesn’t want that. This is a chance, and he wants to take it. If he’s learned anything in the recent months, it’s that some things are worth reaching for while you can.)
That night, once Sky is asleep, he pulls out the bag and wraps his gift and, when he heads out early to meet with Musa, it’s a weight in his pocket as he strides across the snow-dusted courtyard.
“You’re off today,” she remarks when his back hits the mat for the third time in thirty minutes. “What’s wrong, Riven?”
She can’t know; the limiters still circle her slender wrists. The way she’s looking at him could almost convince him otherwise, brows drawn, mouth tight with concern.
“Nothing bad,” he reassures her, because he doesn’t like that expression — doesn’t like making her worry. She does enough of that on her own. “Just — I got you something. Is that okay?”
Surprise has her expressions unguarded: he watches carefully as the tightness melts away, the corners of her mouth curling up in a hesitant smile. There’s snow gathering on her fringe now that she’s not moving. He wants to reach up and flick it away, but instead he just watches the smile reach her eyes. “Yeah. I don’t have anything for you, though.”
He makes a dismissive noise, rolling to his feet. “Eh. Just — here.”
The smile dissipates as she concentrates on peeling off his inexpert wrapping job — okay, maybe he didn’t need to use half of the tape on the reel — to reveal a rectangular tin. When she pries off the lid, the confusion of earlier returns, and so he hurries to explain. “It’s tea — linden, pennyroyal, willowbark, and a bit of peony root and lavender. I know you get headaches, and I know there’s fairy potions and elixirs for that, but … sometimes it’s nice to have something without magic, y’know? Save those for the bad days so they work when you need ‘em?”
And — shit. He’d give anything in this moment to be the fairy, to be able to read her, because he can’t figure out what her expression means at all as she carefully closes the tin. Has he messed up? Overstepped some line, or made her think of something else, or —
She’s standing there before him before he realises it, looking up at him, and there’s nothing hesitant in her smile now. Before he can say anything further, put his foot in or worse, she’s wrapped her arms around him in a fierce hug. “Thanks,” she mumbles against his chest.
He opens his mouth, about to say something ridiculous, then snaps it shut. It would be easy to be dismissive, but this feels like a step forward — feels like something has shifted, immense and world-shaking, and yet his feet have never felt so steady. And so he just wraps his arms around her in return and stands there, in the cold and the snow and the early morning light, and together, they breathe.