Archive of Our Own

"I simply do not understand why you felt the need to lie."

Just a few feet down, waves rush past as they stand at the edge of the runner's deck, Strohl's head in his hands. He looks as distressed as he perhaps ought to feel in this situation.

Then again, a part of Hulkenberg isn't entirely certain why he decided to tell her what happened in the first place. Aside from, perhaps, the fact that she stumbled upon his lament to the ocean.

I told our captain that I see him like a little brother.

It would be fine, surely, to say such a thing under normal circumstances. Unless, of course, Strohl feels a certain way about Will. Not that he's admitted as much.

"I—I panicked, that's all."

"Surely such a lie was both unwarranted and unnecessary. If you wished to avoid leading on our captain, there were no doubt kinder, less brusque ways of informing him of the fact."

"That's not—" Strohl lets out a groan to rival even the others she's heard by now, frustrated and flustered in seemingly equal measure. "That's not even it."

"Oh? Pray, tell. What was your aim in calling him your little brother?"

Another mighty groan follows, as though determined to erase the memory of the event entirely. Strohl is refusing to look at her, his head buried in his arms and fully warded off from the world. Given his previous maladies and similar distress borne from sea travel, it is always possible that this is simply a matter of nausea. All things considered, however, it seems profoundly unlikely.

"Perhaps we might approach the matter from a different angle," Hulkenberg suggests. "What gave rise to this... panic? Would you have felt any measure of shame or mortification had you declared me to be like a sister to you?"

"Of course not."

"And why is that?"

"Because it may as well be the truth."

"But you do not view our esteemed captain in this way?"

Her line of questioning seems to Strohl annoying enough as to warrant his reemergence from hiding. Righting himself in his stance, he nevertheless keeps his gaze trained out over the water. All the same, it's an improvement.

"Right."

"May I ask in what manner you do see him, if not in a familial way?"

"Hulkenberg..." Strohl sighs, and for the first time in their conversation, he sounds genuinely tired. "Now really isn't the time."

"I beg your pardon! 'Tis precisely the time to identify such feelings, however intimidating or complex they may be. Surely you would not shy away from such an endeavor!"

"It's close enough to the truth, I suppose." Turning to face her, hips leaned back against the railing, Strohl keeps his eyes closed, fingertips pinching the bridge of his nose. "Hardly any need to correct it."

"So you do see him as a little brother? If so, what cause was there for the panic you mentioned earlier?"

"I simply... I simply wished to clarify."

"Mmhmm."

Hulkenberg no doubt looks precisely as skeptical as she presently feels. Accordingly, Strohl is still keeping his gaze averted.

"Perhaps I'll just—go and tend to my blade for the time being. Some normalcy might be nice after all the... excitement."

Has she ever seen him quite so tightly wound? In some ways, this is even worse than she remembers herself having been during her training.

Worse even than the foot tapping he does when he's antsy.

Like now, she supposes.

"As you well know, my boy never had the chance to reach your age, a time where he might have begun to look at others as potential mates, but something tells me it must be dreadful. I remember my own time as a young eugief..."

"Hello, loves. What are we talking about?"

"A little brother," comes Will's muffled voice from beneath his pillow. "A little brother."

"A whole mess is what!" Gallica says, fists clenched as if to help punctuate her point. "Will tried to talk about his feelings, and what does Strohl go and do? Tells him he sees him like a younger brother."

"Twice," mumbles Will, despair seeping into the nooks and crannies of his voice.

"But that's ridiculous."

"And now you're caught up to speed," Heismay tells Junah. "A deceptively simple problem on the outside, but..."

"Things always become more complicated when feelings are involved." Junah's smile is wry for all of a second before she shifts into full determination. "Don't worry—I'll talk to Strohl and get to the bottom of all this."

"What?" It's the first thing in some time that has Will shooting up from his emotional support pillow to stare. "You can't!"

The hands now settled on Junah's hips match the skepticism already written on her face. "You have to admit it would be the easiest solution by far."

"A risky gambit, to be sure," Heismay agrees, though Will's worries only seem to increase as he shakes his head.

"No, it wouldn't be a solution at all. You weren't there when I tried to... talk to him. He only doubled down on the little brother thing. I don't exactly want to lose what we do have."

"A little brother, my arse," Junah mutters, clearly seconds away from an eyeroll. "I don't exactly go around looking at any of my family members the way he looks at you."

"It's fine," Will assures the lot of them again, which only serves to make Gallica more worried in turn. "He just... doesn't feel that way about me."

"Seems a bit too early to be giving up," Gallica says with a huff. "Even if you're not going to act on the way you feel, that's no reason to throw in the towel."

"Maybe," Will says, and allows his face to fall back into his pillow.

"Is there a reason we are all gathered here together? And without our captain, no less? To say nothing of Strohl's own absence..."

Flying to sit atop a book in front of Will's usual stop at the table, Gallica crosses her arms in front of her chest as she turns to look at Hulkenberg. "Obviously. We need to talk about those two idiots."

"Tis a rather harsh manner in which to speak of our captain and teammate, wouldn't you say?"

"You're missing vital context, m'girl!" Neuras declares, mouth drawn into a pronounced scowl. "I would have thought the same had this crew not explained the situation."

For just a moment, Hulkenberg closes her eyes as if in silent contemplation, hand on her chin. "Then this must have to do with Strohl's lie."

A speckling of surprise comes over Heismay at that. "His lie, you say?"

"Indeed. He was rather mortified at having called Will his little brother."

"Then I was right," Junah says. "Of course he didn't mean it! He was just looking for some convenient excuse."

"Perhaps," Heismay slowly continues, a frown still etched on his face. "But it does bring up the question of why he would feel the need to lie about such a thing to begin with."

"What's all this, then?"

Basilio is smiling when he enters, not that any of that mirth appears to be shared by his brother.

"Didn't know we missed a group meetin'."

"Nah, Del, look. Them's not the whole group. They're even missin' their captain."

"If you must know," Hulkenberg starts, though the look of displeasure on her face would be difficult for just about anyone to miss, "we're discussing how to best aid our captain."

Well. Gallica supposes it's better than her telling them that this isn't any of their business.

"It's a matter of love, you two," Junah says, smiling wide enough to still seem genuine. "Don't suppose you'd be willing to lend us your expertise?"

"What expertise—" Basilio starts, Fidelio quick to stop him as he turns toward his brother.

A quiet conversation ensues, quiet enough for Gallica not to overhear anything from clear across the room. But perhaps Heismay...

"You lot truly got nothing better to do?" Fidelio finally asks, turning back to look at them. "Fine."

Basilio grins, ever the picture of innocence. She still hasn't fully decided if that's an act or not. "We don't mind helpin', not if it's for a good cause."

Something tells her that it has little to do with Will and Strohl and more to do with what information they can gather from the group, but it doesn't ultimately change much. While such a meeting could have been about something else entirely, something to do with Louis, just this once it wasn't, and they're not disrupting anything.

"Surely you've noticed by now," Junah starts once it sinks in that they're not joining the table, content to just hover nearby, "but Will and Strohl are a mess when it comes to each other. Especially Strohl. Will at least is more self-aware..."

"What's any of this got to do with us?"

"Hey, don't look at me!" Junah says. "You two were the ones who agreed to help."

"At any rate," Heismay says, pointedly not looking at either of the brothers, "surely Gallica did not call this meeting just so we could gossip about those two."

"Of course not." As if to punctuate her point, Gallica puffs up her chest. "There's got to be something we can do. If we just make sure conditions are perfect for either of them to be honest... something good might happen!"

"Oh!" Junah chirps, now all ears as she perks up, clapping her hands together. "We just need the right food, the right clothes, maybe some musical accompaniment..."

"Strohl may be a greater obstacle than mere ambiance can counter," Heismay says, his expression solemn. "Worry not. I shall speak with him."

"Then we will entrust this first task to you, Heismay. Everything else... I suppose we have no choice but to wait and see what awaits us on the island."

"Del," Basilio says slowly, his voice quiet as he leans in to whisper in his brother's ear. "I'm startin' to think this meetin' really was about this the whole time."

"Have you a free moment, Strohl?"

The two boys had rejoined the others not long after the conclusion of their talk about them, both looking perfectly normal. As though their shared time tending to their blades had done nothing to nudge either of them in the right direction.

Not that they'd expected any differently. Even so... his son, had he lived, wouldn't be that much younger than they are now. If he might have a say in it, he'd like to see them both happy, fools though they may be.

"For you, Heismay? Certainly."

"I will be keeping watch for a short while and wished to know if you cared to join me."

"I don't see why not. It would help to hone my preparedness, if nothing else."

A faint smile comes over his features. "Right you are."

He leads the way up to the roof, and finds the quiet as they settle in surprisingly comfortable. The sort of quiet he is simultaneously loath and eager to disrupt.

The night is too peaceful, and Strohl has been complacent for far too long.

"In truth, I did always enjoy this sort of work. I was often put on watch duty on account of my hearing, but it was the notion of protecting something that brought me fulfillment."

"I can understand that. Will and I recently went back to Halia, and I must admit I felt that same feeling there."

"You wish to protect our captain?"

"What? No, I—that is to say—yes, of course, but—"

Heismay cocks a brow. "Is it truly so difficult a question to answer? I was under the impression that we all wished to keep him safe."

"Ah—you are right, of course." The wince that crosses Strohl's face is impossible to miss. "Forgive me; I have been feeling... out of sorts, of late."

"'Tis only natural," he says, solemnly nodding. "Why, when I was a young eugief, I could hardly contain my eagerness to find a mate."

"Right, I—wait, what?"

"A mate?" he asks, half-disbelief. "Surely you clemars are not entirely unfamiliar with the idea."

"That is—"

This is not the first time he's seen Strohl flustered, but the severity of this instance would appear to outrank the others: he's tripping over his words, avoiding eye contact, nervously shimmying his leg, and his face is bright red spanning all the way down past his collar.

"Yes?"

"We have—well, partners, of course—but—"

"But what?"

"But we don't—talk about it," he finally gets out, still staring stubbornly at the wooden slats beneath them.

"Why is that, I wonder? Surely it would be better for one's offspring to be prepared."

"Heismay," Strohl says somewhat brokenly. "Please stop talking."

"I know little of protection for your kind, though I would of course recommend that you use it. I do imagine that the process must be similar if not identical..."

"All right!" Strohl blurts out, eyes wide as he jumps up. "That's more than enough watch for one night—you'll have to excuse me—"

The words are clearly a matter of rote repetition of standard platitudes, Strohl looking somewhat dazed as he all but flees Heismay's presence through the hatch. Nothing he said was all that scandalous... this may be far worse than any of them predicted.

One way or another, the conversation will need to come up. Sooner rather than later.

"That boy is hopeless," Heismay tells Junah the next day, a conclusion she'd already arrived at the night prior. Hope had sprung ever eternal, but the sight of Strohl, beet red and walking by her as though she were invisible, spoke for itself. "If I didn't know better, I would assume all clemars to be as uptight as he is."

"Oh, come now, love! He hasn't had a proper father figure in years. No doubt it was too much all at once. It's possible that someone closer to him in age will be more successful. Maybe a hands-on demonstration..."

Heismay says something about her potentially killing Strohl, but Junah is already formulating plans in her mind as she makes her way into the kitchen. With any luck they'll have the necessary ingredients...

"Oh," says Will, eyes wide as he steps into the doorway. "I didn't expect anyone to be cooking."

"Oh, I'm not," she says, all smiles. "But you and Strohl will be!"

"Um... why?"

"To help you out, silly! I swear, that boy wouldn't know love if it walked up and hit him with a frying pan."

As if to demonstrate, she swings one, Will promptly stepping forward to stall it mid-flight. "Look, Junah, it's really fine. He's just not that into me."

"And he's almost as stubborn and blind as you are! Goodness." Heaving out an exaggerated sigh, she allows her eyes to close for dramatic effect.

When she opens them again, he's shrugging, already working hard to pull out all manner of supposedly necessary kitchen implements. "Can't get much clearer than saying I'm like his family."

"And if I told you with absolute certainty that he was interested in you? What then?"

"Are you saying that?"

"I just did, didn't I?"

Will looks unconvinced. "With absolute certainty?"

"Weeeeell... not in so many words..."

He's halfway through a sigh when Strohl appears in the doorway, evidently eager to scavenge before dinner. As though he's not the one who will be making dinner today.

"My apologies; I didn't realize someone was already in here. Making dinner, are we?"

"You certainly will be!" Junah tells him with a grin, hurrying forward to pull him in by his arm. "Has anyone ever told you that you have amazing timing, Strohl?"

"No? I—what is all this?"

"Delectable-looking meat, naturally. Or it will be, given the proper love and care."

If Strohl suspects, which the skepticism on his face clearly seems to suggest, Junah is not even remotely bothering to hide her plan here.

"If you wanted one of Strohl's dishes, all you needed to do was say so," Will tells her, Junah watching a brief second of relief come over Strohl's face. "I know neither of us mind doing the cooking."

"Well!" she announces far, far too brightly. "Isn't that delightful? Our dear captain is always so... giving. I daresay he deserves something in return, wouldn't you agree, Strohl?"

Will blinks, looking between the two of them. "I really don't mind us doing it together?"

A slow and steady creep of red is making its way up Strohl's throat and over his face.

"See, love?" she asks him, her smile wider still. "He's even a team player. Ready for the two of you to go at it together!"

"Junah."

"We've got all the ingredients for redgrass-roasted bidou," Will tells them, seemingly none the wiser to the hidden messaging she's trying to pelt Strohl with. "If everyone is all right with that for dinner tonight."

"Just so long as you add something pretty and colorful—oh, maybe even some leafy greens for Heismay!"

Already she's pulling ingredients out of storage, ones she might use for her own plans.

"We weren't planning on preparing a feast, you know. Most of the time when Will and I cook together, it's for rations while we're tackling a bounty or making it through some sort of dungeon."

"Well then, let's consider this a red letter day, love! Just you and Will, cooking dinner together, like a proper domestic coup—"

Her words are cut off along with a chunk of the bidou meat as Strohl lets the cleaver sail down.

"Why don't I take that..." Will says, eyes wide as he gently slides the cutting board over to him. "You've certainly shown me how to do it enough times that I can probably manage on my own by now. "

"Brilliant!" Junah says, looking every bit as delighted as she feels. "If Will is preparing the meat, you can whip up a scrumptious salad!"

"You know, Will," Strohl says slowly, eyes narrowed pointedly at Junah, "I don't see why we're the only ones doing any work here. Shouldn't the person making all of the demands be... oh, I don't know, helping?"

"We made a meal together the other day," he says, nodding toward her. "This is just how Junah cooks."

"You mean to say that she doesn't."

"Well..."

"Don't worry," Junah tells him, words bright as her smile. "I'm sure Will won't mind helping you toss your salad later."

Her words are enough to make Strohl choke on his saliva, coughing and sputtering as Will rushes to clap him on the back.

Honestly, she should be commended for her excellent matchmaking skills.

"I'll leave you boys to it, what do you say? Oh, and Will," she starts, leaning in to whisper to him, more than loudly enough for Strohl to overhear her words, "breasts are nice and all, but I'm sure Strohl is more of a thigh man."

"I... what?"

"The meat, love."

Filling and varied as their dinner might have been, Neuras has to admit that the mood on the runner hardly reflects it, and not just because of their unexpected stowaways.

Strohl and their captain are none the wiser, naturally. Off doing whatever it is they do when they endlessly while the hours away—tending to weapons, talking late into the night. No, it's only all the rest of them that have to deal with the lack of progress, Gallica heaving a great sigh as soon as the hatch closes behind the two lovebirds.

"I fear they look no closer now than they did before," Hulkenberg tells them, Junah pouting more than a little.

"I gave them all this material to work with and then left them to their own devices in the kitchen. But when I checked in on them later? Wouldn't you know it, they were talking just like normal! Talking about Louis and the mission and nothing at all terribly interesting!"

"'Tis happening now as well," Heismay says, ears perked for a moment longer before he allows his attention to shift back to the group in full. "The situation may be more dire than first anticipated."

"Provided everything goes right with the ol' girl, we'll arrive tomorrow around noon. Then you kids will have plenty of time to put their heads on straight, what?" Neuras scratches the back of his head, pensive. "A change a scenery might bally well help sort out their..." He falters. "Problems. Tied tighter than a nautical knot around their hearts, I say!"

When Hulkenberg smiles, he knows not to expect anything good.

"What luck that you have experience with shipbuilding!"

"A metaphor, m'girl!"

"Be forewarned," Heismay says, voice soft. "We have company."

"He's right," Gallica chimes in, suddenly back to hovering in mid-air, seat long-vacated, "the brothers have been watching us from just around the corner."

"Oh-ho! I say let them. They agreed to help us in our ambitions, did they not?"

Displeased as Heismay looks, he just shakes his head, letting out a sigh. "Unfortunately."

"I'll just go tell them they're welcome here," Junah says before bounding off to talk to them both.

There are times, ones like this chief among them, that Neuras wishes he could hear as well as Heismay can. The only thing he'd want it more for is listening for technical difficulties when it comes to the runner's inner workings.

"Thought you lot were doin' something nefarious," Fidelio tells them, all swagger and false confidence. "Havin' a meeting all by yourself, are you?"

"Last we heard you weren't all too interested in our matchmaking efforts," Hulkenberg says, all the previous emotion having ebbed out of her voice.

If anything, Fidelio's scowl deepens. "More like we don't got time for any of that. If you lot haven't already forgotten, we're s'posed to be findin' a lance."

"Too busy, are you?" Neuras grins. "Don't tell me you've been cleaning the runner for me when I wasn't looking."

"This old rustbucket? Wouldn't dream of it."

"Glad to hear it. Will has been doing more than enough of that already. It wouldn't do for me to start hearing that old Neuras has been making you all row just so we make it to shore!"

"Wouldn't be too bad to kick back once in a while, would it, Del?"

He shrugs. "Just no idea what any of this is s'posed to accomplish."

"Rest assured that all of our lives would be improved if we managed to aid Strohl in this matter."

Despite Hulkenberg's certainty, Fidelio looks no more convinced. "Don't see why you can't just go talk to him."

"There's no way it's that simple," Gallica insists, to remarkably little effect.

"Ain't it? Either he likes the kid and oughta do somethin' about it, or he doesn't, and you lot can let up with all this nonsense."

"Oh?" Junah cocks her head, arms crossed in front of her chest. "I take it you'd like to do the honors, then?"

As if on cue, Basilio brightens. "'course he would! Right, Del? We got this!"

"Ugh. Fine. Seeing as you lot are clearly completely useless—" Pushing off of the banister, he turns to his brother, hands still shoved deep into his pockets. "Come on, Basilio. The sooner we get this charade over with, the better."

There is a longing that has taken root in Basilio's chest.

The first that he remembers feeling was a longing for freedom.

Now, it's a longing for friendship.

Del doesn't trust the group, which Basilio can hardly blame him for. They might've taken in Lady Junah, but they've done little else to make themselves seem less suspicious.

Aside from, perhaps, acting like completely normal people.

That's the part that rattles Del most, he thinks. After a life steeped in the abnormal, in fighting and running for their lives, running and hiding from their past, and then taking shelter behind Lord Louis, anything that looks pleasant is a threat. Something deeply wrong.

There must be something wrong with the whole group of them, no doubt. They trust each other. Even seem to like each other. None of it is based in fear.

He's not smart like Del, something he probably has the experiments to thank for as well, but if there's one thing that Basilio knows, it's that this is the sort of future he's always hoped to find.

A space of safety and warmth and companionship where both of them might always feel wanted, not just needed.

When they make it up to the front deck of the runner, they catch Strohl and Will packing away their weapons, done with whatever they'd been doing.

"Hey, kid," Fidelio says, not bothering with any niceties. "That lot down there want to talk to you."

Will blinks. "Just... me?"

"Didn't ask questions, did I?"

Despite his evident skepticism, Will packs up the rest of his things to go, Strohl quietly thanking him before he leaves. Painfully awkward silence ensues as they wait for the hatch to close behind him.

"Mind telling me what this is about, exactly?" Strohl asks, eyes already narrowed.

"Could ask you the same thing. You and him," Del continues, nodding back over his shoulder to where Will disappeared off to, "you plannin' on doing something about that?"

"I'm sorry," Strohl says, sounding far more bewildered than even remotely sorry, "even if we pretend that my personal life is at all your business... I can't say I even know what you're talking about."

"You can drop the act. No point in playin' dumb with us."

"Del," Basilio says, voice softened as he leans in, "maybe he really doesn't know."

"Either he knows or he never even thought about it before. Either way, we've got our answer." Del holds his hand up as if to signal that the conversation is over before turning around.

"Now wait just a minute—"

Del doesn't bother looking back, just continuing on in his departure, and, for just a second, Basilio considers staying and trying to talk to Strohl. But then Del turns to look over his shoulder at him.

"Well? You comin', Basilio?"

And just like that, the thought evaporates.

They arrive to heat and humidity, something everyone seems to have an opinion about.

Strohl is no better, but even the feeling of being cooked alive isn't enough to take his mind off the brothers' words.

Not that their words alone have settled in his gut of late: Hulkenberg and Heismay and Junah have hardly served to aid in the matter.

It's as though simply overnight everyone collectively lost their minds.

Him included, clearly.

Occasionally, his eyes will drift over to their much-beloved captain and linger there only to violently wrench away again.

Is there something everyone else is seeing that he isn't? He told Will he saw him as a younger brother.

Well. A partner and a younger brother.

Thinking back on it now, he remembers the distinct sense of panic that came over him at Will's question.

Why would he ask? Why wouldn't a sibling relationship suffice? Why add in thoughts of partnership?

They're friends. Isn't that all that should matter?

But in the same breath, Will is... indispensable. To all of them, of course, but...

The only reason he's able to help the people of Halia as he is now is because of Will. The only reason he's able to try and get revenge on Louis for what he did is because of Will. Even everything that happened during their remarkably short tenure in the army is all because of Will.

He's the only reason he's still alive. The only reason he awoke to this power and was able to seize his own destiny by the horns.

But all of that falls well within the bounds of friendship. Deep, close friendship, certainly, but—

Heismay was talking as though he was expecting Strohl to start rutting the next sandworm they came across. Junah acted as though he and Will were married. The brothers behaved as though everyone on the ship believes him to have feelings for their captain.

Coupled with Hulkenberg's line of inquiry at the start of all this mess, it leaves a great number of questions unanswered. All the more so when he considers Will's lack of reaction to Junah's kitchen antics from the day before.

Surely he is not unfamiliar with the euphemisms she was tossing around. Perhaps he was ignoring the implications out of politeness. Nothing to sidestep if he never so much as acknowledges anything.

Will clutches hold of his head, and instantly Strohl's gaze is drawn. Something about hearing a voice...

He's fine, it seems.

This level of concern would be warranted for a family member, wouldn't it?

A part of him still feels as though reducing their relationship to one of siblings was... reductive. Wrong, even. But what else could it possibly be?

Something is wrong with him, he thinks.

Will trips on a root and Strohl has to resist the urge to make sure he's all right. Instead, he watches Heismay fuss, Will naturally denying there being anything wrong.

"It may be good for all of us to watch our step while traversing an unfamiliar jungle," he says, determined not to focus all of his worries on a single target even as his gaze keeps straying.

Perhaps if he hadn't been quite so focused elsewhere, they wouldn't have gotten lost, but there's hardly any point in giving himself grief over that now, of all times.

Not to mention that, well. It's not as though it's getting any better, now is it? Will clutches his head for one singular moment, and Strohl feels his chest seize up.

The thought isn't given leave to linger. Nets descend on them and backup quickly follows, the lot of them expeditiously dragged off to an uncomfortable, musty cell. Not to rot, but to await execution.

One thought keeps him afloat, even in the face of death: Will can't die. He's a top contender for the throne. The king's magic would protect him, if not the others.

So it's fine. It's just fine.

Dusk is just breaking through the cracks to the outside, unreachable to them, when Will gets up and makes his way over to him, moving to sit by his side.

"Hey." Will's smile is small but no less warm for it, and for just a moment, the light hits him just right to make it look as though he himself is radiant. "Holding up all right?"

A sigh leaves him. "As well as can be expected. I imagine we're all hungry, uncomfortable, and mildly concerned about our upcoming execution."

"Right." A very cute expression comes over Will's face, the same one he makes anytime he seems deep in thought about something. "So here's what I was thinking. If we sit back to back, we might be able to untie each other's bonds. It might be a bit tricky for me, since I'm wearing gloves, but you're really strong, so..."

Right. He is. It's not strange for Will to think that about him. It is, however, strange for him to be happy at that little fact.

"Well, I'm... I'm certainly more than happy to try. Here—I'll move, so just... you move closer to me."

Everything inside of him wants to wither and perish. All the more so when Will's fingers find his, and don't shy away in the least.

"Found you," Will says softly, the smile in his voice audible.

"Guess you have."

His own voice is just as quiet, and for just a moment, it feels like they're partways holding hands, fingers loosely entwined.

"It's... it's not an awkward angle, is it? I can move if I need to."

"No, that's—that's all right. I can probably... from here..."

Willing himself to disentangle their fingers once more, Strohl shifts his attention to the rope around his wrists. It has to be tied somewhere, doesn't it?

"Maybe I can try just tearing it..."

"I would not bother," Heismay tells them from a rock away. "This is shark-catching rope, manufactured right here on the island. Designed to hold even the slipperiest, smoothest of sharks. The rope itself feels like sandpaper."

"You're telling me," Will says, audibly gritting his teeth before wincing as Strohl tries once again to tear the rope.

"Sorry, it I could just—"

He doesn't have time enough to voice the thought in full, not when two masked soldiers appear at the door to their cell, Will and Strohl all but flying apart.

"The candidate will be interrogated."

Unsurprisingly, that catches everyone's attention. Even Will, normally the most composed of them all, looks alarmed.

"What?"

"What do you mean, he's going to be interrogated?"

Even bearing a mask, the soldier now grabbing hold of Will manages to look unimpressed at Strohl's rising panic.

"Save your breath, wretch, while you still draw it."

Wrenched up by his arm, Will hisses out a wince of pain, Strohl on his feet before he can see reason.

Almost immediately, he's kicked back down via a boot to his gut.

"Don't make this harder than it needs to be."

"I swear, if you hurt him—!"

"Strohl, I'll be fine, I swear!"

How Will manages to smile at times like this is beyond him, Strohl letting out a cough as he sits back up with some difficulty. The others are talking, most likely to him as well, but he's not hearing any of it.

Will will be fine. He's—he's a candidate. And resilient. Brighter and stronger than any of them. Dependable, too. But being a candidate only means that he can't die. That sanctist crier said they made him talk, and that they weren't gentle about it. If they hurt Will... if he's returned to them black and blue... he doesn't know what he'll do.

If they return him at all...

"—Strohl!"

Hulkenberg looks as pained as he must when he finally looks up, and a stab of guilt runs through him. Right. He's not the only one worried about Will here, of course.

"Sorry, just... feeling a bit out of sorts."

"A shared affliction, I fear," Heismay says, letting out a sigh.

"You're really worried about him, aren't you?" Gallica asks. As scared as she must be for Will, she almost looks more concerned about Strohl right now.

Another stab of guilt to add to the collection, he supposes.

"Obviously. But that's everyone here. I'm not in some privileged position where I have any right to be more worried than anyone else."

She looks unconvinced. More concerned, if it's possible. "But... isn't he really important to you?"

"He's important to all of us, Gallica. We all rely and depend on him. He's the only reason we're in any position to be fighting at all. We finally have a shot at taking down Louis, maybe, if we play our cards exactly right. And all of that is only because of him."

"Mmm, sure, but... isn't there more to it than that?"

"What?"

"Well, haven't you two become really close? Not just as teammates, but..."

"Gallica," Hulkenberg says, cutting her off just as his heart hitches a beat at her words. "Now may not be the time."

"Mm, fine."

"Hulkenberg is tight. Strohl's heartbeat is only now returning to normal. It would not do to stress him any further."

"What?"

"Sounded like a nasty bout of stagefright, love," Junah tells him, her smile wry.

Was that how bad it had gotten? Is that why Hulkenberg sought to snap him out of it? Was he really hyperventilating? He still feels out of breath.

"He'll be back," the crier says from the other end of the cell. "And hey, if it helps? I'm still in one piece! They even let me keep every single one of my teeth!"

"Sure," Strohl says, the last vestige of hope in his chest getting up and walking away, "but from the sounds of things, you talked."

Will wouldn't.

There's a headache building, slowly but surely, behind Will's eyes.

It takes the soldiers the better part of an hour to decide that he's not interested in talking about all the heretical crimes he's been planning to commit on the island, finally relenting and taking him back to the cell with the others. The slivers of daylight that remained with them before have been replaced by moonlight, dusk long fallen.

"Will!"

Strohl is on his feet in moments, the soldier escorting Will clanging his lance against the bars. "Get back, wretch."

"He's not going to escape," Will says with a weary, tired sigh, though it's obvious that he's not being listened to.

Which is hardly anything new. He could only insist so many times that no, we weren't planning on just taking the lance without permission, no, I wasn't spying on the priestess in the sacred cleansing pool, no, we didn't intentionally befoul it, before it becomes an exhausting song and dance. No one believed him, anyway. A part of him isn't certain why he even bothered pleading their case in the first place.

Shoved in a bit more forcefully than he was when they first arrived, Will stumbles slightly, Strohl stepping closer despite the earlier warnings.

As if in response, the door is slammed shut.

"Are you all right, my friend?"

"Honestly, the worst thing they did to me was being annoyingly persistent. They really want a reason to execute us."

"And here I thought they didn't need a reason," Heismay grumbles, Will's smile wry.

A strange expression crosses Strohl's features, only to disappear a moment later as he turns to glance back at Batlin. "Then what was he on about?"

"I kind of think he might just be a wimp," Will says, his voice dropping as he shoots Strohl a smile.

In truth, he'd expected Strohl to look happier. Amused, perhaps. But instead he just looks baffled.

"Right," he says, and goes to sit down again.

Hulkenberg just shrugs, evidently as puzzled as Will is. So he goes to sit beside Gallica.

"Do you... know what's up with Strohl?"

Glancing over at him, Gallica hesitates for a moment. "Well, I think he was really worried about you."

"He... doesn't seem too happy about my being back."

"You might just need to let him work this one out on his own."

Even now, Strohl is avoiding even looking at him. His eyes are closed, chin tucked in, and if he didn't know better, he'd almost be able to convince himself that Strohl is trying to sleep sitting up.

But he does know better, and he does know Strohl, and he knows that to be an incredibly unlikely scenario.

He's spent so long worried about the fallout of his own feelings. Now that the consequences might be staring him in the face, he's not sure how to handle any of it.

All things considered, he should probably be more worried about their theoretical impending executions, but would the brothers really leave Junah here to die? Surely not.

"You don't think he knows, do you?"

"Knows what?"

Will huffs. "What else could it be? Aside from the obvious."

"I know you probably don't agree with me on this, but I really don't think he knows how either of you feels. Why?"

"Because." Will steals another glance. Much as he wishes he could just give this up, being around Strohl all the time doesn't particularly help matters. Yet his prospects seem worse than their ability to kill Louis, lance or no lance. "He's been acting odd." A beat. "Actually, Junah has too."

"How's that?"

"Well, just the other day while making dinner—"

Clanging at the bars interrupts his train of thought, soldiers barking something about how they should take the chance to sleep while they still can. On account of their impending execution, of course.

"What say you to another few escape attempts?" Hulkenberg asks brightly as soon as they're alone again. Will has to admit, it's a better use of time than fretting needlessly about things he can't change.

"We've been saying it since the beginning. We help anyone in need. No exceptions. Right, my friend?"

The words have haunted Strohl since their utterance, shortly after their rescue.

He all but tripped on them, really. Caught himself chewing on the words before they could slip out, and even then, they still came out sounding wrong.

Feeling wrong, too.

"Right... my friend?"

There's no privacy at the Virga Island inn, just several beds for them to pile into with no sense of decency or decorum of any sort. To his left, Hulkenberg is snoring up a storm. To his right, Will looks like an angel, curled up on his side, face tucked into his pillow.

Dead asleep, naturally.

All while Strohl's mind races.

Once more, the words of their companions echo through his mind. Is that all Will is to him? Just a friend?

Does it even matter?

Will is remarkable. Indispensable to them all, especially Strohl. Yet as much as he owes him for his current place in life, others are no better, well beyond even this small group of theirs. He knows that. Will is spread every which way. And if he's elected king, who knows if he'd even be allowed to hand the title to someone else?

Will could have anyone. Easily.

Not that it stops him from spending his evenings talking to Strohl, letting Strohl keep him awake well past when they should have called it a night, or spending his afternoons sharpening weapons by his side.

He's an angel. What does that make him, in reaching for the divine? A hopeful penitent?

How long has he been pushing the thought aside on account of a multitude of fears?

Too long, perhaps.

Even so: Will deserves peace of mind.

Now is not the time.

A statement he wishes he could more soundly embed within his mind.

Not now, if ever.

They're on day two of their exploration, halfway through the Dragon Temple and shortly after discovering the priestess, Eupha. Relieved as they all are to have found her alive, the mood has brightened considerably among the group, and after first defeating the melancholia-stricken tree at the entrance and then navigating disorienting fog every which way one might turn, it's a welcome reprieve from all the heat and hardships. Even the unfortunate knowledge of how eager Eupha is to sacrifice herself isn't enough to dampen spirits any, Gallica glad to see Will smiling again.

That calm before the storm is also how Strohl steps into a trap of his own making.

"You seem well-acquainted with this temple. Eupha, do you come here often?"

"Every year, I must spend a month confined by the altar, offering it my prayers."

The discussion turns to Eupha's faith and her myriad sacrifices in its name, at least until Junah turns her attention to Strohl.

"I didn't expect you to ask something so forward, Strohl."

From the sounds of it, he just about chokes. "That's not—I didn't mean—"

"Relax, I know you're not interested in some girl you just met. We all know you'd prefer to be buttering Will's honey cakes."

"Would you stop it with the food metaphors already?"

"Oh come on, you know exactly what I'm saying." She lets out a huff, as if to better make her point. Unfortunately, it seems to be having the opposite of its intended effect. "And you're not really in a position to deny it anymore either, mister, not after that freakout of yours back in our cell."

"Junah's right, Strohl," Gallica says, leaving Will for the time being to fly closer to where the two of them are talking. "You don't have to keep flying around the issue. You can talk to us; we're your friends too."

The thought is cut off as they turn a corner, spotting a potolpo hiding in a vase too late. A moment later, it explodes, Will getting thrown back and the others faring no better. A nearby treebeast jumps at the opportunity—and just like that, they're in combat.

He's fine. Will is fine.

The conversational thread started by Junah and Gallica was thankfully snapped in two, but the price paid rendered the exchange far from worthwhile. Now he's pacing, just watching Hulkenberg clumsily try and patch up Will's wounds, and it's taking every part of his self control to hold himself back.

And for what? No good reason, clearly.

He steels himself. "Just—let me—"

Hulkenberg's eyes widen, but she draws back all the same, hands raised. A too-knowing smile colors her features. "Be my guest! Healing is hardly my strong suit."

The question of who ought to be the healer in their little party has followed them since Regalith Cathedral, never really finding a satisfactory answer. None of them are exactly suited to the role, aside from perhaps Will, to whom all roles seem to come naturally. When his own back is injured, however... that's a good bit harder to heal, even for him.

Still, he'd rather be the one doing it than watching Hulkenberg fumble about with their supplies.

"Go... take care of Junah, or something. Or the new girl, if that's too nervewracking for you. I know she's all keen on becoming a sacrifice, but that doesn't mean she'll appreciate being torn to pieces ahead of time."

"She won't be torn to pieces, now or later! On my honor as a knight, I won't allow it to happen."

When Strohl looks back at Will, he's smiling, wide and bright as ever.

"Wanted me all to yourself? Or were you just trying to free me from The Great Healer Hulkenberg?"

Something in his mind ratchets, a pebble in the spokes of the mechanism. Usually well-oiled, now falling apart.

"Something... like... that." He clears his throat, moving to sit near Will as he gently lifts up his wrist, bruised and possibly worse from both the impact and his attempt at catching himself. Sprained, most likely. "Does it hurt badly?"

"I'm fine," Will lies, shaking his head with a smile.

"Come now, my friend," —there's that word again— "I would rather you not pretend, at least not with me."

Will's gaze falls to his lap, but not fast enough for Strohl to miss the sadness cone over his face. "Pretending, huh."

"Is something the matter?"

"I'm fine."

"Will—"

"I'll stop lying if you do," Will blurts out, his smile somewhat pained as he briefly glances at Strohl, wrenching his eyes away again a moment later.

His fingers tremble faintly as he fights to remember how to cast even a simple Dei, Will's wrist shockingly small in his grasp.

"You keep... frightening me lately," he hears himself say, the magic flowing out of him in short spurts. Messy, but ultimately effective enough.

"You know me, utterly terrifying."

If he didn't know better, he'd be half-convinced he imagined their entire exchange from seconds again, Will smiling again as if joy is the only emotion he's ever known and ever cared to.

"Just—" He exhales, suddenly unable to do so much as look at Will's bare wrist. "I thought they were going to actually torture you. And then I saw you get shoved into the nearest wall—it's a lot."

His heart threatens to stop as Will shifts to unbutton his jacket and tug it off, the air in the room suddenly stifling. All the more so as he moves on to his shirt.

"Uh—Will?"

"I thought you were going to heal me?"

"Oh, right. That." How foolish he is, to take such a simple motion for something more. "Apologies. Show me where, and I'll... see what I can do."

More than ever before, the magla hollow—a safe space in theory—feels threatening, ready to choke the life out of him from lack of space and privacy.

There are only so many tables and chairs, only so much room for everyone to congregate. It feels somewhat like being back at the Virga Island inn, all of them crammed into a too-small room with too few beds.

Will pulls off his shirt with a slowness that would seem intentional—intent on torturing him perhaps—but then Strohl realizes it's on account of his injuries. Stiffness in swollen joints, aches and bruises and wounds that turn the very task of undressing into a labor.

"Ah—here. Allow me." Nodding to the fabric still clinging desperately on to Will's arms, he watches and waits for permission before helping to ease him out of the clothes.

Unmistakeable, then. The sight is a sobering reminder of his earlier comment about watching Will get thrown into the wall. His back is badly bruised from the impact, parts of his arms singed from the explosion, and deep welts run across his front where the treebeast must have swiped.

If they weren't in such crowded environs, he might ask to look at his legs too, but—

He shakes the thought free of his mind, wills it down like an overexcited dog begging for scraps at the dinner table.

"Tell me if I'm... making any of this worse."

Despite the pain he must be in, Will laughs, the sound light and unburdened. "Why would you healing me make me worse?"

Such faith in him. "While I may be good at swinging my sword around, I am a far cry from the capable healer you are."

"I'm getting patched up, aren't I? You're doing fine."

Strohl can't help but disagree. Though he has no reason to believe that nerves would serve to make one worse at such a task, it can hardly aid matters.

Will turns to look at him over his shoulder, all smiles. "Or do I need to get you a sweetbun to help?"

If only this was a mere status ailment afflicting him. That would allow him to shed the anxiety he feels with laughable ease.

But it isn't, and it won't. Not when he can practically hear Junah from across the room.

"We all know what sort of sweet buns you're interested in, love."

Of all the things for his mind to cook up, it just has to partner with Junah in her eagerness to torment him with food-based innuendo.

"I fear it's not that sort of anxiety, just... performance anxiety." As soon as the words leave him, Strohl feels himself wince. "You know what I mean."

"It feels nice."

"I'm—sorry?"

"The healing." Will is still smiling, utterly nonplussed. Ignorant of all innuendo, it would seem. Strohl files it away as a mercy. "It feels nice when you do it."

"Oh, that's—just me, then, is it?" Never before has he felt so profoundly that his cravat is choking him. "The others might take offense to that."

"They're not here right now. Bit premature to worry, wouldn't you say?"

He wouldn't, truly. There's plenty to worry about here. He just does a better job of concealing it than someone like, say, Junah.

"Well, that is... I'm... glad. That it... feels nice."

Ohhh, he wants to sink into the ground.

"Doesn't it feel that way for you?"

"I don't... rightly recall." Was he simply too focused on Will every other time to notice that it was a pleasant feeling? "I fear we may need to try again."

"I don't suppose you're injured right now."

"You took the brunt of the damage this time, my—" Strohl stops. Swallows. "—friend."

"Strohl?"

"No, it's—it's nothing." Will is wincing, he realizes a second later. "Oh, curse it!" Frantically drawing his hands back to stare at them, Strohl balks at the sight of arcs of electricity jump over his skin.

"It's just some archetype interference, that's all." Will, magnanimous as he ever is, throws him another smile, this one somehow warmer than even the last. "Really, it just felt a bit like static."

"If I try to heal you and end up casting thunder blade on you—"

"It's fine."

"You always say that." He sighs. "I'll go get someone else, all right?"

Will's hand shoots out before he's even fully turned away, wrapping around Strohl's wrist to stop him.

"If I tell you that I'd rather it be you, will you stay?"

How can he not?

"And if I cast thunder blade on you..."

"We've still got some medicinal herbs on hand." The smile widens. "No big deal."

It is a big deal, if perhaps not for the reasons Will might think. Feeling his shoulders slump in surrender, he turns back, slowly nodding. "All right."

He can probably handle a few more heals without losing control again.

Probably.

The priestess Eupha awakens to her own power the next day, the group of them taking down the human threatening the village—first in the temple, then on the beach. It's an exhausting, seemingly neverending day, and by the time they make it back to the inn—still cramped, despite all the talk of the runner being yet more cramped—Strohl feels dead in his feet.

It doesn't help that he still feels off balance, wind-inflicted lacerations making his arm and side feel like they've been burnt—to say nothing of the way he kept getting his feet swept out from under him, soundly landing him on his ass.

It's one reason he's not presently sitting, even as Will has to crane his neck a bit to look up at him from his spot, criss-cross on the bed.

"I can tell, you know," Will says somewhat quietly, unexpectedly interrupting their conversation on the fight. Not too far from them, the others chat by themselves, only occasionally sneaking a peek. "You don't have to hide it from me."

"Hm? What is it that I am or am not hiding, exactly?"

"Your injuries."

Strohl grimaces before he can think better of it. "I didn't wish to... make a big production of it."

A knock wrenches them both out of the conversation, and Eupha enters shortly after, understandably restless.

It's only after some time that she leaves again. The timing seems enough of a cue for Hulkenberg and Junah to head to bed.

A part of him had expected Will to forget. But just as Strohl is about to turn toward his own bed, Will stops him.

"Won't you let me patch you up this time? It's almost only the two of us."

Almost. On the other side of the room, Gallica and Heismay quietly chat. Hulkenberg's snore may as well be an entity all its own.

"Yes, of course. Obviously. At least I know you won't hurt me."

Will laughs. "It honestly wasn't that bad."

"Then that's just because you're made of tougher stuff than most."

"I have been cleaning the runner a lot..."

It's times like these that Strohl wishes he had both far fewer layers to take off, and more all at the same time. Despite his general modesty, sense of common decency, and overall predilection toward shame, right now the former is winning.

This is taking far, far too long. All the more so given that he can feel Will's eyes on him.

The last garment shed, he allows it to fall to the bed before turning to look at Will again. "Is that enough?"

"Depends... wasn't your lower half also injured?"

His eyes move not to Strohl's legs, but his rear. Too perceptive for his own good, really. Strohl lets out a sigh.

"Something tells me... you already know the answer."

"Let's just take it one step at a time," Will says, patting the spot beside him with a smile, warm and inviting as ever.

The bed squeaks a bit as he sits, surprisingly loud even amidst the snoring and quiet conversation.

"All right. You may consider me under your... um." He clears his throat. "Well."

"I promise your trust won't be misplaced."

Bright and cheery. Strohl tries to quell the nerves in his stomach that shouldn't even be there to begin with.

They fought a dragon today. And a human—twice. Why, then, does this feel so insurmountable? They're not even alone, and still he's a wreck. It's not as though anything could even happen.

"How, ah... how do you want me?" He cringes even as he says it.

"Could you face over there real quick?"

Directed by Will's gesturing, Strohl turns to face the wall. Behind him, two hands find his shoulders, stronger than he expected them to be.

"What—?"

"You're so... tense. It might be good to work out a bit of that tension before anything else."

"Um. Sure."

Will has no idea why he's tense, does he? If anything, this is going to make things worse.

And yet, Will's fingers are somehow doing the trick. There's enough force behind his massaging that even Strohl's anxiety is forced to relent its hold on his muscles.

"I switched archetypes," Will says by way of explanation.

"To... brawler?"

Even facing away, he can feel Will shaking his head. "No, actually. Warrior."

A pleasant tingle runs up his spine.

"I know you were talking about how I keep scaring you," Will continues, hands still diligently moving as he speaks, "but you should know you're just as bad."

"It's not every day that the humans we fight have wind abilities at their disposal."

If he's honest, it made him feel like a liability more than anything else.

"I just meant... I don't like you going down either."

"It's my job to protect you—"

"And if I want to protect you too? Doesn't it matter what I want?"

It's a valid question, one Strohl doesn't particularly care for.

"Of course it does." His shoulders slump. His posture is normally better than Will's, but his hands are making damn certain that it isn't right now. "But yes, I see your point. We can't always be there to stop each other getting hurt. Doesn't mean I have to like it."

Quiet descends between them, even given the myriad noises still permeating through the room. Gallica and Heismay's quiet chatter, Hulkenberg's snoring, the sounds of nature just outside their windows—leaves rustling in the wind, older children still awake enough to play, birds eagerly trying to find a partner...

He can certainly commiserate with that last one.

It's in that semblance of peace that Strohl notices two things: one, Will has been healing him while administering the massage, and two, it's started having an effect on the rest of his body.

That's the problem—one of many, perhaps—of communal living. Back in the capital, he and Will share a room. In all the other cities thus far, they share a room with everyone.

And on the runner... everything in those damn pods echoes. Considering how loud Hulkenberg's snoring is every night, he wouldn't usually dare risk it. The shower is really the only possibility.

But during their three day journey through the dragon temple, and then the subsequent fights, there was no moment for private rest and relaxation, let alone anything of a more intimate nature.

Clearly, it's catching up to him. Caught up to him.

He shifts, trying to cross his legs in the least obvious manner possible.

"Is everything all right?"

"Great, uh... never better, actually! Your healing really seems to work up a—work a charm."

Considering how decent an actor he was back on the Charadrius while dealing with Louis' men, this showing is just embarrassing.

"You know you can be honest with me, right?"

"Oh, yeah. Obviously."

He can practically feel the doubt rolling off of Will in waves.

"Then... how are you feeling now? Is it at all better?"

Right. He can still string words together. "Loads, actually. Not really sure how you combined all that healing with a massage, but..."

"Then, do you want to...?"

Oh.

Right. That.

Strohl briefly sees his life flash before his eyes. How is he still half-hard? It... is still half-hard, isn't it? It hasn't gone straight to fully erect? The way he's clenching his thighs together makes it impossible to tell.

All he knows is that if he drops his pants right now, he'll die. Simple as that.

"You know," Strohl says slowly, fighting an ever-closing throat as he forces out word after word, "I suddenly feel all better, actually! I'm just going to... go to sleep." Clumsily getting up without unclenching, he just about dives into his bed to escape prying eyes.

He can't even bring himself to look at Will after that stunt he just pulled. So he pulls the blanket a bit higher.

"Goodnight."

"Oh, um... all right. Goodnight, I suppose."

The stabbing feeling in his heart in response to the disappointment audible in Will's words feels impossible to shelve. He tries all the same.

At this rate, it's going to be a very long night.

"What is going on with him?" Gallica asks him upon her return, Heismay heaving a sigh. Her conversation with Will must have not gone well, seeing as she was speaking with him for all of two seconds.

"You were not there for long. Did something happen between them after all?"

"I don't know! He didn't want to talk. I told him we could go outside and chat, but he said he was just going to go to sleep."

"You've no idea what Strohl did to cause this?"

"Aside from just suddenly going to sleep with half his clothes strewn on the floor?"

Heismay hums, listening for Strohl's heartbeat. Ba-dump, ba-dump, ba-dump.

"He must be in considerable distress."

"Well, yeah. That much is obvious."

"I speak not of his retreat under the covers. He is not yet asleep; his heart is pounding."

Gallica quiets at that, bobbing up and down as she watches Strohl. "What about Will?"

"While his heart is not racing as Strohl's is, I fear he is far from sleep yet."

"Figures." She sighs. "I'll try talking to him tomorrow. Though I doubt there will be much to talk about."

"I wonder about that."

"There's really not much to talk about," Will tells her the next day as they make their way around the Virga Island market stalls. Gallica's cheeks puff out as if to signal her disapproval.

"Yeah right! You might've weaseled your way out of this chat last night, but we're talking about this now, mister!"

"Nothing happened, honestly."

"Is that why Strohl ran away last night?"

"He didn't—" Will huffs. "I don't know why he did that. I thought—I thought he trusted me more than that."

"With what, exactly?"

"I finished healing him, so I asked if he wanted me to get his bottom half too."

"Uh-huh, and then?"

"Then he ran."

"I see..." Maybe she doesn't know enough about non-fairy biology for this. "Did you ask him why?"

"Didn't really give me a chance to. When I woke up, he was already gone."

Does this mean it's her turn to talk to Strohl? Not that she can think of much that she'll really be able to do here.

"You know, I could try to track him down... he can't exactly be far."

"Thanks, Gallica." Even now Will's smile is ever-bright. "But I think I might need to handle this one myself."

There's got to be something she can do. She'll just need to call the tribunal together.

While avoiding Will and Strohl both.

Sure, that'll be so easy.

The mood around the island is almost obnoxiously chipper, not to mention the singing that seems to follow Fidelio wherever he goes. But you step one foot near the pup when he thinks no one's looking, and it's like the sky might open up to go raining down just on him.

And now that Strohl kid is sitting outside the Rooster Inn, one knee drawn up to his chest, eyes closed.

Something's up.

"Well, don't tell me there's trouble in paradise."

Strohl turns to look at him. Surprise first, then skepticism. Which is to be expected.

Admittedly, he prefers that. The pup's usually relentless positivity and optimism is far more unsettling than anything else.

"What?"

His hands find their way into his pockets. A safe haven. "Haven't seen you hangin' around your other half lately. Or at least not half as much."

"That's not—" Strohl stops, pauses. Seems to consider his words. Once more, the eyes slip closed. "Everything's just fine."

"Oh, aye. Bet you got real good at tellin' yourself that. Don't s'pose that business with helpin' anyone in need applies to yourself then, eh."

"Should you even be walking around with your leg the way it is?"

"I keep bloody telling everyone, I'm fine. Seem to be doin' better than you, anyhow."

"I'm—" Once more, Strohl's mouth skids to a stop before seeming to chew on his words. Fighting them, really. Finally, he finds some to win against. "Why do you even care?"

He shrugs. "None o' my business, really. Whole mood of the place's just been fucked."

"Well, then. My sincerest apologies for disturbing your mood with my existence."

Dripping with sarcasm, naturally. Fidelio decides to ignore it. "What's got you so riled up, anyhow?"

"If I wanted to talk about it to someone who hates my guts, trust me, I would have gone straight to you."

"So you're just gonna keep makin' it the pup's problem, eh? Some friend you are. Guess I shoulda expected that from a noble."

"You—"

"Just tellin' it like I see it, is all."

All right, now he's just pushing buttons.

"Del!" Basilio's voice brightens even from a distance. Already he's rushing over with that bloody canter of his. "There ye are! Been lookin' all over fer ye!"

"Don't tell me you're here to harangue me about goin' back to restin' my leg."

"Nah, I just—" Bas stops, blinks, focus shifting. "Ye alright there, Strohl?"

"Oh," Strohl starts once on his feet, brushing himself off. "Never better."

Thoroughly unimpressed to the last: that's the only emotion left on Fidelio's face. "Just put the kid out of his misery already. A mercy killing's better than some slow death, bleedin' out in some gutter."

"Did Strohl kill someone?" Bas asks, earnest as ever.

"Just metaphorically," Fidelio says, and steps away, no glancing back.

"All right," Gallica declares with a glance around their room. "You all know why we're here. Which means you also know that we don't have a lot of time."

"Damn teleportation igniter. Don't get me wrong, I love that we can just hop on over to Grand Trad to pick up Rella like it's nothing, but at times like these..."

"We simply need to make the time we do have count," Hulkenberg agrees. "Now, Heismay, did I hear you right earlier?"

"There are rumors going around the village suggesting that a festival will soon be held that we might be allowed to participate in."

Junah's eyes widen. "A festival, you say? My, that's perfect!"

"I thought the same," Gallica says, brightly nodding. "There's bound to be some sort of... romantic... thing there, right?"

"One can only hope." Hulkenberg's expression shifts, briefly appearing deep in thought. "Might there be an activity of sorts that would allow us to better prepare them for this gauntlet?"

"I sure hope it's not a gauntlet!" Junah's shocked laughter fades a moment later, only to leave her deep in thought. "There are just so many options... most of them we might just be able to suggest, but..."

"I still believe someone ought to talk to those boys about safety."

"You might need to talk to Will about that stuff," Gallica suggests, "though he might turn you away too. Not out of modesty—he's just become convinced that nothing will ever happen."

Hulkenberg hums. "Then allow us to be strategic about this. If we escalate our activities only slowly, 'twill surely become more plausible as time goes on."

"What shall we start with..." Already wielding a pen, Junah taps her chin. "There's bound to be dancing, right? Hulkenberg, you must know how to."

"Why, certainly. I learned as a child."

"Brilliant! Then I'll cover the clothes since someone needs to make sure that they're well-dressed. And Gallica... you know where Will keeps all the bath salts, right?"

"Yep! Always keeps those on him."

"I swear, how does he keep so much stuff in that one bag—ah, never mind. Gallica, you get them cleaned up! And then once they're dressed and ready to go, Heismay, you go in for the kill."

"But only with the captain, you said?"

"Weeeell, something tells me that a group sex ed lesson might kill the mood. You know, just a bit."

"I also think we should all plan to sleep in the runner that night," Gallica adds. "Leave them some privacy."

A chuckle leaves Heismay as he smiles. "Makes no difference to me what ceiling I hang from, you can rest assured of that."

"Like that time when you stole Strohl's bed?"

"Sometimes, even a eugief longs for comfort." His smile shifts, suddenly wistful. "I can only imagine those two lads feel the same."

"What? Why?"

This is not a line of questioning they prepared for. In hindsight, perhaps they should have.

Nothing for it now, of course. Hulkenberg clears her throat. "We are... well, we are contestants in a crown contest! The captain, especially. Surely you can imagine how dreadful it would look if the person being put forth as a candidate can hardly dance at all."

Strohl pinches the bridge of his nose. Never a good sign. "And you want me to teach him all this? Why?"

"Why, because you have been formally trained, no doubt! I too learned from a young age."

"So why don't you just teach him then? Problem solved."

"Ah, you see—"

"I might also point out that I am not a woman."

"But that is precisely why you ought to be the one leading our captain! Or do you truly believe him to prefer women?"

"I—" His cheeks darken, red on red. "I haven't given it much thought, really."

Hulkenberg smiles. A trap laid, a trap sprung. "I suppose 'tis indeed possible that he might not care in the least. But speaking for myself, I fear 'twould be a most ill-suited match."

"How... so?"

"I would prefer to lead my partner on the dance floor. A woman, ideally."

"I see." He looks almost pained. "But surely Junah—"

"—who is, might I remind, a performer of the highest class—"

A sigh. This time, it really is pained. "Yes, yes, I see your point. Unfortunately."

"Are you truly so loath to dance with our captain? I imagine there are many people in the kingdom now that would gladly leap at the chance to do so." Hulkenberg pauses. It wouldn't do for Strohl to try to use that as a way out. "Not that they have been classically trained in dance either..."

"And when and where exactly am I supposed to do this?" Strohl asks, simply sidestepping the question.

Unacceptable. He cannot escape a question of such importance with such ease!

"Am I to take your silence on the matter as agreement?"

A migraine seems to be developing behind Strohl's eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose once more. "... what exactly is it that I am agreeing to?"

"Why, that you would truly despise dancing with the captain! 'Tis a matter most simple."

"Well, that's—that is to say—"

"Yes?"

"Obviously not."

"Ah! Marvelous." Perhaps she might push her luck a bit further...? "And would you say that you may well come to enjoy such a dance?"

"I—" Strohl's face scrunches up as he looks up at her once more. "Where is this coming from? Did—did he talk to you?"

Well, that perhaps backfired a mite. Unless she can use this in their favor, that is. "Is there a reason he might wish to speak to me? If the two of you have quarreled..."

"No—no! Nothing of the sort happened."

"Yet, 'tis true that you and he have not seemed as close as you were before."

"We were in Halia together just yesterday!"

"Ah, but that hardly constitutes a leisurely, intimate excursion! 'Twas a business trip, nothing more."

"In—intimate." Strohl blusters, eyes wide. "I can't tell if that's just your way of suggesting a two-person outing—actually, it might be better if I don't know. Just tell me where to go."

"Allow me to verify the captain's availability. With some luck, I ought be able to get everything together as early as tonight."

"I'd sing for you two," Junah tells him on their way to the beach, "but that might ruin the mood a wee bit."

In truth, Will has no idea where he's going or why; for all he knows, they're heading to the runner. So far, he's been spoonfed only a few clues to help him solve the mystery: music would be an appropriate accompaniment to the event, the mood is important (one Junah's presence would decidedly ruin), the event does not take place at the inn or near it, and it apparently involves two people.

And, of course, Junah insisted that he needed his evening free. His own insistence that his black-market igniter dealer wanted to talk to him, that he just had a feeling, fell on deaf ears.

Well. Brigitta can wait just one more day, he supposes.

The beach is mostly deserted by the time they arrive, standing torches alight along the way. The atmosphere is strangely romantic.

When he spots Strohl talking to Hulkenberg, a few things start making sense.

"Junah," he says, his steps slowing alongside his voice, "what is this?"

"Isn't it obvious? Dance lessons, of course!"

"Um." He comes to a stop. "Why?"

Junah sighs, turning around to face him.

"You know what the sanctist church is like! Any contest hosted by them is bound to involve a ball at some point, and seeing as we're putting you forward to be the future king, it would look just absolutely dreadful if our dashing candidate didn't even know how to dance."

All right, maybe she has a point.

"And... why is Strohl there, exactly?"

"Oh, I'm sure he's going to be an absolutely wonderful teacher, don't you?"

It's a leading question if ever he's heard one, but it's not as though she's wrong.

"I... suppose," he says, allowing her to lead him along. Their trip to Halia went just fine, admittedly. But anything beyond their usual day-to-day liaisons has felt both awkward and charged ever since Strohl's unexpected flight from his bed. "No one is forcing him to do this, right?"

"Could anyone force Strohl to do anything, really?"

Yes, he wants to say. Quite easily, honestly.

He holds his tongue.

"Fancy meeting you here," Will tells him as they approach, doing his best to counteract Strohl's seeming upset with nothing but bright smiles.

"Well!" Junah says, delightedly clapping her hands together. "Now that everyone's where they're supposed to be, me and Hulkenberg will just... take our leave."

"Do call if you should require aid."

Strohl watches them leave, a terse sigh escaping him. "They're just going to be watching regardless of whether we call for them or not." Slowly, almost reluctantly from the looks of it, he turns to face Will. "Sorry about... this. When Hulkenberg told me about dance lessons, it didn't even occur to me that they'd be strong-arming you into it too."

"I don't mind so much. Junah said it could end up useful in the future, and she might be right."

"Still, I can't imagine that I'd be your first choice for a dance partner."

A slow-dawning realization washes over him.

It's not upset that's rolling off of Strohl in waves.

It's nerves.

"No," Will says, taking care not to look away. "You are."

For a long moment, Strohl just stares at him, eyes wide. Then, something of a calm washes over him, and just like that, the moment passes again.

As if it had never been there to begin with.

"I guess there aren't too many people around that know how to, huh."

Oh. So that's how he's rationalized it away.

It would be easier, he thinks, if there had been another emotion mixed into the shock from a heartbeat ago. Joy, sadness, worry, disgust. They all would be better than nothing at all. At least then he'd know how Strohl feels.

Well. Aside from anxious.

"It's not... really about that. But sure, we can take it that way."

"I don't particularly fancy them watching us from up there," Strohl says, eyes having shifted up to the runner's deck. Either he didn't hear him, or he chose not to.

"We could go elsewhere." Waiting for Strohl's gaze to follow his, Will turns, nodding up at the overlook. "It's pretty nice up there. Quiet, too. I don't think I saw anyone on the way here."

Strohl casts a concerned glance back up at the runner before nodding resolutely. "All right. Lead the way."

His heart thuds a beat as he juts out his hand, expectantly waiting.

Strohl blinks. Looks down, up, and back down at his hand again.

There are no protests. Instead, Strohl just takes it, and Will, as promised, leads the way.

"Ah, Junah and Hulkenberg," Eupha says as she catches sight of them coming up the hill. "Oh, and Gallica too. Apologies, I did not see you there."

No, Junah supposes she couldn't have. Her gaze has been fairly fixated on Will alone ever since their time in the dragon temple. And judging from the way her eyes still linger in the direction he and Strohl went, Junah can guess at what happened fairly easily.

"We merely wished to observe, I assure you!" Hulkenberg rushes to tell her, as though Eupha is bound to tattle as soon as she gets the chance.

Junah tuts, flipping her hair back. Everything here is just so sticky. "And what else would we be doing? Honestly. Spying on your friends is a perfectly normal pastime!"

Predictably, Eupha's gaze remains trained on the path towards the overlook.

"I did not realize that Will and Strohl were... together."

"Oh, they're not," Gallica says, shaking her head. "Not yet, at least."

Eupha's face shifts some, not enough to make out her mood in this light, though Junah can guess at it. "The way they are holding hands is not..."

"Hmm?"

"They are being terribly intimate for people who are not together."

"Well, yeah," says Gallica, "that's just what those two are like."

"And now," Junah adds, grabbing both of their hands, "we're going to go spy on them like the good friends we are!"

"You were right," Strohl tells him once they make it, a small smile playing on his face. The first he's seen in a short while. "This is nice. Private."

"I thought you might like it more. Ground's more stable too."

The realization seems to dawn on him with the reminder: that they're here for a reason. Dance lessons, that is.

"Right," Strohl says, clearing his throat. "So, uh... I guess we can start with me showing you the footwork for how to lead?" A beat. "Come to think of it," he continues, a frown seeming to replace his earlier sheepishness, "Hulkenberg could've shown you this pretty easily, actually. Don't know why she didn't just do that."

"Maybe it's because I'd prefer for you to lead, and me to follow?"

Will's words seem to sink in alongside the realization that they're still holding hands.

"Is that... something you want?"

He smiles. "Why wouldn't I?"

"For... so many reasons that I couldn't possibly even begin to list them all."

"Just trust me a little," Will says, giving his hand a squeeze. "This is something I want."

Something hangs in the air between them, silent and heavy. As if to dispel it, Strohl clears his throat.

"Right, then. You'll want to put your hands here and here—no, wait, it's like so—"

He's deftly maneuvered until he's standing really rather close to Strohl, closer than he normally is.

It's nice.

"Like this?" he asks, hoping for his smile to look as warm as he feels right at this moment.

"Um. Yes. That's—that's fine. Now I'll just put my hands here..."

Closer, now. Close enough to inhale and catch a whiff of his scent. After all they've been through, all it makes Will think of is home.

No other smell even comes to mind.

"Is this... all right?"

Everything about Strohl speaks to stability and steadfastness, loyalty to the last. Where else could he possibly feel safer?

His smile widens. "More than."

"Then, ah... forgive me, I've only been taught, I've never been myself a teacher... I suppose all you really need to do is follow my steps. If you're always trying to echo my movements, that'll already be half the battle won."

"Don't worry, I don't mind following your lead."

The sound of a heartbeat thunders between them. He can't even tell if it's Strohl's or his own.

Step, step. Step. Will chases and retreats in equal measure. Step, step, step. Forward and back again, all of it slow.

In a lot of ways, it's the same pattern he's been living of late. That too is like dancing.

He's gotten good at chasing after Strohl. Has gotten good at retreating, too, whenever he's ventured too close.

Is it the right thing to do? Should he keep pushing instead? Maybe Heismay would be willing to lend him some sagely fatherly advice.

"There, see? You're already getting the hang of it."

The pounding gets louder. Definitely his own heart.

"Now just... stop looking down at your feet and look up at me instead."

Oh.

With both of their heads bowed, there was no way of knowing how close they both already were. Now that he's looking up—even with their height difference between them, it feels... close.

Strohl breaks first.

"Not—I didn't mean—I just—"

"I know what you meant." His voice comes out quieter than he expected it to. Hot as this place is, even by night, a chill runs through him. One shared, perhaps. "You didn't want me relying on my ability to see my feet. For the steps."

"Yes." Strohl's voice too has gone quieter. In a way, he almost sounds sad. "Yes, that's exactly right."

Silence blankets them again. If the circumstances of the moment were different, Will would almost expect to be kissed.

"I don't... have to stare at your face, you know. If you'd prefer for me not to."

"No, I—" A pause. "That... might be best."

He shouldn't have said anything.

The thought goes unvoiced: instead, he offers a nod and fixes his attention on the sharp lines of Strohl's neck, sharp lines that give way to soft, smooth slopes.

Every part of him is grace.

He feels it now again as well. His steps flow with the ease of water. Even his own movements feel as if gently carried along by the current.

It need not be gentle, his mind amends. It is, but he would not deny a wild tempest either, never.

The patterns they're drawing on the floor with their steps, movements cast in shadows from the nearby torches lighting the area, slow far too soon.

And just like that, Strohl steps back.

"Well!" he says, the return of volume to his voice startling him out of the moment—intentional, perhaps. "I'd say you're making fine enough progress already, wouldn't you?" Another clearing of the throat, as stiff as the last several have been. "So now it's just a matter of... practicing the steps some more."

"Does that mean no more dance lessons?"

"I—maybe. We'll see. For all we know, there won't even be a fancy event like the others are predicting."

"Yeah," Will says, heart heavy. "Maybe."

"You two are coming with me," Junah declares at breakfast the next day, staring pointedly across the table.

At him and Will, of course. As though this is some sort of coordinated attack that he really should've anticipated and perhaps planned for in advance.

Is everyone trying to drive him mad? He feels like he's been absolutely losing his mind of late.

"Uh," he says, "why, exactly?"

"The three of us are going shopping. Obviously. There's bound to be a grand affair in the future and we all need to be ready to look our absolute best."

Eupha's eyes widen. "Oh! I don't have anything of the sort myself yet, perhaps I should—"

"Worry not," Hulkenberg interrupts with a hand on her arm. "Junah, Gallica, and I shall take you at our earliest convenience."

His eyes narrow. Something about this smells fishy.

"Surely it would make more sense for all of us to go at once?"

There's that twinkle Junah always gets in her eyes right before she's about to deliver a rugpull unto him. "I didn't realize you'd become so comfortable at the thought of being around partially undressed women, love!"

Glancing over at Will and back again, he feels heat travel up his chest and along the curve of his neck before slowly subsuming his entire face with shame. The thought alone would already have been bad enough. Then one adds in the fact that this means he may see Will partially undressed, and he feels a bit ill.

There haven't even been any journeys in the runner of late. No easy access to showers, let alone privacy.

"Ah, no—no. No, I can't say that I have."

"Right!" She claps, smiling widely. "That settles it. We can head to Grand Trad as soon as we're done eating."

Behind him, he can just make out a quiet conversation between two patrons, occasionally stealing glimpses at Will out of the corners of their eyes when he turns to look.

"—had no idea that that boy had already found someone!"

What? His stomach lurches.

"A good-looking lad like that? Of course he was going to find someone! And right quick too."

"I think it's him, actually," one of them says, and Strohl makes the mistake of looking.

"—oh, I think he might've heard you talking about him!"

Ah.

It's him.

People think he's together with Will.

Like a rocky ship at sea, the lurching intensifies. The masks don't help in the least; like this, he can't even get a read on their facial expressions. If anything, they just make him feel jealous. He'd love to have a mask to shield him from the rest of the world right now.

"—holding hands, you know!"

"Already—?"

What do they mean, already? Is it truly so scandalous? And when were he and Will holding hands, anyway?

"What's wrong with naked women?" Eupha asks, which might just be icing on top of this particular cake.

He clears his throat. "Nothing! Obviously. I just—nothing about that should be seen by me. Or anyone."

"Strohl's a mite old-fashioned, love," Junah tells her, and he feels the desire to sink into his seat intensify.

"Hey," Will says, his hand reaching out to gently squeeze Strohl's arm. "It'll be all right. It's just me."

It's just me, he says. The knot that is his heart tightens.

"And Junah."

"Well, yes. And her."

"Don't worry, you two," she says, her chin perched in the palm of her hand, elbow in the table, "you'll hardly even know I'm there at all."

Grad Trad is as busy and bustling as ever when they get there, and the boutique Junah drags them to is no better. Thankfully, all they're doing right now is following her around as she grabs an entire rack's worth of clothes.

"That one—oooh, and that one..."

All that work for no good reason, and meanwhile he can't even bring himself to voice the questions he'd like to ask.

Will, did you know that people on the island seem to be under the impression that you and I are together? All just because we apparently held hands at some point? No? I thought as much. Say, how do you feel about that rumor...? No, I'm not asking for any particular reason, why?

"All right, this ought to be enough to at least get us started," Junah says, as though she weren't carrying around enough clothes to supply a whole village. "Will, you get in there, and I'll hand you things. You just worry about looking pretty."

He doesn't need to worry about that, Strohl thinks but doesn't say.

The changing room door closes. Strohl waits for three heartbeats to pass, just enough time to make certain that Will won't reemerge a second later, and then turns to glance at Junah.

"I don't know what you're trying to accomplish—"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, I think you know exactly what I'm talking about. Or can you think of a better reason why the whole island seems to think that Will and I are together?"

Junah's eyes light up. "They what?"

"I think this fits," Will calls out through the door, Junah's delighted smile turning to face the changing room doors again.

"Come on out, love. Let's see this on you."

He's not given the chance to think before Will comes out, looking attractive as ever. There's something distinctly unfair about Junah taking him along clothes shopping, if only because there's no other place to look that isn't simply... Will's body.

And here these clothes are, serving to accentuate every last part of it.

"Oh, that's lovely! Wouldn't you say, Strohl?"

Skepticism replaces awe once more. "I'm hardly the... fashion expert here."

Will's eyes meet his, and already Strohl knows he's doomed. That tinge of disappointment could do in any man.

"You don't like it?"

"I—" He feels like he's swallowed an elementa. "I didn't say that."

That stare is relentless, expectant. Beside him, Junah folds her hands behind her back and rocks to and fro on the balls of her feet. Just watching them.

She's enjoying this.

"It..." Surely he's encountered more words before in his life. Hot cannot be the only one there is. Surely! He needs to say something, anything. "It... looks... nice. On you."

"Oh, come on," Junah fires off, ever quick on the draw. "You can do better than that! Go on, tell him how you really feel."

That... is not going to happen.

Strohl clears his throat.

"Don't—don't force him," Will says, his voice quiet. Perhaps it's his eyes deceiving him, but Will almost looks smaller as he says the words.

Junah, meanwhile, looks like she's moments away from stepping on one of his feet. He slides one aside, hopefully just out of reach. "No, honestly!" he blurts out before she can needle either of them some more. "It looks good. Really good. On you. If you started wearing that around the capital, I might be reluctant to let you out of my sight."

He did not just say that.

"So we're definitely getting that one," Junah says, looking inordinately pleased with herself. Just how red must he look by now? "Why don't you try on another one for us, love?"

This time as Will retreats back into the changing room, he looks a little dazed. Strohl has half the mind to go in after him just to make sure he's all right.

"Sooo," Junah starts, turning to smile at him. "What was this about the islanders?"

"I don't—" Too loud. He lowers his voice. "I don't know. I have no idea where they got this from. It's—we haven't done anything to warrant anyone thinking—"

"Um," comes Will's voice from past the door. "I might need some help in here."

There's that sparkle again. "Well? Go on, then."

"Wouldn't it be better if—"

"I could never enter a man's changing room, Strohl!" Junah says, her voice filled with false affectation and shock. He can hear the lies. Unfortunately, she's got him over a barrel here. Of course it would look more appropriate for a man to help another man change. He sighs.

"Fine." Stepping closer, he hesitates just outside the door. "Uh. What is it?"

"You can come in; it's not locked."

Naturally.

Strohl swallows, finally willing himself to open the door and step inside.

The room is spacious enough for one person, certainly, but two people is pushing it, and two people and a door is out of the question. Closing it behind him, he takes stock of the situation with what he personally hopes to be an appropriate level of professional detachment.

Just doing what any good friend would do. Colleague, even.

Which does not help him at the sight of Will's bare legs.

"I think the latch in the back got stuck," Will tells him, finally taking his own fingers off the offending buckle and giving up in full.

"It... did," he says, doing his best to exhale any inappropriate thoughts as they come up, one by one. Reaching up, he starts his own attempt at getting the buckle to relent. "Tell me if I accidentally hurt you."

A soft bit of laughter leaves Will. "You're not even touching me yet."

Yet.

Do you want me to?

They are standing rather close like this. The only difference from the night prior is that they're not face to face this time.

It feels like a blessing at first—until he catches a whiff of Will's hair.

One of those bath salts—gold bullion, he thinks.

"You smell nice," he hears himself whisper as though listening from outside his own body. A body that went directly against his express wishes about what to say out loud and what to keep quiet.

"You always smell nice," Will counters, and the world seems to lurch with his words. Perhaps it was just his stomach. "It's distracting sometimes."

Astonishingly, there's a smile in his voice.

"Ah... yes. I suppose it is, isn't it."

"Honestly, this isn't too different from last night."

Will's right. He could just step forward and close the gap between them in full, leave them flush against one another.

But he shouldn't. Especially not when he hasn't even been working at the buckle he needed help with.

"I hope that wasn't too dreadful of a first lesson."

"Obviously not. I had a lot of fun."

Fun. Fun was not something that had even factored into his mind at the time. Survival had been the only thing that felt even remotely in his grasp.

Like a drowning man desperate for a rope and finding only kelp.

Before he can so much as think to stop it, the buckle slides free like butter.

And just like that, the pretext of their excuse dissolves into smoke.

Strohl steps back, clearing his throat. "There, that's, uh. That should... that should be better now."

"Yeah."

Will turns to face him, his hands releasing their hold on his front.

"Are you staying?"

Well, fuck him, he sounds almost hopeful.

It's only after that realization sinks in that he realizes what Will is talking about.

The room. The changing room.

The changing room he very much does not need to be in any more now that Will's problem has been... resolved.

The buckle loosened. Rather unlike Strohl, who only feels like he's been drawn into a tighter knot.

"Ah," he says, willing his tongue to work in appropriate, reasonable ways. Ways that won't have him blurting out yes.

Go ahead, Will. Change in front of me. Don't mind me; I'll just watch.

"I wouldn't mind—"

"No—"

They speak at the same time, Strohl feeling himself blanch. What? He can't have heard what he just heard.

"Will—"

It's as far as he gets before voices sound outside, another pair come to try on clothes in the changing room next door.

The noise is enough to jolt Strohl back into reality, back into his body, and away from any thoughts he might have had toward staying. "I—should go," he blurts out, promptly exiting the room without looking back.

Naturally, Junah looks less than impressed. As if she'd been in the room instead of the two of them.

"What are you doing out here!" She has the gall to look shocked. "Get back in there already!"

"Junah," he starts, legitimate bafflement overcoming him for a moment, "the issue was solved. Why would I stay in a crammed men's dressing room for no reason?"

Gears seem to turn in Junah's mind, hummingbird quick.

"To help Will, of course."

"Because you're expecting him to have a lot more wardrobe malfunctions?"

"Well, no, but you never know what could happen."

Before he can ask her what she could possibly expect to happen in there, the door opens again, Will stepping out in...

In...

"Um, Junah," he starts, looking down at himself with perhaps more confusion than even Strohl is feeling. "Why am I in a skirt?"

"You mean, other than because it looks good on you?"

Will smiles, offering a shrug of seeming agreement.

What's worse, Strohl can't even disagree.

"You know," she starts, putting on her best performer Junah air, the same one the sanctists all eat right up, "I think one of the most valuable aspects of the crown contest so far has been cultural exchange! It only seemed fitting to get you an island-appropriate outfit."

Strohl has seen how the islanders are dressed, and that skirt is so much shorter than anything he's seen there. Not that he's exactly surprised...

"I guess it is a lot cooler around the... undercarriage," Will says, still staring down at his legs.

Strohl can't blame him there either. They're very nice legs.

"You don't think it's... inappropriate?"

"Of course not, love!"

"Strohl?"

There's that hopeful expression back again.

"It's, um. Certainly a... statement."

"Oh come now, you can do better than that! We've been over this!"

"Honestly?" he starts, already certain he's going to regret opening his mouth at all. "That sort of outfit is only going to attract the wrong sort of attention. And while I'd gladly beat anyone to a pulp who so much as dares to look at you wrong, I'm not... always around."

He'd like to be, but that's another story.

"Sooo, it's a winner, but only for in private," Junah says, jotting something down.

Oh, he does not care for that at all.

As if able to hear him, she reaches into her mass of clothes that she can somehow distinguish and pulls out... is that spandex?

"Here, love. Try these on next."

"Tights?" Will asks, blinking.

"They'll be lovely on you, I just know it. Isn't that right, Strohl?"

A long afternoon. Of torture. That's all this is.

That's all.

The rumors going around the island have been rampant, not just about the outsiders that saved everyone, Eupha included, but also that handshake that should have been private.

It's not the first time she's seen similar. The most recent time was of course while they were dancing—lessons, Gallica had explained later—but another has long been burned into her mind now, the myriad touches of their hands while everyone was resting in one of the magla hollows.

The feelings she's been nurturing like a small sprout, barely emerged from the earth, will need to retreat once more. It is better that way for everyone.

There's always a chance she's mistaken, but the things the others have said are telling. If they are not together, there is not a soul among them who doesn't wish the same.

Even so, that thought nags at her. Do the two of them truly feel that way, or is it just a huge misunderstanding?

The hope of friendship kindled further is what finds her stopping at the sight of Strohl leaning against one of the walkway support beams.

"Strohl! It is good to see you."

"Oh, Eupha. I almost didn't see you there."

The hope of knowledge is what makes her want to pry.

"Are you well? You appear to be somewhat out of sorts."

"I..."

He looks tired, as though he alone braved the dragon temple a second time. Magla lingers around his neck like a noose.

"You need not share if you do not feel comfortable."

"It's complicated," is all he says, finally meeting her gaze for the first time in a few days. He's seemed distant, but for all she knows that's just who he is. Though a part of her feels certain that it isn't.

"Is this about Will?"

That gets his attention, only for his expression to promptly shift from surprise to skepticism. "What makes you ask that?"

"I saw you dancing."

His exhale is half-laughter, though there is no mirth in it. "You and everyone else on this island, it seems."

Oh. So he heard about that, did he?

"Gallica informed me they were lessons." A beat. "Forgive me—are you unhappy about the rumors?"

"I can't imagine anyone who would be happy about rumors."

That can't be true. As if to assert the idea, she shakes her head. "Who would not wish to be Will's partner?"

An unreadable expression comes over Strohl's face. "Just because something is a rumor doesn't make it automatically true. Then it just feels like a... meatball on a stick. Only ever just out of reach."

Admittedly, she can hardly boast of knowing Strohl well. But here, now, he almost looks pained.

"You care for him deeply, do you not?"

He hesitates, long enough that the silence alone tells her a story.

Briefly, his mouth opens as if he were ready to speak—but then hesitation grips him again, and he stops himself once more.

The process repeats a few times, Strohl never daring to look at her during. The magla around him coils and spools, a mass of anxiety.

Finally:

"We... all do."

That also answers her question.

"I do believe we do not all care for Will the way you do."

Any answer—any excuse—he was about to offer her is cut off as Will and Gallica come up beside them, smiles bright. "Hey! You guys coming to dinner?"

"Of course," Strohl says, as if he hadn't been in the dragon's maw mere seconds ago.

But Eupha can't say that she minds. After all, she got her answer.

And judging by the way Will is looking at Strohl now, it'll even get them a happy ending.

The evening had been going completely normally.

He'd gone to see Bardon and helped him out as best as he could, and dinner had likewise been a perfectly ordinary affair.

Now that dinner is over, however...

"You really should go back to the runner," Gallica tells him, weirdly insistent. "You just got that new bath salt, right? It would be great to try it out right away!"

It's weird. She's acting weird. "Wouldn't it be better to... save it? The runner isn't even active right now. Will it even work?"

"Oh, it's... uh, it's running, actually."

Something is definitely up. Gallica is a dreadful liar, and now is no different. But she also is loyal. If this—whatever it is—is something she promised to keep quiet, nothing will get it out of her.

He nods, slow, disbelieving. "Why?"

"Uh, it's a... you know. It's a—it's a Neuras thing!"

"What?"

"Neuras! He needs it to be running. For... testing. Or maybe repairs? I wasn't told any specifics."

Grabbing his things, he sets off, slowly but surely making his way back to the runner as they chat. "And because it's running, you... want me to use the bath?"

"Exactly."

"And... is that the only reason?"

Gallica puffs out her cheeks.

"... yes?"

So, there's definitely something more to it.

"What's the other reason, Gallica?"

"There... isn't one?"

It takes her roughly four seconds to crack.

"Ughhhhhh, fine!"

Which also means that this isn't whatever she promised someone to keep quiet about.

She huffs. "There's a rumor going around about some... thing, tomorrow. And seeing as we're about to leave, and how you're our candidate, I just... want you to put your best foot forward, that's all!"

Something about that statement is a lie. He just can't be sure what.

"You know, you could've just told me that in the first place."

Which is another way to know that she's lying.

"Weeeeeeeell, I didn't want to get you all worried for nothing, you know? There might not even be anything."

"Right."

The runner is whirring when they arrive, Neuras indeed hard at work on its machinery. By now, he feels like he's trying to piece together a too-large puzzle from too-few pieces. Maybe if his imagination were visionary, he could conceive of whatever Gallica has planned, but as it is...

"You just worry about enjoying your bath," she tells him, and, much as he wishes he could just unwind and decompress, his mind stays on the mystery she's presented him with.

It's hardly been the only odd thing, after all. Everyone has been acting strange.

Especially Strohl.

"Ah, there you are. I was hoping we might talk."

Will's smile is as ready as it ever is. Open and affable, inviting all manner of confessions and discussions. As tempting as it is to speak on the matter of his own troubles, Heismay knows that he has a task to fulfill tonight, and that it must take priority. He sets the thoughts aside, to be retrieved once more at another time.

"Sure," Will says, moving to sit. "What is it?"

There is much knowledge that Heismay had hoped to offer his son. Will, in many ways, is offering him a great gift in simply being there.

"My boy never made it to an age where he and I could have talked as you and I are now. Much as I might have hoped to teach him the knowledge that helped me in my own youth, that opportunity was denied to me."

Heismay pours himself a drink. There's nothing hurried about his movements, and he takes his time in gathering his thoughts before he next speaks.

"Allow me to ask you—has there been anything weighing on your mind of late?"

Will falls quiet, ruminating on the question for a short while.

"Strohl has been... acting strange lately." A beat. "Actually, everyone has been."

Ah. So he noticed that, did he?

Heismay clears his throat.

"There comes a time in every young eugief's life that he must wrestle with his own desires. As I can only imagine it is with you now."

"Um. I'm eldan, though?"

"Yes, yes, of course. There comes a time in every young eugief's or eldan's life that he must wrestle with his own desires."

Will nods, slow. Uncertain, almost, unconvinced by his words. No matter. They'll find clarity yet.

"What... desires, exactly?"

"You are longing for a mate. I can see it in your eyes."

As if to punctuate his statement, those same eyes now widen.

"Um. You can?"

For some reason, his expression turns troubled, which had hardly been Heismay's aim in telling him this. He shakes his head.

"'Tis a noble endeavor. You need not shy away from it. Nay, I say you embrace it."

His words appear to do little to ease Will's fears.

"You don't think that's why Strohl has been acting strange?"

Ah, so that is the concern. One hardly worth a single thought, but of course the highs and lows of young love can be extreme.

"Not in the least. I do believe he is caught in a fight with his very soul even as we speak. His struggles here have naught to do with you, nor are they in vain."

In light of Will's silence, he continues. "If I may," Heismay starts, gaze falling back into his cup. "You have admirably planned for the worst case scenario in the event that he does not share your inclination. But not its counterpart." His attention shifts, gaze finding Will's to meet and hold. "What if something were to go right?"

That appears to dumbfound him for a moment.

"I didn't think I'd need to... prepare anything if that was going to happen."

"Ah, but you must." Children these days. "The place is already assured, and the rest of us will of course do what we can to also ensure privacy for the two of you. Regular deliveries of food to your doorstep may also be advisable." He pauses as his mind hits a snag in their plan. "Come to think of it... we will need to depart for Altabury Heights in two days. That is not nearly enough time."

"Not enough time for what, Heismay?"

"Mating, of course."

Will blinks at him. "I... I don't think that's going to happen?"

"Logistical difficulties aside," he says, continuing right along, "we need to discuss matters of biology."

"... biology?"

"You are still young; it would only be logical for you not to be acquainted yet with such things. But it is important to be prepared and. more importantly, to be cautious."

"I don't... quite follow."

"You've already done an admirable job with the bath salts, of course. Scents are important in such matters. And we know that attracting a mate will not be a problem for you. But these things are far more taxing than most people realize."

"Should I be taking notes?"

"I'm sure all of this will comfortably return to you when you need it most. Much of it is relevant for now, after all. But do take notes if you should wish. I suppose there is a good chance that you'll lose rationality as you reach the second day..."

Once more, Heismay sees Will's eyes widen. "How many days are there?"

"Three at least, I should say. Two if you are less compatible; far more if the opposite is true. Hulkenberg really did not think this through..."

Then again, they'll be rid of those fool brothers before long. That will free up the space where they've been sleeping. They could always make a nest there, but perhaps that would have needed to happen sooner...

Either way, Neuras is bound to see more than he bargained for on his way to the engine room if they set things up that way.

"So... three days?"

Heismay nods, solemn. "Such is the way."

"And you're sure there's no difference between eugief and elda physiology here?"

How great could their differences be, really? And with such a simple matter as well.

"I'm sure it's a negligible amount," he says, vaguely waving his hand in the air. "Even if there are some differences, the core fundamentals will remain the same. And that means you will be exhausted."

"Is that why you're planning on leaving food outside the door?"

"Quite right." He nods. "I ought also to warn you. If the two of you do not take precautions, you will most likely conceive."

Will looks horrified. "I—what?"

"Forgive me; you are right, of course. It could always be Strohl."

For some reason, that does not appear to calm Will any.

"W—what can we do?" He stops, as if the sound of his words alone served to stalk him. "It feels... wrong to be talking about this when I doubt it'll even happen."

"Have some faith, child! We may not have any igniters on board to prevent conception, but we do have a few potions. An ailment absolution or panacea should do the trick. We really should have bought several more when we were last in Grand Trad..."

"Thanks, Heismay," Will says, smiling again in earnest. "I'm sure it'll all work out. One way or another."

"You told him what?"

"The fault was mine as well," Heismay tells Hulkenberg, strangely solemn. "Had I considered how long this might go on for—"

"It won't! Neither of them are eugiefs!"

Gallica seems to consider it. "Now that you mention it, I don't actually know all that much about fairy biology. But I don't think it goes on for three days..."

"I think them's just talkin' about Strohl and Will again," Bas whispers, turning back to look at Del. Various branches dig into his limbs from all sides, but the conversation happening in front of him is more than engaging enough to distract.

"I can hear that, ya muppet!" The words seem to leave Del through clenched teeth.

"Aw, cheer up, Del! 's nice, ain't it? Seein' them all workin' so hard together. Kinda makes ye think... maybe that's how them made it through the dragon temple and saved the little lady an' all."

"We're not here to care about the pup's love life, Bas. We got one thing worth carin' about here, and that's Lord Louis."

"And Lady Junah, eh?"

Del doesn't answer, which twists Bas' stomach right round for a moment, at least until he sees her join the others.

"Got Will all squared away," she tells them, smile bright as it should ever be. "He was all anxious this morning, can you imagine? The boy's got no problem being candidate for king, but he gets all flustered at the thought of talking to Strohl."

"'Tis not what has him flustered in the least!" Hulkenberg declares, entirely indignant herself. "Heismay told him to expect the two of them to be bed-bound for three days!"

Junah's eyes widen. "Oh, my. Heismay, is that true?"

Bas feels his own grin widen as he turns back to glance at Del, a few branches of underbrush poking him. "Oi, Del. Did you know all that? About them eugiefs?"

"Why would I know about how eugiefs fuck, Basilio? Turn back around; they might still say somethin' incriminatin' instead of blabberin' on about true love and all that nonsense."

Bas shrugs, shifting his attention to the group again. To him, Del has always been strangely all-knowing—the job of any older brother, he supposes. If even he doesn't know...

"Mission complete!" Eupha announces as she joins them, her smile wide and bright enough for the mood to be infectious. "Strohl is bathing in one of the hot springs as we speak."

"Well done, Eupha!" Junah looks downright impressed. "I thought he'd put up more of a fuss."

"I may have... told a few white lies to help. Nothing bad, just... about how it's a matter of Virga Island hospitality, and how it'll look rude if he doesn't go..."

"I would not have expected something so underhanded of you," Hulkenberg says with a chuckle. "Bravo."

"At least that part of the plan worked out just fine. Completely unwilling to dress up for the big event, both of them!"

"Probably for the best," Gallica adds, seeming to consider it. "Their normal clothes is how they see each other the most, so maybe the familiarity will help...?"

"There also might be some fruit at the festival today if we're lucky. Those could help as well."

The group clears out, Del looking no happier than before when Bas turns to look at him.

"Total waste of time is what that was," he mutters.

Bas can't bring himself to agree.

"I knew I shouldn't have trusted Hulkenberg's tastes," Strohl grumbles. Out of the corner of his eyes, Will keeps hiccuping, Heismay keeps sobbing, and Eupha keeps giggling.

Hulkenberg is...

Ah, he'd rather not touch on that particular topic.

He feels a bit lightheaded, and pleasantly so, though so far there don't seem to be any other side effects. He's not laughing or weeping to himself like a lunatic, nor does he feel as... well.

The way Hulkenberg seems to be feeling.

His hand moves to Will's shoulder.

"You hanging in there?"

Will hiccups again, turning to look up at him.

"Strohl," he says, strangely earnest, even more so than normal. "I really appreciate you. I just... want you to know that."

Oh, lord.

He looks like he really means it, too.

So much for the thought that he's just hiccuping in response to the strange fruit. In truth, he doesn't love the thought of anyone else seeing Will like this. He doesn't even love the fact that this happened to Will in the first place, a strange protectiveness flaring up in his chest.

It's not a new feeling, not in the least—just a lot more intense than normal.

"He's been like this for about fifteen minutes now," Gallica tells him, then picks up in flight from the table once more. "I'll leave him to you, all right?"

There's no time to consider her proposal, let alone answer. She just leaves him there, seemingly assuming that he agrees.

And... he does. In theory.

His heart thumps.

"I... I do know that," he finally says, hoping that his words will prove sufficient for Will.

"You're not... going to leave, right?"

That stops his mind running circles around him. "What?" A pause. "Why... would I leave?"

"Because I..."

For just a moment, Strohl thinks Will's words will stall out mid-sentence—but then he seems to find his tongue once more, even as his gaze strays from him.

"... need you."

Is... is that all? He fears asking too much of Strohl? Surely he wouldn't think so little of him or his commitment to the cause.

"We all need each other here, don't we?" He smiles in a way he hopes to come off as affable and nothing more. "And you know I'm determined to go after Louis. You can rely on me. No matter what amount of work you may load on me. Consider me your willing packmule."

Good lord. How is it that he can never seem to shut up when he ought to most?

"That's not what I... nevermind."

Disappointment crests on Will's face. Just seeing it feels a bit like being stabbed.

"You know what, I'm just going to... take a breather. Somewhere else. For a short while."

Maybe if he can get his head on straight, he can have a normal conversation with Will. One that doesn't feel quite so... loaded.

The load, if anything, only grows heavier afterward.

His mistake was in reuniting with the others. The fact that Hulkenberg and Eupha decided to swordfight with his arms was not the worst thing in the world, but it certainly wasn't how he hoped the evening would go. Not to mention that his mind keeps straying to Will.

Over and over and over again.

Then again, how had he hoped for the evening to go?

"There you are!" Gallica pipes up as she flies up to him. "I was wondering where you'd gone off to. Didn't I entrust Will into your care?"

"He's a grown man; he can take care of himself. Hardly needs me to look out for him."

He really, really hates that sometimes.

"Yeah, well, maybe he didn't want you to leave! Did you ever think of that?"

If Will doesn't need him, it only matters more when he does choose to spend time with him all the same.

And when Strohl walked away, he didn't follow.

"Just... wait here. I'll prove my point."

She flies off before he can get so much as a word in edgewise.

It's not like he expected Will to follow him. That would have been unreasonable. Still, being wanted...

Being shipped around from distant family to distant family like a faulty igniter no one wants to be in possession of must have made a deeper impression on him than he'd at first thought. No wonder he feels such a desperate need to prove his usefulness. No wonder he goes and baits Will into a test no one should have to take.

What's worse, he expects the people around him to fail the test. In sticking with him, always sticking by him, Will is a strange exception. Maybe it's time to hope for once—

As if stepping out of Strohl's thoughts and into the world, Will walks up beside him.

"Hey."

"Oh, Will. Hey. Listen—"

"Do you remember what Eupha said this morning? About the Dragon God statue and wishing for something with someone else? Gallica just reminded me."

It's pathetic how changeable his heart is around Will. One moment, he feels light as a feather. Then, reality sets in again.

"I... yeah, I remember. She didn't put you up to this, did she?"

Will's eyes go wide. "No! No, of course not. I always... wanted to do this with you."

Ah, there it is again. Bouyancy. A smile comes over his face.

"Well, I can hardly say the feeling isn't mutual." Moving to stand, he resists the urge to offer Will his arm. "Shall we?"

Cooler though it may be at night, the fire only seems to fan the flames of Virga Island's usual sky-high temperatures. Heat brushes past him, and for just a moment, he thanks it. Like this, his face might be flushed, but no one can tell the difference.

Will's cheeks too look redder than usual. A yearning he should be used to by now grips hold of his heart as he catches himself staring.

"Here," Will says, handing him some paper and a pen. "For your wish."

His wish, huh.

He knows what he ought to wish for. Recalls the nightmares he's had, countless, all ones where he's forced to see Will die to Louis, over and over and over again before his own world goes dark.

He also knows what he wants to wish for. That maybe, just maybe, there's a future for them.

Someday, long after they've defeated Louis and won the prince back his throne. In a better world.

Maybe, maybe.

But that would be... careless. Selfish. Irrational. It's not what Will deserves of him.

So he writes precisely what he should be writing, his longing for their victory over Louis.

After all, if that doesn't come to pass, there can't even be a future for him and Will to begin with.

The paper goes up in flames alongside the others, shortly followed by Will's own.

"Did you make your wish?" he asks, and doesn't wait for Will to answer before he himself speaks. Rambles, really.

There's something about Will that always makes Strohl feel somewhat tongue-tied. Perhaps it's the way he looks so utterly enraptured by everything being said to him. As if it were the most interesting thing he'd ever heard.

Somehow, Strohl too makes the cut in all of that. Somehow, his words qualify.

"That's not like you at all," Will says, and all in response to him admitting just how frightened he is.

How much faith does Will have in him? Even more than he thought, it seems.

He is frightened, is the thing. Of failing Halia and its people, of failing his parents, of failing all of Euchronia...

And of failing Will.

"What about you?" he finally blurts out, if only just to get own tongue to cease its rambling. "Did you wish for something?"

For just a beat, Will stares at him. "I, uh—" Blinks. "I... wished for everyone's safety."

Of course he did.

Of course he would.

"Your wishes... they seem to come true. I've felt that way since all the way back at the fort." It's been a long time since then, but the feeling has stayed with him. The desire to stand up for this poor elda, then transformed into the desire to do anything to see that poor elda's wishes come true.

Not that his feelings stopped there, where it would have been reasonable for them to.

"Regardless, I have faith. In you that is, Will."

It's only after a moment that he realizes he's staring at Will. Unabashedly.

"Well!" he says on a sharp inhale, wrenching his gaze away. "About time we rejoin the others, wouldn't you say?"

He can always give him his gift another time. When things don't feel quite so... charged.

"Sure."

They're not even halfway back to where the others are congregated when Junah jogs up to them.

"Hey, you two! Sooo, how's it been going?"

"Fine." Strohl blinks, glancing back at the Dragon God statue as if expecting to see the islanders acting in some incredible, roundabout way he never would've conceived of. "Not sure what you were expecting, but it was just us making a wish."

Her eyes narrow. "What'd you wish for?"

Strohl sighs. "You're not supposed to tell anyone, you know."

Not that that stopped him from telling Will.

"I bet you told Will." A mischievous smile comes over her as she looks between the two of them. "Oh, I see. Something not fit for a lady's ears, was it?"

She looks gleeful. His stomach lurches, a distinct sense of panic rising as if from his gut.

"Oh, come off it! If that's the impression I've given you, you're sorely mistaken. Tell her she's wrong, Will!"

"Never mind that," Junah says, as if this isn't quite a big deal. What sort of lecher does she think he is? Is that why everyone has been acting so odd?

Heismay's fears of his reproductive proclivities. Hulkenberg's attempt at keeping his courtships polite and non-sexual. Junah testing his resolve by putting Will in all manner of clothes right in front of him. Letting him into the changing room for the ultimate test of willpower—

Worst of all, Will didn't tell her she was wrong. What does he think of him?

He got so close to him then too, back in the changing room. And even so, Will has been nothing but kind. For weeks on end, while he's been a pining mess, Will has tolerated him without a second thought.

Another treacherous memory rises to the forefront of his mind.

"Del, maybe he really doesn't know."

Of course he didn't know. How could he have known that this is what his friends think of him? Is it because of the ways in which he flusters around even the slightest implication of nudity, let alone more? But surely that should have suggested the opposite...

They wouldn't. Surely they wouldn't.

"Strohl?" Will says, jolting him back into the present.

"Right! Yes! Apologies. I was... miles away."

"Junah just went off to try to... sweet-talk the brothers."

"Sweet—" He blanches. "Sweet-talk?"

"Her words, not mine."

His stomach flips at the thought of just letting go of this moment right now by returning to the others. What felt so threatening before, remaining by Will's side when things felt so loaded, now feels like a lifeline.

Not to mention that they all apparently think of him as some sort of ribald reprobate. Not that the thought of Will seeing him in such a light is much better. If anything, that's worse, so much worse—

Maybe now would be a good time to give him his gift after all, if only just to keep him here. He clears his throat.

"Oh, right," he starts, as if he had been thinking of anything other than this. "I found something interesting on the island." Liar. "A fairly decent greatsword washed right up on shore." Why would anyone believe this hogwash? "I'm not sure if you'll find it useful, but I think it's best in your hands."

If only he'd brought it here. A part of him feels like he ought to get down on one knee to swear fealty, but Will has no desire to be king, nor would he even be one yet if he did.

He would make a fine king though, if he did wish to be one. Strohl is certain of that. He does not know the prince as Will does—at all, really—but he trusts his judgment.

Even so, he would sooner swear himself to Will, any day.

"You're sure you want to give it to me?"

This time it's his heart that lurches in his chest.

Yes. Very much, in fact. It's hard to think of anything else, frankly. Things have been so much harder than I previously thought possible.

No wonder his friends view him this way. Can they all just see into his soul and straight at the truth? That the inability to find any sort of release of late has been driving him well and truly mad?

He's exactly as bad as they all think, isn't he?

"Of course," Strohl hears himself say. At least that part is the truth. "It cleaned up rather nicely with a bit of elbow grease." Liar. "I left it on the runner, so... if you want, let's go have a look."

With everyone out and about, that sounds like a proposition, doesn't it?

Yes, Will. I am precisely as bad as you and everyone else think me to be. Nothing more than my base urges. For all my awkwardness, all my discomfort at the thought of seeing any part of you, I am nothing more than a man.

"Sure."

For some reason, one wholly inconceivable to him, Will is smiling.

Junah is just leaving the runner as they approach, Will's heart in his throat.

Strohl has seemed tense all evening. But then... this. Inviting him back to the runner, to privacy. To a certain extent, anyway.

If Strohl is propositioning him...

Junah just shakes her head as they pass by each other, which is communication enough for him to know that the conversation with the brothers didn't go well. So they won't be entirely alone, he supposes. If anything, they get to look forward to an icy reception on the runner.

"You two have fun!" Junah calls out over her shoulder, in that special way of hers that more or less assures that nothing of the sort will happen, as Strohl will simply retreat back into his shell. Not that Will can entirely blame him. Being inside one's shell is nice.

"You two." An unseasonable chill hits them as soon as they make it onto the runner. Fidelio looks... upset.

As expected, he supposes.

Strohl sighs. "Surely you saw us coming, given that you can see the whole beach from up here? I imagine our arrival must have been difficult to miss."

Stepping forward, hands shoved deep into his pockets, Fidelio levels them both with a look.

"Are you two here to fuck?"

"Del!"

"I—that is—why would you—I should say not!"

Strohl stumbles his way through several half-words and phrases before arriving at no, and Will tries not to let himself deflate. He'd say that to anyone.

Right?

"Why would you think that?" he says instead, doing his best to remain as neutral and diplomatic as possible in his wording.

Which only seems to piss Fidelio off more.

"Because I am sick and fuckin' tired of you two idiots dancin' around each other like you're trapped in some... bloody eternal matin' dance made to annoy other people. Just fuck each other! You both clearly want to."

He doesn't even say anything more, just walks past the two of them and makes his way back down to the beach.

And, horrified as Basilio looked a moment ago, he follows after him. Or—starts.

Stopping in front of Will, Basilio appears to hesitate for a beat, looking as though he's trying to chew his words before lobbing them at him and Strohl. Finally:

"He's right, y'know."

It's all he says before making his own departure and leaving the two of them in silence, only the sounds of the party in the distance seeming to fade into the background.

"Will," Strohl says slowly, voice shockingly level. Too level. "You know I'm not—"

There he goes again, deflation threatening. Will offers a smile he hopes looks as brave as he doesn't feel.

"Let's just... go inside for now. It'll be cooler there, anyway."

"Right. Right."

It's a good first step. Strohl is a runner in his own right, and if Will had hesitated, he'd be halfway to the beach by now. As it is, he's making his way down into the runner. Where they might... actually be alone.

Mm. Maybe Neuras is here.

Then again, maybe Will doesn't care so much about that right now.

"Sit," he says, as though he'd just invited Strohl into his home. As if to keep the metaphor going, he continues. "I'll get us some drinks."

Any way to introduce some normalcy into this moment to help keep Strohl calm.

Well. And him.

How many times have they already whiled away the evening hours, just sitting there and chatting over drinks?

This... this is just like that. That's all this is. Just another late-night chat with one of his closest friends that keeps them both up well past the time they should be sleeping.

With drinks in hand, he leaves the kitchen and makes his way back to the strategy room, relieved to see Strohl still sitting there, instead of having fled. That's... good.

"Hey," he says, and sets the drinks down in front of them.

The promised blade has been forgotten in light of Fidelio's words, not that Will can really blame anyone for that. He isn't exactly thinking about anything else either.

"Uh, hi. Sorry to... put you out there."

"It's not a problem. I don't mind carrying a couple drinks a few steps."

"Not—well, I suppose that's... true. Fair enough."

Strohl looks tired, almost pained. When he raises his hand to lift the cup, Will almost thinks he catches sight of it trembling.

But then he blinks, and Strohl seems... just fine. Level-headed and -handed as ever.

Strohl's eyes remain closed even as he speaks. "I'd never want you to think of me as some sort of... libertine."

He almost snorts. "Who would ever think that? You're... you're more self-disciplined than most people I know." A pause. "That includes me, you know."

"I—thank you! I'd thought—yes, all right. That's... um. That's a... a relief."

The smile that comes over him does so unbidden. "You were worried?"

"It's just that everyone has been acting..." Quite strange. Will can finish the thought for him. "I thought that was why."

He can't help it, he starts laughing, the awkward mood from before somehow dispelled just like that. "You—you really thought—"

"Just—! Just today! I only started thinking that... earlier. Not that I have any better explanations..."

"That's my fault, I think." Will's voice is quiet.

"What do you mean, it's your fault?"

Now is no time to chicken out, Will.

"It's embarrassing."

"You, my friend, have no reason to be embarrassed about anything."

Ah. There's that word again. Maybe Strohl will throw in brother too for good measure, just to really hammer that one home.

How many times can hope be hit over the head before she finally dies?

He decides to pick up the sledgehammer himself this time.

"Remember when you told me that I was like your little brother?"

Pink floods Strohl's face, only to be promptly replaced by red.

"That's, ah... I... may have... said. Something. To that effect. At some point."

His heart is beating hard enough that he's fairly certain the others can hear it from down on the beach. "I don't want to be your little brother, Strohl."

That seems to skid everything to a stop.

This time, he turns to look at him, determined to meet his eyes. No matter what he sees there. Even if it's disappointment. Even if it's disgust.

"I don't want to be your friend, either."

"I—"

"I don't want to be your teammate. Even partner doesn't come close." He sighs. "I think the others felt bad. But they shouldn't have made it your problem."

For a long moment, Strohl just stares at him. Not that Will can bring himself to stare back. Instead, his gaze is fixed in his cup, the same cup that he keeps nervously picking at now.

"So if you want to leave, knowing that—"

His voice doesn't even have time to crack before Strohl surges forward and kisses him, hands cupping his face as if he suddenly can't get close enough.

Whatever Will was expecting, it certainly wasn't this. Even given all of Heismay's reassurance, it could never have been this.

He barely has time to inhale between kisses, and yet he couldn't possibly ask for anything less. Now that he's finally here, he wants nothing more than to stay forever.

To stay as long as Strohl will let him.

They struggle to stand, Will suddenly hyperaware of their height difference as the back of his thighs hit the table.

Never before had he considered that the table would be just the right height for him to effortlessly slide back onto it, readily welcoming Strohl into the space between his legs.

Eager fingers run into his hair, and a noise he's almost certainly never heard himself make before leaves his throat.

As if burned, Strohl wrenches himself back, eyes wide. "Will."

He blinks. "Don't tell me you changed your mind."

"No, that's—" This time, it's his own hair that Strohl's fingers rake through. "I don't want you to think that I'm just here for... for a good time."

"Strohl. I would never think that."

"Even if that's true." He doesn't seem satisfied. "I just—I still need you to know. That it's not... like that."

"I know."

"I mean, I think I l—"

His eyes close in seeming frustration.

Except that Will can fill in the blanks that Strohl has left him here. More than that, he knows Strohl, better now than ever before.

If he needs time to get there, he has all the time in the world.

"I—I know. You don't... you don't need to rush this, Strohl. I don't mind waiting."

If anything, the torment of the last few weeks rather speaks for itself.

"You don't understand." The exhale that leaves him is shaky, and this time, Will does catch sight of the tremble in his hand. "I'm... quite pent up. I don't want to... rush you."

"Oh." Will blinks. "That's... not a problem."

"What are you saying?"

"That you're not rushing me. And that I don't want you to hold back."

Strohl looks seconds from losing control when Will pipes up again.

"Although..."

"What? What is it?"

"We might need to relocate at some point. If we don't want to be in everyone else's way the next few days."

"Wh—what do you mean, days?"

"Well, it's going to take at least three days, no?"

Strohl blinks. Which means one of two things. Either Strohl knows as little about all of this as he does, or, it's the far more likely option—one he'd already been considering. That eugief biology is, in fact, quite different from everyone else's.

But is it just clemars? Or are elda also free from three day long mating periods?

"I'm sorry—who told you that?"

"Heismay."

"Of course it was Heismay." An exasperated sigh leaves him. "You know he tried to give me the talk too? Not that he mentioned anything about it lasting three days..."

"So it probably won't take three days. Got it."

"You don't... know anything about this, do you?"

"Other than what Heismay told me, you mean?" All of which was apparently unreliable. "Never really had the chance to learn. Didn't seem to matter all that much either."

Strohl steps closer, his hands touching on the tops of Will's thighs to stroke.

"Well, I... I can't say I know all that much more than you, really. Just the basics. And I don't claim to know anything about the elda. Though I do imagine there will be some differences."

Will's smile widens. "Want to discover them together?"

His words earn him a smile bright as the sun in return. "Have I told you just how magnificent I find you?"

"Not... not in this context, you haven't."

"Well, you are. And brilliant. Beautiful too. Witty and clever and charming and so, so wonderful. Always helping me. Always helping everyone, actually. It's enough to make a man jealous."

Will's arms loop around his neck to draw him closer. "Right now there's only one person I want to focus on. I don't want to think about anything else."

"That... can probably be arranged."

Strohl kisses him again, mouth parting against his in a way Will can't help but want to mirror.

"—overdressed," Strohl mutters against his mouth, already pulling off his jacket to toss onto the table beside him.

Will can take a cue.

His own jacket follows, discarded behind him, and just like that, he already feels strangely bare. It's far from the first time that he's been like this with Strohl, be it in the runner or even when it was just the two of them sharing a room at the Honeybee, but it always makes him feel as though a layer of artifice has been stripped from him.

Here, he supposes that's only appropriate. There should be no artifice between them.

No clothes, either.

He fully undresses so rarely; only when he washes does he truly strip down, and even then, he feels... vulnerable.

There's no real vulnerability to be found here, only perceived. His hands might tremble as he tugs his vest off, but he's safe.

They both are.

Strohl's hands are halfway to loosening his cravat when Will stops him and allows his own to take their place. Undoing the wrapping of the fine silk is a simple thing, and the two lengths are hanging loose before long. Easy enough to tug off, should he wish to.

The temptation proves too great: grabbing hold of both sides, Will instead pulls Strohl into another kiss, this one deeper than the last.

It seems to serve as a sort of invitation of its own as well, Strohl's fingers moving to undo button after button on Will's shirt.

Until he reaches the pants.

"Don't stop now," he draws back to tell him, the look in his eyes no doubt as feverish as the one in Strohl's own.

"I... yes, all right. If you're quite certain."

"More than."

Those same fingers travel lower then, cautious in their exploration even as additional buttons come undone. One after another, until the flap falls and his waistband loosens.

"Will..."

"You can touch me, you know." When Strohl doesn't immediately rise to the challenge, he adds, "I want you to."

"Will."

The back of Strohl's knuckles skirt over the fabric still separating them, just enough contact to make Will shiver and jerk, his hips doing the begging for him.

More.

As if to drive the point home, Will's hands let go of Strohl's cravat and scramble to his pants instead. To undo his belt and begin unbuttoning, slow.

It's an arduous process, and it's about halfway down that Will realizes he can give as good as he's gotten, cupping Strohl through his trousers.

Already so hard for him.

"Oh, fuck," Strohl says, swearing under his breath as his eyes flutter shut. Beneath several accursed layers of fabric, his cock twitches. Will has to resist the urge to keep touching him, to keep teasing him, and then doesn't bother resisting at all.

Until Strohl leans into him, closer, breath coming faster now.

"Will, I—it's—it's been—I can't—"

He relents, but a thrill runs through him all the same at the mere thought that Strohl might truly want him this much.

Might have for some time now, even.

"I don't mind," he hears himself say, as if he has any idea about what that would even entail. "Whatever you need to do."

But Strohl shakes his head. "No—no, not yet. I know where I want—" Beneath his hand, he can feel him twitch. That part of their anatomy is the same, at least. "That is to say—I'm not ready for that. Not yet," he says again.

"Can I still make you feel good?"

All smiles.

Strohl just stares at him for a moment before seeming to blink back into reality.

"What?"

"Will you trust me?" he decides to try instead.

"To the ends of Euchronia and back again." Smile meets smile. "You know I do."

Wordlessly, Will slides off the table and onto his knees, briefly palming him through his trousers again before finally working to rid Strohl of them.

A sharp intake of breath follows from above him as Will tugs down pants and underwear both.

His cock springs free alongside a grunt, and Will just stares for a moment as Strohl buries a red-tinged face behind his hand.

Not that Will thinks he's any better—it's usually just easier for him to hide. Pale as Strohl is, on the other hand...

"May I?"

"I could not bear to deny you anything," Strohl croaks out, the sound of his voice replaced by a groan a mere moment later as Will wraps his hand around the base of his cock.

Much as he wants to explore this more, wants to get to know Strohl's body better than even his own, he assumes they'll have more time. Maybe not on the journey over to Altabury, but...

Surely they'll have a room to themselves again sometime in the future. Surely they'll be at the Honeybee again, even if their accommodations in Altabury leave much to be desired in the way of privacy.

The thing is, he's... heard things. It's the simultaneous cost and benefit of staying in shadier parts of town in places like Brilehaven and even Grand Trad. Little comments from men about the things they claim to have done or want to have done to them in bed.

He dares a lick first. When that results in a shudder from Strohl, he dares another before promptly wrapping his lips around the head of his cock.

A strangled sound escapes Strohl, and suddenly Will feels fingers bury themselves in his hair.

"Fuck," Strohl pants, first sliding his cock deeper down his throat before pulling him off again. Behind Will, Strohl's free hand hits the table as if to aid in holding him upright. "Fuck, I'm sorry, I—"

Drawing back, Will allows his hand to keep moving along his shaft as he stares up at Strohl's face. "It's all right, you didn't hurt me."

Besides, I kind of enjoyed it.

"If I pull you off of me, it's only because I'm not ready to finish this. But—you feel so good."

"And if my mouth already feels that good, the rest of me will probably feel even better."

Strohl's eyes shoot open, and for a moment Will swears he can hear the ba-bump in his chest.

Then again, maybe that's his own.

"How are you real?" Strohl mutters in seeming disbelief. "No one should have the right to be this perfect. But... you're real, and you're... mine?"

This time, Strohl's hand is impossibly gentle as it runs into his hair.

"You have no idea the things I want to do to you."

"I can probably make an educated guess."

As if to punctuate that statement, Will wraps his mouth around him again before sinking down. Nails scrape against the table behind him and the hand in his hair tightens as Will grabs Strohl's hips—and chokes himself on his cock.

Drawing back, he allows himself to repeat the motion.

And again. And again.

"Will, I—I can't keep holding back. Please—"

He's smiling by the time he releases Strohl's cock from his mouth. Much as he'd wished to keep it, there's still time enough for that too.

Probably.

There's no way Strohl could comfortably fit into his pod with him, right?

"It didn't hurt, did it?"

Strohl balks at his question. "Wha—no! No. No, it was perfect—you are absolutely perfect, just—"

He stops, pulling Will back up to standing.

"I've... never done this before.. I assume you haven't either."

It takes him roughly two seconds to think back, realize he doesn't remember much of anything before his journey, and then shake his head.

"No. Why?"

"This is..." Strohl hesitates, glancing around. One glance is cast at their pods, and Will already knows that he's having the same thought he did. There's simply no way they'll both fit. But what alternatives even are there? The benches in the break room? The table feels as good a surface as any, really...

"Downstairs," Strohl finally blurts out, glancing back at Will as if to test the waters.

"Isn't that where the brothers sleep?"

"Well, yes, but..."

"Point taken."

Does he really care? Truly? Now, of all times? Fidelio almost certainly wouldn't balk at doing the same to them, and—

"He did... tell us to," Will says slowly, pointedly.

Grabbing his hand, Strohl leads the way to the ladder.

There's a good chance that the alternatives were simply not romantic enough for him. Though Will wouldn't have minded getting bent over the table, there's something very sweet about the thought and the fact that Strohl cares enough to want that for him.

No—for them.

It's his first time doing this too.

His feet stumble slightly as he climbs down, Strohl readily reaching out to steady him. There's something soft and subtle and quiet about these movements: even the hand at the small of his back leading him into the storage room feels like a gentle whisper of the words he's too afraid to say out loud just yet. A domesticity of sorts, one that only comes with a certain familiarity.

They've slept out under the stars together, in caves and dungeons, and in simple beds, usually beside each other. They've prepared food together. He's had countless meals at Strohl's side, fought by him just as often, and has stayed up late to chat with him until he was tired enough to fall asleep sitting, only to will himself to stay awake all the same, just so the conversation could go on a little longer.

After all, the next day might not prove as filled with Strohl. Another chance could slip out of his fingers so easily, could end up deferred by days or perhaps even weeks in the need for him to attend to other tasks, other people.

Every moment with Strohl feels precious.

This is no different. Strohl leads him to the bed in the corner, and Will thanks his lucky stars that he cleaned this room just the other day. Gone are the layers of dust in the air, so much so that when he allows himself to toss his shirt aside, a plume of dust is not the unfortunate consequence of such an action.

He can only imagine what it would have been like to fall back onto a bed in such a state.

Where do the brothers even sleep if everything ends up so dusty?

The thought is pushed aside in favor of Strohl's mouth on his, Will's opening as if on instinct. There's something ravenous about this, about the way both of them kiss, truly—and if he's honest with himself, he knows it's the wanting that caused this.

The agonizing patience they both subjected each other to.

In the greater scheme of things, the time it took wasn't even that long. The worst of it was concentrated over roughly three weeks at most. But—it really wasn't only over the last few weeks that they've suffered. At least Will knows he's been sneaking glances at Strohl since the first night they made camp together.

No, that's not true either. When Strohl stood up for him at the recruitment center—that had already made his heart beat faster. By the time they were being loaded into a cart, he was already nursing a small crush.

Only when Will's heels hit a wooden pallet do they separate, Strohl panting.

Not that he's much better.

"I don't really want to do this on a bean bag chair either, truly."

"The brothers can thank us for that later."

"Maybe if we rearrange some of these sacks... put some bedding on..."

"That's a great idea."

He's beaming when Strohl rushes back upstairs to grab the bedding out of their pods, the smile on his face no less bright by the time he makes it back down.

"All right, now we just... do this... put that over there..."

It doesn't take long at all, Will stepping in to help out before long. Finally, in the end, the gratification of climbing onto a big, plush surface is tremendous, and Will lets out a sigh as his back hits their makeshift bed.

Even if it weren't for the bed, he knows he'd still feel as if on cloud nine when Strohl climbs on after him, tossing off his shirt.

Not that the bed hurts the feeling any. Not in the least.

Reaching up, he cups Strohl's cheek—only for Strohl's hand to cover his.

"Hey," Strohl says, voice soft.

"Still good?"

"How could I not be? With you in bed..."

"Nowhere else I'd rather be."

"I'm sure that's not true," Strohl says, his laughter leaving a brilliant, beautiful smile on his face. "But I'll take the compliment."

It's true, even if Strohl doesn't believe it.

"You ready?"

Will's eyes are bright as his thumbs hook into his trousers, but Strohl shakes his head.

"No, wait—let me. Please."

"I'm going to look a bit different from you," he says, suddenly feeling shy. "So... don't be too surprised when you see me."

"If it's a surprise, it'll be a good one."

Their hands tug down his trousers and underwear together, Will shifting here and there to make the process easier. By the time they're fully off and on the floor, he's almost missed the way Strohl is staring.

It's not... disgust. More like wonderment.

Will's cock twitches.

"May I?" he asks, moving his hand to the back of one of Will's thighs. Asking—to spread.

Will nods, bottom lip between his teeth as he waits. For... something. A final judgment, a look of disgust...

Nothing of the sort comes. Instead, a shudder leaves Strohl as his hand moves gently up and down his thigh, absentmindedly stroking the skin. His touch is soft, never daring to ask too much, and there's nothing but awe shining in his eyes as he stares.

"Um," Will finally says. "Strohl?"

"Sorry, you're just... you're so beautiful."

A thread unravels in his chest. Will feels himself smile. "Different."

"No," Strohl says, before promptly rushing to correct himself. "I mean—yes, of course, but. That's... a good thing, if you ask me."

"I'm pretty sure most people would disagree with you there."

"Fools, the lot of them."

The way he's looking at Will now...

"Yeah?"

Instead of answering, Strohl runs his knuckles up along his slit.

"Beautiful," he says again, voice leaving him in a whisper. "And so... wet for me."

Strohl isn't wrong; the feeling has been hard to ignore over the last half hour, not that he was about to start touching himself. Now Strohl is touching him, and he can hardly stand the thought of a longer wait still.

"Strohl—"

Two fingers slide inside of him: slow, gently curling. Even if it's by accident, Strohl somehow finds a spot Will wouldn't have even known to look for, and, just like that, a sharp whimper escapes him.

"Please—!" It's his turn, then. His desires spill off his tongue just as Strohl's had before, and he can't bring himself to feel even an iota of shame.

"You really want it?" Strohl asks, sounding utterly shocked for some reason. "Already?" It's almost like he's asking something entirely different: You really want me?

A moan leaves Will in lieu of an answer when Strohl finds the same spot again, Will feeling his cock twitch against his abdomen. "Yes. Please, Strohl."

"Fuck—"

Swearing under his breath, Strohl withdraws his fingers once more only to frantically undress and replace them with his cock. Will watches, entranced, as his throat bobs up and down.

He pushes in—and then stops at just the tip.

A matter of barely held restraint, he reckons. The fact that he seems to have any restraint left at all is impressive in its own right.

Still, he can't quite bring himself to be impressed. Not when he'd prefer to have that cock sheathed fully inside of him sooner rather than later.

Another shuddered exhale follows, signaling that he's far from the only one feeling impatient.

"I don't... want to come right away," Strohl explains, words measured and eyes closed in seeming concentration.

"Strohl," he says slowly, reaching up to cup his cheek again. "Even if you come right away, couldn't you just... keep going after?"

Strohl blinks. "And... what, just do it again right away?"

"Exactly."

The thought clearly hadn't occurred to him before. Now that it's been offered up on a silver platter, he looks astonished.

"When we get back to the Honeybee," Strohl says, voice carefully kept level, "I might end up breaking one of the beds."

"Break me before you do that."

The words had been meant mostly in jest—teasing, really—but they seem to click something into place in Strohl's mind, and suddenly the heels urging at his ass to move find their wish granted.

Strohl's hips snap forward, and just like that, he feels gloriously full, filled to the brim as his body pulses around his cock.

"Angh, Strohl—"

He's not exactly small, but there's pleasure in the stretch, in the way his cunt throbs, fighting to slowly but surely adjust.

"Fuck—!"

They're so close like this, unmoving; Strohl's face is buried in the crook of his neck, Will's nose buried in Strohl's hair. Wrapped around him as he is, he can just barely touch one of his horns—

The noise that leaves Strohl is almost the most poignant response to the touch. Under normal circumstances it certainly would have been, but as it is, all he can focus on is the twitching of Strohl's cock inside of him, the slight swell, and the way his own body reacts, clenching.

How does he already feel this close? No wonder Strohl worried about coming too quickly. If this is enough to do him in—

As if in response, he shifts slightly, grabbing hold of one of his horns to the sound of another shuddered groan.

"Move," Will whines into his ear, turning his head just to bite down on his shoulder.

It's evidently convincing enough, whether to Strohl's mind or his body, and Will feels his own cock twitch once more, leaking precome onto his abdomen as Strohl starts thrusting in earnest. No more fear in breaking him, no more fear in coming too soon. They're just moving as one as Will wraps his legs around Strohl's waist.

Heismay's warning comes to mind, then.

"If the two of you do not take precautions, you will most likely conceive."

Now he understands how such a thing could happen in the first place. A panacea after should do it, though they really ought to stock up wherever they go next...

Maybe one day, they won't have to bother with those precautions at all.

That thought is enough to spark something in him: the promise of life after Louis, of a peaceful future, one where he and Strohl might never want for privacy again.

The truth of the matter is that the fears Strohl expressed are real. They could lose. Altabury could see all their deaths come to fruition. And even if they don't die—if Louis doesn't, he might well win against Forden.

But they have now. They have this. Strohl is in his arms and inside of him, and just for once, he can dare to think of nothing else.

I love—

With his hand still on his horn, it's blissfully easy to pull Strohl back into another frenzied kiss, movements slowly but surely becoming shakier. Occasionally, Strohl slows down to deliberately delay the process, but he's back to making him moan from each thrust inside of Will before long, pounding into him with a passion and a need belying his own true feelings.

Forehead to forehead, it's impossible not to focus on the beautiful man above him. Eyes squeezed shut, lip between his teeth, he squeezes at Will's hip hard enough to leave bruises that he knows he'll treasure.

It's all over the second that Strohl's hand moves from his hip to instead wrap around Will's cock to stroke. The feelings prove too much—and he realizes that if even just his hand is enough to make him keen as he is now, Strohl's mouth would only be all the more intoxicating.

"Strohl," he gasps out as he comes, noticing a moment later that there are tears in his eyes. Clinging to him, body trembling, he thinks he hears Strohl say his name back.

It helps, somehow, that Strohl is clinging back.

His name alights from Strohl's mouth, and it's only after a few heartbeats that it hits him: the tension in Strohl's body, the lack of thrusts, the pulsing inside of him—

Will's legs tighten around his waist, his body seemingly determined to make Heismay's warning come true.

Someday, maybe, they won't have to reach for a panacea after this. Someday, in a better world, one where people like Louis or Forden aren't racing to the throne.

Maybe, if Strohl wants the same.

Stillness settles over them like a blanket as the world seems to slow once more.

"Leon," Strohl mutters, still just as breathless as he is.

"Mm?"

"You should... call me Leon. When it's just us."

"Only when it's just us?"

He clears his throat. "Well. Maybe not."

"Leon," Will says as if tasting the word on his tongue. Trying it out.

Inside of him, he feels Leon's cock twitch.

Will's thumb runs along the side of his horn to the sensation of another twitch, Leon gasping. "Those are—ah, sensitive."

"Oh!" The hand previously clutching on to one of his horns promptly lets go, Will's expression sheepish. He'd mostly come to that conclusion, not that that had stopped him.. "Sorry about that..."

"It's fine," he says, shaking his head. "I didn't mind. Just... if it keeps happening, that continuation you were talking about might be closer at hand than you think."

"Is that... something you want?"

Leon's cheeks go pink. "It does make me feel rather like a ravenous beast, but... you do seem to bring out that side of me."

"So... that's a yes?"

"There are few things I could possibly want more right now," he says, and leans in to kiss him again.

There are no windows on the lower level of the runner.

Admittedly, the windows on the upper level hardly reach Strohl in his pod, but the lights in the corridor never turn off, not to mention that Hulkenberg makes more than enough noise in waking to rouse even Will from slumber.

Sleep has never come easy to Strohl, not once since the tragedy, and certainly not on the runner.

Considering how well-rested he feels now, one would never guess as much.

It's dark when he wakes, which technically could mean anything at all. For all he knows, they've only slept three hours—but he feels wide awake.

Will is curled into his arms, Strohl's nose is buried in his hair, and both of them are still naked. Under normal circumstances, he'd feel embarrassed about their current state, but right now all he cares about is the boy by his side.

Will wants him back. Somehow, some way, the wish not written down still came true for him. The fact that he doesn't feel even remotely worthy of that honor is meaningless.

A soft noise escapes Will, and Strohl has to resist the urge to lean in and capture his lips once more. It's only slightly greater than the desire to touch Will again.

If it's still early, perhaps...

"Mm," says Will, eyes slowly fluttering open. "Morning."

"Good morning."

"I'd meant to get dressed again before we fell asleep..." The smile on Will's face is bright as the sun and twice as beautiful. "I see that didn't happen."

"I don't mind so much." His words are accompanied by a slow trailing of his fingers up along Will's thigh, his touches feather-light under their blanket. "You're beautiful."

A hint of mischief slips into that smile, which only widens. "Do you want to go again?"

Of course I do.

"I'm admittedly uncertain as to what time it is... but I'm also not entirely sure that I care. Once we're back on the road, the chances for privacy will be few and far between."

Will seems to take that as the implicit permission it is, surging forward to kiss him again. Questing fingers find one of his horns, and shivers run through Strohl's body, straight into his cock. Will's free hand decides to make the most of that fact, exploring Strohl's length in a way that only serves to remind him of how badly he wants to go down on Will.

That's when the runner rumbles to life.

Eupha is getting the distinct impression that this is not the norm on board the runner.

Four seats around the strategy table still sit open. Two of the four will of course go to Strohl and Will when they make it to breakfast, but that still leaves two open for Basilio and Fidelio.

Not that they're taking the opportunity. Instead, they just keep hovering around the periphery of the room. Fidelio in particular has his arms crossed in front of his chest, almost as if trying to protect himself.

"Cannot believe this shite, those two just takin' our space to fuck—"

Not that Fidelio's mood can bring Basilio down; if anything, he's all smiles. "Not such a big deal, ain't it? I'm just glad them two figured it out." The grin widens as he elbows Fidelio. "An' all 'cuz of you, too!"

Hulkenberg straightens in her seat, eyes wide. "I beg pardon? You were the cause of this?"

"Well done, Fidelio!"

With Junah's endorsement, a spread of pink comes over Fidelio's cheeks, and she watches the magla in him shift slightly, emotions taking on a differently colored hue. His perpetual war between tenderness and safety is a hard one to watch from where she's sitting, especially when none of that seems echoed in his younger brother.

"It was nothin'. I just made a comment, that's all. It's them that took it too far."

"They're grown men, are they not?" Heismay's glower speaks volumes. "They knew what they were getting into."

"Oh, sure, but in our—"

The clanking of the ladder signals their arrival even before they make it the rest of the way up and onto the main floor, and all eyes turn to the corridor.

"Ah, um," says Will upon spotting them, quickly turning back to look at the ladder where Strohl is just now surfacing. "Leon..."

"Ooohhhh." Junah's eyes sparkle. "So it's Leon now, is it?"

"Not," Strohl says, dusting himself off as he stands, "for you."

"Don't worry, love. I wouldn't dream of encroaching on Will's territory."

Basilio slides into the seat beside her, all long, gangly limbs as he struggles to fit. "Ye all right there?"

"Oh! Um. Yes! Why wouldn't I be?"

"S'just... ye seemed kinda keen on Will, like."

There's something so open and earnest about Basilio and his words that she finds herself smiling.

"—the bloody gall of you lot, doin' that where other people are gonna be sleepin'!"

"You did tell us to."

"Can we please stop talking about this?"

She feels her smile widen some as she turns back to Basilio.

"It's wonderful, isn't it? Seeing them so happy?"

For a moment, Basilio just blinks at her, until his face too splits into a wide grin. "Yer a right proper good lass, ain't ye?"

"They're my friends." She looks at him. "And yours too, Basilio."

"Well," Hulkenberg says, "I say 'tis a grand achievement. One worth celebrating, no less! We shall have to do so as soon as we reach Montario."

Strohl groans. "Why are we still talking about this?"

"Because!" Gallica huffs. "Do you have any idea the misery you two put us through? Being so darn stubborn!"

"All worked out in the end though, didn't it?"

Will is smiling widely when he catches her eye, and Eupha can't help but smile right back.