Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Prologue

Tora

Tora swung his guandao, the blade catching a man in the belly as he charged. Blood sprayed over the dirty snow, disappearing beneath scrambling feet and the hooves of wild-eyed horses. Tora turned in place, waiting for the next opponent. None stepped forward, a good sign of a battle well-fought. In the beginning, men had been foolish with bravery.

But he couldn’t spot his younger brother in the dwindling throng. Normally, that wouldn’t have sparked anything more than mild interest in him, but for some reason, it made him uneasy then. The wind was blowing in sharp from the west, bringing in the sort of clouds that made the world tangy with lightning before a downpour. Rain meant a muddy battlefield, which would only keep them longer from home.

He trudged through the field, looking for higher ground. To him, the battle was won already, all that was left to do was find Asura and then they could declare their victory to the men. A few stragglers from the southern army could always disagree, try to prolong the fighting, but anyone with half a mind would see it was a lost cause.

He ignored the moans of a man he passed on his way up the hilly landscape. He needed to get to higher ground to see how far the fighting had spread, see if he could spot the flash of red from his brother’s cloak. See if they could perhaps begin to tend their dead and wounded before the night ended.

A man on horseback darted by him, the plume on his helmet flattened to one side as if it had been dropped. Tora recognized him as a southern general. The coward would leave his own men behind, leaving them to death and cold and dishonor. Tora couldn’t suffer a coward, a so-called leader who would abandon his people.

He looked around for a spear and dislodged one from a man’s back, disliking the faint crunch as the end ripped back through the dirty armor. He hoisted his arm back and aimed only a moment before letting it fly. It landed just shy of the fleeing general, who looked over his shoulder in alarm.

Tora took off after him, making quick work of the rocky terrain where the horse stumbled, slipping on the snow-dusted stones of the craggy mountainside. Where the southern general was out of his depth, Tora was in his element, had been raised climbing those mountains with his brothers.

The general was only a few yards away when he abandoned his horse like his men, apparently deciding to go on by foot. Tora was glad of it. If the horse had been unsteady, the general would be more so.

He could practically smell the fear, mixing with the coppery tang of blood that coated his hands and the faint scent that called for rain. He only hoped it would hold off long enough to clear the field. Mud made it difficult to move the injured and impossible to burn the dead. As soon as he dispatched the run-away general, he’d see to it the ground was cleared before the skies opened.

“I surrender!” the general panted, still madly climbing up the craggy wall, dislodging stones as he scrambled.

“Did you tell your men this?” Tora asked, adjusting his grip on his guandao. “Or did you just leave them leaderless to fend for themselves?”

The general reached the peak as the storm began to roll in, the rumbling of thunder ushering in the rain. The general stumbled for only a moment, then raised his weapon, a suspiciously clean blade that looked more suited for display than a battle. It made Tora sick.

“You people could end this,” Tora said, taking a step closer to him. “You could leave our lands and be at peace.”

“You savage northerners have no business in this valley.”

“This is the valley of my ancestors, my northern ancestors.” He hit his breastplate for emphasis.

“And soon we’ll drive you uneducated tent-dwellers all the way north where the trees don’t grow, and even the animals don’t venture.”

Tora would never understand the irrational hatred some had for his people. They’d been peaceful, nomadic herders with a large established city in a not-too-distant dell. They had kept to themselves with their horses and sheep until others decided they deserved no peace.

The general lunged for him just as flash of lightning shot through the clouds and the first drops of rain fell. Tora dodged the blow easily, knocking it aside with his guandao. The general had years of experience but was rusty from disuse. He fought like the kind of man who’d grown complacent with his station in life.

The rain fell harder, and the sky darkened. It had quickly turned into the kind of storm that usually only came to the valley when the air was sweet with grasses and sun. The rain in winter made it dangerous. There would be ice and low visibility for the men.

The general was getting tired, his blows coming softer. Tora knew he had the power to finish it, but there had been something so satisfying about tearing the old man down bit by bit, watching him grow weak.

But as he brought the guandao down for the killing blow, there was another flash of lighting that smelled of burning and spice, there was the sound of a woman’s scream, and then blackness.

Poppy

Poppy winces as she reads her boss’s email for the third time. She isn’t sure why she thinks the dismissal will be less painful after a certain number, but it isn’t. Once again, her pitch has been rejected.

When she signed famed romance novelist Q.B. Noyouko, she thought it would result in a raise or at least a little more creative freedom in her projects. But her boss Gil had made it abundantly clear that Quincey was her full time job now, no hard hitting memoirs or historical tomes for her. Not that she didn’t enjoy putting all her focus on Quincey, but she’s itching for something she can really sink her teeth into. Though Quincey would just tell her she could sink her teeth into the leading man in his latest book.

“Bad news?” Erdene asks, perching on the corner of Poppy’s desk.

“Gil hated my latest idea.”

“Of course, he did. Gil hates everything. Trust me, Pops, you’re not special.”

Poppy cracks a smile. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. He’s been really testy lately.”

She leans in and lowers her voice. “Must be because him and his wife are breaking up.”

“Where did you hear that?”

“His office shares a wall with the mail station. I heard him going on and on about it on the phone when I was looking for a package. Guess she moved out or something.”

Poppy doesn’t love Gil, but she still feels sad for him. She still remembers how her father had curled into himself when her mother left, like a leaf in fall. “Maybe I should just give him a break then, not pitch for a while.”

“You shouldn’t bother anyway. You and Quincey are basically shackled together for all of eternity.” She crosses her legs, picking at a string in the ripped knee of her jeans. “Speaking of which, when he was here last time? He wanted to take us all out to celebrate the new series. He’s thinking the weekend after this one maybe. You free?”

“When am I not?”

“Good point.”

Jacob looked around his computer monitor. “Where are we going?”

Erdene shrugged. “No clue. It’s Quincey so it could be something as simple as drinks at his apartment or a private jet to a ski resort.”

Poppy laughs. “Well, he’s working on a pirate novel now, so maybe a cruise.”

“Good, I need a bit of a tan,” Erdene says.

“I don’t. I get all freckly.”

“Freckles are cute, Pops. Some people literally draw them on every day.”

She scrunches her nose. “Weird.”

“It’s called fashion, my friend. Anyways, I’m heading out early. I’m getting my nails done before my date tonight, but if Gil asks, I’m at the dentist.” She slid off her desk.

“That guy from before? The one we met at Quincey’s with the pink hair?”

She nods. “Damien.”

 “I liked him; he was nice.”

“Are you doing anything fun tonight?”

Poppy thinks to her overflowing hamper and pile of dishes sitting in the sink and empty social calendar and the leaky sink her landlady said is going to be fixed this weekend. “Fun isn’t the word I’d use. I like to get all my chores done in Friday nights, so I can relax on the weekends anyway.”

“Always so responsible.” She glances at her phone. “I’ll text you later, okay? Maybe we can get brunch tomorrow.”

“Sounds good. After this week I feel like I need a mimosa.”

After Erdene leaves, Poppy scrolls through the rest of her emails, weeding out the spam and junk. She flags some messages she needs to attach files too and return, then leans back in her seat, stretching her arms over her head. Her lower back is tight from sitting and she wonders if she should take up yoga again. She wasn’t particularly good at it, but it might help.

Her phone rings with an incoming call from Quincey.

“Hello, hello,” he says before she can greet him. “How’s my favorite editor?”

“I’m your only editor.”

“Well, aren’t you a lucky duck, then? I need to chat about a few things. I hate to be a bother, but are you free on Sunday?”

“Yeah, I’ll be tied to my place though. A handman should be coming by, but I have no idea what time.”

“Then I’ll come to you. I’ll pick up lunch and you can wax poetic about my prose while helping me dig myself out of this plot hole I’m trapped in.”

Poppy flips open her planner and scribbles brunch with Erdene? in the Saturday slot. “What time?”

“How’s one?”

She makes a note of it in the square marked for Sunday. “Sounds good to me.”

“Wonderful, see you then, darling.”

When she hangs up, she sees Jacob’s packing up for the day and Poppy decides to as well. She thinks it’ll be nice to get some takeout and go to her favorite lookout spot for a solo picnic. She’s grown used to being largely alone since moving to Narin City. But she still hasn’t gotten used to the sounds. She grew up with birds beneath the sun and crickets at night and bullfrogs in the wet, gritty earth that encircled the pond in her Granny’s backyard. The city seems to loud sometimes, too hard to block out. Sometimes the only way to truly reset is to get away.

Her car’s parked on the street, and she slides behind the wheel, eager to get dinner. She’s made it her mission to discover all the great hole in the wall spots in the city and has a nice list on her phone of all her favorite places. She’s torn between Italian and sushi, but Alice’s sushi place is closer, so she heads there instead.

The one bad thing about Alice’s is that it’s so close to Ares Street, a street in the city where the seedier nightclubs and bars were. When she first moved, Erdene had warned her against ever stepping foot there, and based on the way Alice always shoos her out before dark, she assumes it was sound advice.

“Hey there, little lamb,” Alice says when Poppy steps inside her restaurant. “Stayin’ or goin’?”

“To go, please.”

Alice takes a puff of her vape and picks up a pencil. “What’ll it be?”

She squints at the faded menu behind the counter. “May I please have a dragon roll, Hamachi nigiri, and some ahi nigiri?”

“Soup?”

“Please.”

Alice scribbles her order down and slams the scrap of paper on the ledge of the kitchen window behind her. “To go order.” And the hand of a silent chef snatches it.

“Busy tonight, huh?” Poppy asks, handing Alice some cash from her purse.

“Usual suspects. Where ya goin’ next? Home?”

“Nah, I think I’m going to have a little picnic.”

Alice adjusts her glasses. “Not ‘round here, I hope.”

“No, I’m going out of the city. There’s this little parking lot I found by mistake one time. It sounds weird, but it has a great view.”

“Well stay safe, little girl. Ain’t gonna have ya get snatched up.”

“Don’t worry, I never see anyone up there. I think they were going to build something and abandoned the project.”

“Get yourself a nice can of mace next time ya go to the store, alright?”

Poppy smiles. Alice has a tough exterior and can hold her own, but she cares fiercely about everyone, even girls who are new in the city.

The sky’s darker when she leaves the restaurant, clutching the bag of sushi in one hand a takeout cup of green tea in the other. The weather forecast didn’t call for rain last time she checked, but she won’t let a little drizzle ruin her plans. There’s a roof covering part of the lot, and if all else fails, she’ll just eat in her car. But she needs a win tonight, needs to feel at least a little in control.

The road into the mountains is winding, dizzying almost, but Poppy doesn’t mind. There’s something soothing about going for a drive, something she used to do all the time in Moonbright when she could go down country roads for hours when she was upset or anxious and just focus on the drive.

As she knew she would be, she’s alone in the little lot, and she parks facing the city. She gets out with her food and goes to the edge where a barrier rims the sheer drop to the rocky forest below. The clouds roll in from over the city, obscuring the last bit of sunset. It’s strange to see the sea of gray obscure the reds and purples, swallow the blossoming stars. But it’s not unwelcomed.

When she’s done dinner, and the rain starts to fall, she can hole up in her cozy apartment. There’s nothing more satisfying than being safe and warm while watching the weather rage outside. Then the first rumble of thunder hits, and Poppy pops another sushi roll in her mouth. A storm’s even better. And at least she has tons of candles for if the power goes out.

She’s almost done when lightning flashes and she decides she’s enjoyed the solitude long enough. She can see the sheet of rain cutting through the city, coming toward her. While she wouldn’t mind watching the storm, she feels like being out in a bad one isn’t a good idea.

But just as she puts her trash in her back seat to throw away at home, lightning flashes, hitting the ground with a boom mere feet away. It throws her back, probably with her own surprise and not from the actual force of anything. Her heart races as she sits up to catch her breath, but then stills when she realizes she isn’t alone.

There’s a man lying in the dirt where the lighting fell, prone and silent, dressed strangely. The early drops of rain hit his armor with a faint ticking sound, and she stands completely still, frozen. Her mind wills her to get in the car and drive away, to get to spot with cell service to call for an ambulance. But what would she even say? That a man dressed like an old painting just…appeared? It sounds insane. She’s insane.

Or maybe he’s a cosplayer, or they were filming a movie close by. He could be lost and maybe hurt. She’s overthinking everything. Things in the world all had perfectly normal explanations. She’ll just make sure he’s breathing and then she’ll go get him some real help.

“Hello?” she says, stepping toward him.

The man’s fingers move in the wet earth.

“Sir, can you hear me?”

The fingers move again.

Poppy carefully crouches down beside him. In the beams cast by the headlights, she realizes there’s blood on his armor, the red slowly being washed away by the rain. But his face is clear and unmarked, oddly beautiful among the angles with long lashes and a straight nose. His hair is long and unbound inky black.

She reaches out to touch his neck to see if there’s a pulse. But then his eyes open, a deep honey-gold. He blinks several times, and slowly sits up. The rain’s coming down harder now, but Poppy moves back a bit, feeling stupid she left her phone in the car. Though there’s no service anyway.

The man says something in a language she doesn’t know. It’s musical, made rasping by his deep voice. The words make the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. It isn’t a dialect she’s ever heard. It sounds old, too old.

Something’s wrong and Poppy knows it. She just hopes she won’t regret sticking around.

Tora

Tora thinks he must be dead when he first opens his eyes. There’s a woman leaning over him, large eyes looking at him with the kind of soft concern he’s never seen before. She’s dressed strangely, wearing pants like a man with her long hair in a braid. And when he sits up, he realizes the peak looks different, with stone pillars and a roof off to one side, a sea of lights below.

“Where is this place?” he asks.

The woman moves away, and he nearly reaches out to pull her back to him. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand you.” She speaks the tongue of the southernmost people, those who dwell in the kingdom farthest away from his. She speaks like the ocean folk with their tall sailed ships and bountiful waters. She must have traveled weeks to get so far north. But why?

“I speak ya language,” he says slowly, his addled mind trying to recall the words.

“Are you alright? Are you hurt?”

He clears his throat, looking around. “Am I dead?”

“No, of course not. Where did you come from?”

“Right here. I was…everything looks different.”

The woman purses her lips. “I think you hit your head.”

It’s possible the old general had hit him, but very unlikely. Maybe someone had snuck up behind him and he’d been out cold for hours.

“My men?” he asks, rising to his feet.

The women stands. She’s tiny, coming only up to his chest in her strange, flat shoes. “I don’t know. Were you with a film crew? Some friends?”

Film crew? He wasn’t familiar with that term. “The battle, how did it end?”

Her brows knit prettily, and she cocks her head to the side. “What battle?”

Tora’s beginning to get annoyed. Surely, she’d seen it, heard the screams of the injured, smelled the scent of dying men. Though there is no snow, no men, no scent of blood in the air. And below them lay lights like a thousand stars in the valley.

“Where am I?” he asks the valley of stars.

“Narin City,” she answers. “We’re at Regina’s Peak.”

“Regina…like my mother?”

She shrugs, damp strands of hair clinging to her rounded cheeks. “I think you need to go to a hospital.”

“No. I need to…I need to get…back.” Nothing’s making sense. There’s no city in the valley the battle was being fought in, no one lived there. There hadn’t been stone pillars on the peak either. His guandao is gone too. “I don’t understand.”

“I can give you a ride,” she says carefully, clutching her jacket tight around her.

She’s nervous, he can tell. “Don’t be scared of me. I would never hurt a woman.”

She doesn’t look convinced, but nods anyway. “Let’s just get in my car.”

“Ya what?”

“My car.” She motions behind him where a strange metal carriage sits, no horses in sight. Though light comes from the front, brighter than any lantern.

“That is a…car?”

She nods and steps around him. “Yeah, you must have really bumped your noggin somehow.”

Tora doesn’t know what to say. Things are as they were, but different, like he had lain on the peak still as stone while the world changed around him. It makes him uneasy, and he isn’t sure he can trust the small, pretty woman, but has little choice.

He watches how she opens the door to the car and mimics her on the other side. There’s a seat inside and he sits, shutting the door behind him. He’s never seen anything like it and his stomach flips with unease. Perhaps he’s made a mistake by following her. Perhaps he’s dead and she’s a being of the moon come to take him to the otherworld. He can see how she might be with her bewitched carriage and large, dark eyes. It’s often said that the carriers of souls often disguise themselves as lovely young women made of starlight and night wind.

She does something to the array of metal pieces before them and the car vibrates. He holds tight to the door, jaw set as it begins to move. The lights illuminate the black road ahead, lined with trees.

“It’s okay,” she says soothingly. “It’ll be slow going in the storm, but we’ll get you help soon.”

“Take me to the northern camp.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

“To Asura.”

“I…who?”

Tora grits his teeth. “Who do ya have an alliance with?”

“N-no one.” Her voice is wavering. “Please don’t yell at me.”

He sighs. His predicament isn’t her fault. “I’m sorry. I just don’t understand what happened.”

“Well, what’s the last thing you remember?”

“There was a battle and my brother and I had won. I came up to the peak to end a southern general, but then there was a flash and…and now I’m here.”

She’s silent for a moment before saying, “It’s not that I don’t believe you, but it’s almost like you fell through time. Like in a book or something.”

Tora’s stomach flips again. Stranger things had happened, and he knew something of the otherworld ran in his family’s blood. But a change in time seems unreal. “Is such a thing possible?”

“I don’t know. What year was it?”

“366 in the Year of the Gods.”

“Oh.” She takes a deep breath. “It’s the year 2022 here. I don’t even know what Year of the Gods means.”

His chest tightens. “How is this possible? Is this possible?”

“I think maybe you should still see a doctor.”

“No,” he says at once. He can’t handle any more strangeness. “I need to find a way back. I need to find my brother.”

Her grip seems to tighten on the wheel she holds. “I don’t know what to do.”

“I need ya help. I normally wouldn’t ask a woman such a thing, but I don’t…I don’t understand.”

“I need to make a call.”

The car rolls to a stop at the edge of a city with buildings taller than he’d ever known. What he thought had been stars were lighted windows and the beams from other cars as they drive down darkened roads smooth as silk. The world’s changed. Or maybe he has.

“I’m going to call a friend.”

“An ambush?” he asks with alarm. Maybe the small woman is a witch, glamouring him to see things that aren’t true.

“No, no, no, my friend Quincey. He might…well, he won’t know what to do, but he’s…a man.”

He relaxes slightly. The woman is only afraid to be alone with him. He understands her trepidation. “I swear to ya, I won’t touch ya.”

She bites her lip, and the car moves forward. “You’re a stranger. Oh my god, I picked up a stranger and now I’m alone with him. It’s like a crime show come to life.”

“Crime show? Does someone show a crime?”

Surprisingly, she smiles slightly. “You really aren’t from here, are you?”

“I…was.”

“Siri, call Quincey,” the woman says in a loud, clear voice.

The car makes a noise, a strange, repeating sound that fills the air until a man’s voice says, “You’ve almost reached me, but too bad for you, I’m not glued to my cell. Leave me a message…or send me a text. Toodles!”

There was a single, lower toned sound, then the woman said, “Hi, Quincey? It’s me. I have a…there’s been…just call me back, okay?”

“Where is the man? Inside this car?” he asks, looking behind him.

“No, I called him on the phone. It’s how we speak to each other through invisible threads. It’s weird to explain.”

Tora scrubs a hand over his face.

She taps her fingers as she drives them through rows of buildings. There are people out, wearing clothes like here. He doesn’t see any food stalls like in the northern capital and he doesn’t spot a single horse. Perhaps he really is in the future. Maybe he’s gotten lost between world like in the legends say.

“We found a woman once,” he says, still gazing at the flashing lights they pass. “She was dressed like us and talked like us, but she wasn’t one of us. She was…like you.”

“Me?”

He nods, trying to remember that day when he was no more than a child. “We were movin’ the herd to graze, and she came walkin’ over the hill. She was an old woman, and we took her with us. She only traveled with us a few days, but I remember her tellin’ my father that she didn’t belong there, that she needed to get back and she wanted us to help her. I thought it was just her bein’ old or somethin’. I thought she’d lost her mind. She would tell us stories of buildin’s taller than the clouds and flameless lanterns.”

“You think she was from here? My time?” the young woman asks quietly.

“I dunno. I haven’t thought about her in years. I thought she was mad, but now…now I don’t know.”

She purses her lips and pulls up to a large, metal gate. They part by themselves, letting them pass. She stops the car beside a line of other cars, and then it falls silent.

“I want to believe you,” she says, turning to him. “I think there are things in this world no one can understand. But I don’t know how to help you.”

He nods, unsure of what to say back.

“And I want to trust you.”

Tora immediately pulls his small dagger from his ankle and holds it out to her, hilt first. “Ya have my promise I won’t touch ya. I won’t hurt ya. And to seal that promise, I offer ya my blood.”

Her large brown eyes grow wide as she looks between the knife and his face. “Um, that won’t be necessary, but I do need to know your name.”

Of course. He hadn’t even realized she didn’t know who he was. He isn’t used to that. “Prince Tora of the Northern Kingdom.”

“Poppyland Wilkes, but my friends call me Poppy.”

He isn’t sure he’s heard her right. “Puppy?”

“No, Poppy.”

“Bobby?”

She sighs. “No, Poppy, like the flower.”

“Poppy,” he repeats slowly. “I don’t know that one.”

“Are you really a prince?”

“Yes. I’m the oldest.”

She looks surprised to hear it. “So, you’ll be the king one day?”

“If I ever go back.”

Poppy’s gaze flits between him and the building before them. “Well, Prince Tora, against everything I’ve ever learned watching Dateline, I’m going to let you stay with me tonight. On the couch, of course.”

“What’s a couch?”

“It’s a long, comfortable chair thing.” She reaches behind him to take a few bags from the backseat. “You’ll see. Come on, let’s head up.”

He leaves the car and follows her toward the building, stashing the dagger in his belt. But she stops at a small house and a thin, small man with floppy brown hair comes out. She says something to him, and he looks Tora’s way.

“Tora, this is Gyu, the security guard here. Gyu, this is Tora, my…friend from Moonbright.”

Gyu sticks out his hand. “Good to meet you. Great costume. My girlfriend’s into cosplay too.”

Tora clasps his hand. He wants to ask what a cosplay is, but Poppy has lied about him for a reason. “Good to meet you,” he parrots back.

He thinks it’s strange such a small man can secure such a large building but doesn’t question it as they go inside. It’s brightly lit with bare, white walls and a shiny, white floor. He follows Poppy up the steps, circling round and around until she pushes open a cold, metal door, then unlocks a wooden on at the end of a short hallway.

Her home seems to be in a cluster of others, as if a village has grown up around itself. But her home is unlike anything he’s ever seen. Warm and cozy, there are plants inside, hanging from the ceiling and perched on shelves beside more books than he’d ever seen. There’s no cooking fire, but there are more flameless lanterns that spring to life when she touches them.

“Where I’m from, they’d say ya were a witch,” he murmurers, looking at the line of shoes beside the door. She must have a wealthy family to afford so many.

“Not a witch, just a publishing editor,” she says as she takes her coat off.

Tora has to drag his gaze away from her. He didn’t see her body when they were at the peak, but now it’s on display, curvy and soft, the fabric of her clothes tight against her. “Where’s ya father or husband?”

“My dad died a few years ago and I’m not married.”

“Ya live here alone?”

“Yes,” she says. “Which is why it’s an extra big deal that I’m letting you stay with me tonight.”

“Ya worried ‘bout ya reputation?”

Poppy snorts and unwinds her damp brain, coming through the tresses with her fingers. “Hardly. Boots off, please.”

He does as she asks, putting them beside hers in the line.

Then she looks over him and frowns. “You need a shower.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s like…a bath that falls from the ceiling. I don’t know how to explain it, just follow me.”

He does as she asks, and they go into a small room.

“So, this is a toilet. You do your, um, private business there, then you wash your hands at the sink like this.” She turns a silver thing and water pours down from it.

“Clean water? Can ya drink it?”

“Of course.” She turns off the sink and pushes a curtain aside, revealing a large sink. “And here’s the shower.” She makes the water appear again, testing it with her hand until she’s satisfied. Then she goes to a thin door and puts a towel beside the small sink. “I’ll see if I can find you something to wear. I collect donations for the local homeless shelter and Quincey’s always giving me things. There’s soap and everything on the shelf there but call me if you need anything.”

He nods, suddenly feeling exhausted. “Thank you, Poppy.”

She smiles up at him and for the first time since landing in the strange land, he sees her in the full light. Her hair isn’t a dark brown, but a rich shade that reminds him of the forest at spring when the world comes alive again. She’s beautiful and he nearly says it, but stops himself before she leaves, closing the door behind her.

He carefully takes his armor off, piling it on the floor. Then he strips, looking back at the closed door before stepping into the thing she called a shower. It’s the warmest summer rain cascading down his body. It was odd, but nice.

After the water begins to run clear instead of the muddy red, he looks at the colorful bottles on the shelf. He picks one at random and opens it. It’s green and smells of mint. He pours some into his palm and washes, liking how it feels to be truly clean. After weeks of traveling and fighting for days on end, he’d almost forgotten what it felt like.

When he feels as if he belongs in a clean space like Poppy’s, he turns the metal things as she had until the water runs cold, then turns off. It fascinates him how clean water can come into a home hot or cold. It’s a luxury unheard of and he wants to ask her how it works because when he goes home—because he will go home—he wants to see if can do it in the capital.

He dries off, wrapping the towel around his waist and leaving his armor and clothes on the floor. Almost as an afterthought, he takes the small bag hidden in his armor and palms it. Then he goes into her main living space where the scent of meat cooking fills the air. He’s hungry, not remembering the last time he’d eaten.

Poppy’s standing at a large box in another room, a small flame cooking food in a cast iron pan.

“What’s this?” he asks.

She jumps and turns around. Her gaze rolls over him and her cheeks pink. Then she squeaks out, “I thought you might want something to eat.”

“How are ya cookin’?”

“This is a stove. You turn it on with these knobs.”

“Firewood inside?”

She smiles, the kind that shows no mocking or malice. “Of course not. Most houses now have stoves and ovens. See that there?” She points to a tall box. “That’s a fridge. It keeps the food cold.”

Tora steps to it, opening the door. It’s filled with some things he recognizes, but more things he doesn’t. “This is like a dream.”

“I know it’s probably hard to wrap your mind around, but it’s all real. And I put some clothes on the couch for you. I think you and Quincey are the same size.”

“Thank you.” He holds out the leather bag. “This is for you.”

She stops stirring the frying meat and opens it. Gold coins clink into her impossibly small hand. “Oh. Um…you don’t need to give me anything.”

“Payment for the food and your help.”

“Well, I appreciate the gesture, but I think I have a better form of payment in mind.”

Tora blinks. He’s heard such lines before from women who worked in the camps or at the lodges. They didn’t want his gold either, just his body. He always turned them down as a rule, but maybe he’ll make an exception for her. “Ya want me to share ya bed?”

Her mouth drops open and her cheeks flame a bright red. “Oh my gosh, no! I wasn’t going to suggest that at all. I just meant you could tell me about your time. I mean your home. I saw an exhibit at the museum a few months ago and it’s so hard finding historical things.”

She’s babbling now, flustered. He almost smiles. “Relax, Bobby.”

“Poppy,” she corrects automatically as she drops the coins back into the bag and gives it to him.

He does smile then. “Bobby is a nice name too.”

“Not as good as Poppy.” She flips open the lid of a metal basket and there’s rice inside, steaming and fluffy. “But, um, how about you put on some real clothes?”

He nods and goes into the other room where a pile of things are folded. There are pants in shades of grey and black and tops of every color. He puts on a long sleeved blue one and some trousers that are buttery soft and stretchy. They’re more comfortable than his usual things, and almost fit just as well.

“Would you please get a bowl from the top shelf for me?” she asks when he goes to her again.

He opens the cabinet she motioned to and passes her the bowl. She scoops the rice inside, then adds the vegetables and meat on top. He sits at the low table, and she pours them each a mug of tea, hot and fragrant.

Tora looks at her, watches the way her fingers curl around the cup. She stares back, her expression a mix of curiosity and something else, something like concern. He’s not used to being observed so blatantly, no one has ever really dared before. But this small woman with her odd clothes and warm summer rain and horseless carriage doesn’t fear him, and that perhaps, is the strangest part of all.

Poppy

Poppy still feels like she’s living inside a book. She’s met an ancient warrior who’s somehow traveled through time and is now he’s sitting in her kitchen eating as if it isn’t the weirdest thing that has ever happened in the history of the world.

Although apparently it isn’t. Apparently, someone else has done the same thing, though backwards. Knowing this has happened before does little to make it seem more real. Part of her wonders if she crashed her car on the way to Regina’s Peak and was really just sitting on the side of the road hallucinating wildly.

But if it is a hallucination, at least it’s a good one. She could be conjuring up a worse man than a polite prince with shoulders broad enough to build a house on and eyes that remind her of amber stones. He looks different wearing modern clothes, softer and more real. His hair’s damp and she can see parts of his tattoos, vibrant and clear on his arms and neck.

“Ya questions,” he prompts suddenly.

“Oh, I can’t think of any right now.” She takes a sip of her tea, trying to get her thoughts in line. “Okay, I have one. Where do you live?”

“The Northern Kingdom of Narin.”

“Does it have a name?”

“That is its name. We didn’t need another.”

“What’s the last thing you remember before waking up here? Like the very last thing.”

His mouth sets in a thin line, then he says, “It was startin’ to storm, then nothin’.”

Poppy hums and sips her tea. It had just started storming in her time too. “Maybe the weather means something. It’s like you appeared in a flash of lightning.” She looks out the darkened windows, streaked with rain. “The storm’s calming now, but maybe if you’re there the next time it rains like this, you’ll go back.”

“Sounds too easy.”

“Sometimes the easiest solutions are the ones we often overlook.” She picks up her phone and goes to a weather website to see the forecast. All suns all week. “Hmm, okay it doesn’t look like it’ll rain again for a few days at least.”

“How do ya know?”

She shows him her phone screen. “So, there are these people called meteorologists and they use these things called satellites and computers to predict the weather.”

He frowns. “This whole world is witchcraft.”

Poppy giggles. “No, it’s science. Science makes vaccines so people don’t get sick anymore and can grow human skin for those injured. It makes it possible to fly around the world and have the answers to everything in something as small as my phone.”

Tora takes a deep breath and pushes away his empty bowl. “Keep thinkin’ I really hit my head.”

“Me too,” she admits. “I mean, I must have since I have a literal stranger sleeping in my home.”

“I told ya, I won’t—”

“Touch me, I know.” She picks up the bowl and puts it in the sink. “I’ll go get some pillows and blankets for you.”

She leaves him sitting alone and gets some things to make up the couch from her closet. Then she peeks into the bathroom and sees the pile of clothes and armor on the floor. She wrinkles her nose as she picks up the things she thinks can go in the washer. She isn’t sure what to make of the armor.

Poppy bends down and touches it, her fingertips coming away grimy. She doesn’t want to know what it is, but she’s never seen anything like it. A deep copper with leather and fur, there’s a tiger etched on the chest and it’s so heavy, she has to use two hands to lift it.

“Sorry ‘bout the mess.”

She drops the armor to the tile floor in surprise. “No, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have touched your things. I was just going to wash your clothes.”

“Don’t’ do that. Ya ain’t a washerwoman.”

“We have machines that wash our clothes now.”

“Do ya got machines for everythin’?”

“Most things,” she says with a smile. She scoops up the clothes and takes them to her bedroom closet where her stacked washer and dryer sits. She’s acutely aware of Tora’s gaze on her, but she isn’t scared. Besides, she has a lock on her door and a pink taser beneath her pillow in case he tries anything funny.

Then she puts a new toothbrush in the bathroom for him while she brushes her teeth. He watches her do that too, then mimics her movements while she makes up the couch for him.

“I hope you’ll be comfortable enough,” Poppy says as she shows him where he’ll be sleeping.

“I don’t know how to thank—”

“Stop thanking me, please. This is a weird situation for both of us, and we’ll do our best. Just call out if you need anything, okay?”

He nods. “Goodnight, Poppy.”

“Goodnight, Tora.”

The sound of the lock clicking seems to echo once she’s inside her room. Oddly enough, it makes her feel guilty. Rationally, she knows locking the door when a strange, time traveling man who had to duck when going into the bathroom is sleeping on her couch.

A time traveler is sleeping on her couch.

A laugh bursts from her lips and she slaps her hand over her mouth. The whole thing is completely ridiculous, too outlandish to be true. But somehow, it is. Somehow an ancient warrior prince was brought to her world by magic.

She never thought such things were real, but as she watches the rain thought her sliding glass door, she finally believes in magic.

Chapter Text

Poppy

Poppy stretches in bed, her mind still swimming with dreams of ancient warriors and early spring storms. She never sleeps so deeply and still remembers her dreams the next morning. It reminds her of when she was little and she’d stay burrowed in her blankets, trying to remember parts of them, try to glean bits of the story she’d conjured in her sleep.

A glance at her phone tells her it’s nearly nine and she gets out of bed, needing a shower and to call Erdene to see if they’re still on for brunch. But when she opens her bedroom door, she freezes. The man from her dream is sitting shirtless in a pair of grey sweatpants in the middle of her living room. Armor lays strewn around him and he’s polishing a piece with one of her pastel blue bathroom hand towels.

The events of last night wash over her and she suddenly realizes a time traveler has made himself at home among her throw pillows and romance novels. He looks up at her and smiles, a half grin that makes her stomach flutter.

“Hello,” he says, putting the armor down.

“Um…hi.” Poppy crosses her arms over her chest, realizing she isn’t wearing a bra beneath the pink sweatshirt she wore to bed. In reality he probably couldn’t see anything, but she feels utterly nude. “I’ll be right back.”

She scurries back into her room, closing the door behind her. She puts on a sports bra then gets her phone, pulling up Erdene’s number. As much as she’d love a mimosa and some French toast, she doesn’t really want to explain Tora to Erdene. The reality of their situation still feels unreal and adding her easily excitable friend to the mix wouldn’t help anything.

“Hey, Pops,” Erdene greets.

“Hi. I know we were supposed to do brunch today, but I don’t think I can make it.”

“Boo, you’re no fun. What’s up?”

Poppy glances at the closed door and hears some clinking from the other side. She’s always been a terrible liar, but she has to try. “A friend from Moonbright showed up last night and they—”

“Bring them! We can go to that fancy place with the big fireplaces near that one store that you got that green sweater from.”

“I would, I just think—”

“Poppy?” Tora’s voice comes loud and clear, even through the wood.

“Your friend is a man?” Erdene sounds positively giddy.

“Well, yes, but—”

“Are ya back in bed?” he asks.

“I get it now,” Erdene says. “You go and enjoy your…visitor. Call me when he leaves, okay? Better yet, send me his insta handle so I can creep.”

Poppy’s face is on fire, and she hangs up before going to her door. Tora’s standing on the other side, towering over her, all muscles and tattoos. For a moment she stares, transfixed by the peonies and koi fish. She knew a lot of ancient cultures had tattoos, but his are so vibrant, covering his chest down to the middle of his forearms.

“You alright?” he asks, brows knit.

Poppy clears her throat and squeezes by him to go into the kitchen. “I’m totally fine.” She has to pick around the armor. She’s glad all traces of blood are gone. He’s a clean houseguest at least, had even folded the bedding on the couch. “Would you like some breakfast? Tea?”

“Okay.” He’s standing in the doorway, leaning against the wall as she peers into the fridge.

“I’ll have to go to the store today. It’s like a…like a market, just inside. You can buy anything you want there.”

His mouth forms a thin line, like he’s unsure what to think about it, but then he nods. “I’ll go to the market with ya.”

“Maybe it’s better if you stay here.”

“No, I’ll come. Can’t let ya go out alone.”

Poppy wants to point out that she’s been going out alone for years but doesn’t feel like it. Instead, she gets started on some pancakes. Besides, it can’t hurt to take Tora with her. He can’t stay in her apartment forever, holed up like a housecat. But he also can’t go to work with her.

She needs to find a solution that doesn’t end up with either hiring some babysitter who would be fine keeping an eye on a man from another time or her taking leave from work. For the first time, Poppy wishes for rain.

“This bread is soft,” Tora says a while later when Poppy puts plates of blueberry pancakes on the table. “And it smells sweet.”

“They’re called pancakes. It’s a normal breakfast food here.”

He cuts a piece like she had and pops it in his mouth. He chews contemplatively and says, “Strange.”

“Good strange or bad strange?”

“Both.”

She smiles as he pours more tea into her cup. “So, I’ve been thinking, and I think it’ll be okay if you come shopping with me as long as you do your best to blend in.” She ignores the thought that a giant, handsome man would do anything less than stand out even if he was in the appropriate time.

“I can do that.”

“I sure hope so.”

After they finish eating, Poppy takes a quick shower, still feeling uneasy about Tora being in her space alone. She isn’t used to having a man around, especially not one she feels oddly responsible for. To her, it would be her fault if he got hurt or lost or anything else. Those possibilities worry her more than the possibility of him harming her. For some reason, that thought doesn’t really register as a real risk. Afterall, if he’d wanted to hurt her, he could have a dozen times already.

She quickly dries her hair and dresses in a pair of leggings and a soft, pink sweater. Then she pulls on a pair of fawn-colored boots and steps into the living room. Tora’s changed into a pair of jeans and a grey Henley shirt taken from Quicney’s donation box. He looks absolutely typical of the time…except for the dagger he has tucked in his waistband.

Poppy plucks it free, holding it between her thumb and forefinger. She gingerly puts it on her coffee table. “Let’s just leave that here, shall we?”

“Go out without a weapon?”

“You don’t need one here.”

He snorts.

“I’m serious,” she says, kneeling and digging through the box to find him a coat. “In fact, you might get in trouble for carrying something like that around.” She pulls out a long, camel colored one and passes it to him.

“Don’t like goin’ out without somethin’. What if I need to protect ya?”

“Narin City isn’t the safest in the world, but it’s not like we’re going down Ares Street at midnight.”

“What’s that?”

Poppy put on her own jacket and zips it up, digging her keys out of her purse. “It’s where the thugs and gangs hang out. At least that’s what Alice says.”

“Who’s she?”

She locks the front door of her apartment behind them and leads the way down the stairs. “A nice lady who owns a really good sushi place. We’ll go there sometime.”

She’d said it before thinking about the ramifications of bringing Tora to actually meet her. Alice is sharp as a tack and probably wouldn’t buy that he was just a visiting friend. There’s something feral about him, untamed and underground. Alice would probably smell the danger on him, and while no one could guess where—or when—he came from, she’d know there’a something wrong.

The day’s bright and the street’s busy as they leave the apartment grounds and head toward the store. Tora keeps close, his gaze constantly scanning as they walk. She’s on high alert too, waiting for something, which she knows is ridiculous. It’s not like anyone will look at him and call him out as Prince Tora or whatever. She’s the only one who knows him now, and that realization feels suddenly heavy.

Tora pauses at the door to the store when they whoosh open automatically. He murmurs something under his breath and Poppy smiles, putting a hand on his arm.

“Come on, it’s just an automatic door,” she says, guiding him in.

“How does it know when to open?”

“A thing on the floor, I think. It feels our weight.”

He looks back over his shoulder while Poppy picks up a basket, and promptly returns it in favor of a cart. “And we put the food in that?”

“Yep. You have to tell me what like to eat so I can have it in the house.”

Tora picks up a box of sugary cereal and puts it back. “I don’t know any of these. I’ll just trust ya.”

She pushes the cart and goes to the produce section. Tora mills behind her as they shop, quiet except to ask what some things are or to get a can off a high shelf for her. He must be overwhelmed, but he doesn’t let it show. She’s oddly proud of him. If the situation was reversed, she’d be completely freaking out. Actually, given how the past hasn’t been historically kind to women, she’d probably be burned at the stake or something.

“Ya got flowers in winter?” he asks as they pass the floral displays near the registers.

She glances at the plastic-wrapped roses and daises sitting in the bins. “Of course. They either grow somewhere warmer and they bring them here, or they grow in greenhouses, which are kept nice and toasty.”

He’s frowning, his eyes seemingly glazed.

“What is it?” she asks.

“It’s been years since I’ve seen a flower.”

“Did it…was it always cold where you’re from?”

“Not always, but it had been for a long time. And the only time I ever went south is when I went to fight.”

That saddens Poppy more than she expected, and she goes over to the display, sifting through the blooms until she finds a bouquet of pale pink roses with unmarred petals. She smiles up at him as she puts them in the cart. “These will brighten up the living room, I think.”

To her surprise, he grins back, a dimple flashing in one cheek. There’s a thudding in her chest she can’t ignore but has to. He’s a time traveler dependent on her help until he can get home. The last thing he needs is to have her salivating over him like a piece of meat. Although she has the suspicion that the biggest problem would be her getting too attached.

Poppy turns away as they join the line to check out. She’s been reading too many romance novels, letting herself get oddly swept away by the fantastical nature of it all. But real life is usually nothing like the books, as she’s learned over the years.

She’s just starting to put the things on the bent when the has the distinct feeling of being watched. It’s the kind of sensation that feels like icy cold fingers down her spine. She glances at Tora, and he seems too interested in how the belt moves to notice anything.

But when she looks around, bouquet clutched in one hand, she sees who’s been watching her.

“Shoot,” she mumbles, turning around. She hopes he had just been looking over her head at a display and hadn’t actually seen her at all. But she’s never been a particularly lucky person.

“What’s wrong,” Tora asks, suddenly alert, tensing beside her.

“It’s nothing,” Poppy mumbles, holding out the flowers for the cashier to scan.

He leans down, his face near to hers, and whispers, “Told ya I shoulda brought a knife.”

“Hush.” Poppy digs out her wallet, eager to pay and leave.

“Worried about the short man?”

“No. Why?”

“Ya are, ain’t ya?”

She smiles at the cashier as she hands him her debit card. “No, I’m not at all. Let’s just—”

“Poppylan?” comes an all too familiar voice.”

“The short man knows ya name.”

Poppy takes back her card and begins bagging their groceries. “Yes, Tora, thank you.”

“Who is he?”

She swallows, sensing him near her. “My ex.”

Tora

Tora doesn’t like how nervous Poppy is. Her face has gone pale and she’s being uncharacteristically short with him. He isn’t quite sure what an ex is, but it must be bad to make her hands shake.

He angles his body, putting himself between her and the short man with the beady eyes. It seems a little ridiculous for her to be scared of someone he can’t imagine would ever be dangerous, but as he’s learned, the ones with snake-like eyes and thin lips were always the sneakiest of all.

“What’s an ex?” he whispers, taking the full shopping bags as soon as she packs them.

“We used to date—be romantically involved—but I broke up with him a few weeks ago.”

He grabs the rest of the bags, holding them in one hand. “A suitor?”

She smiles wryly. “That’s one way of putting it.”

“He do ya wrong?”

“That’s putting it mildly.”

They begin walking and Tora watches the small man stare after them. He dislikes how Poppy has become. Perhaps the ex, as she called him, dishonored her. Maybe he took her dowry and still didn’t marry her. Maybe he took something more. “Want me to kill him?”

“Tora, no!”

He turns to her as the doors slide open. “His neck looks weak. I’ll make it fast so ya don’t—”

“You can’t just kill people for no good reason,” she hisses, looping her arm through his to make him move faster.

“I have a good reason…ya don’t like him.”

Her lips twitch as if she’s holding back a smile. “Still, that would get you in a lot of trouble and we don’t need any attention on you, okay? I’m not sure what would happen if someone knew how you got here.”

What she says makes sense, but that doesn’t stop his fingers from itching to wrap around the small man’s throat. “Fine. I’ll let him live. This time.”

She does smile then, her hand still resting in the crook of his arm. “Very generous of you.”

Her simple words do something, squeeze something in his chest. It’s an unfamiliar feeling, but not entirely unwelcome. He likes that she thinks he’s generous. No doubt she understands that him killing her ex would be nothing, that he would do it for her without thought, but also respects her enough to take her wishes into consideration.

“Poppy, wait!” the voice of the small man calls out.

She freezes, pulling him to a stop. “Oh, great.”

“Now can I kill him?” he asks lowly.

Poppy shakes her head as her ex draws near. Then she sighs and asks, “What do you want, Julri?”

Julri. That’s a strange thing for a person to be named.

The man looks up at Tora, then back at her. “Can I talk to you for a second?”

“I think you said all that you needed to when we broke up.” Her words come in a weird lilt. “So no, you can’t.”

“I’ve been trying to call you.”

“And you’ve been blocked.”

His jaw works. “I think we can work this out if we can just get a sec alone…without…him.”

Tora’s brows raise. He doesn’t like being spoken about as if he’s not there. But he wants to follow Poppy’s lead on how to handle him, so he stays silent.

“Julri, I don’t want—”

“Is it because of him?” he asks, jerking his head towards Tora. “You’ve moved on that fast after all we’ve been through?”

“You mean after all you’ve put me through?” Poppy’s cheeks are red and her voice wavers again.

“Poppylan, you—”

Tora cuts him off, taking one step toward him as his resolve to stay silent crumbles. “Quiet.”

His eyes widen. “Who do you think you are? You’re just some guy she’s probably fucking. If you—”

Tora sees red. Groceries abandoned, he has Julri pinned against the large, glass windows of the shop. His hand is at his throat, hard enough to hurt, but not kill. Poppy doesn’t want him to kill the small man.

“Apologize,” Tora says quietly.

His fingers claw at Tora’s hand. “I-I’m s-s-sorry,” he croaks out.

“Not to me. To her.”

Julri looks past him to where Poppy stands at Tora’s shoulder, clinging to the sleeve of his jacket. “I’m s-sorry P-Poppylan.”

“Good.” Tora releases him to fall to the stone beneath them, coughing. Tora crouches down, leaning in. “Remember how my hand felt around ya neck before ya open ya fuckin’ mouth again about her. To her.”

Poppy pulls on his arm. “We have to go.”

Tora doesn’t move until Julri breaks eye contact, then he smiles. “You got it, sweetheart.”

He meant the word to be bait, to test the small man’s willingness to obey. But he likes the way the word tastes on his tongue. Likes calling her that, even if he originally meant it as a weapon.

He scoops up the bags and matches her stride as they make their way back to her apartment. She’s quiet again, and Tora begins to think he might have made the wrong call.

“Sorry,” he says.

She shrugs. “It’s okay. He can be a lot, but he usually doesn’t talk to me that way.”

“He shouldn’t talk to ya ever.”

“I wish.”

“If he does, ya tell me, alright?”

Poppy lets out a small laugh. “Like he would dare after you scared the pants off him. I know I told you to not draw attention to yourself and all that, but…thank you. I have a hard time standing up for myself sometimes and it’s nice to have some else step in.”

That pleases him and he grins. “Next time can I kill him?”

“No killing,” she orders.

He was only joking, but she seems to know that. “You alright?”

“Yeah, I just hate running into him.”

“He won’t bother ya again.”

“I know,” she says with a faint smile. “Want to get a latte?”

“I dunno. Do I?”

“I think so. A little sugar always makes me feel better.”

Sugar. At least he knows what that is. Pricy, it’s brought in from the eastern lands in great stalks. It’s been ages since he’s tasted it, and the fact it’s so readily available is nearly shocking. No doubt her latte will be costly. He hopes she can convince him to take the gold. Either way, he’ll just leave it with her before he goes home. It’s the least he can do.

She takes him into a small shop that smells sweet. Bright and pink, it’s filled with people drinking out of colorful mugs and nibbling things he doesn’t know. He stands dutifully beside Poppy as she orders for them both and hands the woman who makes the drinks her little plastic card they use to trade with.

“I hope you like tiramisu,” she says as they step aside to wait for their drinks.

“Me too.”

Poppy looks to be in a better mood as they collect their paper cups, the heat of the beverage warming his fingertips. “Careful though, it’s hot.”

Tora feels he blends in as they step back onto the street. No one gives him more than a passing glance as they walk. It’s peculiar being unnoticed, but it isn’t unwelcome. Not being a target is also a nice, yet unexpected touch. He’s in a world that doesn’t know him, a world where he’s a legend at best, a forgotten memory at most.

That sudden realization bothers him more than he’d like to admit. He tries to keep his mouth shut and just enjoy the time of peace, but he can’t. He needs to know.

“Was I forgotten?” he asks.

Poppy glances up, hand still sifting through her bag in search of her keys. “What do you mean?”

“For my people, ya ain't really dead until someone says ya name for the last time. I want to know if anyone still says mine.”

Her movements still. They’re outside her building now, alone save for the thin guard who sits in his small house by the gates. “I don’t know,” she tells him, her face falling. “I’m sure I could Google you.”

“Ya gonna what?”

“It means I can look up your name or your history and see what it says.”

“Can ya do that for me?”

She smiles and opens the main door. “Of course. I just can’t believe I didn’t think about it before. You know, there’s a museum here. Maybe they even have stuff from your time.”

Tora opens his mouth to ask what a museum is, but she immediately explains it without him having to say anything. She’s teaching him so much, it makes him feel foolish. At home, he never had time for the kind of proper education the princes in other lands did, but he prided himself on not being ignorant. Now he’s like a child, unsure and unaware.

While Poppy puts away their purchases, he sips the thing called a latte. It’s pleasantly warm and creamy, but so sweet it makes him recoil.

“Too hot?” she asks as she washes some red berries and places them in a dish.

“Too sweet.”

“There’s no such thing.”

“Is for me.” He takes another sip, seeing if he can handle it. Maybe it’s been even longer than he remembers since last having sugar.

She holds out the dish. “Strawberry?”

He picks one up. It’s bright red and bumpy, topped with a green stem. “Do I eat the whole thing?”

Poppy takes one and holds it by the stem, taking a bite to show him. “Leave the green part.”

Tora mimics her. The fruit is tart and cool, but awash with a different kind of sweetness. He likes it. “It’s called a strawberry?”

She nods and takes her coffee and the dish to the couch, putting it on the low table before it. Then she picks up a flat metal thing and flips it open. It comes to life as her phone does, bright with images and sounds. He stares as she taps the letters on the bottom half and brings up images that make his throat tight.

There are drawings of his city, not entirely accurate, but close enough that he can recognize the gate. There are silks stitched with the peonies and chrysanthemums of his youth before the Great Frost. He sees pictures of armor much like his, weapons, sculptures he knows from the palace. His world all fits onto what Poppy calls a screen, vivid as any memory.

“Search for me,” he says, not looking away.

She presses the letters again and words appear.

“I can’t read ya language,” he admits.

Poppy glances at him and clears her throat before beginning.

“Prince Tora of the Northern Clan of Narin was born 438 BCE. His father was King Tasura (420-450BCE) and his mother was an unnamed queen consort. Known for his skill on the battlefield, he led many raiding parties into the southern territories and surrounding kingdoms. Along with his younger brother King Asura (436-512BCE) he began the subjugation of modern-day Narin, which Asura completed in 473BCE after the Battle of the Narin River. Modern historians believe Tora was killed in battle in 464 at the Battle of Narin Valley, as this is the last known record. No grave has been found in the Mountain of the Kings, which is the burial place of all Narin royalty dating back to circa 960BCE.”

Tora takes a deep breath as Poppy goes silent. His entire life fits in a space so small.

“Is that it?” he asks after a moment.

She clicks again and brings up a few things she calls articles, most saying the same things. When he fell through time, he’s disappeared from his world entirely, thought dead, unburied. And there was so much they’d gotten wrong. There were no raids, the royals were buried beneath Grandfather Mountain not whatever the Mountain of the Kings is. And his mother. They’d forgotten her, which hurt most of all.

Poppy puts a hand on his arm and leans in, her body is warm and soft against his. “Are you okay?”

He swallows, the tightness not going away. “I need some air.”

“Follow me,” she says, leaving the couch.

They put their shoes on and she grabs her keys. Then they go to the stairs, but instead of going down, they climb up until they reach a metal door that opens to the roof. The Narin River is below, and the city and mountains lay beyond. The buildings around them though seem to close in, leaching the breath from his lungs.

Tora goes to the edge and sits there, feel dangling. Poppy joins him and he doesn’t like how she seems unbothered by the height. He isn’t scared of falling, he’s already presumed dead, but he’s afraid she will.

“Move close to me,” he orders, holding out an arm. “Don’t want ya fallin’.”

“I won’t. I come up here all the time,” she says, but still scoots until there’s only a sliver of space between them.

He puts his arm around her waist, hand on her hip to keep her close. He thought she might pull back, but she doesn’t.

“I won’t fall,” she tells him.

“Yeah, I know, now that I’m holdin’ on to ya.”

“Do you want to talk about what we read?”

“My mother’s dead.”

She bites her lip as if she wants to say something.

“I know everyone I know is dead, but she’s really gone. No one remembers her.”

“You do, and now so do I. I won’t forget her if you tell me about her.”

Tora looks out at the city, so loud and bright and tall. “Her name was Regina. She was from a place far from here…or where I was from. She had long hair and gold eyes—”

“Like you.”

He nods. “Like me. She died when I was ten and after that my father didn’t talk about her except on the day of remembrance. Every year on the day she died, my father, brothers, and I would yell her name to the sky so she would know she wasn’t forgotten. We’d burn things she liked; colorful silks, paper birds, red flowers, things for the afterlife.”

“My parents are gone too,” she tells him. “My father got sick and died and my mother left when I was very young. I know it’s not the same, but I wanted you to know I understand at least a little.” Then she takes a deep breath, tilts her head back, and calls out, “Regina!”

Tora stares, caught off guard until she does it again. She smiles at him and yells a third time. He joins her on the forth, eyes closed against the pricking of close tears.

They chant her name to the sun and clouds and birds until he feels as if she’s heard them.

Chapter Text

Tora

By the time they go back inside, Tora feels his soul’s grown lighter. It’s become a heavy thing over the years, weighted down by responsibilities and deaths of men, most of whom he never knew. He honestly thought nothing would lessen the pressure on his chest. But Poppy has in a day with her kindness and understanding, her simple act of calling out his mother’s name to the sky.

Maybe he’s been brought to this place for a reason. Maybe he’s here to cleanse his soul, to have her do it for him. He’s still not entirely convinced she isn’t a death goddess who’s here to draw him through to the otherworld. People like her don’t seem to be made of the same spoiled flesh and bone as he is.

“Do you want to watch a movie?” she asks, closing the laptop before he can dwell on his small mark on the world. “It’s like a bunch of pictures that tells a story…it’s hard to explain. But we can watch whatever you want.”

He sits on the couch, and she turns on a large screen on the wall, using a small box. He wants to ask what everything is, drag her around her home until he understands it all, but she’s already so good at explaining things to him. He’s already taken so much from her, he feels guilty for also hoarding her time. Though he’s allowing himself to be selfish, just for now.

“How ‘bout you pick?” he suggests. “I won’t be much help.”

She smiles and presses buttons until she settles on a movie. “I just realized this will be your first movie ever, so we have to start with the best one of all time; 1999 classic, The Mummy.” But she freezes the screen and says, “But first, snacks.”

She hops off the couch and disappears into the kitchen. Tora has to force himself not to watch her go. He’s never had much time for women, but he always gravitated toward those who were slender and graceful. Poppy is the opposite, curved and rounded, her skin soft and warm when she places a hand on his arm or brushes against him. Her shape has become his ideal, but he needs force the instinct to act on his budding interest down.

She was kind enough to take him in, show him her world, help him find a way back to his. He can’t spoil things by letting whatever’s sparking between them take charge. And what if he’s the only one who feels the pull of attraction? The last thing he wants to do is make her feel uncomfortable around him. He can’t risk it. HE can’t risk ruining her trust in him, as fragile and new as it is.

There’s a clattering from the kitchen and Poppy yelps. Tora leaps to his feet. Poppy’s standing at the sink, blood dripping from her hand. “What happened?”

“I was trying to open this package and the knife slipped. I just wasn’t paying attention.” She takes some of the things she calls paper towels and presses them to her palm. “So stupid.”

“Let me see.”

She holds out her hand and he takes it, carefully moving the paper towels away. There’s a slice on the side of it, just below her pinky finger. It doesn’t look too deep at least. Still, the sight of her hurt makes his stomach turn.

“You’ve gone pale,” she says, looking up at him. “I can take care of this, go sit down.”

Tors suddenly feels silly. He’s literally caused more blood to be spilled than any man he knows and the sight of her blood is what makes him woozy. “I’m fine. Let’s get ya cleaned up.” He picks her up by the waist, placing her on the counter so he can see the wound better in the light over the sink. “Ya got bandages? Alcohol?”

“There’s a first aid kit in the bathroom in the cabinet above the toilet. It’s a white box with a red cross on it.”

He nods and goes to fetch it, finding it among the bottles of scents and pots of lotions and creams. When he opens it, he doesn’t recognize what’s in it. But he brings it back anyway and presents it to her. “What do ya need?”

“Just that little packet there and a bandaid. Wipe the pad over it first.”

He rips the small packet open as she runs the cut under the sink. Then he stands between her legs, her hand between them. The scent of alcohol is sharp, and he swipes the pad around the cut quickly to lessen the sting he knows must follow. Then he tears open the thing called a bandaid and she shows him how it works, the way it sticks to the skin.

“Modern medicine’s come along way,” she says lightly when it’s finished.

“I see that.”

“People don’t get sick and die from little illnesses and cuts like these anymore.”

“It hurt?” Though he rationally knows it’s only a small flesh wound, she’s just so tiny and breakable compared to him.

She has a spray of freckles across her nose. He hadn’t noticed them before, but does now as she looks up at him, his body pressed close to hers, but not touching. Though he could if he wanted to—not that he didn’t, because he did—it would be nothing to skate his palms up her thighs, take the half step forward that would press his chest against hers, run his fingers through her hair, push her legs open wider, take—

“It stings, but it’s fine,” she replies with a smile that makes the freckles dance. “Thanks for your help, Tora.”

Even her saying his name is enough to make his head spin. He needs to get a fucking grip.

He takes one step back, then another until she has enough room to hop to the floor. Then she picks up the thing she had been trying to open and puts whatever’s inside in the box called a microwave. After several moments it begins making noise, like hail on a copper shield.

“What’s that?” Tora asks.

“Popcorn. It’s good and you have to eat it while watching movies. It’s the law.”

He frowns, wondering how anyone would know if they didn’t. “What kind of dumb law is that?”

She snorts and points at a big, red bowl on top of the refrigerator. “Sorry, that was a bad joke, but can you grab me that bowl, please?”

He does as she asks and soon it’s full of white fluffy things coated in butter. He settles on the couch with their drinks and snacks, and she goes to get changed into her nightclothes, coming back in a loose green sweater that’s soft with age and a pair of shorts that show off more leg than anyone he’s ever seen. He stares hard at the TV as she sits next to him, the popcorn on her lap.

“Before I start the movie, just know that it’s not real. Like, the people are, but the monsters aren’t. Although the production team did their research into the history of it all.” She picks up the remote and the movie begins.

Movies are fascinating. It’s a play but recorded like a book he can see. Poppy explains how they make things with laptop computers like hers and how now everyone has access to the millions of films that have already been created. He’s never seen anything so complex, yet seamlessly simple.

But by far his favorite part is watching how Poppy reacts to when the mummy pops out or the beetles roam free. She jumps, eyes wide, then laughs at herself. She even moves closer in the final, tense moments, pulling a fluffy, purple blanket off the top of the couch to clutch to her chest. She’s so expressive, even when watching something happen to other people.

“What did you think?” she asks eagerly when it’s done.

“Never seen anythin’ like it.”

“Want to watch another?”

He nods. He can bring these stories home with him, tell the children of the north about the beautiful goddess who makes pictures move and horseless carriages go and isn’t afraid of him. That’s the part that they will like the most. That’s the part many will have a hard time believing.

“This one’s called Jurassic Park. It’s about dinosaurs, these giant lizard-birds that lived millions of years ago.”

“Like dragons?”

“Not quite. But I think people used to think that’s what they were when they would find the bones.”

Tora takes the box of juice she offers him. It has a red, smiling strawberry on the front and tastes of warmer days. “Are dragons real?”

“Nope. Unfortunately, dinosaurs are as close as we’re ever going to get.

This movie is just as good as the first and Tora finds he enjoys the dinosaurs but can hardly believe something like that can truly exist. Though he’s traveled into the future, so it’s easier to keep his mind open to all the new, strange things Poppy’s shown him so far.

She’s sitting right next to him now, watching in rapt attention as the group of dinosaurs stalks two children. Her arm is pressed against his, her legs curled against his side. It’s the closest they’ve been, and Tora has no idea what it means. It could mean nothing, after all, people in this time dress and speak differently than in his. The rules for men and women have obviously changed as well. But to him, her closeness so easily given means everything.

The people near to him at home didn’t offer themselves, their friendship or otherwise, to him freely like Poppy does. He was always treated akin to a god, as his station demanded. Men feared and respected him, and women vied to become his consort, or if that failed as it always did, they’d settle on trying to be his concubine. No one seemed to just enjoy being with him as person.

But Poppy seems happy in his company, and they spend the afternoon and evening watching the rest of the dinosaur movies and eating new foods. Each time he’d try a bite of pizza or a sip of the too sweet, bubbly drink called soda, she’d watch with rapt attention until he told her if he enjoyed it or not. He can barely recall what taffy tasted like, but he could remember exactly how Poppy laughed when he complained how chewy it was.

Late into the night he glances down at Poppy to ask her how many types of dinosaurs there are, but finds her asleep. She’s still pressed against him, though her head is tilted to one side. He lifts his arm slowly to try and cover her with the blanket, and she falls against his chest.

Tora freezes for a moment, unsure if he should wake her up. But then he decides against it. He’ll watch the rest of the movie, then wake her if he has to. Until then, he makes sure she’s covered and rests his arm on the couch behind her. Her hand curls over his stomach, so small and delicate. He resists the urge to take it.

He’s not sure how long the movie goes on for, but after what seems like ages, it finishes, the screen showing more words that signals the end. He gently shakes Poppy’s shoulder, but she doesn’t stir. “Poppylan.” He shakes her again.

He’s always been jealous of people who can sleep like the dead.

She’s light in his arms as he picks her up, and his heart races as she nestles into his chest, her fingers winding in his hair. As he steps into her bedroom, he doesn’t want to let her go. He wants to stand there holding her, though he has no right to want it. He’s known her a day and this is her home while his is somewhere—somewhen—else. They’re meeting in a moment between words, and soon, they’ll be apart again.

Tora gently lays her down, tucking the purple blanket around her. She smiles in her sleep and there’s that tug on his heart again, sharp and tangy.

Before he can stop himself, he reaches down and brushes the hair from her face. “’Night, sweetheart.”

He finds it difficult to fall asleep that night, and he tosses and turns, restless in his bed until the early hours of the morning. So much has happened and he still hasn’t processed any of it. Part of him still feels like he’s trapped in a dream, imagining everything he’s seen. But as he finally drifts off, he decides that if it is all in his mind, there certainly could be worse places to be.

Poppy

Poppy’s just finishing storing Tora’s armor in a large, plastic bin that used to house her Christmas decorations the next morning when there’s a knock on the door, a rhythmic one she recognizes at once.

She glances at the clock on her shelf, then to the entryway. “Shoot.”

Tora swipes his knife off the table and steps in front of her. “Go to the bathroom and lock the door.”

“Don’t be so paranoid.” She rolls her eyes and steps around him. “You’re the one who should be hiding. And put that away, it’s just Quincey.”

“What’s a Quincey?”

“Who is Quincey,” she corrects automatically as she goes to the door, mind racing with ideas of how to explain Tora.

“That’s what I’m askin’.”

She opens the door a sliver and looks up into his smiling face. “Um…hi.”

Quincey doesn’t wait to be invited in. He pushes past her, arms laden with paper takeout bags from a swanky Italian place he likes. “Darling, where is that cutie little guard that usually works weekends? A man with a hideous mustache buzzed me in.” He walks by Tora, seemingly unaware of him, and puts the bags on the kitchen table. “I wanted to tell him mustaches like that went out the window with seventies porn, but…”

His words drift off as he turns, his gaze roaming over Tora, who’s standing completely still. Poppy’s heart thumps. She’d forgotten all about her plans with Quincey, so she hadn’t thought of a cover story other than him just being a visiting friend. That’ll have to do, even if it’s not a very good one.

“Quincey, this is my friend Tora from Moonbright,” she says, trying to keep her voice calm. “Tora, this is Quincey. I edit his books.”

Quincey holds out his hand for Tora to shake. “Enchcanté.”

Tora takes it, making Quincey wince and Poppy giggles nervously. “Sorry, Quincey, I didn’t remember Tora was visiting this weekend when you called me.”

He’s studying Tora, face unreadable. “No trouble at all, dear miss editor. Your friend could come in handy today.”

“How so?” she asks.

“If your well-muscled friend doesn’t mind, he can be my muse, my model of masculine virility.”

Tora crosses his arms over his chest and looks at her in the way he often does when he’s about to ask what something is. She looks back at him in a way she hopes says play along.”

Quincey’s mouth forms a perfect O as he looks between them. “Well, pardon me, my darling. I wasn’t aware your company was company.”

Her face heats. “No, it’s not like that!”

“Like what?” Tora asks.

“I’m a man of the present day, honey, no need to play coy.” Quincey floats into the kitchen. “I’ll get the dishes and the wine opener!”

“What’s goin’ on?” Tora asks quietly as Poppy obediently begins opening the takeout bags and putting the food on the table. Maybe she can get Quincey to eat himself into a coma and he’ll leave.

“He thinks you and I are…involved.”

“Involved in what?”

She can’t look at him. She’s just too embarrassed. “I mean he thinks you’re here because you and I are…that we…”

“That we’re sleepin’ together?” he guesses.

Poppy nearly drops the bottle of red wine she’d been unpackaging. “Yeah, exactly.”

“That offend ya?”

“Offend me?”

“Ya don’t want him to think ya take me to ya bed?” His brows are knit, like he’s trying to understand.

“It’s not that, I just don’t want him to get the wrong idea, that’s all.”

“So ya don’t. Would he look down at ya if ya did?”

She tears her gaze away from him and puts the last of the food on the table. “No, of course not. Things are different now. Men and women can sleep together without judgement…usually, that is.”

“But if would be bad if he thought ya were sleepin’ with me.”

“I just don’t sleep with people, that’s all,” she said at a loss for words. “Knowing Quincey, he’d love if we were sleeping together because then he’d get all the sordid details and he’s always saying how I need to get under a new man to—” She puts a hand over her big mouth. “Forget I said anything.”

Tora smirks, the dimple showing. “Whatever you say, sweetheart.”

Quincey clears his throat from the kitchen doorway. He’s balancing plates, forks, and wine glasses in his arms. “If you need me to make myself scarce, just say the word, darling.”

“No, no, it’s fine.” Poppy wishes she could think of some excuse, but figures a little lunch and some small talk before she and Quincey dive into work will seem less suspicious than if she asks him to leave. After all, she doesn’t really want to be alone with Tora right now after what she said. She’s just too embarrassed.

Poppy sits beside Tora and Quincey takes a seat on the other side of the table. He fills their wine glasses, looking very much as if he’d like to say something.

“I love this garlic bread,” Poppy says to break the silence with something innocent as she rips off a piece of the still-hot bread and takes a bite.

Tora picks up a piece, sniffs it, then puts it on her plate, apparently uninterested.

Quincey watches with raised brows.

Poppy’s desperate to keep him from noticing anything’s wrong or off. “Good, you got the calamari, my favorite.”

Tora plucks a fried piece from the container and pops it into her mouth. “What’s this?”

“Squid,” she tells him.

“Squid,” his mimics thoughtfully, taking another. “Ya grow these yourself, Quincey?”

Quincey puts down his fork. “Honey, I have no idea if you’re screwing with me or if you genuinely don’t know what calamari is.”

“Calamari is squid,” Tora asserts.

Poppy puts her face in her hands.

“And you’ve never heard of either?” Quincey asks with interest. “My, I knew Moonbright was small, but I had no idea you’ve never had a delectable treat like fried squid. You must try this pasta then. It’s to die for.”

She looks up, a little confused. Quincey seems to believe Tora’s really just some small-town boy. Thank god.

“So, Quincey, what were you having trouble with?” she asks as Tora spears a meatball and examines it before taking a bite..

“Just the blocking in the scene with the biker gang leader and the saucy little bartender. This is the peak of their sexual tension and I want it to just snap like a twig, I want the readers to taste the arousal.”

Tora chokes on his food and Poppy pats his back, unsure if she wants to laugh or die. The giggles win as she glances at Tora. His high cheekbones are flushed a deep red. “I see how that might be tough.”

“It really is. Oh, the trials of an author.” He put an elbow on the table and rests his chin on his fist. “So, Poppy’s friend, will you be staying in Narin City long?”

Tora shrugs. “Not sure.”

“His house is getting redone,” Poppy adds quickly. “There was a problem with a contractor.”

Quincey nods. “I see. And what is it you do for work?”

Poppy almost said he’s a warrior prince from a thousand years ago, but instead tells him, “He’s an ancient weapons expert.” It sounds right…and will explain away the armor sitting in the box on her living room floor if he asks.

He swirls his wine. “Now that is an interesting job. I’m so glad you’ve come to stay, Tora. I feel you can be a wealth of inspiration.”

Tora glances at Poppy and she squeezes his hand beneath the table. He’s doing a great job at playing along, or at least staying silent, but now that Quincey knows about his existence, everyone else in their circle will too. They’ll have to solidify their cover story before anyone else meets him.

They finish their meal without too many more questions, and Quincey excuses himself to the bathroom while Poppy and Tora clean up.

“He believe ya?” Tora asks lowly as he tips the plates into the sink.

“I think so. I’m not a great liar, so I try to avoid it as much as possible. I don’t think he would consider that I’m not telling him the truth.”

“What would happen if he found out?”

She bites her lip, peeking into the living room to make sure the bathroom door’s still closed. “I don’t know. I doubt he’d call the authorities on you or anything drastic. Realistically, he’d probably pick your brain so he could write a historically accurate character for his books.”

“His books about tastin’ arousal?”

He grins, dimples on display, and Poppy tosses a dishtowel at him. “Put those thing away, they’re obscene.”

“What’s obscene?”

“Obscene is offensive to—”

“I know what the word means, I’m askin’ what’s obscene that I need to put away?”

“If you have to know, it’s your dimples.”

He seems surprised by her answer, then smiles again, leaning toward her. “These?”

Her face heats. “Yes, those.”

“If I gotta put ‘em away, here do ya want ‘em, sweetheart?”

Poppy’s chest seizes. He’s become very adept at teasing her, but she isn’t all that angry about it. In fact, part of her actually enjoys it. But she still knows he’s only poking fun at her like friends do. Because they’re friends. Just friends. Friendly friends.

“I was going to stay for dessert, but I think that’s my cue to leave,” Quincey says, looking pleased as punch from the doorway.

Poppy knows what he must see; Tora looming over her, grinning, her flushed face, and staggered breaths. And if he heard Tora’s joke, she knows exactly what he must think as well.

“But what about your book?” she asks, wanting to get the focus off her.

“Darling, I got all the answers I need right here.” He taps his temple. “Really, darling, this little lunch meeting as been incredibly helpful.”

Poppy sighs and follows him to the door. “You really don’t have to leave. I’m serious when I say nothing’s going on between us.”

“I’m not falling for that, sweetie. That man looks at you like you’re good enough to eat.” He winks and slips out the door, leaving her to lock up behind him.

“I liked him,” Tora says, picking up his wine glass and taking a sip.

“You didn’t think he was a bit much? I know he can come at people a little strongly.”

“I’m a thousand years into the future, everyone I’ve ever known is dead, ya got crazy dinosaur computer things in ya house, and ya can talk to people on little boxes that fit in ya hand. Everythin’s a bit much.”

She sits on the couch, tucking her legs beneath her. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. you’ve been handling it all really well though.”

He perches on the arm of it, leaving his glass on the side table. “Don’t got another option.” He runs his finger through his inky black hair. “Ya got anythin’ to tie my hair up with? It’s getting’ everywhere.”

She takes the one on her wrist off and hands it to him. It has a little plastic strawberry dangling from it. “A little girly, but I won’t tell if you don’t.”

He takes it and begins pulling half his hair up. “Sweetheart, I ain’t worried ‘bout petty shit like that.”

“Why do you call me that?” she asks, unable to pretend she hasn’t noticed the random use of the nickname.

“Ya don’t like it?”

That isn’t the problem. She likes it a little too much. “I didn’t say that, I was just curious.”

His mouth cocks up into a smile, but not the kind that makes a dimple. “’S just what ya are.”

She smiles back. That’s good enough for her.

Chapter Text

Poppy

Poppy awakes with the sound of her alarm and groans. She hates Mondays, but this one will be even more difficult knowing she’ll be leaving Tora alone at home to fend for himself. The night before, she’d gone over how to use the stove, what to do if the fire alarm went off, how to heat up food in the microwave, and which buttons to push to get on Netflix. He listened in rapt attention, but she was still nervous.

She gets ready in the small bathroom attached to her bedroom before dressing for the day in a peach sweater and a pair of jeans. The best part about her job is that she never has to dress up unless she’s going to a meeting, which are few and far between. Though she does add a touch of makeup to offset the messy bun she throws her hair up in.

She doesn’t see Tora immediately when she opens her bedroom door, but when she does see him, she freezes. He’s doing pushups in the corner of the living room, shirtless, skin glistening with a thin sheen of sweat. Each muscle rolls beneath the tattooed skin, making the peonies and koi fish dance. She swallows, unsure if she should interrupt him or just enjoy the show.

But she steps on a creaky floorboard, and he pauses, then looks over his shoulder. “Mornin’.”

“Good morning,” she squeaks, face flaming as she tries to figure out if it would be weirder to stare or look away.

He gets to his feet and his shorts hang low on his hips, showing off the deep v that disappears into the fabric. “Goin’ to work?”

“Yep. I’m just going to make some tea and—”

“’S already on the stove.”

“Oh, thank you.”

“Wanted to practice while you were still here.”

She smiles as she goes into the kitchen. “Good idea.” She notices something simmering on the stove and lifts the lid on the pot. It’s fragrant and thick, though she has no idea what it is. “Are you cooking?”

“Yeah.” His voice comes from right behind her and she jumps.

“What are you making?”

“Beef stew. Has to cook all day, so we can eat it for dinner.”

“I didn’t know you could cook.”

“Can’t do nothin’ like ya can here, but I know a few things.” He leans against the door frame, massive arms crossed over his chest. “Wanna pull my weight ‘round here.”

She gets a travel mug out of the cabinet and pours herself some tea. “You don’t have to worry about that, really. To be honest, it’s been kind of nice having a house guest.”

“Still, if ya won’t take my gold, then I gotta do somethin’.”

Poppy doesn’t argue with him, just slips on a pair of flats and shrugs on her jacket. “I’ll be home around five at the latest, but I’m hoping to get out a little earlier.” Then she shoulders her bag. “Maybe I should pick up a phone for you in case you have to call me.”

“I’ll be fine.” He smiles, looking bemused.

“Okay…but I’ll see if I can swing by around lunch time.”

“Go to work and stop worryin’.”

She purses her lips, then nods. “Lock up behind me.”

“Go.”

Poppy steps into the hallway, wishing she just called out of work. But she has a PowerPoint to put together and has to write a film pitch for Gil’s approval. And she rationally knows Tora can survive a day alone. He’s survived literal war. Some leftover pasta and her Totoro throw pillows aren’t going to kill him.

She also has to admit that knowing he’ll be there to come home to later is pretty nice. She’s used to her empty apartment and cooking after a long day, kept company by her plants. But now she’s left the house with tea brewed for her and dinner already on the stove. It’s a little selfish of her, but she can’t help it. She already knows she’s going to miss him.

“Girl. Quincey called me yesterday,” Erdene says as soon as Poppy opens the office door.

“Can’t I take my coat off before you ask me a thousand questions?”

She perches on the corner of her desk, eyes sparkling with glee. “He says your friend is sex on legs with a slight accent and—“

She drops her bag beside her chair and pulls off her jacket. “Quincey is so dramatic.”

“No, he’s not. He sent me a picture.”

Poppy freezes. “No, he didn’t.”

Erdene shifts to take her phone out of her pocket and swipes the screen before holding it out. “Where did you find him and how can I get one?”

She almost tells her to wait on a mountainside for a storm, but keeps her mouth shut as she looks at the picture. It was taken while Poppy and Tora were standing by the sink, him leaning into her, a wolfish grin on his face, her flushed with her face tilted back to look up at him. She has to admit the term sex on legs definitely describes him.

“He’s just—”

“A friend, yeah, yeah, yeah, save it for the judge, Pops. Tell me everthing.”

She sits down and turns on her computer. “There’s nothing to tell, really. He’s just a friend from Moonbright who’s having some work done on his house. I told him he could crash at my place for a few days.”

“And you’re telling me nothing’s going on when he looks like that and look at you like that?” She shakes her phone for emphasis.

“I’m not exactly his type,” she says, needing to give Erdene a sliver of truth to offset the lies.

“With a rack like yours, I’m pretty sure you’re everyone’s type.”

Poppy laughs. “I wish.”

“Really though, you’d let me know if there was something going on, right? You wouldn’t hold out on your best friend.”

There it is; the guilt. She’s been waiting for it to surface since she told the first lie about Tora. “I promise there’s nothing romantic between us.”

“There doesn’t need to be romance in order to get a good lay.”

“There does for me.”

“I know, I know. I just think you two are cute together, that’s all. But if he’s from Moonbright, why don’t I know him?”

“He moved there a few months ago, but his granny is friends with mine.”

“That’s even better. It’ll give you an excuse to see your Granny without worrying about running into your dumb ex. I bet this new guy will be more than happy to play bodyguard.”

Poppy moans and swivels her chair to face her. “I didn’t even tell you. Julri’s in the city.”

Her eyes widen. “Really? Ew. I thought he was staying in Moonbright.”

“Me too, especially since he quit his job at his dad’s business branch in Narin. But it looks like he’s stuck around instead of going home.”

“Has he called you?”

“No, I blocked his number. But I did see him when I was shopping with Tora on Saturday.”

Her brows raise. “So that’s his name? Tiger, huh? Seems fitting.”

Poppy ignores her. “Anyways, Julri tried talking to me and Tora sort of…scared him into leaving me alone.”

Erdene’s features become absolutely feline as she leans in. “Go on.”

She doesn’t see the harm in telling Erdene about this little interaction. In fact, she knows she’ll love it. “Well, I tried brushing Julri off, but he followed us out of the store. When I wouldn’t talk to him, he insulted me. And Tora…he…well, he got him up against the grocery store’s window and…choked him.”

“I know violence is never the answer and blah, blah, blah, but damn that’s hot.”

A smile escapes her lips. “It was pretty satisfying. He was all ‘remember how my hand feels on your neck the next time you talk to her,’ or something like that. It all happened so fast.”

She fans herself with her hand. “I would have paid big money to see that.”

“Big money to see what?” Jacob asks as he steps out of the supply closet holding a package of printer paper.

“Just Poppy’s hunky housemate scare the shorts off her lousy ex.”

“You got a new boyfriend?” he asks.

“No!” Poppy says. “Tora and I are just friends.”

Erdene flashes the phone for Jacob to see. “Just good buddies.”

He nods when he looks at the picture. “Best pals.”

Poppy puts her head on her desk. “You guys are killing me.”

Erdene giggles and she hears her hop to her feet. “We’ll leave you alone, don’t worry. Though next time you have a literal Greek god staying at your place, I demand an invite to check him out. No one’s good enough for my best friend.”

She opens her emails, scrolling to the ones she’d marked on Friday. “I’ll keep that in mind,” she says as she really wants to tell her that it’s the other way around. If they were going to talk about who was too good for who, Poppy would lose. Tora’s tall, dark, handsome, witty, strong, and a literal prince, a crown prince at that. She’s a mousy book editor who likes cake too much and cries when she sees a video on Tiktok of a dog seeing it’s owner after a deployment to Afghanistan.

As she works, half her mind is always on Tora though, wondering if he’s alright or needs anything. She imagines how she would feel in his place, trapped in an unfamiliar world where everything and everyone she  knew is gone. It reminds her of how lonely it felt when she first moved to Narin City and had to learn how to find her away around before even beginning to feel at home. And that was even with Erdene only living a few blocks away. Now he’s the new person with only her to keep and know his secret.

Her phone pings just after lunch with a text from Quincey.

QUINCEY: hello hello my darling :)

POPPY: Hi! What’s up?

QUINCEY: I think I left my notebook at your place. are you home?

POPPY: No, it’s Monday

POPPY: I’m at work

QUINCEY: boo. I’m feeling inspired and need to write.

POPPY: Then get another notebook?

QUINCEY: No it HAS to be that one

QUINCEY: is Mr. hottie there?

QUINCEY: he can let me in!

Her heart begins to race. It was stressful enough with him popping by yesterday. She has no idea how Tora will react or what he might say if he’s forced to interact with Quincey alone without her to guide the conversation.

POPPY: He’s not there.

QUINCEY: then where is he?

QUINCEY: I’ll take him out for lunch

QUINCEY: what’s his number?

POPPY: His phone’s broken I think

QUINCEY: miss editor why do I have the feeling you’re hiding him from me???

POPPY: I’m not!

QUINCEY: I’m near your place so I’ll just pop in to say hello in case he’s there!

She types furiously, unable to leave the office since she’s waiting for feedback from Gil about her pitch. There’s realistically nothing she can do to stop him.

POPPY: I’ll bring you your notebook after work, don’t worry about it

QUINCEY: don’t fret darling, I’m around the corner

POPPY: it’s no trouble

QUINCEY: just parking the car in your lot :)

POPPY: really, maybe we can get drinks later and I’ll meet you with your notebook

QUINCEY: you really need to move to a building with an elevator

Poppy puts her phone on the desk, feeling sick. She really can’t stop Quincey from doing anything, never could, but this time it might have real repercussions. She doesn’t think Quincey will turn Tora over to a group of mad scientists or post his story online, but their shared secret is too big to let it be widely known. There’s too much at stake with him being trapped in her time.

Her phone pings with a picture message. It’s of Quincey with his arm around Tora’s shoulders, grinning while Tora looks at him out of the corner of his eye.

Poppy groans and turns her phone over, screen down. There’s nothing she can do now but wait.

Tora

Being alone in Poppy’s apartment is strange. It’s so still and quiet, or as quiet as it can be in this modern city. He’s also not used to being stuck in such an enclosed space. It’s oddly suffocating, and he opens a few windows and the balcony door to let in the brisk, spring air. It doesn’t smell like it did back home. It’s slightly acrid with only the hint of the mountains beyond.

He needs to keep himself busy, but doesn’t know how, even the movies at his fingertips. He’s worked out some more, showered, cleaned the kitchen, and scrolled through a hundred things on the television so far. Being sedentary never appealed to him. So he mills through the small apartment, not going through Poppy’s things exactly, but inspecting them, seeing what she collects and cherishes.

There are more books than he’s ever seen, and pictures of Poppy with people he doesn’t know. Her closet is full of colors and he notices there’s a bottle of perfume on a dresser than smells of something floral that nearly unlocks a long distant memory. He picks up a jar full of paper cranes and smiles. His mother used to make them and tried to teach him how, though his fingers were always too clumsy.

There’s a knock on the door and Tora swipes his knife off the coffee table before looking through the peep hole like Poppy had taught him. He sees the loud, blonde man from yesterday standing there. While she said to not open the door for strangers, she never told him what to do about friends.

He decides to see what he wants and opens it. “Hey.”

Quincey beams. “So glad to see you.” He turns, puts an arm around his shoulders, and smiles with his phone held out. “Say cheese!”

“What?”

There’s a click and Quincey releases him. “Miss Editor will love this. For some reason, she didn’t want me poking around here. Silly.”

Tora feels he’s made a mistake by letting him in, but it’s too late now. “What do ya want?”

“I left my notebook here yesterday and I need it.” He brushes by him, going into the living room where Tora has his armor laid out. “Oh, did I interrupt your work?”

“No,” he says, dropping the dagger to the entryway table and coming to his side.

He crouches down and picks up one of the armored sleeves. “This work is incredible. Is this for a museum or something?”

Museum. He recognizes that word. “No, it’s mine. What do ya know about the museum here?”

“The history museum or the art museum?”

“History.”

“Well, I’ve only ever been once, but it’s a nice place to visit. Why?”

“Poppy said we were gonna go.”

“Ooh, when?” he asks, standing up.

Tora shrugs. “Dunno, whenever she doesn’t have work, I guess.”

“I should ring her boss. She’ll certainly get the day off if I ask. Then we can all go, make a day of it. I remember them having a Narin history wing with all sorts of weapons. Is that why you want to go?”

“Yeah, wanna talk to some people there.”

“Perfect. I can use this as a chance to research for future books.”

The memory of the whole tasting arousal thing flashes in his mind. “Don’t see how swords’ll help with what ya write.”

“Honey, any good historical romance has slivers of truth in them. I’m picturing an ancient soldier and maybe a woman in disguise for the other side. Their eyes meet across a battlefield and—”

“Wouldn’t happen.”

“What wouldn’t?”

“If ya smart, ya don’t wait to see their eyes before killin’ ‘em. Unless ya short on arrows and don’t have anythin’ else.”

Quincey arches an eyebrow and sits on the couch, picking his notebook up off the end table and producing a pen from his jacket pocket. He clicks it and flips the notebook open. “What about hand-to-hand combat?”

“They both wearin’ helmets?”

“In my mind yes, because when she takes the helmet off, a wave of long, dark hair gives her away as a woman.”

“Men have—had—long hair too. At least in the northern kingdom.”

He scribbles in the notebook. “Then he’ll be from somewhere else.”

“And no one would take their helmet off in the middle of battle.” He drops down on the couch and stretches his legs before him, watching Quincey. He likes how he can help him, since if he writes a good book, it means Poppy will be happy. “If she did, she’d probably get killed before anyone realized she was a woman. Real battle is chaos, just sound and dirt and blood. If ya lucky, ya don’t really see the people ya kill.”

“I was right, you really are a wealth of inspiration.” He glances at the armor, then his face lights up. “Could you…would you mind slipping that on so I can get a good idea of what I’m working with? I doubt pictures on the internet would help in the same way.”

He isn’t sure if it’s a good idea, but if it’ll help Poppy, he isn’t sure that it’ll hurt anything. He gets up and picks the armor off the floor, putting it back in the plastic bin Poppy had stored all his old things in, then he carries it to her bedroom. He strips out of his modern clothes, putting on the tunic and pants of his time. The weight of the armor feels right. It’s a comfortable pressure that makes him feel more at home.

His guandao is gone, as is his sword, which he lost long before going up the mountain. But he still feels like his old self as he looks in the tall mirror on Poppy’s bedroom door. Though he looks even more out of place among all the modern trappings of his room.

He turns away from his reflection and steps into the living room. Quincey claps his hands and holds his phone up. “Absolutely marvelous, Tora. This is divine.”

Tora doesn’t respond, just lets Quincey direct his movements, turning from side to side and removing and replacing pieces of armor. It reminds him of when he was young and his weapons trainer would make him pose in different positions for hours to make his body accustomed to the weight of the metal and leather on his skin.

He’s fully bared to the waist when there is a click at the front door and Poppy enters, looking frazzled. Her eyes widen when she sees him, her lips gently parting. Tora swallows. He recognizes that look, the faint touch of hunger. He just never expected to see it in her gaze.

“Poppy, darling, your friend has been kind enough to play my muse. Doesn’t he look positively savage?”

Her cheeks pink and she turns away, putting her bag on the entryway table next to his blade. “Quincey, you can’t just—”

“I know, but I saw the armor and I just knew—knew my next book would be about him! Well, not him per se, but a mighty warrior.” He sighs. “You know, Tora, you’d look great on a book cover. I’ll have to call Erdene and set up a shoot.”

“You’re getting ahead of yourself,” Poppy tells him, hands on her hips.

“Tora doesn’t mind, do you Tora?” he looks up at him pleadingly.

Tora shrugs. “Don’t care. ‘Sides, he says he’s gonna call ya outta work so you can take me to the museum.”

Poppy bites her bottom lip. “I don’t know if Gil would like that very much.”

“He will when he learns it’s for research. Don’t worry, darling, I’ll take care of everything.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”

She glances at Tora again, and just like before, her cheeks go red. For someone who isn’t afraid to show her legs to the hip or sit close to a man, she certainly gets shy about a naked chest. But is it all chests or just his? He longs to find out, but stamps down the feeling. They’re friends, and he needs to get it straight.

“Don’t tell me you rushed home just because I swung by?” Quincey asks, closing his notebook.

Poppy hangs her coat up in the closet. “No, I just got done work a little early, that’s all.”

Quincey glances between then and stands. “Then I’ll skedaddle and leave you two to…whatever it is you do when you’re alone.”

Poppy rolls her eyes. “Thank you, Quinceton.”

“And I’ll shoot you a text after I have a chat with Gil. You can pick me up tomorrow morning, say, ten? We’ll do lunch there.”

“Alright, whatever you say.”

“And Tora, honey, thanks for being such a good sport. You’re the muse I didn’t know I needed.”

Tora nods at him as Poppy ushers him out the door and locks it behind him. Then she turns to Tora. “I’m so sorry about him. You didn’t have to play along.”

“Didn’t mind.” He unlaces one of the leg plates, then the other. “He sure likes to talk.”

“I know, he really does.” She smiles faintly and goes into the kitchen, returning a moment later with the thing she uses to water her plants. “Next time he surprises you, it’s okay to pretend you aren’t home.”

“Thought he was ya friend.”

“He is, I just don’t want…I don’t know how people would react about you. You know, about you being here.” She waters each plant carefully, standing on her toes to reach the taller ones dangling from the ceiling. It makes her sweater ride up to show a sliver of milky skin at her back. “I just want to keep you safe.”

“Can keep myself safe.”

“I know, I just don’t know what to do to help you and I’m nervous that if the wrong person found out, something might happen to you.”

Her admission warms something in him. People wished him well before battle every time he rode out, but no one ever worried that he’d get hurt, just that he would lose. He takes the watering can from her and finishes watering the highest plants. “Ya don’t gotta worry. And if ya trust him, then so do I.”

She takes a deep breath. “I don’t know. At the end of the day, it’s your secret to tell.”

He smiles down at her. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Poppy takes the empty watering can back to the kitchen and says, “I’ll put some rice in the cooker for dinner.”

Tora finishes taking off his old clothes, putting them in the bin before redressing in a pair of sweatpants and a plain, black shirt with short sleeves. Part of him wanted to remain bare to the waist to see how Poppy would respond, but he isn’t even sure anymore what he would do if she offered to share her bed. His body would scream at him to accept, but there was part of him that would be unsure if he could. He’s always ever had sex with women he didn’t care about, and in the short time he’s known Poppy, he realizes he does care about her. Maybe too much.

“You alright?” Poppy asks, coming out of the kitchen.

He looks up from the box of armor. His whole past only adds up to a few short lines on the internet and a box at his feet. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

“You don’t look it.”

“Wow, thanks,” he says with a smile.

“You know what I mean. I won’t push though. But if you want to talk, you can. I’m not going to judge you.” She walks past him, going into the main bathroom. “I’m just going to shower before dinner.”

The door clicks shut behind her and he goes into the kitchen as he hears the water turn on. He isn’t used to cooking for people, but he wants to cook for her. He wants to show her that he isn’t useless in this world that has no need for men like him who can wield a bow or an ax.

He tastes the stew, adding bits of the spices he found in her cabinet earlier. The variety on the shelves would have cost him a bag of gold when the merchants came to show their wares. Some he didn’t even recognize, and he had to taste them all bit by bit as he cooked. Now, he knows which is which, and sprinkles in thyme and salt until he’s satisfied.

When the rice looks done, he scoops it into bowls, then adds the stew. It smells of home, his real home, the one he doesn’t think he’ll ever see again. He tries not to think about that any more than he has to. Until a storm comes, or someone magically tells them how he can get back, he has to live in the moment.

As he puts the food on the table, Poppy comes out of her room, hair damp and wavy, wearing a pair of sky blue shorts and a white top with a neckline than hangs off her shoulder. His gazes traces the slope of her collarbone as she steps toward him.

“It smells so good,” she says with a smile as she sits. “Thank you for cooking.”

“’Course.” He waits to eat until she takes a bite. He’s oddly nervous that she won’t like it.

But she hums with pleasure as she chews. “This is delicious.”

“Ya really think so?”

“I do. It’s so good. Did you say you used to make this?”

He nods as he eats, chest swelling with pleasure at her praise. “It’s easy enough to put together in the mornin’ over a fire. Thought ya might like it.”

“You’re going to have to show me how to make it.”

He can almost hear the unsaid part of her sentence; for after you’re gone.

In response, a small part of him whispers back, come with me.

Poppy

Tora’s been quiet since dinner, and it worries her. Usually when they watch something, he asks questions about what’s on the screen. But now, he’s silent, staring at the television as he spins a silver ring around his finger. A thought materializes. He doesn’t wear that ring on his ring finger, but she doesn’t know the customs of ancient Narin. Maybe he’s married. The thought bothers her more than it has a right to. But she still has to know.

“Hey, Tora?”

He turns to her, “Yeah?”

“I never thought to ask before, but…do you have a wife?”

His brows raise. “Why’d ya ask that?”

She motions toward the ring. “I just didn’t know if you were married or engaged or something.”

His mouth quirks into a smile. “No. No women back home waitin’ for me.”

This pleases her, but she pretends it doesn’t. “Do you wear wedding rings in your time?”

“Why? Ya lookin’ for a husband?” he teases.

“Of course not. I’m just curious.”

“We don’t have rings for marriage. When a couple gets married, they might give tokens to each other, but it won’t mean anythin’ to anyone else. For women, they move into their husband’s yurt and are gifted all his horses. In return, she gives him a weapon or shield.”

“How do other people know they’re married then?”

“Ain’t no reason for anyone to know. It’s different back home. Unless ya got a lot of status, bein’ married ain’t a big deal.”

Poppy doesn’t like the sound of this.

“Ya look mad.”

“I’m not mad, I just don’t understand how you don’t see marriage as something important.”

“Didn’t say I agree with it,” he says. “I haven’t gotten married because I think it’s important.”

She feels a bit better. It’s really none of her business what he thinks about marriage, but she tells herself it’s a normal thing for friends to talk about. Now if he’d only tell her why he seems so upset today. She hopes it wasn’t anything Quincey said or did. Or that she had a hand in it.

“Are you okay?” she asks.

“How many times ya gonna ask me that?”

“As many times as I have to until you tell me what’s wrong.”

He works his jaw, then finally turns to look at her. “It’s hard bein’ here, not knowin’ if I’ll get back…or what I’ll do if I can’t.”

Poppy feels so stupid. Of course, he’s homesick and worried. She knows she’d be terrified. “I’m sorry.”

“You pull me through time?”

“No.”

“Then don’t be sorry. You’re the only thing keepin’ me sane, sweetheart.”

She sighs, feeling next to useless now. “Now I feel extra sorry for you.”

“Why? Ya took me in and ya wanna help me. I was a stranger and ya took me here, to ya home. It’s more than most people woulda done.”

“And what would you do if the roles were reversed?”

He paused a moment, then smiled. “Yeah, I guess I woulda taken ya home too.” He shakes his head. “Wanna know somethin’? Oddly enough, sometimes I think I miss the stars the most. Back home the sky was nothin’ but them, a sea of lights. Here, ya can’t see any.”

That gives Poppy an idea. It’s half formed, but it might work to make him feel a little better. She gets off the couch and heads into her room. “Wait here.”

She goes into her closet and pulls the string to turn on the overhead bulb. On the top shelves are all sort of boxes filled with everything from holiday décor to old greeting cards she couldn’t make herself get rid of. She stands on her toes to tip the one she wants off the shelf. It slides into her arms, heavy and jingling. She puts it on the floor and roots through the old pictures and the knitting supplies she gave up on until she finds what she’s looking for.

It's a strange sort of nightlight she got for her birthday one year, one that casts a mirror of the night sky on the walls and ceiling. She debates plugging it into the living room, but there are plants in the way and an overhead fan. Her bedroom seems to be the best bet. The ceiling is clear and with the shades drawn, none of the outside light from the streetlamps can seep in.

It might be a little strange to be laying in her bed beside Tora, but she finds she isn’t against it. Everything else between them has been almost dreamlike in its unbelievability, so what difference does it make to lay side by side? Besides, everyone needs a little human contact sometimes.

"Hey, Tora?" she calls, sitting on the side of her bed.

He comes in, then stops in the doorway. He holds his hand out and it fills with stars. “What is this?”

Poppy can’t control her smile. “I know it’s not the same, but I thought this might help a little. It’s a special light.” She lays down and pats the bed beside her. “Come on.”

He hesitates, then does as she asks, his bare feet silent. She can’t tell what he’s thinking, she never can, he’s just so hard to read. So, she watches as he lays next to her, perfectly still as the galaxy drifts overhead.

“Is it really lame?” she asks after a several moments of silence.

He turns to look at her and his face is full of wonder, eyes bright and lips parted. “This is…incredible.”

She beams and finds his hand in the dark. “I know you’re homesick now, but I hope while you’re here, you think of this as your home too.”

He smiles back, the kind with dimples. “Is it weird to say I’m glad I met ya?”

“No. I’m glad I met you too.”

She moves closer to him until their sides are touching and he brings their clasped hands to his chest, holding hers in both of his. She can feel his heartbeat against her fingers, strong and steady, not a dream as she sometimes thinks it is when she forgets how he got there. Two days was all it took to turn her world upside down and for the first time since meeting him, she isn’t sure she ever wants the storm to come.

Chapter Text

Poppy

Poppy wakes feeling cozy and warm, having had the kind of blissful, dreamless sleep that leaves her feeling perfectly content. She remembers falling asleep among the stars, hazy memories of Tora’s hand in hers as they watched the lazy constellations sweep across her ceiling.

Now she opens her eyes, realizing why she’s so warm and comfortable. She’s laying on top of Tora, her head on his chest, one leg hooked over his. One of his arms is draped over her, hand resting on her waist, his fingers splayed over the bare skin beneath her shirt. She’d never slept beside a man before, and she isn’t sure if she should move or go back to sleep. She wants to choose the second option, but as she looks up at Tora, she isn’t sure she can.

He looks so peaceful, still and silent, his long lashes perfectly curled above his high cheekbones. She slowly shifts to her stomach, his arm just beneath her breasts as she takes him in. He’s still wearing strawberry hair tie, and the sight of it makes her smile. A mighty warrior is laying among her pink and blue bedding with a plastic strawberry in his hair.

Her heart squeezes. She knows she has a crush, an unfamiliar feeling she hasn’t had since she was a starry-eyed teen. How can she not feel sparks of something when a fairytale prince has come to life? But instead of the prince saving her, she needs to be the one to help him, even though she already feel the pricks of loss.

“Need somethin’, sweetheart?” Tora asks, eyes still closed.

Poppy starts, face immediately heating. “Um…no. I thought you were still asleep.

His honey-colored eyes open and his smiles. “I was ‘til I wasn’t. Ya sleep alright?”

“Yes, actually.” She’s still laying half on him and she’s acutely aware of the warmth of his skin through the fabric of her top.

“Me too. Sorry I fell asleep in ya bed.”

“Don’t be. I didn’t mind it…still don’t.”

His brow raises. “That right?”

“Well, when Erdene and I have a sleepover, we sleep in the same bed, so it’s totally the same thing.” It’s totally not the same thing and Poppy’s fully aware of that fact. There’s a huge difference between drinking pink wine with her BFF while binging an entire season of 90 Day Fiancé and passing out and cuddling with an ancient warrior prince with abs of steel and muscles for days who is, as her friends so delicately put it, sex on legs.

Poppy reluctantly gets off Tora, righting her shirt, and grabs her phone off her nightstand. It’s just after nine. “We should get ready to go. We have to pick up Quincey on our way, but I hope we can ditch him in another exhibit or something. I don’t want him asking too many questions.”

Tora sits up and stretches, then climbs off the bed. “Gonna shower real quick.” He pulls his shirt over his head as he leaves the room, back rolling with the motion. Poppy purses her lips. Definitely not the same as a sleepover with Erdene.

It’s warm today, so she dresses in a yellow, long sleeve dress and pulls on a pair of light brown suede boots. Then she washes her face and puts on some makeup, tying her hair in a ponytail that she finishes with a red ribbon. When she goes into the living room, Tora’s already dressed as well, wearing a pair of jeans with a black sweater and black boots.

“Ready?” she asks as she shoulders her purse. “We can pick up something for breakfast on the way.”

He nods and follows her out to the car. He ties his damp hair into a bun with the strawberry hair tie as she pulls out of the lot.

“I might have a plain hair tie in my purse if you don’t want to use the strawberry one,” she offers.”

“No thanks. Like this one.”

She smiles as takes them through a Starbucks drive through. She gets a Frappuccino and a muffin for herself, a vanilla latte for Quincey, and a green tea and fruit salad for Tora. The idea fruit can come precut and packaged surprises him, but he’s pleased with the variety, the way the unfamiliar fruits taste.

Quincey’s outside his building waiting for them, and beams as he slips in the backseat and sees the coffee already in the cupholder. “Good morning, beautiful people.”

“Good morning,” Poppy says as she pulls back on to the street.

“Tora, I adore your sweater. I used to have one just like it.”

Tora smirks. “Thanks.”

It hasn’t occurred to her before now that Quincey might recognize some of the clothes Tora’s wearing. But apparently, he doesn’t, which is good, since there’s a giant box of Quincey’s things in her closet, more than enough to keep Tora dressed in the height of fashion until they can figure out how to get him home.

The museum’s lot is oddly empty, even for a Tuesday morning, and she’s able to park right beside the wide, marble steps. She glances at Tora. His jaw is tight as he opens the car door and steps outside. She’s already feeling anxious about what they might learn here, but she knows whatever she’s feeling, it must be magnified for him by at least a thousand.

“Are you ready?” she asks quietly as they climb the stairs. Her legs are shorter than theirs, and Tora matches her pace as Quincey steps ahead.

“Guess so.”

“We don’t have to do this today.”

“Yeah, we do. Dunno how it’ll help, but it might.”

“Okay. But if it becomes too much for you, we can leave any time you want.”

He gives her a half smile as they reach the top of the steps. “Stop worryin’ so much, sweetheart.”

She wants to tell him she can’t help it, but just smiles back, thanking him as he opens the door for her.

They’re greeted with the massive skeleton of a tyrannosaurus rex, standing alone beneath the circular skylight. Tora steps up to it, head tilted back. “This real?”

“Sure is,” she tells him. She’d forgotten about the dinosaur exhibit. That, at least, will be a bright spot of the day.

A man in a suit appears, grinning widely as he steps up to Quincey. “Master Balthuman, good morning. I’m so pleased you decided to come see us today. And these must be your guests.”

Quincey’s voice deepens and his flair of something distinctly Quincey-ish disappears. “My editor Poppylan Wilkes and historic weapons master Tora.”

“We’ve cancelled all reservations for today and we’ll serve lunch at one in the butterfly garden, as you’ve requested.”

“Very good.”

The man bows. “Would you like a guided tour today, sir?”

Quincey glances at Poppy, who shakes her head, then says, “That won’t be necessary.”

He bows again. “As you wish, Master Balthuman. Please pick up any of the staff phones and dial the number one. That’ll connect you right to my office.”

Quincey doesn’t respond with anything else but a nod. The man takes it as a dismissal and disappears through a door marked for the staff. Then he turns to them. “Ugh, being so serious like this is going to give me wrinkles.”

“What was that all about?” Poppy asks.

“My father pours money places like reparations for his many sins, and this is one of them. After I called Gil, I rang up the head curator and made sure we had the place to ourselves.”

“You really didn’t have to do that,” she says, though she’s glad he had. She isn’t sure what will happen when they reach the old Narin exhibit and having an audience doesn’t sound all that appealing.

“Where should we start?” he asks.

Poppy looks at the map on the wall. Of course, the place they need is the last and smallest one, all the way in the back of the museum. “Maybe we should—”

“Dinosaurs,” Tora says.

She feels a bit better. It’ll give her time to prepare for whatever they find…and ditch Quincey.

The hall of dinosaurs is a mix of fossils and life-size recreations that keeps Tora in the kind of rapt awe. He seems less burdened, younger even, though she realizes she doesn’t know his actual age. She loves watching him drink in everything around him and catches herself staring at him more than once.

“So, how’s having Mr. Hunky for a houseguest?” Quincey asks her in a whisper as Tora leans in to look at something in a brightly lit glass case.

“Fine.”

“And where does Mr. Hunky Houseguest sleep?”

“On the pullout couch.” She glances up at him. “Whatever you’re thinking, you’re wrong.”

“Darling, when it comes to matters of the heart, and loins, I’m hardly ever wrong.”

Poppy doesn’t like how everyone seems to have their mind in the gutter when it comes to her and Tora. She can’t really blame them though, since she would probably come to the same sordid conclusions if the roles were reversed. They also don’t know the reality of his situation, the things that are at stake. His disappearance changed the line of succession for his kingdom, and who knows what would have been different if he stayed? There are so many unknown variables that begin and end with him.

“How do they get all these?” Tora asks when she goes to his side.

“There are special people called paleontologists. They dig up these fossils and bring them to museums.”

“Like that dinosaur guy in Jurassic Park?”

“Exactly like him.”

“Shame that ain’t a thing where I’m from.”

Quincey pops up between them. “The aquatic creatures are next. The sea gives me a major case of the willies.”

“Ain’t never seen the ocean,” Tora says, half to himself.

“Isn’t Moonbright, like, an hour from the beach?” Quincey asks.

Poppy jumps in, saying, “He hasn’t lived in Moonbright long. He’s from up north.”

“Well, we’ll have to rectify that immediately. I’ve been trying to get you, and everyone else of course, to come to my beach house for ages, and you always find some excuse or another.”

She’s never told him the real reason why she isn’t interested in the beach; her abysmal body image. The last thing she needs is to strut around in a bathing suit. And doing it in front of Tora is absolutely out of the question.

“What about you, Tora, fancy a trip to the seaside?” Quincey asks him while they walk beneath a fake whale that hangs from the ceiling.

He shrugs. “Okay.”

“Wonderful. As soon as the weather turns, I’ll arrange it all. Or, if we don’t want to wait, we can always take a jaunt down south. We can drive two hours to my beach house or fly two hours and end up at a resort that has one of the best toasted coconut mojitos I’ve ever had.”

Quincey rambles on while they float through the exhibits, seeing clothes from other times, recreations of early humans, jungle creatures, and furniture. Each room brings them closer to their goal, and when they finally reach it, Poppy’s stomach flips. She needs to get rid of Quincey.

“So, we’re having lunch in the butterfly garden?” she asks him.

“I thought it would be a lovely place to snack.”

“Do you know the menu?”

“No, but the chef here is fantastic.” His eyes widen. “I didn’t think to ask if Tora has any allergies!”

Poppy sees her opening and goes for it. “He’s allergic to, um, paprika. We should probably call someone and make sure it’s a paprika-free lunch.”

He nods. “You two stay here, I’m not all that interested in this old Narin junk anyway. I saw a phone a few exhibits back, so I’ll make the call.”

She waits until he disappears around a corner before he turns to look at Tora, who’s standing still at the mouth of the exhibit. Her heart’s already racing in nervous anticipation. She doesn’t think they’ll find any answers behind the glass, but she’s worried what the artifacts of his world might do to him, what they might unlock.   

Tora

Tora stares at the sign over the entrance to the hall. It’s written in both Poppy’s language and his. It reads Welcome to Old Narin. In his lifetime, his true one, it was only Narin.

Poppy slips her hand into his. It’s a small gesture of comfort, but he clings to it as they enter the hall.

As with the rest of the museum, this hall has been molded around the time and place it centers on. The music of a shamisen drifts from somewhere unseen, and throughout the long, white space are bits of his world on display. There are stone pillars he recognizes from his palace and a fake war horse rears, decked out in armor. He looks at the pieces of faded parchment behind glass and the beads arranged to form a necklace of gold and jade.

This is equal parts better and worse than when Poppy read the article about him. The thought that people mill through this hall for fun to look at the tapestries he passed every day as a child in the capital is unthinkable to him. The feeling gets worse when he sees a tall case with a fake, faceless woman draped in his mother’s bright blue silk. It’s faded and is missing a sleeve and the hem is tattered. But he’d know it anywhere.

“What does this say?” he asks, pointing to the plaque beside it.

“The gown of an unknown woman,” Poppy reads aloud. “This silk gown, dated circa 450BCE was found in the valley of the Mountain of the Kings. Thought to belong to a lesser noble woman or royal concubine, it’s been restored—”

“An unknown woman.” Those words are stark in his mind. “My mother was not unknown.”

Poppy gasps, a small sound, but it echoes in the high ceiling. “This was hers?”

He nods. “I recognize some of these things, and I know this was hers. Look at the neckline, see where the stitches look off?”

She steps up to the case, fingers still linked with hers. “Yeah, a flower looks a little crooked.”

“That’s ‘cause I did it.” His throat tightens. “I wanted to try, and she let me. This gown was in her tomb. They took it.” His grief is turning into anger, a hot rage that makes his skin feel tight and the air around him cloying.

He rips his hand from Poppy’s. He doesn’t want her to see him like this, so furious. It takes everything inside him to not smash open the cases as he walks, pluck the bow and arrows from their places, knock over the modeled horse, scatter the beads, break the row of spears. Snapping them in half would be so fucking satisfying.

He stalks to the last part of the exhibit and almost laughs. There behind glass and lit by lights unseen is his guandao. He’d know it anywhere, would recognize the tiger etched onto the blade. It’s rightfully his—all of it is—and they’ve stolen every bit of it.

He backs up until he hits a wall and slides down, staring at the guandao. It feels so unreal, but he knows it is, every bit of it. He wants to rage, to scream, to break, to cry, but he can do nothing but sit there.

Then Poppy’s before him on her knees, eyes full of worry as she inches in between his legs. At first, he thinks she’ll try to say something flowery and sweet, but she doesn’t say anything, she just wraps her arms around his neck, pulling her to him. He slides his hands around her waist, closing his eyes and breathing in her scent of honeysuckles.

“They fuckin’ stole it,” he says helplessly, voice cracking. He refuses to cry in front of her, but he can’t help it. “Her dress, my guandao, my fuckin’ life.”

She rubs soothing circles on his back, not saying anything. She doesn’t need to. He buries his face in her neck, holding her tight against him. He knows they’re alone, but he wouldn’t care if they weren’t. She’s the only thing he has in this world, and he can’t imagine letting her go.

“I shouldn’t have come here,” he says.

“I’m so sorry,” Poppy whispers, breath warm against his ear. “I thought it could help. I’m so sorry, I—”

He pulls back, vision blurred, and cups her cheek. “Never apologize to me, Poppylan. You didn’t bring me to this time. You didn’t steal from my mother’s grave. You didn’t do a fuckin’ thing bad in your entire fuckin’ life.”

She cracks a smile, a bright spot on her tear-stained face. He hadn’t even realized she’d started to cry. “You don’t know that.”

“I do. I know ya, Poppy, even though I shouldn’t feel like it, I do.” He didn’t mean to say that part out loud, but it’s there now, hovering between them.

“I just wish I could fix all this. I wish I could find a way to send you back.”

He wants to tell her he isn’t sure he wants to go anymore. But if he doesn’t, who will protect his mother’s memory and ensure the palace stays intact, and makes it so the legacy of his bloodline is more than a few paragraphs on a screen? At some point his world had fallen through the cracks of memory and maybe him being here with her had done that.

But if he is going to be trapped anywhere in the entire world, he’s glad he’s trapped with her. If he ever makes it home, he’s going to make sure she’s never forgotten the way his mother was, the way he was. He’ll raze cities in her honor, etch her name into the mountainside, build her a temple, make her the goddess of time, and ensure they all worship at her alter. He’ll immortalize her as a thank you and she’ll know how much it means, even if he can’t bring himself to tell her now.

“Poppy?” Quincey’s voice comes soft. “What’s going on?”

Tora looks over her shoulder to where he stands beside the guandao. He isn’t sure what he’s seen or heard, but he suddenly doesn’t care. He sighs and stands, bringing Poppy up with him. He isn’t sure how to verbalize what’s truly happened, but he feels he needs to. He needs to tell someone else, and not have Poppy be the only person who carries the weight of his secret.

“I ain’t from Moonbright,” he begins. “Three nights ago, I—”

Poppy puts a hand on his arm. “Tora, you don’t have to.”

“No, I do. Three nights ago, I was in Narin, but what you call ‘ancient Narin.’ There was fight, then a storm, then I was here with Poppy on the mountainside. Don’t know how, but I moved a thousand years into the future.”

Quincey stands still as the fabricated horse behind him. “What are you telling me right now? Poppy, is he for real?”

“It’s true,” Poppy says softly. “I was up at Regina’s Peak when it started to rain and he just…appeared.”

Quincey takes a deep breath and shakes his head. “That’s not possible.”

Tora grits his teeth. “I wish it wasn’t, but it obviously was. Now I’m here ‘til I can figure out a way to get back to my time.”

“Is that why you wanted to come here?” he asks. “You wanted to see if there were, like, clues or something?”

“I dunno what I thought I’d find. All I know is that there’s a lot of my shit here that shouldn’t be.”

“Wait. Some of this stuff is literally yours?”

Tora nods toward things as he speaks. “My weapon. My statues. Parts of my palace. My helmet. My shit.”

Everyone’s silent for a moment, and Poppy’s hand slips into his. He laces his fingers through hers as she says, “I know how it sound, but it’s true. He’s an ancient prince from the northern kingdom and his Wikipedia page ends when he comes here.”

“A time traveling prince,” Quincey mutters. “Didn’t have that on my 2022 bingo card.”

Tora doesn’t even feel like asking what a bingo card is. He just wants to get out of here. But he also doesn’t want to leave those things behind. He takes some comfort that since he’ll right things when he goes home, this hall will be empty as soon as he does.

“Come on,” Poppy says, stepping toward the exit. “Let’s just get something to eat and then we’ll talk, okay?”

He knows she just wants to put distance between them and his past life, but he’s grateful for it. Though it kills him to turn his back on the remnants of his world. It feels like a betrayal to everyone he once knew.

They walk through the museum, their footsteps echoing. Even Quincey is silent. He wishes someone would say something, even if he has no idea what. He never minded the quiet before, but after what he’s just seen, he craves sound, voices, anything to distract his mind.

The butterfly garden is in a large, bright building, like a glass yurt. Filled with trees and snaking vines, it feels like summer. Butterflies, more than he’s ever seen, flutter above their heads. He brushes the fingers not laced with Poppy’s over the tops of white petaled flowers as they go to a table in the center of the exhibit. It’s white metal and intricate, a vase of colorful, full blooms in the center. It’s decadent and fine, reminding him of some of the things his mother had tucked away in her rooms.

They sit and Tora reluctantly releases Poppy’s hand as food is brought to them. Tiny sandwiches and a drink called lemonade. There’s little cakes and fresh fruit. He doesn’t have an appetite, but he picks as to not worry Poppy, who keeps looking at him like he might break, just snap in half.

“So…are we going to talk about the time traveling elephant in the room?” Quincey asks.

Tora looks up from his plate. “What elephant.”

“It’s a figure of speech,” Poppy tells him before turning to Quincey. A butterfly has landed on the top of her head, a small one with green wings. “We think that maybe going back to Regina’s Peak during the next storm will send him back, but the weather’s going to be nice for the foreseeable future.”

“Is there a plan B?” he asks.

She shakes her head and the butterfly leaves her. “It’s impossible to know. Until Friday, I didn’t think time travel even existed.”

“Did you think something would happen by coming here?”

“Maybe? I don’t know what we expected. I think we’re just out of ideas, not that we had that many to begin with.” She sits back in her seat and sighs. “I just feel useless.”

“Ya ain’t useless,” Tora says more harshly than he’d meant to. “Without you, who the hell knows what woulda happened to me.”

“You would probably find another girl to take you home,” she teases.

“Doubt it,” Tora cuts in. He can’t imagine anyone else finding him. There is only her.

“Maybe it’s like Outlander,” Quincey suggests. “Did you happen to hear buzzing? Did you touch a weird rock?”

“Don’t think so.”

Quincey whistles. “I still can’t wrap my head around this. And if anyone but you, dear Miss Editor, came to me with this story, I just wouldn’t believe it.”

“I still don’t believe it half the time,” Tora admits. “Sometimes I forget.”

“Well, I’ll help you however I can. What do you need? Money? A car? Your own apartment?” Quincey pulls his cellphone out of his pocket and taps the screen. “I met a wonderful scientist at a gala last spring. Maybe he knows someone who—”

“You can’t tell anyone.” Poppy’s voice comes sharp as a blade. “I mean it, Quincey, not a single person can know who Tora is and where he came from.”

He holds up his hand. “Darling, I wouldn’t dream of doing it without your permission. So, really, what do you need?”

“Nothing, really,” she says. “Just know that we’re really trusting you right now. Not even Erdene knows.”

“I’ll take it to my grave,” Quincey swears. “But if you two figure out how to time travel and don’t tell me how you do it, all bets are off because I’d love to see the Palace of Versailles in its prime.”

Tora likes how Poppy speak of him, like they’re a team and not just like she’s responsible for him. But he finds he likes nearly everything about her, and the things he doesn’t are just the parts he doesn’t know yet. It makes him wonder what she would think if she knew him—all of him. He hardly likes it all, and she’s been nothing but a gods damned angel since the moment they met.

By the time they get back to her apartment, it’s late in the day. She makes a pizza while he picks a movie and stands in the kitchen as if he’s taking mental notes on how to make it. But he can’t lie to himself and pretend he gives a single fuck about kneading dough.

When it’s late and the movie’s done, Poppy stretches, the hem of her pajama top riding up, showing a sliver of skin. “I think I’m ready for bed.”

He nods. “’Night.”

But she doesn’t move off the couch. “I was thinking…maybe you’d want to sleep in my room? Not like sleep, but like sleep-sleep, you know?”

He does, but he wants to pretend he doesn’t. He likes when she blushes. “What do ya mean?”

“We would sleep in the bed together, but no touching. Well, maybe holding hands is okay, since we’ve had a very tumultuous day, emotionally speaking, and physical touch is a healing tool.” Her cheeks are beginning to pink. “But if you’re not comfortable with it, it’s totally fine. I was just thinking—”

“Relax, sweetheart, ya don’t gotta beg.”

Her mouth opens and closes, then she snaps, “I wasn’t begging.”

Tora laughs and it sounds rusty, even to him. “I know. Just messin’ with ya.”

She rolls her eyes and tosses one of her small, colorful pillows at him. “You’re ridiculous.”

They brush their teeth side by side and Tora strips off his shirt, leaving him in just his shorts. Poppy’s wearing a tank top and pants printed with little hearts. He wants to know if the fabric is as soft as it looks but balls his hand into a fist to keep from reaching for her in the dark when they climb between the sheets. He’s in her home, in her bed, and she makes the rules for whatever happens, or doesn’t.

But it isn’t long before she’s inching near enough that her hand finds his easily and her leg brushes against his. He turns to face her, just making out her silhouette. The dark makes everything easier for him, especially when it comes to words.

“Thank you,” he says softly.

“For what?”

“For everythin’, but especially for takin’ me to the museum and bein’ there with me.”

“I’d never let you do something like that alone. It wouldn’t be right.”

He swallows. “If I get back, I’m gonna make sure a thousand years later ya know how grateful I am to ya. I’m gonna make sure I leave a mark for ya the whole world can see.” It sounds stupid saying it out loud to a woman with endless opportunities and modern conveniences, but he doesn’t have anything else to give her.

“What if when you leave, my memories of you go too?”

He hadn’t thought of that, and it tears his fucking heart out. “Don’t worry ‘bout that now. For all we know, I could be stuck here for good.”

“I won’t let that happen.”

“Ya sound so sure.” Her ferocity in his name is cute.

“I have to be. I just want you to be okay.”

“Whatever ya say, sweetheart.”

“Why do you call me that?”

Shit. Now he feels like he’s been presumptuous in using the nickname. Too late now to take it back. “Just felt right, I guess. If ya don’t like it, I can find somethin’ else to call ya. Bobby, maybe?”

She giggles softly and he feels her breath on their intertwined fingers. “In that case, I’ll take sweetheart.”

Relief floods through him. “Dunno, now I think Bobby might be better.”

Poppy sighs, but he can tell she’s just doing it for show. “You’re ridiculous. Also, I have a question. How old are you?”

“Twenty-six. You?”

“Twenty-one. I knew you were an old man.”

Tora reaches of her with his free hand and tickles her side. “Take it back, Bobby,” he orders as she laughs.

He tickles him back and he tries to jerk away. As he rolls onto his back, he takes her with him. She’s straddling him now, her thighs on either side of his hips. He wills his cock to ignore the soft weight of her on him, it feels too good, too right to ruin it. One of her tank top straps has slipped off one shoulder, and even in the faint light, he can see the top of one breast, smooth and curved.

“Does this mean I win?” she teases, her hands flat on his chest.

“Sure does.”

“I didn’t know you were ticklish.”

He swallows, mentally taking inventory of all his armor to keep his mind from wandering to how warm she feels, how her nails gently scratched his skin, how hard he has to grip the sheets to keep from digging his fingers into her thighs.

She taps his nose with the tip of her finger and slides off him, one of her hands staying on his chest as she settles beside him, her breasts pressed against his arm. If she’s trying to get a rise out of him, it’s working.

Fuck, he’s in trouble.

Chapter Text

Tora

“Don’t think Poppy’ll like this,” Tora says as Quincey arrives at her apartment, dressed in a shiny purple shirt, arms heavy with shopping bags.

He drops the bags on the floor beside the couch and holds out a box to him. “Honey, Miss Editor knows she can’t keep a bird like me caged. I have more money than God and get quite the kick out of spoiling my friends.”

Tora takes the box and looks at it. It has a picture of a phone on the front, the kind Poppy has. “What’s this for?”

“For you, my surly friend. It has mine and Poppy’s numbers already programed into it.”

“Can’t accept this.”

He waves a hand. “Nonsense. How else can I call you if I need to?”

“Why would ya need to?”

Quincey sighs and begins sifting through the shopping bags, putting boxes and garments onto the coffee table. “What if I want to hang out or get some workout tips?”

“Can’t pay ya for it.”

“Honey, I don’t give one single, solitary fuck. Any friend of Poppy’s is automatically in the fold. Also, you’re the only time traveler I know, and it’s all rather grand, in a way.”

“Don’t like charity.”

He rolls his eyes. “You’ve been chock full of information that will help me write the next best seller, so really, I owe you a hefty consultation fee anyway. Besides, if you stick around, I can help you get a job.”

He leans forward in his seat. “Oh yeah?”

“I have an in at all the major clubs and fine dining establishments in Narin, including where we’re all going tonight. I think you’d make a fine bouncer.”

Tora doesn’t know what a bouncer is, but he doesn’t really care. He’s been in this time for a week already, and if he’s here for too long, he’ll take any job. Poppy’s been taking care of him, and he wants to return the favor.

“So, I’ve picked Poppy up a few dress options. The Fallen has such a strict dress code,” Quincey says before clearing his throat like he has something he wants to say but doesn’t know how. “But…before we go out, I was actually hoping you could…do me a little favor?”

“Done.” Tora opens the phone box, and the sleek screen comes to life. He’s glad there are icons for everything, since even though he’s been working his way through some reading and writing books Poppy’s given him, he’s mediocre at best.

“Don’t you want to know what it is?”

“Don’t care.”

Quincey takes a deep breath. “Well, what I need help with is a little sensitive.”

He raises his brows, waits for more.

“I need you to pretend to be my muscle. Nothing much, just stand behind me looking menacing and burly.”

“’Kay.” He stands up and pockets the phone. “Let’s go.”

“Honey, not like that. We’ll be going right to the club from there, so you have to get changed first.” He holds out one of the bags. “Put these on.”

“What about Poppy?”

“She’ll be meeting us there with Erdene.”

He glances out the window. It’s already dark and he doesn’t like the idea of her out alone at night, even with a friend. But he knows he’s being ridiculous, so he takes the bag into Poppy’s room and changes.

It’s become more their room now, since he’s slept in her bed every night, usually holding her hand, listening to her gentle breaths. He’s finding it harder and harder to fall asleep with her so close, especially as she has the habit of gravitating toward him in the night. It’s not uncommon for him to wake up with her leg draped over his, her fingers on his stomach, her lips brushing his arm. It’s all innocent, but it’s difficult to ignore at best.

Tora zips up the pair of black jeans Quincey’s bought him. He’d been worried the clothes would be flashy like Quincey’s is, but he thinks the dark grey tshirt and black leather jacket looks good on him, as far as modern clothes go. He swipes the strawberry tie off the dresser and pulls on his black boots.

A few moments later, he’s locking the apartment door with the key Poppy gave him.

“So why am I scarin’ these people?” Tora asks as they head down the stairs.

“They have something of mine, something my father needs and expects me to give him on Monday.”

“So, they stole from ya?”

“They did. And I would ask my good friend Damien to come with me, but he’s on a job at the moment, so—”

“Relax. I’ll help scare ‘em for ya.”

They get into a colorful sportscar, and Tora watches the city race by as they drive. They’re going to a part he doesn’t recognize, but as soon as they park and he steps onto the pavement, he understands. They’re in a part of the city he wouldn’t recognize because Poppy would never go there. The air feels close, tangy with danger as they walk down an alley.

“You’ll be fine, I promise,” Quincey says quietly, straightening his shoulders. He becomes a different person sometimes, and Tora’s beginning to wonder why, though he has the feeling he’s about to learn.

“Am I gettin’ my hands dirty tonight?” Tora asks. Quincey’s Poppy’s friend, and now he’s his. Tora will defend him just as fiercely as anyone else in his miniscule circle. That, at least, he’s good at.

“No, I would never ask you to do anything like that unless you’re in danger.”

“But I can to make a point?”

He hesitates before answering. “I suppose so. That’s the thing about Ares Street. The rules of the rest of the world don’t apply here. This is where the unground is, the drug deals and strip clubs, the seedy underbelly of—”

“Don’t know what any of that is, and don’t really care,” Tora cuts in. “Let’s just get in and out. I go too far, ya tell me.”

They cut down Ares Street and Tora takes in the brightly lit signs and clusters of people standing in the shadows. There’s a tension in the air that makes him itch for a blade, the fever of a fight. Oddly enough, it feels like home. Being bathed in red with the sound of whispered threats call to him. He isn’t sure if he likes it or not.

The place they’re looking for is a bar sandwiched between two closed businesses with barred windows. It reeks of old liquor and sweat, and the men look like they’ve seen better days. Tora’s careful to keep his head on a swivel as they walk to the back. But everyone that meets his gaze immediately turns away. Good.

Quincey stops when they reach a scratched, wooden door and opens it without knocking. Three men sit inside a cramped room around a table with playing cards. He notes one has a weapon called a gun beside him. He’s seen them in the movies, and he knows they’re more deadly than even his guandao.

“It’s the little Balthuman,” the one with a scraggly beard says with a laugh.

“Pete, I’m here for the USB.” Quincey’s voice is deep and sharp, cold even. I know you have it and I need it back.”

The scraggly bearded Pete slaps his cards on the table. “And I need my dick sucked.”

The other two laugh, but before anyone can say anything, Tora has his hand on the back of his neck and slams him face first onto the faded green tabletop. His other hand snakes to the gun. He’s not sure how to use it but having the weight of it in his palm feels like enough to make a point. They don’t know he doesn’t know how to use it.

“Yo, what the fuck?” Pete manages as Tora presses down hard, keeping him pinned there. He’s struggling, but it’s weak, nearly laughably so.

To his credit, Quincey hasn’t so much as flinched. “I’m here for my USB.”

“Don’t got it.”

Tora digs his fingers into his skin, glancing at the two other men, who are frozen in place.

“I know you do,” Quincey says. “And I know it’s here. Either you retrieve it for me, or my friend here will snap you like a glowstick and find it himself.”

He assumes that means he’ll break his neck. Tora wasn’t really planning on killing anyone tonight, or at all in the modern world, but if he has to, for Quincey, he will. “Want me to do it now, or—”

“No, no, no!” Pete’s fingers scramble on the table and Tora decides to press the gun into his side. That makes him still. “Top drawer! It’s in the top drawer of the desk!”

One of the other men hurries to fetch it, bringing back a small, rectangular thing he hands to Quincey, though his gaze is always on Tora.

“Well now, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” Quincey muses, pocketing the thing. “Next time you decide to steal from the Balthuman Organization, I won’t be so lenient.”

Tora waits for Quincey to nod, then releases Pete, who falls into the chair behind him. The gun’s still in his hand, but he tosses it in the corner of the room. He has the feeling Poppy wouldn’t like him bringing it to the club tonight.

“Oh my god, you were fantastic in there!” Quincey says as they step back onto the street, his voice back to normal. “A natural, really. Ugh, you saved my skin in there.”

“Ya gonna tell me what that was?”

He pauses a moment before ushering Tora back toward the direction of the car. “Now, we’re friends, you and I, so I think you’ll understand that I don’t want to upset Poppy.”

“Why would she be upset?”

“You see, my father’s a powerful man here, so he has a lot of enemies and a lot of men who work beneath him. Almost like you had with your soldiers, or whatever. That man, Pete, he tailed one of my father’s men who happens to be a friend of mine and took that USB from him. There’s nothing too damning on it, but if my father found out, my friend would be in trouble.”

Tora nods. He understands what Quincey means entirely. “We should go back and finish the job then. Keepin’ him alive will only let him do it again.”

“That’s what my father would have done, I just don’t have the guts for it.”

“I do.”

“I know, but I won’t let you do that. What you just did is more than enough.”

He claps him on the back as they reach the car. “Ya just like my brother Jetsu. He doesn’t have the stomach for war, but that don’t mean nothin’ ‘cause he’s good at other shit.”

Quincey smiles. “Thank you, Tora, I mean it.”

“No worries.”

“Erdene texted me and said she and Poppy are already in the club.” They leave Ares Street and turn toward the part of the city Tora’s more familiar with. “Put all your drinks on the Balthuman tab tonight.”

“Ya always say shit like I know what it means.”

He laughs. “Sorry, I keep forgetting. Basically, when you go to the bar for something to drink, just say, ‘put in on Balthuman’s tab,’ and then you don’t have to pay.”

Tora’s not sure if he’ll ever get used to not knowing things. He wasn’t a scholar back home, but he certainly never thought of himself as ignorant. At least Poppy never makes him feel stupid. She has a way of slipping information into conversations, so he never feels like a burden to her.

He leaves his jacket in Quincey’s car, which is driven away by a stranger when they reach the club. It’s a short building with music so loud, it shakes the ground beneath him as they step up to the door. They pass a line of people and the man guarding it nods to them both.

Inside, then go down a staircase that takes them into a tunnel full of blue light. It lets them out into a cave, which is somehow both dim and bright at the same time and teeming with people who all dance with the rhythmic beat. There’s something oddly primal about it, but it sets him on edge. He doesn’t like being in an unfamiliar place full of so many unfamiliar faces.

“They should be near the VIP section,” Quincey says over the music. “Blue booths near the fish tank.”

Tora doesn’t feel like asking what a tank is, so he just follows Quincey through the throng of dancers. Then it appears, a wall of water filled with fish, their scales shimmering in the pulsating lights. It reminds him of the stories of the giant waves that decimated the deep, southern island kingdom before he was born. It swallowed it into the sea.

Then he sees her, draped in music. Her hair is loose and curled, and she’s wearing a short, dark green dress. It scoops impossibly low in the front and his mouth dries. She’s all bare legs and luscious curves and when she looks at him at last, his chest seizes with the power of her smile.

“You made it!” Poppy says, taking his arm. Her lips are painted red, and her face is flushed like maybe she’d already been dancing.

“’Course I did. Just had to help Quincey with somethin’.” He has to lean in close to hear her, but he doesn’t mind. “I like ya dress.”

“Really? Quincey bought it for me. I wasn’t sure if it would look good.”

“Looks better than good, sweetheart.”

She beams, the flush darkening.

“Are you going to introduce me?” asks a slender girl with pastel hair. He recognizes her from some of Poppy’s pictures.

“You must be Erdene,” he says, holding out his hand like they do on TV.

She takes it, smiling with a sideways glance at Poppy. “And you must be Tora. I’ve heard so much about you.”

He isn’t sure what she means. Did Poppy tell her who he really is? He’ll ask her later. Instead, he just smiles back, trying to take on Quiney’s calm demeaner. He’s feeling less at ease here than he did on Ares Street and he isn’t sure what to make of that realization.

“Ah Damien, here’s our new friend Tora.” Quincey throws his arm over the shoulders of a tattooed man with bright pink hair. From there he meets a dozen others, all tattooed with an edge or something he recognizes within himself. When he pictured Quincey’s friends, he didn’t expect that. He expected other artists like the kind that collected in the capital back home, painters and sculptors maybe.

Poppy slips her hand easily in his as they step aside for a parade of woman in miniscule dresses who bring bottles and glasses to the tables Quincey’s reserved. Casual intimacy is coming easier and easier for them. Before, he never would have thought about just holding hands with someone like this. But he guesses that before, he didn’t have her.

As the crowd pushes in, he puts his other arm around her, stopping a tipsy looking girl from bumping into her. His hand brushes over bare skin. The back of her dress is low, and it makes it harder to stop touching her. Luckily, he doesn’t have to, as Quincey ushers them all into one of the booths. There isn’t enough room for everyone in their party to fit, so they tumble in with Poppy sitting on his lap.

Quincey hands out thin glasses full of something bubbly. “Drink up, my darlings!

It goes does smooth and sweet. He leans into Poppy, his lips brushing her hair. “What’s this called.

She turns her face to his and it’s so painfully near. “It’s champagne. Careful though, it’ll go right to your head.”

He takes another sip, savoring the feel of his palm on her hip as she laughs at something Erdene’s said. Out of all the things in the world he’s worried about going to his head, the champagne doesn’t make the list.

Poppy

Her heart’s racing. She’s trying to keep her cool, but she can feel the heat of Tora’s hand on her hip, the press of each finger through the velvet of her dress. When she’d first put it on, she didn’t like how it felt to be so on display. But as soon as she locked eyes with Tora, her doubts faded to whispers. He looked at her like no one ever had before, like she was desirable, sexy even. His golden gaze had raked over her low and slow.

Now as she’s sitting on his lap, skirt high on her thighs, she finds it almost impossible to think he could want her.  

“Am I too heavy for you?” she asks as someone refills her glass. “I can move.”

His hand hasn’t moved an inch. “Nope.”

“How do you like the champagne?”

“Different.”

“Good or bad?”

“Just different.” He shifts slightly and his fingers drift over her hipbone. 

Erdene’s watching them, her lips curled into the kind of smile that makes it clear she’s making mental notes. Poppy tries to ignore her and takes another sip. It’s bubbly and sweet, making her skin feel warm and sensitive. That doesn’t help the feeling of sitting on Tora, feeling his chest against her back as he leans forward to hear something Damien says.

When he does, his hand slips over the bottom of her dress, skates over the skin of her thigh. There’s a coiling in her belly, a tight heat that makes her breath come short. She tries to douse it with champagne, but that’s useless, since when she looks at him out of the corner of her eye, he’s grinning at Jacob, dimples on display. In fact, everything of his is almost on display, showing the tattoos on his arms and the top of his chest.

“Pops,” Erdene says over the music. “Bathroom?”

Poppy nods and drains her glass, sitting it in front of Tora. “Watch my glass, okay? You can’t leave your cups alone here.”

“Why not?”

“Someone might put something in it, like a drug, and hurt you. It’s not something you probably have to worry about, since you’re a massive man, but it can happen to anyone and it happens to girls a lot, so just keep an eye on mine, okay?”

His eyes narrow. “Someone might try to hurt ya?”

Poppy feels like maybe she shouldn’t have told him that, but it’s too late now. “I’ll be right back.”

“Want me to come with ya?”

She stands up and his hand lingers on her hip. “I’m fine. See you in a minute.”

Erdene loops her arm through hers and they go around the edge of the room to where the bathrooms are, joining the line. “He’s even hotter in person.”

Poppy tries to look nonchalant as she twists the silver bangles around her arm. “He’s really nice too.”

“So, he’s nice too? Like, actually nice to you?”

“Totally. He’s sweet and respectful and probably the cleanest guest I’ve ever had.”

“How have you had him in your house this whole time and haven’t—”

“Just because he’s attractive doesn’t mean I need to jump his bones.” She usually doesn’t snap like that and feels guilty for her tone for only a split second.

She holds her hands up before stepping into a vacant stall. “Chill, girl. I’m just saying the tension is as sharp as his jawline.”

Poppy goes into the one beside her. “I’m not his type.

“So you’ve said, but I disagree.”

When they step out of their stalls to wash their hands, Poppy asks, “Why do you think that?”

“Um, did you look at yourself before we left your place? Grade A hottie. Your personality? Awesome. Cooking skills? Amazing.” She checks her lipstick in the mirror. “He’s sex on legs, but you’re sex in a pink mini dress, and don’t you forget it.”

For all her pushiness and vulgarity, Erdene really knows how to cheer her up. The champagne probably doesn’t hurt either, but she leaves the bathroom feeling a little better. She’s spent her life feeling at odds with her body, lacking the confidence other girls had. What if, for one night, she acted like she was as pretty as Erdene always said? What if she just played pretend with a man who, after a few days or weeks, she’ll never see again?

She doesn’t want to use Tora, not in that way, but she also doesn’t want to live her life like the Moonbright Poppy, the Poppy with no self-esteem, the Poppy who would have spent the night hiding in the booth instead of dancing to the beat. She wants to be a new Poppy, at least for a little while.

Tora’s gaze is on her as soon as they turn the corner to the tables. His hand is cupped protectively over her glass, which he cradles against his chest until she comes near. Then he fills it and hands it to her.

“Thanks,” she says, stepping closer until her legs bump his. Erdene’s disappeared with. Damien and everyone else are in their own little bubbles. She sips her champagne, and wonders vaguely if they’re celebrating anything in particular, or if this is the only thing Quincey gets when he’s out.

A cocktail waitress comes up to the table and people begin ordering. She gets a margarita and orders Tora a snakebite, assuming he’ll like the kick. The liquid goes down smooth and she’s feeling lighter than she has in a while as she drinks. She ends up back on Tora’s lap sometime between getting her margarita and Gyu showing up to regale everyone with tales from his new job.

As she gets a glass of champagne to wash down the margarita, she leans back against Tora’s chest, loose strands of his hair tickling her cheek. One of his hands is on her thigh, his thumb moving back and forth over her bare skin in a way that makes her blood rush. It’s a hypnotizing feeling being touched by him so gently. She never thought she’d be tangled up with someone like him, time traveler or otherwise.

“Wanna dance?” she asks Tora, tilting her head back to speak into his ear.

He looks down at her. “Sure.”

She slips off his lap and takes his hand. She’s normally not into dancing, but the liquor’s loosened her, makes her body feel liquid. They join the throng of bodies and Poppy sways to the beat of the techno song she doesn’t recognize. It’s fast and electric. Her eyes are closed, so she doesn’t see Tora, but she feels him move behind her, hands gripping her hips. She doesn’t stop moving, she likes how it feels to be pressed against him.

Emboldened by his touch, she puts her hands over his, runs her fingers up his arms. She lets one wander higher to his neck, cups the back of it to hold him close as his palms slide up and down her sides. They never quite reach the undersides of her breasts, which makes it feel like a tease.

Poppy knows it’s selfish to let it continue, to let him touch her, to touch him back, but she can’t help it. She’s been ignoring whatever’s between them since they met, and she just can’t do it anymore. She can’t pretend he means nothing, and she isn’t attracted to him. She doesn’t know where any of this will lead, but she’s eager to find out.

He turns her to face him and the world spins with the alcohol and heady lust. His hands are low on her back, and they keep a steamy rhythm as they dance. Beneath the flashing lights, his eyes seem to glow, adding to the otherworldly quality he seems to have that makes him both terribly real and painfully pretend.

After several songs, Poppy’s hot and out of breath, but not because of the dancing. His roaming hands has left her skin feverish and aching. She’s never wanted anyone like she wants him, and it almost hurts to think about. She isn’t supposed to want him like this. She isn’t supposed to crave move.

They step out of the crowd, inching around the base of the circular fish tank that sits in the center of the club. The farther they move back from the dance floor, the cooler and quieter it gets, though her heart’s still beating faster than the music.

Then her back’s against the cold glass and Tora’s flush against her, looking down at her with the kind of ferocity that makes her stomach twist.

“Tell me this is a bad idea,” he says, his hands on her hips.

“It’s a bad idea,” she says back, not meaning a world of it.

His forehead’s against hers now. “Tell me we shouldn’t.”

Her palms are on his chest and his heart is thudding just as hard as hers. “We shouldn’t.”

“Tell me—”

Poppy doesn’t let him finish. She fists her hands in his shirt and pulls his mouth down to hers. They’re both damned now, they’ll both get hurt when he leaves, but she doesn’t care anymore. All that matters is his lips on hers, his tongue parting them, his hands sliding up and down her waist, holding her so close, her breath coming short.

She traces his muscles as they kiss, soaking in his strength, letting herself forget what’ll happen when the lightning comes. She can’t let herself think about that yet. If she does, she’ll fall apart. And maybe it’s the alcohol or the dress or the music, but she doesn’t want to let go.

He tastes of whisky, sharp and smoky, and that alone is enough to send her over the edge of drunkenness. She clings to him, not caring who sees them kissing against the glow of the tank. Her thighs are slippery now, the lace of her panties is wet with wanting, and she aches for him to touch her more, even though she knows she shouldn’t.

He’s not staying, there is no future for them. And she’s known him for a week, though it feels like a lifetime somehow. Still, it’s not enough, and she wants to trace each tattooed line on his skin, know what it is to be taken by him, have him spread her legs and taste her skin. She feels depraved, insatiable, and it heightens when his fingers tangle in her hair.

Then he pulls away just enough to make her lips miss his.

“I’m sorry.” His words come in pants.

Poppy’s mind is still muddled, her body still throbbing. “For what?”

“I promised myself I wouldn’t do this.”

“What if I want you to?”

His eyes search hers and his jaw works. “I’ll be leavin’ soon, don’t know when, but I will be, and ya ain’t someone I can only have once.”

“I don’t care, Tora.”

“I can’t do that then leave ya.”

“I don’t want to talk about that.”

His hand grazes her cheek, his fingers skate down her neck. “It’s all I think about—me leavin’ ya here.”

She grips his shirt, still feeling breathless. She doesn’t have an argument that she thinks will hold up against the truth of his words. Rationally she knows she’s playing with fire, but it’s addicting. She too hungry for him to worry about what comes next. If they do…share a bed and he leaves, it probably won’t hurt any less than if they never kissed at all. Either way, she knows she’ll feel the loss of him, so why not give in now before he has to go?

“I. Don’t. Care,” she says fiercely. “We don’t know when the storms will come or even if it’ll work. If we both want this—”

His mouth crashes on to hers and she melts into him. He should be the stuff of fairytales and legends, but he’s here and he’s real and she wants nothing more than the drink him in, every last drop. His tongue swipes into her mouth and she wants to call a taxi and go back to her place—their place—to see what else might come of whatever they’re doing with the time they’ve been given.

But they’re interrupted by Quincey’s voice over the music, saying, “Good evening, everyone!”

Poppy groans as Tora pulls away, suddenly tense and alert. She looks around him to where the DJ booth is and spots Quincey as the song fades away and they’re left with the quiet rumble of voices and clink of glasses.

“Some of you may know me, other’s definitely do, but either way, drinks at the bar are on me tonight, since I just got news that my debut novel Secret Garden will soon be gracing the silver screen as a movie!”

The crowd begins to clap, probably more for the free drinks, but Poppy is pleased. She worked hard to write the film pitch they’d sent out several months before. It’s a nice addition to the night she hopes is just getting started.

“Where’s my lovely editor?” Quincey asks suddenly, squinting against the light. “Come up here, you beautiful creature.”

Poppy rights her dress, which has ridden up a bit, then looks up at Tora. “Can you help me get over there?”

He glances at the crowd, then takes her hand. His height helps to part the sea of people, and soon she’s stepping onto the small stage beside Quincey.

“Here is the wonderful Poppylan Wilkes, my muse, my editor, my darling friend.” He takes her hand and kisses it with a flourish. Then he lowers the mic and says only to her, “Your lipstick’s a little smeared…on Tora’s face.”

Her cheeks warm and she looks down to where he stands. In the bright, overhead lights, she can clearly see the burgundy smudged around his mouth. She laughs and Tora holds out his hands. He takes her by the waist and swings her to the floor as the music starts up again.

She reaches up and wipes the lipstick off with her thumb. He nips the pad of her finger, and she feels a bolt of something deep in her belly. But the dance floor writhes around them, a clash of bodies they can’t escape. Soon, they’re joined by everyone else, and Poppy thinks their time is over.

Until the hour grows late, and a line of chauffeured cars appears outside the club to take them home. People pair off and leave under the faint, yellow glow of the streetlamps until it’s only Poppy and Tora left to take the last car.

Tora opens the door for her and says, “Ready to go home, sweetheart?”

Poppy slips in and looks up at him, smiling. “Yeah, Tora, I am.”

Chapter Text

Chapter

Tora

Tora is absolutely fucked. Not in the way he should be, being a time traveling prince trapped in the future and all that, but fucked in a way that has him wrapped around Poppy’s little finger after a single week. The car seems to crawl toward her building, and she’s sitting quietly beside him, one of his arms draped over her shoulders. It was hot in the club, but the short velvet dress doesn’t keep her from shivering in the cold spring night.

It takes everything in him not to stare at her legs. Or any of her, for that matter. He’s still torn up over if this is a good idea. He’d promised himself he wouldn’t make things harder for her, but here he is, debating how she’d want him to take her.

But he shouldn’t—he can’t. She’s his friend, the first true one he’s had in ages. And, yes, she’s beautiful and funny and smart and kind, but he could go back tomorrow. Everything they share is just one more tether to sever when the storm comes.

When the driver stops in front of the apartment building, Poppy thanks him and Tora steps out first, holding his hand out to help her. She smiles up at him as they hurry inside. He wonders what’s going through her mind as she unlocks her door and unbuckles her shiny, gold shoes, leaving them in the entryway. Does he look as calm as she does? He doubts it.

In contrast to the noise and crush of the club, her home is silent, the only sound the hum of the fridge and the soft padding of her feet as she steps across the room. She pauses at her bedroom door and looks over her shoulder. “Would you mind…unzipping me? Erdene helped me get dressed before and I don’t think I can reach it myself.”

Tora swallows and nods, then goes to her, heart already racing. He feels so young, untried, like he’s never had a woman before her. It’s ridiculous, but he can’t turn his mind off. As he slowly draws the zipper down, his fingers trace her spine, each bump and dip until he sees twin dimples and a strip of black lace.

He takes a step back. “Done.”

“Thanks. I need to take all this makeup off before bed.”

He isn’t sure if her voice sounds strange or he’s just overthinking it. He goes into the second bathroom and showers, seeing if the hot water will wash away all the mixed-up feelings. As he pulls off his shirt, he notices there’s still of bit of her lipstick on the edge of his mouth.

The shower doesn’t do much, and he puts on a pair of briefs before going back into Poppy’s room. The door’s open and she’s standing at the mirror, brushing her hair. She seems to have showered too, though her hair is dry. Droplets of water cling to the skin where the silky, short dress she wears doesn’t.

She puts the brush down and turns to him. “So…tonight was fun.”

“Yeah, it was.”

The silk’s black, painted on like fine ink. It dances around her thighs as she moves. “I wasn’t sure you’d like it.”

“I like anythin’ ya do.”

Shit. He wasn’t thinking about the club at all. He was thinking about slinky, green velvet and smooth skin, and deep red lipstick, her hands clutching his shirt and telling him she wanted him. He didn’t mean to say that out loud.

Tora clears his throat, face heating. “I mean…if ya liked it, so did I.”

She steps toward him until she’s so close, he can smell her soap, the honeysuckle that permeates her sheets and hair. “Do you feel weird about what happened tonight? I mean at the club?”

“Not weird, I just don’t want ya thinkin’ that I’m usin’ ya or doin’ something, then I gotta…” He can’t figure out how to say what he means. He doesn’t want her to think he’d sleep with her, then abandon her. But that’s exactly what will happen one day. “I like us. I don’t want things to get fucked up.”

Her eyes are so large as she looks up at him in the warm, faint glow from the lamp on her nightstand. “I like us too, Tora. And if you’re afraid things will get hard when it’s all…over, I understand. But you’re here now and I don’t want that to go to waste.”

Tora’s lived his entire life up to this point doing exactly what he’s supposed to do. He fought who he needed to, killed when he had to, led armies, and built weapons, trained with his men, and slept on the cold ground. His life has been nothing but making orders or following them. He’s never even let himself think about what his world will look like if he does win the war…that ended a thousand years ago.

And Poppy’s here now. She’s his present, the center of his universe while he’s in her time. And he doesn’t even know if he’ll ever go back. The veils of time might have opened up just long enough to let him fall through but will never open again in his lifetime. He can’t life his life waiting for the storm to come when every moment with her already feels like being in the center of a hurricane.

He bridges the gap between them, taking her in his arms and kissing her. There’s no crowd to see them, no friends to need their attention, nothing to stop them from doing whatever it in the world they want to do. And fuck, if he doesn’t want to explore every opportunity.

Her kiss is sweet as honey and sharp as lightning, searing in its ferocity. He lets his hands roam, tentatively at first. He doesn’t want to make her feel like he’s pushing, but he also can’t help the hunger he feels as he brushes his fingers over each dip and curve of her body.

When he’s kissing her, he doesn’t care about war or time or his things behind museum glass. If he’s trapped in the future, he’s too glad he’s with Poppy. She nearly makes him wish he’d gone through time ages ago.

He’s not sure who takes the first step toward it, but soon they fall into bed. He covers her with his body, knows his cock is pressing hard into her leg as he nibbles her neck. She’s gasping already, hands sliding over his back, into his hair. She’s so receptive to his touch. He kisses her shoulder, her collarbone, always coming back to her lips for a taste.

“Tell me to stop whenever ya want and I will,” he says, slipping the strap of her nightdress off her shoulder. “You make the rules, sweetheart.” He kisses the newly bared swell of her breast and looks up at her. Her cheeks are flushed, and eyes half closed as she watches him. “Ya tell me when to stop. When to go.” He slides the other strap down. “When to go fast or slow down. I wanna know what ya like.”

“I don’t know what I like,” she tells him.

He smiles. “Don’t gotta be shy. Not with me.”

“I’m not shy. Well, maybe I am. But I’m not…I mean, I’ve never…slept with anyone…like this.”

Tora pauses his exploration. “Then we go as far as ya want. You’re always in control.”

Her smile is tentative, but she nods and lifts herself up her elbows to kiss him. He decides to go even slower from now on, give her time to stop or decide what she likes. Better yet, he decides tonight will be only about her pleasure. That way at least, there isn’t the bond of sex to make things harder in the end. And if she’s happy, he’s happy.

And maybe he’ll leave her with a few fond memories of him.

He begins to slide the nightgown down her body, but she stops him. “The light.”

“What about it?”

“Can we turn it off?”

He immediately reaches over and flips the switch on the base, plunging them into near darkness. Then she pushes the silk the rest of the way down and the slopes of her belly and hips and breasts are lined with moonlight. If he thought she was a goddess before, that belief is now the closest thing to truth he’s ever known.

“You’re fuckin’ perfect,” he whispers against her lips.

Poppy giggles, not meeting his gaze. “Dramatic.”

“Ain’t dramatic. Wouldn’t say it if it wasn’t true.” He kisses both shoulders and the curve of her jaw. He slides a palm up her side to cup her breast. It’s soft and round, filling his hand, the nipple pebbles against his skin. “I wanna worship ya, Poppylan. Let me worship ya.”

She nods and lays back. Tora drags his mouth and hands over her body, tasting the swell of her breasts and circling her nipples with his tongue. He brushes his fingers over her thigh, up until he reaches her center, slick with wanting. He groans into her mouth as he savors the wetness, the excitement.

“This okay?” he asks as her legs open a bit wider.

She nods.

“Want me to keep touchin’ ya?”

Another nod.

“Need to hear ya say it.”

Her flush deepens and she closes her eyes. “Keep touching me.”

He slides his fingers through her folds, loving the way her lips part as he rounds her clit. He does it again and her breath catches. He slips his middle finger inside her, hardening even more at the feeling. He can’t believe things have gone this way, can’t believe he’s touching her, feeling her, sliding his ring finger in next and making her gasp.

Tora swipes his thumb over her clit and her body shivers. He grins as he crooks his fingers, swallows her moans. Her body is warm and sort, pressing into him as he pleasures her. His cock is throbbing with the want of her, the desire to change places with his fingers and fill her entirely.

He drags his mouth over cheek to her ear and whispers, “That feel good, sweetheart?”

“Yes,” she gasps.

“Tell me ya like it.”

“I love it.”

He grits his teeth and move down to kiss her breast. He sucks her nipple, nipping it gently until he feels her tighten around his fingers. Her legs tremble and her nails dig into his arm. She cumming, her breathing quickening and her back arching. He doesn’t stop until she lets out a sharp cry that has him wound tight as a bow string.

When she falls limp, he kisses her gently, moves the soft throw blanket on the foot of her bed over her. As much as he’d like nothing more than to stare at her all night, he knows she’s shy when it comes to her nakedness.

Her eyes flutter open. “That was…nice.”

“Only nice?” he puts a hand over his heart and lays back against the pillows beside her. “Shit, sweetheart, get my dagger and just stab me, why don’t ya?”

She giggles and rolls on her stomach to look at him. “Okay, it was really nice. Is that better?”

“It’s a start.”

“But what about you?”

“What about me?”

Her had goes to his stomach, tentative and unsure. “You didn’t—”

“I’m fine. Wanted to take care of ya.”

She cocks her head to the side. “You don’t want—”

“’Course I want ya, if that’s what ya gettin’ at, but I just wanted to do that, just for tonight at least. If ya still want more tomorrow, we’ll figure it out. But we’ve both been drinkin’ and it’s been a long night. Don’t want ya doin’ anythin’ that’ll make ya hate me.”

Poppy smiles and puts her head on his chest, her fingertips tracing the lines of his tattoos. “I could never hate you.”

You could, he thinks. I could tell you what I’ve done, and you could.

Poppy

Poppy thinks she can get used to waking up in Tora’s arms, especially when his bare chest is pressed against her back and one of his hands cups her breast in sleep. His breathing is still deep and even and his body curled around hers is beyond perfect.

She didn’t think when they got home last night that anything like that would happen. Of course, she half hoped something would happen. The last thing she expected was for him to touch her in ways that made her body burn. She’s still smoldering with the memory, which only gets stronger when his fingers twitch, pressing into the skin of her breast.

He stirs, his face burrowing into her neck. “What time is it?”

“It’s Saturday, so it doesn’t matter.”

“Good.” Tora pulls her in tighter. His body is soft and hard at the same time, the strangest and best mix.

She adjusts the blanket to make sure she’s completely covered. There’s been a lot of firsts for her since meeting him, and last night was the biggest. Now she isn’t sure what to do, how to get out of the bed in the daylight, what to say.

Luckily, Tora breaks the silence. “Want me to go get coffee from that place ya like around the corner?”

“That would be nice. There’s money in my purse.”

“Got money,” he says, sliding out of bed.

Her body misses his warmth immediately. “Where?”

“I’m workin’ with Quincey, helpin’ him with his book shit.” He swipes a shirt out of the dresser drawer she’d emptied for him, then pulls on some jeans. “He said he’s keepin’ me on retainer, whatever that means.”

She smiles and sits up, holding the blanket to her chest. “That’s good.”

“Want ya usual?”

“Yes, please.”

Tora ties his hair up as he walks to her and kisses her on the forehead, such a strangely intimate gesture that makes her cheeks warm. “Be right back.”

When she hears the door close and lock behind him, Poppy flops back against the pillow with a squeal. She’s never really let any of her crushes transform into anything, except with her failure of an ex, but now that she had, she’s tangled up with a man like Tora. The things he could do with his hand was better than anything she’d ever done with her own.

She gets out of bed and pads to the bathroom to brush her teeth and wash her face. Then she pulls on a pair of leggings and a sweater before grabbing her phone off the floor where it had ended up sometime in the night. It’s just after nine and she already has a few missed texts, some from the early hours.

ERDENE 2:34 AM: POPS DID YOU GO HOME WITH HIM?

ERDENE 2:35 AM: like I know you live together but I mean like home home

ERDENE 2:35 AM: like in a sex way

ERDENE 2:36 AM: like did you bang

QUINCEY 6:29 AM: breakfast anyone? i’m feeling puckish…

QUINCEY 6:30 AM: *puckish

QUINCEY 6:30 AM: *peckish

ERDENE 8:45 AM: RU going to breakfast? Im too hungover

ERDENE 8:49 AM: alsooooo did you bang?

She goes into the living room to open the shades and begin watering her plants as she texts.

POPPY to QUINCEY: Sorry, I’m too tired. Raincheck?

POPPY to ERDENE: You have a way with words.

ERDENE: soooooooooo did you or what?

POPPY: A lady never kisses and tells.

ERDENE: youre so annoying sometimes.

ERDENE: I would tell you!

POPPY: OK fine. We didn’t have sex, but we did…other things.

ERDENE: like….?

POPPY: Things that will remain private, but were very nice.

ERDENE: so is he like your boyfriend now or something?

She pauses, still watering her pink princess philodendron. She doesn’t think last night changed anything between them, but they also can’t just go back to how things were before. After all, his mouth was…and his hands…and his fingers…she can hardly think about it without feeling that delicious twisting in her belly. Though she doesn’t think they’re anything, or at least anything that matters.

POPPY: I don’t know.

ERDENE: he’d be lucky to have you

She goes into her bedroom to plug in her phone and Tora steps in holding a tray with two takeout cups and a paper bag.

“Real warm out today,” he says, putting everything on her nightstand. “The one with the black lid is yours.”

She takes the cup out of the holder, already smelling the cinnamon. “Thank you.”

“’Course. Donuts in there for ya too. Just got a couple.”

“Thanks again.”

“Remember how ya told me not to thank ya for shit? Same goes to you.”

Poppy smiles and curls up in the unmade bed. Tora sits beside her with his legs outstretched, looking at her over the lid of his cup. She wants to straight up ask him what they’re doing, but how can she do that when they probably don’t have anything like boyfriends and girlfriends in his time? For him, it was probably just flings until he was given a bride like in the books.

"Somethin’ on ya mind, sweetheart?” he asks.

“No, why?”

“When ya think real hard, ya bite ya lip.”

“Oh, I guess I was just thinking…maybe we can go to Alice’s this weekend to eat. She makes the best sushi.”

“Sure, whatever ya want.” He puts his cup on the nightstand on his side of the bed and turns to her. “Wanna talk about last night?”

Her face flames. “Is it that obvious?”

“Ya couldn’t look me in the face when we got up. Didn’t know if ya regretted it, or I did somethin’ ya didn’t like.”

He looks so worried, she almost feels bad. “No, I didn’t, you didn’t. This…that was just new to me, that’s all.”

“Then did ya like it?” he asks with a dimpled grin.

“Maybe.”

“Only maybe?” He shakes his head and rolls on top of her. “Don’t like the sound of that one bit, sweetheart.”

Her stomach flips as she looks up at him. “That so?”

“Can’t allow it.”

“Then what are you going to do to fix it?” Her heart’s racing with the anticipation. She’s playing it flirty like Erdene might, trying out something new.

He answers her with a kiss that zips through her body. He tastes of green tea, and she loops her arms around his neck. Her legs lay to either side of him, and though he holds himself up on his elbows, his lower half presses into her, hard and purposefully.

He drags his mouth across her cheek and to her ear as she closes her eyes. His breath is hot on her neck as he says, “Tell me if ya want me to stop.”

“Don’t stop,” she says back.

His hand sweeps into her leggings as he nibbles her neck. She runs her fingers over his shoulders and down his arms, savoring the strong heat of him on top of her. His body moves lower as he teases her, touching her stomach and hips, but never where she really wants him to. She’s more than fine with him taking his time though.

Then his weight is off her and she opens her eyes to see him settling between her legs, his fingers toying with the waistband of her leggings. His eyes seem darker somehow as he looks at her and asks, “Trust me?”

“With what?”

“Trust me to make ya feel good?”

Her body’s already tensing. She nods.

Tora pulls the leggings down, drops them to the floor. Never breaking eye contact, he lays down and kisses her inner thighs. Poppy almost thinks she should be embarrassed to be so bare before him in the gauzy light of morning, but he has a way of hypnotizing her without words, settling her thoughts.

His mouth moves up her legs, which settle on his shoulders, until he reaches her core. He drags his finger though her folds and grins up at her once before bringing his mouth down into the soft valley. He hums, or moans, as he licks. She isn’t sure which, and she doesn’t care. Two of his fingers slide inside as they did last night just as he gently sucks on her clit, the unfamiliar pulsing sending shockwaves deep in her belly.

His other hand migrates up to her breast, cups it in his calloused palm, pinches her nipple. He circles her clit, his fingers pumping into her. Poppy can barely take the sensations. She’s building toward an orgasm, but half of her doesn’t ever want him to stop. She wants to revel in the heightening pleasure, hold on to the feeling of his mouth on her pussy, her nipple hard between his fingers.

She fists a hand in his hair as he licks and sucks, her eyes screwed shut. She thought his fingers were fantastic, but his mouth is something else. She wants to wrap her legs around his head until she cums then guide his cock inside her. The orgasms were nice, his fingers help to fill her, but she wants more, needs more.

When she cums, her body shakes, her back arching. He flattens his hand on her belly to keep her still. Each time she thinks it’s over, he flicks his tongue over her clit or crooks his fingers, prolonging her pleasure.

Tora finally gets up and moves to lay beside her. Poppy’s legs are still shaking, her entire body throbbing. She opens her eyes again to find him lying beside her, looking at her, a smile on his lips. Poppy wants him more than she’d ever wanted anything in her life.

Not caring about being shy or anything else, she climbs on top of him, straddling his hips. His cock presses into her through the fabric of his jeans. She wants so badly to unzip them, feel the heavy weight of him hard for her.

“Wanna make sure ya know what ya doin’,” he says, his hands on her hips.

“To be honest, I don’t, but I want to figure it out.”

“Then we take this slow. By the time we get to it, I want ya to be totally sure.” He runs his fingers beneath her sweater, over the curve of her stomach and back down. “I don’t want ya to have a single doubt.”

“I don’t.”

“I believe ya. But we’re still gonna take it one day at a time, so when it’s time, ya won’t regret it. Storm ain’t comin’ as far as I can see.”

Poppy can see he has a point. She’d been ready to dive in headfirst, when that might not be the best course of action. She’s torn between the demure Poppy who would never straddle a man she’s only known a week and the Poppy that wants him to do all the things to her she’s only ever read about in romance novels.

But maybe Tora has his head on so straight because he hasn’t been trapped in an orgasm cloud like she has. This gives Poppy an idea, one that has her sliding off him and flicking open the button of his jeans.

“What’re ya doin’?” he asks softly.

“Just taking things slow.”

She pulls down the jeans, taking the black briefs with them. His cock is larger than she pictured, and she wraps her fingers around it, taking in the smooth, hot skin. Tora sucks in a breath, his brows knit as he watches her experimentally move her hand up and down. She likes how he’s frozen in place, entranced by what she’s doing.

Poppy leans down and flicks her tongue over the head. Tora’s knuckles are white as he fists his hand in the comforter. She smiles and does it again, then wraps her lips around it. He gasps and she takes his cock in deeper, watching the way his face contorts. She feels almost powerful watching him fall apart like she had, listen to his sharp breaths as she quickens the pace.

“Fuck, sweetheart.” He moves her hair away from her face. “I’m gonna cum.”

Poppy responds by pumping her fist, seeing how quickly she can bring him to orgasm. To her delight, he finishes with her name on his lips, groaning as he cums in her mouth. She swallows quickly, enjoying how rapturous he looks, how…powerless.

She grins as she sits and he pulls his briefs up. He’s looking at her like she hangs the stars, and now she feels like the world’s equalized a little more.

“Shit, Bobby,” he says, catching his breath. “If I had travel a thousand years for that, it was fuckin’ worth it.”

Chapter Text

Poppy

Poppy’s coffee’s cold by the time her legs work enough to get out of the bed. Tora’s still lounging, eyes closed and with a smile on his lips as she takes both their cups into the kitchen to heat them up. She watches the cups spin in the microwave, her face warming with the flashes of Tora’s face between her legs that flip through her mind.

If anyone had told her a week ago she’d be rolling around the sheets with a time traveling warrior prince and more interested in possible orgasms than mindful conversation, she’d say they were nuts. She didn’t think she’d ever been into the no strings attached forms of intimacy. She usually just likes living vicariously through romance novels and Erdene’s rundown of her weekend exploits.

But she’d changed so much and wasn’t really sure how or why. Maybe something happened when the storm came, maybe it did more than push Tora to her time. Maybe it did something else, something inside her.

The microwave beeps and she takes the cups out, stirring the contents. A pair of hands slide over her waist, down the sides of the sweater to her bare thighs, and up again. She leans back against Tora’s hard chest.

“I coulda went out and got fresh ones,” he says.

“Don’t. It’s already done.”

He brushes a lock of hair away from her neck and kisses her just below her ear. “Ya really good at what ya just did.”

Her cheeks flame and she holds on to the countertop. “Thanks. You’re not so bad yourself.”

“Then ya liked it?”

Poppy nods.

“Good. ‘Cause I intend on doin’ it a lot.”

“Is that so?”

He pushes her feet apart with his foot and runs his hand over her hip to her still damp center. “All the fuckin’ time, sweetheart.” She’s still so tender, sensitive to the touch. “Every day.” His fingers glide over her, soft and teasing. “As often as ya let me.” His other hand slides up her sweater to her breasts. “I’d fuckin’ live between ya thighs.” He circles her clit, building a rhythm that has her leaning forward on the counter, giving in to the pleasure. “I’ll make sure that when I leave, ya won’t ever forget how my mouth felt.”

His words burn her chest with the truth of them, but she knows he didn’t mean them to hurt. She ignores the sting for now, letting him touch her until she’s flat against the countertop, his hard body behind her, his hand trapped between her legs. Her mind goes nearly blank, just focusing on the feel of him, all-consuming and completely real.

Her legs shake as she cums, and he rubs her back as she catches her breath. Her body’s not used to so much pleasure, she feels drunk with it.

Tora reaches over her and plucks his tea off the counter. “Thanks for warmin’ it up, Bobby.” Then he pats her on the butt and goes into the living room.

“Uh huh.” Poppy rights herself and picks up her coffee. Her thighs are slick as she walks, a lewd reminder of what he could do with just a few fingers and a spare sliver of time.

“You good?” he asks from the couch, a glint in his eye.

She nods and goes into the bathroom to clean up. Then she pulls on a pair of shorts. She doesn’t think she can handle him switching her brain off again….well, maybe one more time.

***

Poppy’s sitting on the couch later that afternoon, watching Tora practice his writing in one of the workbooks she’s bought him. He can speak her language but learning how to read and write in it will be a necessity if he has to stay in her time. And even if he does get stuck here, unable to return to his own, and he decides to move out, he’ll need to know how to take care of himself.

The thought of him leaving doesn’t appeal to her at all. One week and it’s already hard to picture what life would look like without him. Being so invested in him and whatever was between them makes her almost uncomfortable. She isn’t sure it’ll be all that easy to let go.

Her phone rings with a call from Quincey, and she answers with a “Hello?”

“Darling, hi, what are you doing this evening?”

“Nothing big, why?”

“My date cancelled, and I was so looking forward to a night of wining and dining. Is there any way I can avail you and your friend to join me for dinner tonight? My treat.”

“Hold on.” She puts the call on mute and looks down at Tora. “Quincey wants to take us out to dinner tonight. Is that okay?”

He shrugs, not looking up from his book. “Sure.”

She unmutes the call. “Okay, when and where?”

“How does The Black Swan at eight sound? I’ll send a car though. I loathe drinking alone and you’re always so much fun when the bubbly’s popped and tequila flows.”

“I’m not getting drunk tonight.”

“Boo, you’re no fun. Wear something nice, something I bought you. We always dress for dinner at the Swan.”

“Anything else?” she asks, half joking.

“No, that’s it.”

“Then we’ll see you later.”

When she hangs up, she sighs “Guess I have to wear real clothes tonight.”

“If ya don’t wanna, call him back and cancel. Don’t gotta wear clothes here.” Tora’s grinning as he shuts the book after marking his place with the pencil.

Her face warms. “I can’t cancel. He sounded like he really wanted to see us.”

“What time we gotta be there?”

“A car’ll come a little before eight.”

He comes to sit on the couch beside her and pulls her into his lap. “What time is it now?”

“Just after five.”

He nuzzles her neck, his lips brushing over her pulse point. “Three hours.”

“We have to get dressed.”

“Fine. Two hours and fifty minutes.” He slides his fingers into her hair and tilts her head to the side. “I can work with that.”

Poppy wants to protest, but can’t. It’s like as soon as he touches her, nothing else matters. It’s an addicting feeling she isn’t sure is all that healthy.

“What are we doing?” she asks before her mind has a chance to catch up with her mouth.

“Whatever ya want, sweetheart.”

She leans back, figuring this is a good a time as any to hash out what was going on. “No, I mean, we need to talk.”

He takes on a mask of seriousness. “Did I do somethin’ ya didn’t want?”

“Nothing like that.” She flattens her hands on his chest, feeling his heartbeat through the fabric. She isn’t great at explaining how she feels, is embarrassed almost. Despite his time, he’s oddly more worldly than her, more confident in his own skin. But she takes a deep breath. “I feel weird about doing this.”

“Then we’ll stop.” He takes his hands off her hips.

“No, that’s not what I’m saying either.”

“Just spit it out, Bobby. Ya killin’ me.”

“We’re doing all these…things without a label or talking about what it means.” She stares down at the fabric of his shirt, not able to meet his gaze. “Some people like not having labels and just focusing on the fun. But I’ve never done that before.”

“We never gotta do anythin’ ya ain’t comfortable with.” He hooks a finger beneath her chin so she has to look up. “Youcall the shots, sweetheart, not me.”

“I don’t want to go back to not doing whatever this is, but I’m not sure how to feel about it. Before you, I always felt like I should only do these things with people I trusted and cared about and who felt the same about me.”

He slides his hand up her face to cup her cheek. “I trust ya, trust ya more than I think I’ve ever trusted anyone. And I do care about ya. I don’t want ya to think I don’t. And I ain’t just sayin’ that.”

“Really?”

“Really. If I didn’t...” his jaw works as if mulling over the rest of his sentence. “I want to make the most outta whatever time I got with ya, regardless of what we do in bed…or out of it. I like the fuck outta ya without clothes, but if ya told me no more, I’d like ya just the same.”

Poppy hadn’t been sure what she wanted out of the little conversation, but she feels a little better. “I don’t want to stop what we’re doing. I just want to make sure we’re always on the same page.”

“Are we?”

“Enough,” she says, knowing that actually putting a label on them would be pointless when he just has to leave.

He holds out his other hand, little finger up. “This the part where we do a pink promise?”

“A pinky promise?”

“Sure.”

She giggles. “Where did you learn that?”

“TV.”

She links their pinkies. “What are we promising?”

“To tell each other shit when it comes to us.”

“Okay, that sounds good to me.”

He flips their joined hands and kisses the back of hers. “Now we got less than three hours until we meet Quincey. And I have a few plans to fill the time.”

Excitement bubbles in her belly. “Oh yeah?”

He smooths his hands under her sweater and grins. “You bet ya cute ass, Bobby.”

Tora

Keeping his hands of Poppy isn’t exactly easy when she looks like a literal goddess. The short dress she wears shimmers like chainmail, but in shades of pink and blue when she moves beneath the lights in the restaurant. Her hair hangs long and strait and the ends tickle his arm as he puts it around her.

“Hi,” Poppy says to a woman behind a wooden stand. “We’re meeting Quinceton Balthuman.”

She smiles and types something in her computer. “Young Master Balthuman is waiting for you at the bar. Unfortunately, we weren’t expecting him this evening, so the private room isn’t available just yet.”

“Okay, thank you. I know the way.”

Tora keeps his hand on her lower back as they walk, mindful of the busy main floor and the eyes that give her appreciative glances as she passes. He’s never been territorial about a woman before, but Poppy brings something feral out of him, something that makes him feel that no sacrifice would be too great for her safety and happiness…or his own masculine need to claim her.

Claim her.

Those words haven’t stopped rolling around in his mind since the first time he pleasured her. He couldn’t get enough of her rounded edges, how wet she became, the taste of her on his tongue. It was ambrosia in the most primal of ways and not accepting her offer of truly sharing her body was the highest forms of self-control he could manage. Though that control was no more than a frayed string now.

“Hello, darling Miss Editor and my favorite surly tallboy,” Quincey greets with a wave. “So sorry about the little wait.”

Poppy slides onto a stool beside him and Tora stands at her back, wrapping an arm casually around her. It’s so hard to keep from touching her, but she leans back against his chest, so he knows she doesn’t mind.

“Don’t worry about it. It’s not like we have anywhere to be,” Poppy says, opening a leatherbound drink menu. She tilts her head back to look up at Tora. “What are you in the mood for? They have a—”

“Whatever you’re drinkin’ works for me, sweetheart.”

She smiles and orders two strawberry mojitos, then turns to Quincey. “Sorry your date was a no-show.”

“Oh, that’s alright. I wasn’t all that into him anyway.” He waves a hand as if dismissing the suggestion. “Tell me. What have you two been up to?”

“Just watching movies,” Poppy tells him. “A lazy day in.”

“Dunno ‘bout that,” Tora says, squeezing her hip. “We keep busy.”

Quincey’s brows raise. “Oh, I bet you do.”

Poppy looks back up at him with a playful frown. “What Tora means is that—”

“Quinceton, my boy!” a deep, elegant voice says.

Tora looks in the direction of the person and meets the icy blue stare coming towards them. He’s like an older version of Quincey, but missing the kindness, the joviality. This man is made of something else, something Tora recognizes. He doesn’t like it one bit.

“Father,” Quincey says curtly. His shoulders have straightened, and he’s taken on that air he sometimes does when he pretends to be someone else. “I thought you were away on business.”

“I came back early.” His gaze is still set on Tora, who meets it. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friends?”

There’s a pause before Quincey says, “This is Poppylan Wilkes and This is Tora.”

“Does Tora have a last name?”

“Don’t need one,” Tora tells him. He doesn’t like how the old man has shifted the mood. He can feel Poppy tense beside him, not cowering exactly, but shifting slightly so she’s even closer to him.

“I’ve heard about you.” He steps closer to the bar, smiling. Then he holds out his hand. “Vincent Balthuman of the Balthuman Organization.”

Tora glances at his outstretched fingers, then grasps them.

“Strong handshake.” He looks at Quincey. “So, how did you all meet?” The two men behind him stay silent. Tora guesses they’re there as protection, though from what, he isn’t sure. “I thought I knew all Quinceton’s friends.”

“Miss Wilkes is a customer of Paolo’s. I met her during my spring fitting.”

“And Tora?”

“Her…boyfriend.”

Tora doesn’t understand why Quincey has to lie, but he keeps his mouth shut. And he also doesn’t understand what a boyfriend is, but he’ll ask Poppy later.

Vincent turns to him. “And what is it you do, Tora?”

“He’s a weap—”

Vincent cuts his son off. “Can’t he speak for himself?”

“Weapon’s master,” Tora tells him. “Swords, blades, axes, bows.”

“How are you with a gun?”

“I prefer hand to hand combat.”

He nods, still smiling. “Funny we’ve never met before.”

“Just got here.”

“And are you staying long?”

Tora shrugs. “Dunno yet.”

Vincent nods, still smiling. It’s strange how it never quite reaches his eyes. “Are you interested in job, Tora?”

“He has a job,” Quincey says firmly.

Vincent’s smile slips and he ignores his son. “I have many positions open at my company that would pay quite nicely for a weapon’s master who isn’t afraid of Ares Street.”

Tora doesn’t reply. He has no doubt the well-dressed man has deep pockets, but he does doubt his intentions are anything Poppy would admire. When he stays silent, Vincent reaches in his jacket pocket and hands him a small, white card. Tora takes it and slips it in his back pocket, not wanting to be outright rude.

“Call me if you’re ever in need of some easy cash.” He’s still smiling. “I’ve already eaten, but I’d love to join you all for dinner.”

“We were actually just heading out,” Quincey says.

“But you just got here.”

“I know. This was just a central spot for us to meet, that’s all.”

“He’s right. We have to get going,” Poppy says, slipping off the barstool.

Vincent takes a step towards him. “Stay for a nightcap, at least. I insist.”

Tora’s had enough. He takes Poppy’s hand in his left one, keeping his dominant right at the ready. “See ya later, Quince.”

Quincey just nods as Tora starts toward the entrance.

Poppy clings to his arm, quiet until they step back out into the night. He isn’t sure exactly where they are, but he feels the need to put distance between themselves and Quincey’s father. So, he takes them down one street, then another, until Poppy pulls him to a stop.

“Wait, where are we going?” she asks.

“Away from him.”

“It’s not like he was chasing us.”

“Didn’t like him.” The sidewalk’s dark where they are, away from the busy street in front of the restaurant.

“No one does. He’s head of the Balthuman Organization and Quincey says he’s not exactly a warm and snuggly guy.”

“It’s more than that. Can’t tell what, but I don’t trust him.”

Poppy bridges the gap between them, pressing herself into him. “It’s okay. I’ve known Quincey for months now and this is the first time I’ve even met his dad. It’s not like we’re going to run into him all the time.”

“Better not.”

Poppy sighs. “So, I guess dinner’s cancelled with Quincey. We’re only a block from Alice’s. Want sushi?”

“Sure.”

She laces their fingers together and she leads them back in the direction of the Black Swan. Though instead of staying to the main street, she takes them down an alleyway where a lone door sits illuminated, framed in cherry blossoms in full bloom.

“What’s a boyfriend?” Tora asks, remembering what Quincey had called him.

Poppy stops walking, just as they reach the cherry blossoms. “You don’t know?”

“I’m gonna guess a friend that is a boy, but why not just call me ya friend?”

She bites her lower lip. “It’s what you call someone when you’re more than just friends.”

“Like a lover?”

“Yes, but it’s not just the physical. It’s when you have an emotional attachment as well.”

“Boyfriend,” he repeats. “Guess I am ya boyfriend then.”

Her cheeks flush. “I don’t think so.”

Tora’s confused. Earlier they had an entire conversation about things between them being about more than just pleasure. But now she’s going back on her words? “I don’t understand.”

“Usually people date, or have boyfriends and girlfriends, so they can have a relationship. Maybe get married one day. It’s a steppingstone to more things.”

“Then what would we be called?”

“Friends with benefits, probably, but I don’t like that term.”

“They why can’t I be ya boyfriend?”

Her gaze drops. “Because you’re going to leave.”

“But until then…don’t see the harm.”

She frowns up at him. “It would be a lie.”

How Tora feels about her isn’t a lie, and how he feels when she won’t let him be her boyfriend isn’t a lie either. His feelings for her are new and fresh, but worth a name. He wants to claim her however he can. “Don’t care what it is, but that’s what I wanna be to ya. We’re more than friends, sweetheart, and I want people to know it.”

“But you’re going to leave.” Her voice is soft, and it tugs on something deep with him.

Tora takes her in his arms, holding her hard enough so she knows he means his words. “While I’m here, I wanna make the most of it. I promised ya I’d be honest and I honestly wanna be more than ya friend. What Quincey called me today feels right, now that I know what it is.”

Poppy looks torn, but then she nods. “I guess that makes sense.”

“Boyfriends got rules?”

“I don’t know, I guess it’s different for everyone.”

“Don’t give a shit about anyone but you. Tell me ya rules.”

“In a relationship, I wouldn’t want my boyfriend to see other women or kiss them, things like that.”

Tora grins. “That’s it? Easy as hell, sweetheart.”

“That’s what a lot of men say until they decide the grass is greener on the other side.”

“Ya don’t gotta worry ‘bout me. When it comes to this boyfriend-girlfriend shit, you’re all I want.” He leans down to kiss her, an unfamiliar stabbing sensation throbbing in his chest. He means everything he’s said to her, and maybe that’s why it hurts.

“Poppylan, what are ya doin’ neckin’ outside my front door like some kinda horny teen?” asks a raspy woman’s voice.

Poppy pulls away and smiles at a short, old woman in a feathered robe who stands beside the cherry blossoms. “Oh, sorry, Alice.”

Alice blinks and adjusts her glasses, stepping up to them until Tora begins wondering if he should move back. Then her mouth drops open. “Holy shit,” she says lowly. “One of ya finally made it here.”

Chapter Text

Tora

Tora looks down at the small woman, takes in her gnarled features that hold nothing he recognizes. Though her words have the same lilt to them as his do. They’re shortened and stilted, half-formed. They sound too much like his.

“Ya both better get in here,” she says, beckoning them inside.

Poppy goes in first. “Alice, this is my friend Tora.”

“The oldest one,” she mumbles, cutting straight through the busy dining room to a wooden staircase. They follow her up to the second floor, an empty eating space, then to a third which looks like where she must live. They’re in a small living room filled with framed pictures and knickknacks. It reminds him a little of Poppy’s, with every space crowded with things.

“Alice…do you two know each other?” Poppy asks, sitting on the green velvet sofa.

“Dunno her,” Tora tells her, crossing his arms. He doesn’t sit, doesn’t want to when he doesn’t know what’s going on. The pit in his stomach is just growing bigger and bigger as her words replay in his mind.

Alice smiles and takes a stick out of her pocket. She puffs on it and blows a cloud of mango-scented something into the air as she sits in a green armchair. “Tora, eldest son of King Tasura and Queen Regina.”

Her words come so easily from her lips, and it makes Tora stiffen. No one should know who he is besides Poppy and Quincey, and he didn’t think either of them told anyone. “Who are ya?”

“I’m ya grandma, ya little shit. Show some respect.”

Tora glances down at Poppy. The little living room is too small, the ceilings too low now. He feels a rise of panic building in his chest. “Let’s get outta here.”

“What, ya think I’m lyin’?” Alice barks out a laugh. “If I was, how would I know ‘bout the birthmark on ya ass that looks like a star? Know ya first horse’s name was Iron? Know ya ma had the same golden eyes you do?”

Everything she’s said is true, but he still feels unsettled. “Ya tellin’ me we’re blood?”

She nods to the wall behind the couch. “See for yourself.”

Both he and Poppy follow her gaze to the pictures hanging there in mismatched frames. He scans the faces, the photos of buildings and celebrations, until his eyes focus on one near the top of the wall.

He mother sits on the floor of a yurt, draped in yellow silk that glowed like the sun, she’s looking straight at him, a dark-haired baby sitting on her lap. He knows that dress, knows that smile. His throat grows uncomfortably tight.

“How did ya get this?” he asks, not looking away.

“I took it. It’s the only one that ended up back here with me that I could get printed. The lightning did somethin’ to the camera I think. I got the negatives too, if ya wanna see if they’re any good with all that new technology.”

He swallows and Poppy takes his hand. He barely recognizes her touch as he looks into his mother’s eyes for the first time in nearly twenty years.

“I don’t understand,” he whispers, taking the picture off the wall and dropping into the seat beside Poppy. The silver frame is cold in his clammy palm. “Who are ya? Who was she? How is this possible?”

Alice takes another puff. “I’m not from here, never was. I was born in the Shang-Yu kingdom of the south, the ocean folks, as everyone else called us.”

“That land was destroyed by the waves.”

“Not all of it was, though we had to move north when the water wouldn’t stop risin’. I married a man from the west, no title to his name, but he was a good one. Died when ya ma was a baby, so we kept movin’ north. I made money here and there doin’ laundry for the northern army camps, padded my pockets foragin’ for the healers. It’s how ya ma met Tasura.”

Tora’s trying to focus on her words, hear them over the deafening thud of his pulse in his ears.

“I was foragin’ when I fell,” she continues, her eyes glazing over. “It was rainin’, and that’s the best time to pick some types of mushrooms, so the dust can’t get in ya lungs. Ya ma was nearly ten. One moment I was fillin’ my basket, and the next, I was lookin’ at Narin City a thousand years in the future.”

“Alice, I had no idea,” Poppy says, her hand still clutching Tora’s.

“’Course ya didn’t. No one knew. Not my second husband, not my son, no one but Regina ans Tasura.”

“And then ya found ya way back?” Tora adds quietly.

Alice nods. “I was watchin’ a show about old Narin and they were showin’ jewelry that they found in the ruins of the northern capitol. There was a bracelet I knew, recognized as ya ma’s with this tiger etched into the metal. By then I was remarried, and my boy Joe was just a kid, but I thought if I could get back, maybe I could find her and bring her here where livin’s easier.”

“How’d ya do it?”

“Tried a number of things since I first woke up here. Tried near death, tried different concoctions I found recipes for in old books, prayed, bargained…then I went back to the peak and waited one day when they called for rain. I went up with a basket and a bag of things to help me survive if I couldn’t return, and I picked mushrooms in the rain. When I woke up, it was sunny and warm, a spring day in the valley.”

He takes a deep breath. He and Poppy had come to a similar conclusion about going back almost at once, and knowing it worked at least for Alice lifts some of the weight off his shoulders. “And then ya found her.”

“And then I found her, Queen of the North, of all things.” Alice laughs. “The first time I went back—”

“You time traveled more than once?” Poppy sounds incredulous, and she voices the words Tora is too stunned to speak.

“A handful of times. Don’t know what happened the first time, but after that, I think havin’ an anchor in both times helped. Had ya ma in her time and my son in this one. All I had to do was wait for the rain. The first time I went back is when I took that picture. That’s you, ya know. You should keep it.”

“It’s yours,” he says, though he’s loath to give it up.

“I’ll make copies,” Poppy offers softly. “We have really good printers and things at my office. I’ll take the negatives too.”

“Anyways, she asked me to stay, but Joe, my son, was still so little, I couldn’t just leave him behind, and I was worried he couldn’t travel like I could. The next time I came back, she’d had two more boys. The last time I visited is when I met ya again as a boy old enough to speak to. It’s when I learned she died.”

That unlocks the far-off memory of the old woman and the herd and the stories of planes and skyscrapers. “I remember.”

“I asked ya father if I could take ya’ll back with me. War with the east was brewin’ and I knew Tasura’s people had battle in the blood. But he didn’t let me. The next time I tried to go back to Old Narin, it was like tryin’ to push through a locked door. Nothin’ happened.”

“But why?” Tora asks.

“Think it’s ‘cause I knew Regina had died. The thing that tethered us together through time had snapped, and I couldn’t get that door open again.”

Tora doesn’t know what else to say. He doesn’t have an anchor in his time, unless his brothers count. But he assumes maybe his kingdom could be a good anchor if the ties of blood weren’t strong enough. “Are there more people…like us?”

“Don’t think so, but it ain’t like they’re linin’ up to tell the world about it. Though I met a woman once on the peak. She wore this tattered dress and looked at me like she’d never seen another person before. Tried to get her to get into my car, but she ran off. Could be nothin’, could be another traveler.”

He swallows and puts the picture on the coffee table. He isn’t sure if he wants to scream or cry or just get some air. So much has changed in the course of a week. He’s lost a kingdom and a life, gained knowledge of the future and their words, met Poppy, and now met his own grandmother. It’s all too much.

“You two hungry?” Alice asks.

“We originally came for dinner,” Poppy tells her.

Alice stands. “I’ll go get those negatives and you two go sit downstairs. I’ll get ya somethin’ to eat.”

“Thanks, Alice.”

She disappears down a hall and he and Poppy go downstairs. She settles at a low table, legs tucked to the side, and he sits beside her. She leans into him and asks, “Are you okay?”

Tora slips an arm around her, hand settling on her hip. “Shit, I dunno. It’s a lot.”

“It is. But at least now we know you going home is possible.” She doesn’t sound all too happy to hear it, but he brushes the feeling off.

“Don’t got an anchor. Didn’t leave anyone behind like Alice did.”

“You have your brothers and your kingdom. That’s not nothing.”

“Me and my brothers weren’t enough to tether Alice, why should it be any different for me?”

Poppy stays silent, just takes his other hand and traces the ring he’s always worn. He’s glad she’s with him to take it all in. He isn’t sure he could do it alone. Isn’t sure he’d even want to. Despite his best efforts, she’s become so terribly dear to him in a way no one else has. She’s given him so much of herself and asked for nothing in return.

He kisses the top of her head. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“Just…everythin’.”

She looks up at him. “You don’t need to thank me. I don’t even want you to. This is what people do that care for one another.”

He nods and kisses her once, twice. “Just had to say it.”

The sound of the floor creaking makes them both look to the stairs. Alice carries a battered shoebox and hands it to Poppy. “All the negatives. Back then, they said they couldn’t do nothin’ to save them.”

“I’ll see what I can do. My work has a photography department so maybe there’s some kind of special scanner.”

Alice looks down at Tora, which is nearly the same as looking eye to eye with him. “Ya still like tempura?”

He nods, throat tight again.

“I’ll go tell the cook to get Poppy’s usual, doubled, and an order of that for ya too.”

“I’ll go tell him,” Poppy offers, already standing.

Alice nods and waits until she disappears down the stairs to speak again, this time in their native tongue. “You’ve grown up well. The last time I laid eyes on you, you were such a small child, a sapling.”

“I’ve grown up since then.”

She smiles. “You did.” She steps up to him and puts a hand on his cheek. “How long have you been here?”

“A little more than a week.”

“How did you find Poppylan?”

“She found me on the peak and took me home with her.” Alice’s hand still hasn’t moved, but he doesn’t mind. It’s a comforting gesture to have her touch him. Even though they’re strangers, they’re still blood, the only bit he has now.

“She’s a good girl. I care for her.”

“So do I,” Tora admits. “More than I should.”

“I don’t blame you. She’s very to easy to love.”

There’s footsteps on the stairs and Alice pulls back, clearing her throat. Poppy appears. Glancing between the two of them, then comes to sit beside Tora again.

“Are you going to stay with us?” Poppy asks Alice. “I told the cook to send up a little bit more of everything.”

“Might as well share a meal with the kid,” she says, back to her modern speech. She lowers herself down across from them and asks Poppy if she really thinks the negatives could be saved.

Tora listens to them as they speak, watching the parts of his past and present interreact in the most unexpected way. Alice told him Poppy is easy to love, and he has to agree, though he feels silly even thinking it. A week isn’t long enough to love anyone. Despite never being in love before, he knows that much at least.

He thinks.

Poppy

Tora’s quiet after leaving Alice’s, and Poppy can’t blame him. Still, his silence makes her uneasy as they go into her apartment and set about readying for bed. When she gets out of the bathroom makeup-free and dressed in pajamas, she can see his shadow out on the balcony.

The air’s chilly, coming off the Narin River, and she hugs herself as she steps out beside him. He doesn’t even look at her, but his arm snakes out and draws her to him, offering her his warmth.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asks.

“Don’t know what to say. Why didn’t anyone tell me? My ma could’ve. Or my father.”

“Maybe they were afraid you’d try to do it, travel through time.”

“I still should’ve known. Alice has been in this era my entire godsdamned life. Maybe she’s why I ended up here.”

Poppy looked up at him, his tightened jaw. “You didn’t even know about her.”

“Fuck, I don’t know how this works. Maybe that’s enough. Maybe havin’ a bit of blood is all it takes.”

“But she couldn’t go back to you.”

He scrubs a hand over his face. “You’re right.”

“Want some tea?” she asks, unsure of how to help him.

“No thanks. Just wanted some fresh air.”

Poppy nods and steps out of his arms. She isn’t sure if he wants to be alone, but she has the feeling her presence isn’t doing much to help him. She runs a hand over his back as she leaves, keeping the door open a crack so he doesn’t feel completely shut out. Then she climbs into bed, leaving the small lamp on her nightstand on as she reads.

Or tries to read.

The words skip around, and she can’t make it an entire page without her gaze flitting to the balcony door. She’s always been a fixer of friends’ problems, someone who could help them heal or give good advice. But Tora’s problems are out of a fairytale, and she has no answers for how to fix them.

It’s nearly two in the morning by the time he comes back in and strips down to his briefs. He gets into the bed beside her but doesn’t touch her as he usually does. There’s no reaching hand or whispered compliment or suggestion of how to spend the darkened hours. There’s just his steady breathing and her internal panic that something has shifted. 

She turns off the lamp and curls onto her side, facing him. She watches his profile in the near darkness, the rise and fall of his chest. His silence is killing her, though she feels like it’s selfish of her to be so torn when she isn’t the one in a new time, trying to sort out their place in the world.

“Quit starin’, Bobby, or say somethin’,” he says suddenly, making her jump.

“I wasn’t trying to stare; I just don’t know what to say.”

He rolls onto his side and gathers her to him. “Me neither.”

She slides her hands up his front, running her fingers over his throat to cup the back of his neck. She’s never felt so helpless. And she’s desperate to comfort him, make him feel at least a sliver of warmth and safety with her.

Her mouth finds his in the darkness, soft, brief kisses that swirl into something feverish as his winds his fingers through her hair and she hikes a leg over his hip. Tora’s hard already and while he might have accidentally brushed his cock over her center, her movement in response is nothing if not on purpose as she grinds against him.

She moans against his neck as he rolls his hips back. The friction of the fabric, already damp, makes her breath come short. She begins to take off her top, craving closer contact, and he helps, tossing it behind him only to capture a nipple in his mouth. They’d kissed and touched and tasted, but not like this, not with the kind of frantic, pulsing need that has her arching against him, gasping and mewing as he grazes his teeth over the hardened peaks and begins to rub her over her shorts.

“Take them off,” she begs, desperate to remove the barriers. “Take yours off,” she says, the darkness and arousal making her brave. “I’m not ready for…that, but I want to feel you against me.”

“My fuckin’ pleasure.”

His mouth is a searing brand, scorching her skin as he roams her naked body. He traces her nipples with his tongue and nips the sensitive spot beside her collarbone. He licks up her thigh and cups her mound until he replaces his fingers with his lips.

Tora doesn’t let her cum though, doesn’t let her catch the release she’s been chasing. He sucks her clit and crooks his fingers until her legs begin to tighten around his head. Then he pulls back, leaving her a panting, frayed mess.

“No, don’t stop,” Poppy begs, half sitting to reach him.

“I wanna try somethin’,” he tells her, settling over her. “Not sex, but somethin’ for both of us.”

She nods, eager for anything to cool the burning.

“Trust me?”

Poppy nods again.

Tora skates his mouth up her neck and nibbles just below her ear until he says, “Need ya to say it.”

“I trust you.”

He kisses her, slipping his tongue into her mouth as he rolls his hips into her, his hard cock sliding through her folds and brushing over her clit. He’s right, it’s not sex, but Poppy can imagine it’s the next best thing. He’s pressing her into the mattress, grinding against her, making them moan in unison. It’s something she’s only read about, but now she has the pleasure of feeling, knowing what it’s like to be so close to someone else.

Part of her wants to spread her legs wider, lift her hips until he slips inside, buried to the hilt. The mere thought of it makes her toes curl.

“Fuck, Poppylan,” he groans as she clings to his shoulders, savoring the rolling of his muscles beneath her palms.

What they’re doing is intimate, holding all the promise of passion a true joining would allow them. A selfish, tiny part of her wants him to stay forever, to give up on the hope of going back and stay, stay in her time and build a life. It’s childish and naive and stupid to be so wrapped up in him, but she can’t help it, can’t help but want it so badly as he murmurs her name in her ear, his fingers digging into her thigh as they both cum hot and hard, a summer storm that leaves them both breathless, her stomach sticky with his release.

“Shit, sweetheart,” he says against her lips. “Could ya be any more perfect?”

She warms with the pleasure of his words.

“Don’t wanna let ya up.”

“I want to take a quick shower…join me?”

“I’ll take any excuse to be with ya, Bobby.” He kisses her, then lets her leave the bed, following closely behind.

The light in the bathroom is bright, but Poppy can’t bring herself to worry about how the fluorescents make her look, how they highlight the little dimples where her thigh meets her ass or shadow the stretchmarks on her breasts and hips. Tora doesn’t seem to mind her imperfections one bit, and though she really doesn’t want to place her physical worth on what a man thinks, it’s a bloom of pride in her chest to see him watching her with such naked hunger.

They crowd her shower, a tangle of arms and legs as they pass shampoos and soaps between them. Tora even washes her hair, his long, clever fingers massaging her scalp until she’s loose and sleepy, completely satisfied in every way that counts.

She lingers in the bathroom when they’re done, applying her nightly lotions and creams in the reflection of the foggy mirror. Tora kisses her shoulder as he passes her to go into her room. When her phone dings, she calls out, “Can you check that please?” No one ever texts or calls her that late at night unless it’s an emergency.

A moment later, Tora steps into the bathroom, his face an unreadable mask. He glances at the screen and back to her. “Ya phone says…it says it’s gonna storm tomorrow night. I’m goin’ home.”

Chapter Text

Poppy

Poppy couldn’t sleep, it evaded her, slipped through her fingers like sand as Tora dozed behind her, arm hugging her tight to him. She hoped he couldn’t hear how loud her heart was, feel the racing of her pulse. By the time the sun rose, she maybe got an hour of real rest, but even if she had a full night’s sleep, she felt it still wouldn’t have helped. There would still be the terrible burn of loss in her chest.

It's difficult to see Tora so eager to leave, though she can hardly blame him as he sorts through his armor, mending things or adjusting them with the small sewing kit she keeps in her nightstand drawer. It makes her wonder if she’ll remember him once he’s gone, or if it’ll change things in the timeline of the world so much, it’ll be like he never existed. Will his things simply disappear from museums? Would the few pictures of him on her phone just be gone? The idea that he would leave her without so much of a memory breaks her heart.

“Rain starts around four,” he says as he sits crossed legged in the middle of her living room. “But won’t start really stormin’ until six or seven at least.”

Poppy nods, hugs the throw pillow tighter to her chest. She fingers the little pom-poms on the edges.

He cocks his head to the side. “Sweetheart, ya good?”

“Of course.”

“Don’t gotta lie to me, Bobby.” His golden gaze sweeps over her face and he puts down the needle and thread. “Is it ‘cause I’m leavin’, ain’t it?”

He couldn’t be that dense, could he? She sighs. “Would it be selfish of me to say yes?”

“’Course not.” He gets up and comes to the couch, sitting beside her. “Would it be selfish of me to say I’d be mad if ya weren’t?”

“That’s rude. Why would you want me to be upset?”

“Misery likes company.”

She lets out a rueful laugh and rests her head on his shoulder. Falling into her grief now wouldn’t do either of them any favors. If they only have a day left, she wants to make it worth remembering. “Get dressed. I want to go out.”

“Where we goin’?”

“I don’t know exactly. Is there anything you’d like to see or do in this time?”

“Dunno. Feel like there’s so much.”

“Then let’s just get ready and see where the day takes us.”

He kisses the top of her head. “You got it, Bobby.”

She slips off the couch, determined to make the most out of their last day. She refuses to spoil it with tears or questions of what if. So, she dresses in her favorite spring dress, a long sleeved one in a shade of pale green with sprigs of white flowers on the skirt. She ties her hair back with a ribbon and doesn’t bother with makeup or anything else. She doesn’t want to waste any more time.

Though she does rummage through her dresser until she finds what she’s looking for shoved in the back. It’s a new polaroid camera, the kind that prints on demand. Erdene had given it to her two Christmases ago and she’d barely used it, but now she can take as many photos as she wants without worrying about actually printing them at a pharmacy, in case Tora wants to take some with him tonight.

He’s dressed and standing by the front door, hands in his pockets. “Ready?”

She grabs her purse off the side table and hooks it over her shoulder. “We should start with Alice and Quincey so you can say goodbye, if that’s alright?”

“Yeah, guess I should.”

Poppy locks the door behind them and starts down the stairs. “Then there’s this burger place I think you’d like. They’re literally the size of your head.”

“Sounds good.”

“And we’ll swing by the store for strawberry juice, or this smoothie bar that’s really good. Then maybe—”

Tora takes her hand, stopping her on the sidewalk outside her building. “Relax, sweetheart. I’d be just as happy spendin’ the whole day upstairs with ya.”

Throat tight, she nods. “Okay.”

“I mean it.”

“Let’s just go see Alice and see where the day takes us.”

He nods and lifts her hand to his lips, kissing her knuckles once before releasing her.

The drive to Alice’s is tense, at least to her, as she white knuckles the wheel. It’s already nearly noon and the sound of the invisible clock counting down drowns out everything else from the music on the radio to the sounds of traffic around them. By the time she parks at the mouth of her alleyway, Poppy’s already exhausted.

“Do you want me to wait here?” she asks.

“’Course not, unless ya wanna.”

She shakes her head and follows him out of the car. He takes her hand easily, lacing their fingers together. She holds on to his arm, soaking in his warmth. But when alice doesn’t answer the door after ringing the bell, Tora cups a hand around his mouth and bellows, “Oi, Alice! Open up!”

A window on the third floor opens with a cloud of vape smoke. “Fuck’s sake, ya gonna piss off my neighbors, ya big lug.”

Tora grins in response, showing off his dimples. It has Poppy scrambling in her purse for the camera.

“What’re ya lookin’ for?” he asks.

“My camera.”

“Don’t ya got one on ya phone?”

She finally finds it and pulls it out. “Aha, got it. This camera is special. The pictures print out right away after you take a photo. I thought…I thought you might like to take some pictures back with you. Of you and alice.”

“And you,” he adds. “Can I have some of you?”

Poppy isn’t sure her chest will ever stop hurting. “Of course, you can.” She holds out the camera and angles her finger on the button. “Smile.”

He holds her close, and she presses the button twice, one picture for each of them. They slip out the bottom of the camera and she shakes them until the images form. Then she hands him one.

Tora holds it gently, as if it might break. “Magic.”

“Science,” she corrects.

“Same thing to me, sweetheart.”

The front door slides open, and Alice stands there in a neon green robe. “Well, if it ain’t my favorite grandson and my favorite little shorty. Here to eat?”

“Gotta talk inside,” Tora says, slipping by her.

Alice shuts the door behind them and glances between their faces and down to Poppy’s stomach. “So, what, ya been here a week and ya already got the little lady in the family way?”

Poppy’s face explodes into flames. “No, I’m not—”

Tora snorts. “We haven’t even done that, relax.”

“I was relaxed,” she says, taking a puff of the vape, vanilla today. “Hell, it’d be nice to have some more blood in here.”

“About that.” Tora’s voice softened. “It’s gonna storm tonight.”

Alice is silent for a long time, then nods. “Sit down, the cook just got here to prep, so I’m gonna have him cook us up somethin’.”

They go to one of the tables beside the kitchen and Poppy doesn’t like the collective somberness that’s descended on them. Tora’s still holding the picture, looking down at it like it might actually disappear.

“I’ll hold onto it,” she says, holding out her hand. I want to take a bunch and I can put them in my purse.”

He gives it to her and asks, “Will ya take another one?”

She nods and holds out the camera, smiling and clicking it twice, only this time Tora kisses her cheek as she does. She’s beginning to collect photographs like bitter pills, necessary and painful, hard to swallow in their reality. She prays to Tora’s gods and the rest that she gets to keep them when the lightning comes.

Alice comes out of the kitchen with tea. She sits the tray down on the table and lowers herself to the cushion. “So, ya really gonna try and go back?”

“I have to,” Tora says.

“Why?”

“They all thought I died, then Asura became the king. The palace is gone, our people, our history.” His jaw tenses. “Do ya know what they call my mother at that museum?”

Alice sips her tea. “An unknown woman. Ya don’t think I’ve read every book, gone to every museum, watched every special on TV? Hell, might as well call me a historian at this point. What would you goin’ back do that would change things?”

“Fuck if I know, but I gotta try. Our kingdom only lasted a few hundred years, and it wasn’t ever the same. Now when I go back, I can make sure I set things up right. History won’t forget any of us. Even you.”

She puts down her cup and looks at him, eyes large in her glasses. “Keep me outta it.”

“You’re the mother of a queen. You deserve—”

“I got the life I deserved. Hell, I got a better one, I think. I got to marry two men I loved, had two good kids, had a real life. It was hard and messy, but it was mine and still is. I know who my daughter was, and I don’t need some plaque in a museum to tell me shit.”

Tora’s quiet and Poppy puts her hand on his leg. Alice is firm, but the calm explanation of her life brought tears to her eyes. She can understand Tora’s decision to return and Alice’s in not having anything to do with it. But she doesn’t want them to fight, not on their last day together.

Tora’s phone rings and he pulls it out of his back pocket. “It’s Quincey.” He answers the call with a, “What’s up?”

Alice leans into her while Tora talks, her voice low. “You alright, girl?”

She nods. “I’m okay.”

“Ya gonna be okay tomorrow if it works?”

“I’ve only known him a week…I’ll be fine.”

She reaches over and pats her knee. “If ya say so.”

“Quincey’s comin’ here,” Tora says after he hangs up. “Told him I was gonna go back tonight and he said he was in the neighborhood.”

“The tall blond?” Alice asks. “Nice kid. Flashy, but I like him. He knows ‘bout ya?”

“Yeah.”

“He know ‘bout me?”

“’Course not. Ain’t my secret to tell.” His voice is missing that anger, that sharp edge it had for a bit.

Alice laughs and sips her tea, and they enter into a kind of conversation that always seems to skirt around the finality of the night, how this will be the last meal they ever eat together. And when Quincey arrives, frazzled and teary-eyed, he skirts the subject too, instead raving over Alice’s food and Tora’s vibrant tattoos. For a little while, it’s easy to pretend that everything’s okay.

But soon the dishes are empty, and the waiter arrives to get ready for the restaurant to open and, it’s time for them to leave. Poppy and Quincey step outside to give Tora and Alice some privacy, lingering by the door. She can hear murmured conversation from within and she clutches the dozen new pictures they’d taken at lunch against her chest.

“Want me to come over later?” Quincey asks quietly. “We can just hang out, or you can come to my place when he…you know.”

Poppy knows he’s trying to help, but she feels silly for even feeling like she needs his support. Tora had been there a week, and she had no right to feel this way. But everything between them has been hot and heavy and fast and slow and delicious since the beginning, it feels like a week was more than enough time to form the kind of bond she never thought possible.

“I’ll be okay,” she lies, finding her sunglasses in her purse and slipping them on. “This has been quite the ride.”

“Shame it’s over.” He crosses his arms, leaning against the side of the building. “I’m going to miss the big, brooding, guy.”

“Me too.”

Tora steps out of Alice’s, his mouth a thin line. He turns to Quincey and shakes his hand. “It was good meetin’ ya, Quince.”

Quincey’s face cracks and he throws his arms around him. “Parting is such sweet sorrow, my. ancient friend.”

Tora pats him on the back. “Sure thing. Ya take care of Poppy, alright? Ya ever see that ex near her, ya gotta rip his spine out through his mouth. I promised him I’d do it and I won’t be here to keep my word.”

Quincey pulls away, eyes wide. “You want me to do what?”

“Ya ever see that short man who looks like an ill-formed otter, ya gotta rip his spine out through his mouth.”

He looks at Poppy. “He’s joking, right?”

Tora stays silent.

Quincey laughs, side-eying him. “Well…safe travels, honey. And I’ll definitely…get someone else to rip out his spine.”

Tora nods and loops an arm around Poppy’s shoulder, turning them down the alley. Both are quiet, but Poppy doesn’t feel the need to fill the silence, she can’t. Each moment is one less they have together, and it hurts. It’s been a long time since she’s felt this same kind pain, not since her father died. Yet Tora’s still here.

Even in the car, she can’t bring herself to not touch him, placing her hand over his when he rests it on her thigh. She’s going to miss his skin, his voice, his scent, the way his body curls about hers in sleep. Strange how one week can change everything and after the storm, it might be like he was never here at all.

As Poppy parks in front of her building, she makes a decision. These will be the last few hours they ever spend together, and even if she doesn’t remember him by midnight, somewhere, deep down, part of her will always know he was here.

Tora

Tora’s throat and eyes burn with all the tears he doesn’t cry. Saying goodbye to Alice stung, a biting swipe of pain. As he looks to Poppy, sliding out of her car, he knows their parting will be more like a sword’s blow—deep and bitter to the bone.

He’s torn between his love and loyalty to his people and the pull he feels toward Poppy. The impulsive side of him tells him to stay, build a life among the tall buildings and easy living with the girl who isn’t afraid. But he’s not built for this time. He can barely read and doesn’t have a job. He’d be a millstone around Poppy’s neck, while she deserves a man from her own time that knows how to take care of her.

The first drops of rain hit the window above her sink, and Poppy freezes in the entryway, watching the droplets roll down the glass. As the rain grows louder, steadier, she slides the polaroid pictures into the frame with the one of his mother. The back is bulging with the day’s memories, but he doesn’t care. Having even the smallest piece of her is a blessing from the gods he thought had forgotten him.

Tora follows her into the bedroom and sits on the edge of the bed as she takes her hair down and brushes it, looking back at him in the mirror above her dresser.

“I don’t like this,” he says.

She pauses, putting the brush down. “What?”

“You bein’ so far away.” His words were so soft, he wasn’t sure if she’d heard him, but she did. She crosses the room and sits beside him, wrapping her arms around one of his.

“I don’t like goodbyes.”

“Me neither. Never say ‘em.”

“Then what do you say?”

“Nothin’. Goodbye is final, but maybe it doesn’t gotta be. Shit, I fell through time, what’s to say there isn’t an afterlife when this is all done.”

“It just occurred to me really, I mean in an actual sense, that even though you’ll be alive in your time tonight, you’ll be dead in mine.” She looks up at him, warm eyes glazed with tears. “I just can’t believe I didn’t really think of it that way.”

“Then don’t. Maybe we’ll each be alive at the same time, just in different places, different…worlds. Shit, sweetheart, I dunno. Don’t like the thought that ya won’t even be born for a thousand years. Don’t wanna think about it.”

She glances at the little gold clock on her nightstand. “We have almost two hours before we should leave.”

The pit in Tora’s stomach is growing bit by bit, swallowing up his strength. It would be so easy to stay here beside her, listen to the thunder beneath her leafy, hanging plants. He’s not sure what would be more selfish. But he can’t always be selfish. He has to fucking stop thinking with anything but his head.

“Wanna give ya somethin’.”

Her mouth quirks up into a smile. “I don’t think your armor would fit me.”

“Might be right.” He slips off his bracelet and ring, the ones he’s worn ever since his father died so many years ago. It feels strange to be without them, but the feeling disappears as she closes her fist around both.

“I can’t keep these.”

“Yeah, ya can.” She has to. What if he goes back and she doesn’t remember him? He has to know part of him remained with her.

She spins the ring around one of her fingers, them loops it through the bracelet. Doubled over, it’s small enough to fit around her wrist. “Thank you, Tora.”

“Keep ‘em safe for me, alright?”

Her eyes glimmer again, and she drops her gaze. “I was thinking…when you go back, does all of you go? I mean, I guess Alice’s family here must have remembered her each time, and history remembered you, but…do you think I will?”

“I hope ya don’t,” he admits.

“Why?”

“Because I know it’ll hurt me to think of ya, and I don’t want ya feelin’ the same way.”

She puts her arms around his neck and somehow ends up in his lap, but he doesn’t care. He drinks in her closeness, her scent, her softness. Leaving her shouldn’t be so hard, he’s only known her a week, but he feels the loss of her like a wound.

She presses her lips to his neck, his jaw.

“What are ya’ doin’, Bobby?” he asks, his hold on her tightening.

“I want you,” she whispers against the shell of his ear.

He shivers, his body ready to give in already. Ridiculous. “I’m leavin’.”

“I know.”

“I can’t let ya—”

“I’m not a child, Tora.” Her nails trail lightly down his chest. “I just want this one thing together…but if you don’t—”

“Shit, ‘course I do, but layin’ with ya then leavin’ don’t feel right.” He traces a design on her thigh where her skirt’s ridden up, still trying to decide if he should cover up the creamy skin or take her up on her offer.

“Don’t go all noble on me, Tora,” she teases, pulling back a bit to look at him. “I know you’re leaving, and I just want one more memory.”

“What if ya get with child? I can’t—”

“I won’t get pregnant. I take something that makes sure I don’t.”

“But I’m leavin’.” He says it more to remind himself. He knows each moment with her will make it even more painful to leave, but saying no to her is nearly impossible when he wants her so badly it hurts.

“You keep saying that.”

He can’t pretend anymore, can’t waste any more of their precious time. If this is what she wants, he’ll give it to her gladly. “I want ya, Poppylan. I want ya for longer than just a fuckin’ night, but gods know I’ll take whatever they give me.” Then he rolls them on to the bed, delighting in her laugh as he settles over her. “If ya change ya mind at any point, if I do anythin’ ye don’t like, anythin’ ya do like, tell me, alright?”

She nods. “Okay.” Then she pulls him down for a kiss.

Each swipe of her lips is ambrosia. Now that he knows time is something other than the passing of days, it’s something malleable and unfixed, he wills it to slow, to stretch these few hours into something more.

Her skirt’s bunched up around her stomach and he slides a hand up her thigh as she nips his bottom lip. She’s wet and waiting, his fingers brushing over the damp fabric there. She rolls her hips against his palm and he smiles.

“Need somethin’?” he teases, grazing over her with a feather light touch.

“Take them off,” she orders with the kind of directness he’s wanted from her since their first kiss.

He does as she asks, sliding them down her legs and letting them disappear to the floor. She spreads her thighs, giving his hand free range to roam, but now he feels like she’s wearing too many clothes. And so is he. He wants to feel as much of her against him as he can.

Tora helps her pull her dress over her head and sheds his shirt. Her hair’s flowing around her head like silk and he runs his fingers through it. Everything about her is soft; her hair, her skin, her voice, her temperament. She’s his opposite in nearly every way, but together in bed, they’re one in the same.

He travels her body with his mouth, nibbling her neck and kissing her jaw, teasing her collarbone with his tongue. He cups a breast and sucks on her nipple, lapping at the hardened peak. Her chest seems to be the most sensitive place to lavish his attentions. Her fingers tangle in his hair as he gently bites down, then soothes the faint sting with his tongue.

“More.” Her voice is a breathless gasp.

Tora slides his fingers around her pussy, gathering the wetness and circling her clit in the way she likes. Her back arches and he moves his mouth to her other breast. He wants to leave her body with a sweet ache that reminds her of him, leave her with memories of his teeth and tongue, of his hands on her hips, of him  between her thighs.

He slips the two fingers inside her and grinds his palm against her clit. A gentle crooking has her moaning, and he plucks her nipples with his teeth. Her breaths are coming short, and she pulls on his hair, whispers his name. He adds a third finger and she gasps, but moves against his hand, matching the rhythm of his gentle thursts.

Poppy makes a certain noise before she comes. It’s not quite a cry, nor a gasp, it’s something deep and primal and musical. He closes his eyes for just a moment, savoring the pitch. But then her legs begin to shake, and she moans once, twice, until her breaths become deep and raking.

Tora kisses up her body, intending on giving her time to collect herself, but Poppy reaches for his cock, her hand wrapping around it.

“Now,” she says, eyes half-lidded. “I want you now, Tora.”

He kisses her deeply, tasting her tongue, biting her lip. She’s slowly pumping him and he’s so hard, it’s to the point of pain. He kisses her again, softly, pouring whatever words he doesn’t have time to say into the brief gesture. He’s never met anyone like Poppylan Wilkes, and he knows he never will again.

“You ready?”  he asks, brushing the hair away from her face as he settles between her thighs. His cock slides against her pussy, gliding through her arousal.

“I’m ready.”

He adjusts himself, careful to keep most of his weight off her. Then he pushes in. She feels like heaven and his breath stills in his lungs as he eases inside her inch by inch, watching her face for any glimmer of pain. But she wraps her legs around him and pulls him in deeper until he’s buried inside her.

“You okay?” he asks between light kisses.

She nods and wiggles her hips. When he groans, she giggles. “Perfect.”

Tora slides out then back in again, Poppy breathing in harmony with his movements. He can feel time slipping over his shoulders along with her fingertips, reminding him that there isn’t enough of either; time nor her. There isn’t enough time to memorize the moonbeam marks that stretch across her thighs and hips, taste each freckle, kiss each dimple and dip. Even if he had a hundred years, it still wouldn’t be enough time.

Her nails dig into his waist, and she rolls her hips to match his thrusts, finding the easy rhythm he’s set. He slides a hand beneath her ass to give him a better angle. Her mouth drops open in heady moan.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he says, mesmerized by each sound.

Poppy fingers trace his arms and shoulders, skate down his chest. He quickens the pace, watching her race toward orgasm. He holds off on his own, despite the tingling in his lower back. He refuses to cum before her, refuses to not honor her body as she deserves.

“Holy fuck,” she murmurs as he dips down to kiss her neck.

He smiles against her skin. “Swearin’, Bobby?”

“Shut up.” Another moan. “Keep going.”

Tora chuckles and draws out of her, sliding in slowly, making her growl. He doesn’t want to torture her though, and if she wants more, he’ll give it to her.

He slips out then slams back in. His name is a half scream on her lips.

“Again!” she cries, her legs impossibly tight around his hips.

Again and again, he thrusts into her, digging his fingers into her thigh as he drives into her. When she squeezes her eyes shut, he whispers, “Look at me. I want to watch you.”

She obliges, her brows knit. Then she crosses her feet, locking him into place.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, rocking his hips, rolling them each time he’s buried inside her so his body grinds against her clit.

When she cums, her nails rip down his back and his name rolls off her tongue in a breathy whisper that shoots straight to his cock. He finishes hard inside her, relishing the pulsing around him as he does. He ends up breathless and dizzy with his own desire for her, wondering if he’d ever grow tired of a body such as hers.

“Fuck, sweetheart, that was fuckin’ perfect,” he murmurs into her hair.

She nuzzles his neck, taking a deep breath. “I didn’t think it would feel like that.”

He pushes himself up to look at her, his hair creating an inky curtain around her face. “In a bad way or…”

Poppy taps her chin with a finger. “Hmm, I have to think about it.”

He laughs and kisses her. “Think faster, sweetheart, my wounded pride can’t take the wait.”

She lifts herself up on her elbows and she looks so beautifully mussed. “It was good.”

“Just good?”

“Stop fishing for compliments and let me up.”

He kisses her a final time then rolls onto his back. She sits up and pulls on a robe before going into the bathroom. He lays against the pillows, savoring the way his body tingles in the aftermath of their love making, since he guesses that’s what it has to be. He’s had sex, fucked, but never made love, not until her.

Fuck, he’s screwed, so screwed.

He pulls on his briefs as Poppy comes out of the bathroom, hair braided and looking less thoroughly ravished. She smiles shyly as Tora takes her in his arms, tucking her head into his chest.

“Was it good for you?” she asks.

“Sweetheart, I don’t even know the words in ya language to explain how good it was.

She slides her arms around his back and tilts her face upward. “Then tell me in yours.”

“Now who’s fishin’ for compliments?” he teases before dipping his head to rest his forehead against hers and speaking lowly in his mother tongue. “Taking you to bed had been the second greatest pleasure of my life and I will cherish it in this world and the next. But the greatest pleasure has been knowing you at all, having you take me into your home and your heart. If I return only to fall in battle, I do so knowing I’ve met a woman worth armies and palaces, gold and crowns.” He swallows, surprised at how tight his throat’s become. “I’ll die knowing that somewhere in time there’s a woman I love above all others and all glories.”

Poppy’s smiling, even though he’s sure there’s no way she’s understood a word. He’s said nothing he couldn’t have said in her language, but he’s said everything he feels he can’t. Not when the clock beside the bed tells him he only has an hour left.

“You should get ready,” she says softly as she tracks his gaze.

Tora nods, kissing the top of her head. “Help me?”

“Of course.”

It’s an intimate thing to have someone who isn’t merely your ally on the battlefield help you with your armor. It’s unusual to need help at all, but it’s an act that leaves you vulnerable and unshielded. As he stands in the living room, instructing a robed Poppy on how to tie each piece, he recalls how his mother would help his father, their hushed voices barely louder than the crackle of the fire as he and his brothers were tucked in their beds. After her death, his father dressed alone.

“I forgot how you looked in this,” Poppy says as she twists his hair into a series of braids that fall down his back.

“Take a picture,” he insists, leaning forward to grab the camera off the coffee table.

She takes it and steps back as he stands beside her shelf of books. The flash lights up the room and she puts the camera and picture down without looking at it. He can see her feelings clear on her face but doesn’t push her for words.

Poppy goes into the bedroom to change while the first rumbles of thunder sounds. His stomach twists with nerves and he picks up the framed picture, carefully tucking it into his breastplate. He doesn’t want to accidentally lose them. He can’t. As silly as it sounds, he can’t imagine surviving it.

Poppy comes into the living room in a pair of pink rubber boots and a matching jacket. Her face is grave as she gathers her purse, and he can’t think of a single thing to say to break the tense silence. But maybe it’s better this way in the quiet. Maybe it’ll make it easier.

Maybe he’s just a godsdamned fool for thinking that at all.

Rain falls in sheets as they drive through the city, his hand on her thigh, his gaze trained on the blurry, darkened mountains beyond. This city won’t exist for hundreds of years after his death. She won’t exist for a thousand. A series of painful thoughts press on his heart, the pain deepening as they park at Regina’s Peak.

The first flash of distant lightning cuts through the sky and they both get out of the car, going to stand beneath the concrete roof. Damp strands of hair are already plastered to her cheeks and he isn’t sure if it’s from the rain or their mingled tears as he crushes her against him.

“I’m so fuckin’ glad I met ya,” he says fiercely, unable to say what he really feels when faced the reality of never seeing her again.

“Me too.” Her voice is a half sob. “I’m going to miss you.”

“I know. It’s hard to imagine this…any of this, but when I go back, ya gonna know I was thinkin’ of ya. Ya gonna know I didn’t forget.” Tora’s aware he can’t promise her anything, but he has to try. He can’t leave her with nothing more than a bracelet and ring, a few pictures on her dresser. “I’ll name cities after ya, kingdoms of gold.”

She laughs wetly. “That’s ridiculous.”

“Ya worth it, Poppylan.” He pulls back and cups her face. “Ya worth everythin’ in this world that glitters and don’t let nobody treat ya like ya ain’t. Promise me.”

She nods.

“Say it.”

“I promise.”

He leans down and kisses her, wishing he could control the time they had left. But another flash interrupts his desires.

“I gotta go now.”

“I know.”

“Wait in the car ‘til I’m gone,” Tora says, tracing her jaw with his thumb. “Don’t want somethin’ to happen and for you to be taken. Don’t know where—when—it might drop ya.”

Poppy nods. “Goodbye, Tora.”

There’s another word he can’t say. “Be safe, sweetheart.”

He walks her halfway to the car and feels the immediate pain of her loss as soon as he lets go of her hand. He stands in the rain, waiting for the sound of the car door closing, then steps to the edge of the peak, the glimmering city below the same hazy sea of stars he saw on his first night.

Thunder rolls through his chest and he closes his eyes, sensing the coming lightning as the scent of spice and something sharp and burning surrounds him.

This is it.

This is the end.

This is goodbye.

Chapter Text

Tora

For a moment it feels as if his actual soul is tearing apart, the kind of sharp, searing pain that leaves him burning on the inside as he grips the wet earth. The dirt settles between his fingers, beneath his nails as he waits for the world to stop spinning and for the rain to douse the fire within.

It wasn’t like this before; it wasn’t so fucking painful. But maybe he wasn’t leaving on purpose before, and that made all the difference. Either way, it is different, and he isn’t sure if that’s good or bad. But it is what it is, and the world is quiet, settling slowly into place.

The rain keeps falling, soaking his clothes, his hair. He focuses on breathing in and out as the earth stills and his heart stops its sickly racing. Before he opens his eyes, he takes stock of himself, of his surroundings the best he can. There’s no snow on the ground and the air isn’t as cold as it was when he left, the coppery tang of the carnage below absent. The corner of the picture frame is sharp against his chest, which means the photographs made it.

And he remembers Poppy. He remembers her taste and laugh, how her hair curled on the ends and how it looked splayed out on the pillows. He remembers everything.

Small mercy from the too cruel gods.

A hand touches his shoulder and for a split second, his mind whirls with memory of the battle he left behind and the coward he’d followed to the peak. He grabs the arm behind him and whirls, bringing the body into the rain-softened earth, pinning them down beneath him.

But it’s no southern general looking up at him with wide eyes, but Poppy.

Tora looks around, takes in the concrete roof and city below. Then his gaze falls back to her, and he releases her wrists, falling back on his heels. He’s still here.

He’s still fucking here.

“Tora?” her voice is soft, maybe even afraid. Of him.

He closes his eyes, willing it to be some sort of distorted memory. He can’t go through the pain of another round of goodbyes, can’t do this again when the rain comes. Can’t risk building more of a life here when his true home and all his responsibilities lay in the past.

There’s another flash of lightning, this time farther away. There’s no burning scent, no piercing pull of the unknown, just more rain slipping down the nape of his neck. To soak the tunic beneath.

“Tora, are you okay?”

He finally opens his eyes. Poppy’s on her knees in the mud before him, hand held tight against her chest as if trying to not reach out to him.

“I’m still here,” he whispers to her, to himself, to the earth.

She nods.

“It almost worked.”

“I know. I saw.”

“What did ya see?” His words are sharper than he meant in his haste to find out what went wrong before this chance to go home slips through his fingers.

“I saw the lightning hit you,” she says loudly over the sudden rumble of thunder. “It looked like the flash hit you straight in the chest and it…pulled. I thought it would lift you up or something. It held you there for so long, then it all just stopped. Everything stopped.” The thunder’s gone, but her voice is still raised, a touch of hysteria lighting her words. “The rain and clouds and wind stilled, and the city went dark and then…and then there you were, just sitting there on your knees and the world started moving again.”

He looks up. The clouds still hide the moon, but there’s no more lightning. Even the rain seems softer now, though he’s soaked to the bone and knows Poppy must be too, though she seems too stunned to even pull up the hood on her jacket.

She’s still staring at him, unblinking. He reaches out and touches her cheek, only then does she move, tilting her face into his palm. He leaves behind a streak of dirt as he draws his hand away.

“I’m still here,” he says again, feeling terribly hollow.

Alice was wrong. It must take more than a storm and the will to return to make things right. Though what if she was correct about needing a good anchor? His kingdom and people obviously weren’t enough, nor was the blood of his brothers. Maybe Alice being here had tethered him for some reason.

“I’m sorry.” Her abrupt words come out as a choked sob, and he sees she’s begun to cry.

“What? Why?”

“Because…because when I got into the car and watched you waiting for the lightning, I wished for you to stay. I didn’t mean to, but I did. I wished it just to myself, but maybe it did something. Maybe it stopped you. I’m so sorry, Tora.”

He moves to her, gathering her in his arms. They’re both soaked and muddy and tired and fraught with emotion. But as they sit there in the rain, he realizes something. Poppy must be his anchor. His thoughts were of her when the lightning came. That’s what stopped him. That’s why he is still here. His love for her had tethered him to her time.

And the worst part is, the most sickening part, is that he’s almost glad it had.

She’s shaking against him, and he isn’t sure how long they’ve been tangled up together in the rain and wind. There hasn’t been any more lightning and he doesn’t think there will be again. He can’t stay here forever, but another few days or weeks won’t destroy his kingdom.

“Let’s go,” Tora says, standing and taking Poppy with him.

“Shouldn’t we stay and wait? Maybe—”

“It’s done.”

She sniffs and goes with him to the car, peeling off her muddy jacket and tossing it in the trunk. He does the same with some of his armor, removing each piece with frozen fingers, careful to not drop the picture frame. It’s a surreal feeling to get into her car after that, after almost having his soul torn from his body. He rubs his chest as they drive, still feeling the pang of it deep beneath his ribs.

“We’ll check the weather tomorrow,” she says quietly when they’re back in her apartment, clean and dressed and in her unmade bed that smells of them and sex and her. “It’s getting warmer, so there’s going to be more storms.”

“It might not work.”

“But it might. Maybe we should check the cycles of the moon or something. Maybe the temperature has to be the same. Or the time. I’ll call Alice tomorrow too.”

He rolls onto his back, staring at the dark ceiling. The rain’s long since stopped and he feels…nothing. It’s like the lightning took everything inside him, leaving his body behind in the mud. It had to. There’s no other explanation for the hollowness in his chest.

Poppy reaches out and puts something on his stomach. He knows at once by the feeling of the cool metal that it’s the bracelet and ring.

“What are ya doin’?” he asks.

“You’re here now. I thought you should have them back. Maybe me having them is what stopped you. They might be acting like an anchor too.”

He hates the guilt she feels about the otherworldly things out of her control. He picks them up and takes her hand, pressing them into her palm. “Gave ‘em to ya. They’re yours. Doubt some leather and metal would be enough to change anything.”

“I won’t be offended if you—”

“Never lied to ya, Bobby, never said nothin’ I didn’t mean. Never did nothin’ I didn’t mean neither. They’re yours.”

She nods, her features just an outline in the darkness.

“Ya got work tomorrow?”

She groans. “I forgot, but maybe I’ll just call out.”

“Don’t if ya don’t wanna or can’t.”

“I don’t want to leave you alone here.”

There he is, being a millstone around her neck like he’d worried about. Since he’d gotten here, all he’d done is be a burden to her. She’d given her time and money and heart and body to someone who can’t even take care of himself. It’s humiliating and humbling and he’s disgusted with his inability to carry his own weight.

“I’ll be fine. Don’t want ya worryin’ ‘bout me.” He rolls back over to face her. “Quincey said he could help me find work and if I needed to stay at his place, he has the extra room.”

“You want to leave?” She sounds a little hurt, her voice soft.

Not that. Never that. At least, not her apartment while he’s in this time. Being away from her would hurt more than the pull of the lightning. “No, ‘course not. But I dunno how long it’ll take me to get back and I don’t wanna take ya away from ya life.”

“You’re not, I promise. I like having you here.”

“Would ya tell me if ya didn’t?”

“Of course.”

He snorts. “Don’t believe ya. Ya too nice.”

“I’ve never lied to you either, Tora.”

“I know.” He takes her hand, holding it against his chest, hoping her touch will spark some life within the vacant cavity. But he feels nothing more than bone deep sorrow. “Sorry I scared ya.”

“It’s not your fault. I’ve just never seen anything like it.”

“It was different this time. Like part of me was goin’ and the other half was tryin’ to stay.”

“So, it was me,” she says quietly. “I wished you in this time and broke something.”

“Ya ain’t some kind of witch, Bobby. Ya don’t got that kind of power in ya.”

“First of all, you’re a time traveler, something neither of us thought was possible before, so who’s to say I’m not a witch? Either way, I still feel like I messed it up.”

He isn’t sure if he should tell her why he thinks he stayed, but he feels she deserves to know at least a little why he’s lying in her bed tonight and not trekking back toward his basecamp. “I do think you’re my anchor here. Maybe Alice too, but definitely you.” She doesn’t respond, so he keeps speaking. “I think I was goin’ to leave, but the chain or whatever it is that tethers ya to spots of time was too strong.”

“Do you think…do you think it was…the sex?”

“Dunno. Could be anythin’. ‘S not like I can ask anyone but Alice, and she’s already told me all she knows.”

“Then I do have a reason to be sorry. I’m the tether.”

He sighs and draws her close, hating how she always feels the need to shoulder everything alone. The ends of her hair are still damp and chilled, but he knows his body will warm hers beneath the covers. “Stop sayin’ ya sorry. Neither of us knows how this works. Hell, coulda been anythin’ that stopped me. Maybe Alice got lucky all those times she traveled, and I just didn’t.”

“Then next time we’ll have Quincey take you. I think it might work if I’m not there.”

He wants to tell her he refuses to go with anyone but her but is suddenly too tired to argue. Despite the exhaustion, it takes him hours to fall asleep, and when he does, it’s to the sound of thunder and with a guandao in his hand.

Poppy goes to work reluctantly the next morning, and as soon as he’s dressed, he calls Quincey.

“Tora?” His voice sounds unsure when he answers.

“Yeah, ‘s me.”

“How…why? Did you not go through with it?”

“I did.” He glances at the bin full of muddy armor. He should clean everything and put them away neatly but can’t bring himself to yet. “But it didn’t work.”

“Oh. I see.” There’s a brief pause. “Is Poppy home?”

“Nah. Left an hour ago. Looks like I’m stickin’ ‘round here for a while. So, I wanna take ya up on ya offer for a job.”

“Of course. I know of plenty positions. You do need paperwork though.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s these things used to identify you to people. It’s hard to explain, but you get them at birth. Since you obviously weren’t born here, we need to get a little…creative.”

Tora leans back on the couch. “I’m listenin’.”

“I have a friend of a friend who can get you some, then Gyu can discreetly add you into the government system. It’s not ideal, but without something to verify your identity, it’ll be nearly impossible to be in this time. You won’t be able to get a driver’s license or open a bank account.”

“Then I gotta do it. Need to start helpin’ Poppy out.”

“I completely understand. Listen, I’m going to make some calls and pick you up later when I figure it out. We’ll get this sorted, don’t you worry, honey.”

He closes his eyes after he hangs up, the sound of the city beyond drifting in through the open kitchen window. Little by little, he seems to be planting roots here, in the soiled cracks between the concrete high rises, and he doesn’t think he likes it.

Poppy

Poppy knows she should have definitely called out today. She can hardly focus on her work, and she’s glad her only real project is editing Quincey’s books, so her boss won’t question her mussed mind. The words dance over the pages she’s printed and the box of Alice’s negatives she shoved beneath her desk ensures she never reads a single page without having to start over to try and digest the story.

All she can think about is Tora and the lightning.

Even in her dreams, she saw it, felt the faint charge, tasted ozone. When she’s awakened, Tora had already been up, or he’d never even fell asleep. He just got out of bed when she did and made her tea while she got dressed for work, acting as if the night before hadn’t even happened. It was almost unsettling, how he calmed asked if she’d like sugar.

She waits until Jacob leaves to pick up coffees and Erdene enters a meeting downstairs before she gets the box from beneath her desk and takes it into the photography studio. She’d trailed Erdene through her work a thousand times, watching her develop film and edit covers and print a hundred copies in different shades to see what worked the best. While Poppy’s no photo editor, she thinks she knows enough to develop at least one of the images.

She takes the bulky film and slide scanner out of a cabinet and puts it on the metal counter after flipping the little light beside the closed door to distinguish that someone was inside. She isn’t sure if she’s going to be brave enough to try and develop anything, but she needs to try.

The film is old, tattered and blotchy in places. She slides the cleanest looking ones through the viewer. They look blurry, but maybe salvageable. She wishes she had the skill to figure out which were beyond help.

Poppy carefully goes through each strip, making up piles based on how easy they are to see. She catches glimpses of silk and snow-tipped mountains and patterns on rugs. They’re shards of Tora’s life she so desperately wants to be able to put back together.

The photography studio door opens, and Erdene steps inside, making her jump.

“What are you doing in here?” Erdene asks as she closes the door behind her.

Poppy hadn’t realized she’d been holed in here that long. “I thought when the light was on, that meant you shouldn’t come inside.”

“I’m the only one that’s ever in here so I figured I left the light on.” She steps up to the counter, peering at the piles Poppy had begun sweeping back inside the boxes. “What’s all this?”

“Just a little project.”

“These look old. Are they Granny’s?”

“Um…no, not hers.” She puts the rest in the old shoebox and puts the lid on. But as she moves away from the counter, she realizes there’s still a strip of negatives still in the viewer.

Erdene’s there before she can move it, looking in the screen. She toys with a series of knobs on the back then her gaze flits to Poppy. “Where are these from?”

“A film set.” It’s a flimsy lie, but the only one she has on such short notice.

“You’re a shit liar, Pops. What’s going on? You have a whole box of these?”

Erdene’s been her friend for years and has never betrayed her trust. While she hates telling anyone else Tora’s secret, there isn’t much choice if she wants to get the film developed.

“You remember Tora, right?”

“Hard to forget.”

“And this is going to sound crazy.”

She crosses her arms over her chest. “Okay?”

“And you might not believe me because I know I probably wouldn’t.”

“Just spit it out.”

Poppy takes a deep breath. “Tora’s from the past. Like from another time. Two Fridays ago, I was up at Regina’s Peak when it started to storm. Then he just…appeared. He’s from a thousand years ago and we haven’t been able to send him back. We even tried last night.”

Erdene doesn’t say anything at first, just sits down on one of the tall, backless stools that flank the metal table. “Are you for real right now?”

“I’m dead serious. You can’t tell anyone. The only people that know are Quincey and Alice.”

“You told the old sushi lady before you told me?”

“It’s complicated.”

She rubs her temples. “Oh my god, this is just like the movie Encino Man.”

“This is nothing like Encino Man. Just…okay, here’s another secret. Alice is his grandmother and she’s from his time originally, but she traveled back and forth taking the pictures I have in this box. Then when his mother, her daughter, died she was stuck here. She thinks it’s because the anchor she had was gone. Last night when Tora was supposed to be able to go back, the lightning didn’t take him because I might be his tether here and—”

Erdene holds up a hand. “I don’t know if I need more or less coffee to digest this information right now. If it was anyone else telling me this, I wouldn’t believe a single word.”

“I know it sounds made up. If I didn’t see it all, I wouldn’t believe it either.”

“And what’s with the negatives?”

“Alice took pictures each time she went back. She thinks they were damaged while traveling.”

She sighs and shifts her seat closer to the viewer. “Let me take a look at these. I need to wrap my head around this and might as well look into the past while I do.”

“Thanks,” Poppy says, opening the shoebox again.

“I’ll salvage what I can and put them on a USB. Want me to print some as well?”

“Yes, please. Do you have time though?”

“Gil has literally no idea what goes on in this room, and as long as the light’s on outside, he won’t ask questions.” She shakes her head as she begins going through the negatives. “A whole ass time traveler.”

“I know, it’s nuts.”

“So, like, he’s some old school Narin peasant?”

“Not exactly. He’s actually a prince, but not like a soft-handed kind, the kind that led armies and stuff.” Her cheeks warm and she isn’t quite sure why. “We went to the museum and saw a bunch of his things.”

Erdene slides a new strip of negatives inside, marking down numbers on a slip of paper. “A time traveling prince. What in the romance novel is going on in your life?”

Feeling unburdened for the first time in ages, Poppy tells her everything from the night she found him to the morning after his failed return. She leaves out only the steamy bits. Out of everything, those still seemed too private to share, especially since things between them are more uncertain than ever.

By the time she’s finished her twisted tale, Erdene’s cut up the negatives, scanned them, and sorted them in the computer. She hands the box back to Poppy. “I’ll need a few days, but I took the ones I think I’ll be able to clear up.”

“Thanks, Dene. Tora and Alice will really appreciate it.”

“Hey, I’m just glad to be a part of the mystical team.”

Poppy feels lighter as she leaves the office that afternoon, a little earlier than usual. She’s lucky Gil had an appointment so she can slip out without being noticed. She only got one text from Tora that day, a brief response saying he’s fine when she asks how he is. He’s getting better at reading or writing, but he always texted her a bit more when she’s been away for more than a few hours.

The apartment’s quiet when she returns, and she finds Tora in the bedroom, snapping the lid on the box of armor. She watches as he shoves it back into the attic, not even needing to unfold the small ladder she has to use.

“Ya home early,” he says by way of greeting.

Poppy shifts from one foot to the other, uneasy with how tense things feel between them. It forces her to wonder if everything between them had only surfaced when he thought he was leaving, if there was nothing there but convenience or the heady pressure of a departure.

“It’s one of the perks of having Quincey as your only client,” she says.

“Ya have a good day?”

The calmness of his voice unsettles her. “Yeah, it was fine.” She drops her work bag onto her bed and takes out her earrings, putting them in the little jewelry dish on her dresser. “I told Erdene about you.”

“She think ya crazy?”

“Yes and no. But she’s helping me develop the negatives Alice gave you. She’s a lot better at that than I am, since that’s part of her job.”

“Makes sense.” He leans against the closet door frame, arms crossed. “Quincey’s takin’ me out tonight to get papers.”

“What kind of papers?”

“Kind that’ll help me get a job here. He knows some people.”

Poppy purses her lips. Quincey’s never really said what kind of businesses his family is really involved with, and she’s never asked, but she has the feeling it’s bad. “I’m not sure if that’s a good idea.”

“I dunno if I’ll ever be able to get back. Gotta find a way to make money.”

“Maybe Alice—”

“Gotta do it, Bobby.”

“Are you going to Ares Street?”

He shrugs. “Maybe.”

“Don’t.” She’s only ever gone by it, but Alice has told her stories and she sees the way the news never mentions the random bursts of gunfire she can hear when her balcony doors are open late into the night.

“I’ve already been, and it turned out fine.”

“You’ve been to Ares Street? Did Quincey take you?” She’s going to strangle him next time she sees him.

“Relax, sweetheart.”

“I am relaxed,” she snaps.

The corner of his mouth lifts. “Yeah, sure. But don’t worry ‘bout me. I can handle myself.”

“Have you ever thought maybe I was worried about the other people? I’m quite aware you could snap a man in half.” She’s not worried about anyone else, but she needs to keep him smiling. Things have been too strange between them.

He lets out a soft laugh. “See? It’ll be fine. I survived three wars and more battles than I can count. Pickin’ up some papers ain’t shit to me, Bobby.” Then he cocks his head to the side. “What else is botherin’ ya?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re a shit liar, ya know that?”

“I guess I just feel responsible for what happened…or didn’t happen, I should say,” she confesses. “And now I don’t know how to act or how to help.”

“Ya ain’t responsible for shit. And I just want ya to act like ya same, smart mouth self. Can’t stand ya tip-toein’ ‘round me.”

“But I don’t know what to say or do.”

Tora steps toward her, opening his arms. “Just come ‘ere, sweetheart.”

Poppy hugs him, squeezing her eyes shut and burrowing her face in his chest. Being tangled up with him makes the stress and drama melt away. She’d been so worried about him after the lightning left that she hardly allowed herself to think about what they’d done when they thought they only had a few hours left. But being pressed up against him, his hand rubbing slowly up and down her back brings it all into sharp focus, and as much as it hurts, she has to know.

“Do you regret what we did?” she asks.

“Ya mean in bed?”

She nods.

“Why the hell would I regret sharin’ that with the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen? Shit, You can say ya the most gorgeous woman in a thousand years and it wouldn’t be a lie.”

Her face burns and she’s glad he can’t see the blush. “I just didn’t know if we just did it because you were leaving…if you felt like you had to or if it was a one-time thing.”

“Never wanted it to just be a one-time thing with ya, never. I don’t regret a single moment I spent with ya, and it’s hard to be pissed about not leavin’ when it means I get to spend a little more time with ya. Do you regret it?”

Poppy shakes her head. “No, not at all.”

“Then ya still my girl after all this?” Tora asks into her hair.

“You mean your girlfriend?”

“Don’t want things to be weird with us. I have to go back, but while I’m here, I still want ya in any way I can have ya.”

Poppy isn’t sure if it’s a good idea. She’d been all in before he left, and that hurt enough. Letting her feelings grow more would only deal her a killing blow when he was well and truly gone. But she can’t imagine going back to being just friends. Having a constantly moving goalpost for the end of a relationship feels just as wrong as not having one at all. She decides to just go with her gut and make the consequences tomorrow’s problem.

She stands on her toes and kisses him, feeling the sensation of his lips against hers all the way down to her toes. It’s like now that her body’s experienced what kind of pleasure someone like Tora can truly give, it’s practically humming in anticipation after a single touch.

“Don’t want ya to think I’m usin’ ya,” he says, golden eyes boring into hers.

“I know you’re not.”

“I want ya, but always on ya terms. Only on ya terms.”

She slides her hands up the back of his shirt. “I want this. I want us.” His fingers toy with the bottoms of her shirt. “I want it now.” She slips her palm around his side and up his chest. “I want it right now.”

Tora scoops her up, making her squeal. He carries her to the bed, tossing her among the pillows. She shuts off her traitorous mind that fears the rain and welcomes his body over hers. It’s easy now to kick off her shoes and shimmy out of her skirt. He sheds his clothes too, and as soon as they’re all gone, he’s on her, hard and hot.

She doesn’t want sweet words and tender touches, not now. She just wants to feel him, real inside her, solid and secure in her arms. It’s the only way this strange ache will stop burning. It’s the only way to quiet her mind.

“Tell me what ya want, Poppylan,” Tora says between kisses, his hands roaming.

“I want you.”

Hs smirks. “I gathered that.” His fingers slip between her thighs. The delicious pressure on her clit makes her head spin. “Be a little more specific?”

“I just…I don’t want you to treat me like you’ll break me.”

“That right?”

“Please, Tora.”

He takes a steadying breath. “Can’t say no to that.”

His cock slams into her and her head rolls back against the pillow. He hooks a hand around her thigh as he settles between her legs. It gives him a deeper angle and Poppy arches her back. It’s harder and quicker than before, but there’s no mistaking Tora’s touch, no thinking it’s anyone but him. This is exactly what she needed.

“You okay?” he asks, cupping her cheek as he slowly slips out of her.

“Yes. Please. More.”

They’re an eruption of lips and hands and nails, her body is pressed so hard into the bed, she’s nearly concerned she’ll become one with the comforter. His thrusts are even and deep, stealing her breath with each roll of his hips. She tastes his tattooed skin, runs her tongue along the peony petals and rakes her nails across the waves.

Poppy loses herself in Tora’s all-consuming touch, welcoming the weight of him, the feel of his calloused fingers across her stomach and down her neck. This is the sex of romance novels, all the pages she read in the dark, hoping no one would know how much she liked them. The sex of backwards books on shelves and hidden ebooks she refused to read at work.

Sex with him is everything…but most of all because it’s with him.

“Touch yourself,” he orders, raising his body up, but never stopping the torturous thrusts inside her. “I wanna watch ya touch yourself.”

Poppy feels like she should at least be a little embarrassed to do something she once saw as private right before him. But he’s seen and tasted and touched so much of her, it seems silly to have any reservations, especially when there’s such hunger in those golden eyes.

She slides her hand down her body, enjoying how his gaze follows it. His movements slow slightly as she reaches her clit. His cock slips in and out of view—in and out of reach. She swipes her fingers over the bundle of nerves. It’s hard to find a fixed rhythm when her mind’s already so hazy.

“Fuck, Poppylan,” Tora hisses his lips parting as he watches her. He sits back on his heels, taking her hips with him. She never thought she was particularly light, but he moves her like she weighs nothing, and his cock never misses a beat.

She flushes, knowing how much more of her body he can see in the bright afternoon light steaming in from all the open windows. Though he looks almost pained as she fingers herself, sliding through the wet folds, brushing against the side of his cock as she does. His rapturous expression alone is enough to make her cum.

One of his hands glides over her stomach to capture a breast. He rolls a nipple between his thumb and forefinger. She’s learned how sensitive they are when he touches them, how she might even be able to orgasm with nothing more than just his mouth wrapped around the sensitive peak. He plucks it gently and the mix of that and his cock and her fingers strumming her clit have Poppy crying out, a series of half-gasps, half-moans she knows her poor downstairs neighbors have to hear.

“Fuck, such a good fuckin’ girl,” Tora rasps as she falls limp, her body pulsing with the leftover waves of pleasure. Her hand falls away and his instantly replaces it, restarting her orgasm before she has a chance to so much as catch her breath. It’s nearly too much, but she doesn’t fight the pleasure, she gives in to the ravishing, the wave after wave of hard orgasms that has her clawing at Tora’s arm and panting his name.

When he cums, he cums hard, his cock throbbing deep inside her. Though he doesn’t stop rolling her clit between his fingers until she doesn’t think she can take one more orgasm. He slides out of her, kissing her neck and shoulder, each breast, and the swell of her stomach. Her eyes are closed, but open at once as his tongue glides over her swollen clit.

“I can’t,” she moans, though her hips buck in anticipation of another.

“I bet ya can,” he counters, his breath hot on her inner thigh.

“You just came in me.”

“I look like I fuckin’ care?” He doesn’t. He well and truly doesn’t with his tangled hair and feral gaze and lazy circles he’s tracing through her folds with his tongue.

Poppy shakes her head, thinking if there’s one last bit of pleasure locked up somewhere inside her, she’ll gladly let him find it.

 He sucks her clit into his mouth, gently, softly, but with enough pressure to make her toes curl. It’s a sweet contrast to the overwhelming sex of a moment ago. The orgasm doesn’t rush through her, but flows, and his hands are soft on her hips.

When it’s finally over, he leaves her in the bed to fetch them water and Poppy isn’t sure if her legs will ever work again. But she has the sneaking suspicion that at least Tora would happily carry her if needed.

Chapter Text

Tora

Ares Street is just as acrid and filthy as he remembers, even after the storm should have washed the dingy pavement clean.

It’s well after midnight and he’d left Poppy sleeping as he slid out of bed. He left a note on this pillow saying he’d be back soon as well, though he hoped to return before she woke up for work. She didn’t so much as stir as he kissed her forehead.

“Ya know this guy well?” Tora asks as they walk, the street vibrating from the loud music emanating from one of the clubs they pass.

“As well as anyone knows a felon with a passion for counterfeit, I suppose,” Quincey replies, hands in his pockets. His back is straighter and his steps more deliberate than usual. His words have that same clipped tone he remembered from their first trip there as well.

He scans the street as Quincey leads him towards a building with a flashing pink sign that reads Miracle. Quincey had found him a small, but wickedly sharp, knife that fits well pressed against his right hip, hidden by his sweatshirt. He’s ready to use it, if he needs to, but hopes he won’t have to test the sturdiness of the hilt or depth the blade could pierce.

The music reverberates in his chest, pulsing with the neon lights that shine across the scattered stages and lounges. The air’s filled with smoke and the scent of something artificially floral that irritates his throat. But the scantily clad women that dance on the raised platforms and sip drinks at the bar are a surprising addition.

“This a harem?” Tora asks over the music.

Quincey waves a hand. “A strip club. People pay to watch these lovely ladies show off their…well, you know. Just don’t make eye contact, buy a drink, or take anyone up on their offer of a visit to the private room. Poppy would skin both of us alive.”

The women he sees remind him of the ones who would sometimes preform on the spring solstice in the capitol. Half-dressed and gyrating, they’d wind their bodies through the great hall, their dances said to bring on children and crops for the coming year. They were paid handsomely for their beauty and talents, the magic they brought.

Quincey leans over the bar and says something to the bartender that Tora can’t hear. He’s too busy watching the room anyway. He can tell the men here are from rough stock, same as him, and that keeps him on high alert.

“Hey, handsome, buy me a drink?” a pink haired woman in a glittering dress asks, her hand on his arm.

He moves it out of reach. “No, thanks.”

She seems unbothered. “You new around here?”

Tora shrugs, scanning the room. He makes eye contact with a table full of men who only look away after he makes it clear he won’t be the first to do so.

“Love me a man of few words. I’m Candy.”

He raises a brow. “Like the food?”

“They call me that because I’m sweet as sugar.”

Ah, a fake name. He’s familiar with the concept.

“How about a dance?”

“No, thanks.”

“Candy, he and I have a meeting,” Quincey cuts in. “There’s no time for dancing.”

“Oh, Young Master Balthuman, I didn’t realize you were here.” Her voice changes so suddenly, it gives him whiplash. Something about this street changes everyone, it seems.

Quincey gives her a curt nod. “Tell Benjamin we have an appointment tomorrow morning and he isn’t to be late.”

“Of course.”

Quincey motions toward a dark purple door and Tora follows him through. They walk down a long hallway until they reach another door, which Quincey opens at once. There’s a gnarled-looking man with milky blue eyes sitting behind a desk. He doesn’t move as they approach.

“He’s the one who needs the papers,” Quincey says. “Birth certificate and social security card.”

“So, you said earlier.” He looks Tora up and down. “You on the run?”

“No,” Tora says. “Just startin’ over.”

He nods and turns to his computer. “Ah, prison, then? I get guys like you in here all the time looking for new names to take other places.” He types something then glances up at him. “Give me a name, date of birth, age, and parents names. Real, fake, don’t care.”

Tora isn’t sure what his birth date is on the modern calendar and has never had any need for a last name. “First name’s Tora, don’t care ‘bout the birth date, just make me twenty-six. Don’t care who ya put as my parents neither.”

“Good. Makes it easier. You have a last name in mind?”

“Tasura,” he says. Seeing his parents listed on a record like that would feel too off to him, but he doesn’t want to shed his identity completely.

“Tora Tasura,” the old man mumbles as he types. “You wanna wait for the papers or come back? I can be done in…twenty minutes. Got started when you called before.”

“We’ll wait at the bar,” Quincey answers.

The old man doesn’t look up at them again as they leave, going back toward the music.

“That it?” Tora asks. “Twenty minutes and I’m a real person here?”

“Not exactly. Gyu still has to put you in the database, and that’s the real time-consuming process, if you want a legitimate job.”

“As opposed to what?”

“Well, an underground one,” Quincey says as they perch on a pair of barstools. “Working, say, as a bouncer at a club is a job regulated by the government, where you make an even wage and pay taxes, that sort of things. But if you work on Ares Street, doing the jobs no one else wants, you’ll be more likely to make a lot of money.”

Tora thinks to Poppy’s small, cozy apartment and her car, which seems less flashy than Quincey’s. She has an honorable job doing honest work, but she deserves more than an honest wage. If he made a lot of money while he’s here, he could set her up nicely when he leaves, leave her in a safer home with higher walls and a better car and more plants and books. He’s grown up doing the jobs no one else wanted, so why not continue the theme in this new time?

“What kinda jobs?” he asks.

“Oh, you know, murder, extorsion, blackmail, information extraction, the usual.” The bartender slides two drinks to them and Quincey passes one to Tora. “A snakebite. Whisky with a pinch of lime. Takes the edge off when you’re on Ares Street.”

The liquor goes down sharp, but it’s not completely unpleasant. He motions to the bartender for another. “Is that what ya do?” Tora asks Quincey.

“What do you mean?”

“Ya got money, nice cars, nice place. Do ya do the jobs no one else wants?” It’s a bold question, but he has to know who his friend is when he’s not the soft handed author.

Quincey’s gaze steels. “Yes and no. My father runs most of Ares Street and I’ve grown up here, learned to cut through the seedy underbelly to get to the other side. Luckily for me, as the boss’s son, I’m largely immune from the dirty work.”

“That bother ya?”

“No. I want to be immune. I don’t want to take over his bloody empire, but when you’re born into something like that, it’s impossible to shake.”

Tora takes the second shot. He feels Quincey’s words down to his marrow. His father’s legacy was one of war, and it’s what he left his eldest son. He’s put off being crowned king for years, using the constant roiling battles as reason enough to keep the counsel in charge at the capitol while he leads armies. Now though, he wonders if finally taking his place on the throne is what would have kept the tether to his time strong, if the crown would have outweighed his feelings for Poppy.

The bartender leans over the bar and says something to Quincey, who nods then glances at Tora. “He’s ready.”

They collect the papers and Tora tucks them into his waistband, beneath his shirt. It’s a long walk to the car and it’s only gotten later and darker since they first arrived. The typed words sear into the skin of his stomach.

Tora Tasura, that’s who he is now.

The name rolls around in his head, foreign, yet fitting. He wonders what Poppy will think of him adding another chain to the anchor tethering her to his time.

“Baby Balthuman,” comes a low voice down a side alley.

Tora’s hand goes to the knife, and he it slips out, concealing it in the sleeve of his sweatshirt. Quincey keeps walking, though his steps quicken.

“Come on, Baby Balthuman,” a different voice taunts. “What, you and your boyfriend have a hot date? Too busy to chat?”

The street isn’t just later and darker, but emptier too. Tora listens to the footsteps behind them, counting five sets. Not bad odds, even if Quincey sits the fight out. In fact, unless they have guns, it’ll be a fucking breeze.

“Who’s your friend, Baby Balthuam?” the voice asks.

Then there’s a laugh. “Daddy Balthuman know you’re out past bedtime?”

They all chuckle and their steps grow near.

Tora isn’t sure what Quincey’s doing but ignoring them isn’t working. He stops and turns to face the men, all five of them. They’re grinning and whispering, cigarette smoke swirling above their heads.

“That fuck do ya want?” Tora snaps.

He could be on his way back to Poppy instead of dealing with this nonsense. Though rationally, he thinks he should keep ignoring them, his body still hums with the promise of violence. Maybe there’s more of his father’s warrior blood in him than he wants to admit.

“If ya want somethin’, ya gotta ask nice,” Tora says lowly, scanning each face as their smirks fade.

“Let’s go,” Quincey whispers.

He doesn’t like people talking shit to his soft friend.

“Who the fuck are you?” one asks with a laugh. “New blood thinks he’s tough shit.”

“My blood’s older than any drop in ya tainted veins,” Tora spits, taking a step toward them.

“Ah, fuck off,” quips another wearing a backwards hat. “We’re just messing with your boyfriend. We never seem to catch him alone.”

Another step closer. “He ain’t alone.”

The tallest one, possibly the leader of their misguided band, breaks free from the group and draws near. “Five of us, one of you. We all know Baby Balthuman don’t count for shit when it comes to getting his hands dirty. Just like his old man.”

“If ya wanna get ya ass beat like ya ma should’ve before ya turned out like this, go ahead and take the first swing.” Tora shrugged. “Need some entertainment.”

He didn’t expect him to actually do it, but the cocky ones are always the most eager to throw their weight around. Tora sidesteps him easily, bringing the rounded hilt on the end of the dagger down on the back of his head, bringing him to his knees. The man was too slow, and he’ll feel the blow for days.

The others try their luck, swarming him like bees protecting the fast-fading queen. No guns from them, just fists, so he tosses the blade at Quincey’s feet, squaring up. They fight with the kind of assured violence only the most arrogant do, swinging their arms instead of using their bodies to apply actual force. They’re cocky, but unskilled, only made for the type of back alley fights they just started.

One by one, they fall at Tora’s feet with a well-placed grab or punch or kick. He hates to admit to himself it feels good to use his body for the one thing he’d been raised to do since birth. While the movements were rusted, he fell back into them, and now stares down at the leader, who’s wiping his split lip with the back of his hand.

“Who the fuck are you?” the leader asks with a shaky voice.

Tora bends down so they’re eye to eye, so there’s no mistaking his words. “I’m Tora Tasura.”

***

He slips into the apartment as the sun begins to rise, hazy and purple in the east. He toes off his shoes and sheds his clothes, glad to find Poppy still curled up where he left her. As soon as he slides beneath the comforter, she stirs, rolling to face him.

“Leaving?” Her voice is groggy with sleep.

“Just got back.”

“Really?”

“Got what I needed.”

She nestles into him, then scrunches her nose. “You smell like a bar.”

“There was a bar in the strip club.”

Poppy pushes away from him, eyes wide. “You went to a strip club?”

“It’s where the paper man was.” She’s displeased, that much is etched on her face, but he isn’t sure why. “You’re angry.”

“I’m not angry.”

“Ya look it.”

She scowls and sits, up, clutching the blanket to her chest. “I just think it’s…disrespectful to go there. I know we haven’t exactly talked about boundaries, and I know you had to go there tonight, but I still feel…it just makes me uncomfortable.”

“But why?”

She seems to shrink, though she doesn’t move an inch. “It’s the paying to see other women’s bodies I don’t like. I know what I look like, Tora. I’m not under the impression I’m a super model.”

“Dunno what the fuck that is.”

“I mean while I like how I look, it took me a long time to get here and I’m aware I’m not the traditional beauty stereotype.”

Tora can’t help but scoff. “Sweetheart, didn’t ya hear me when I swore I was gonna raze cities for ya? Build kingdoms for ya? That ain’t somethin’ I just do for fun.” He brushes a hand over her shoulder, down her arm. “Each piece of ya is more perfect than the last. Shit, ya broke time, Bobby. That has to tell ya that even the gods can’t help but see it.”

“I want to believe you, but it’s hard. And maybe I can only say this because I’m still half asleep and it’s too dark to see your face, but when you say those things, all I can think about is stretchmarks and softness.”

“I like ya softness. I like your moonbeam bits.”

“My what?”

“On ya hips and inside ya thighs it looks like someone’s painted there with starlight, but starlight I can touch and taste.” He leans into her, dropping his voice to a near growl. “And it’s fuckin’ delicious.”

Poppy bridges the gap between them and kisses him. “You mean it?”

“Never lied to ya.” And it’s not a lie. He’s never met anyone like her, never knew a woman who tugged on his very soul, could bring him to his knees with a look. Hell, going on his knees before her was quickly becoming his favorite thing. “Let me taste starlight, Poppylan.”

She nods and he pulls down the comforter, settling between her thighs. He’s hard before his tongue touches the first silvery stripe. How she can think these are anything but a blessing from the gods for such a strong, beautiful, healthy body is beyond him, but if he has to kiss each mark, he’ll do it gladly.

He traces the moonbeams that cup her breasts and the ones that trickle over her hips. He saves the ones on the insides of her thighs for last, teasing and tasting them until her breaths come fast. Still, he lavishes them in attention, not wanting to pass up the opportunity to worship each piece of her, even the ones she doesn’t love. He’ll help her love them, help her see herself through his eyes so she can know what it is to be perfection in the most blissfully human of ways.

He moves his mouth to her center. She’s already so wet, her fingers in his hair. He’s careful to not be too rough with her, especially after last night. He wants her to feel nothing but his absolute devotion, the way he worships her with his tongue and fingers.

Maybe the gods hadn’t forgotten him after all. Maybe they’d chosen him to come here, if only for the chance to taste the stars.

Poppy

Poppy showers after she rolls out of bed, not wanting to go into the office smelling like sex. She’s sure that’s just something made up by romance novel authors, but she doesn’t want to risk it. Part of her wants to tell Erdene about her newfound facet of her and Tora’s relationship, but it seems to intimate to share, too…personal, even if Erdene never shies away from telling her.

Tora’s at the stove, taking the kettle off the burner when she comes into the kitchen, hair still damp, but dressed for work. His back’s to her and her gaze traces over the kanji tattoo that sits between his shoulder blades.

“How did they do those?” she asks, coming to stand beside him as he takes the tea out of the cabinet. “Your tattoos, I mean.”

He twists an arm, as if he’d forgotten they were there. “Hand poked. It’s a method where a thin, sharp piece of metal is tapped into the skin.”

“Yours must have taken a long time…and they look so modern.”

“That a complement, Bobby?” He smiles down at her.

“Technically, it was just an observation, but you can take it as a compliment if you’d like.”

“My brother Asura has one on his throat. He kept his mouth shut the whole time the tattooist was doin’ it, but when he got back to the yurt, he just laid in bed with snow on his neck the rest of the day. Whiny little shit.”

Poppy smiles back at his little story, but her heart aches for the hint of sorrow in his voice. She isn’t sure what to say back, so she just runs a hand up and down his back and takes the proffered tea in her pink travel mug. “Thank you.”

“Gonna go see Alice today. Tell her I’m stickin’ ‘round a while.”

“That’s good. She’ll be glad to see you. Want me to come by during my lunch break and drive you?”

“It’s a ten minute walk, I’ll be fine.”

She doesn’t like the idea of him out and about in a strange world but coddling him won’t do any good either. “Okay. Text me if you change your mind though.” She glances at the clock. “I have to go, or I’ll be late.”

Tora bends down and palms her cheek, kissing her deeply, the kind of kiss she feels down to her toes. “Have a good day, sweetheart.”

“You too,” she breathes, mind going foggy. The fact that one little kiss can do that to her is still insane to consider. Before him, she couldn’t picture calling out just to roll back into bed unless she was actually ill. But things have certainly changed.

Erdene and Jacob are already in the office, Gil standing near her desk when she arrives.

“Ah, Poppylan, good morning,” Gil greets, putting a folder beside her computer. “Mr. Noyouko submitted an outline for a new book series last night. It’s a bit of a mess, so I’m not sure if you want to go over it with him before a formal submission.”

“Of course.” She drops her bag to the floor beside her chair and sits. “I’ll take a look and get in touch with him.”

Gil smiles and pats her shoulder. “Shoot me a message when you do.”

Poppy rolls her shoulders back when he leaves, hating how touchy he is sometimes. She knows he probably only means it to be a kind, friendly gesture, but for some reason, it makes her skin crawl. The feeling is worse today, though that probably has something to do with the fact that she likes only having the memory of Tora’s touch on her skin.

“Girl, I could not get any sleep last night.” Erdene says, taking up her usual perch on the corner of her desk. A Gucci shoebox balances on her lap. “Once I started developing these, I was hooked.”

“You did some of the pictures?”

“I did all of the pictures. I just couldn’t help myself. It was like seeing parts of a historical drama with a cast I kind of recognize. The old sushi lady’s there and a little kid with crazy gold eyes like Tora. I salvaged, like, fifty overall. Some I had to mess with to clear up, but I think they turned out pretty good considering how they aged.”

Poppy snatches the box and glances over at Jacob’s desk to make sure he isn’t looking. Then she opens the lid and begins sifting through the photos. It’s Tora’s world in vibrant color, the patterns on silk and the tall grass of summer. And between those snippets is a boy she knows as the man he’ll become, golden eyed and chubby cheeked as a baby, skinned knees and grubby faced as a toddler. Her chest squeezes knowing she’ll have part of his past to give him and Alice both.

“Thank you,” she whispers, putting the lid back on the box.

“Any time you have a time traveler climbing your tree and need to develop some film, just give me a call.” She leans in and grins. “He is climbing your tree, isn’t he?”

Poppy’s face burns. “I don’t know what you mean.”

She laughs. “No judgement here, Pops. He’s a tall drink of historical water, so if you get to take a few sips, more power to you.”

“What an odd analogy.”

“I mean it.”

“I know.”

Erdene flips open the file Gil put on the desk. She scans the paper on top and cackles. “Oh, this is going to be good.”

She snatches it and reads the summary of Quincey’s next proposed book:

A modern, city girl with a heart of gold and a penchant for picking the wrong men gets more than she bargained for when an ancient warrior appears during the softest summer rain. Like the pot of gold at the end of a rainbow, he materializes in all his armored glory, savage and bold, a Viking king from another time.

Our heroine is frightened, but the Viking is soft beneath the plates of metal that catch the light of the fading sunset. They form a tentative friendship, one based on her ability to believe in other worlds and his fascinating with her modern life and sharp tongue. Their bond only strengthens when they begin to formulate a plan to return the Viking king home, though neither can bring themselves to pull the trigger.

Will he stay in a time where his people and history are gone, or return to his, where his kingdom awaits. And will she let him go or follow after him in the rain.

Poppy rolls her eyes and shuts the folder. “He can’t be serious.”

“Looks pretty serious to me.”

“He can’t write this.”

“Why not? A sweeping romance, a rugged hero…maybe Tora can pose for the cover.”

The only thing worse than editing a story based on her and him would be to have to look at a picture of him on the Giant Goldfish billboard she passes every day on her way to work. “He can’t, Dene.”

Erdene frowns and Poppy knows her feelings must be clear on her face. “I’m sorry, Pops. You’re right, that would be almost…cruel.”

“Not cruel, not from Quincey, but it would hurt,” she admits, turning on her computer to give her hands something to do. The pang in her chest is back, even after the sweet morning she spent with Tora. “I know I haven’t been all that forthcoming about the whole situation.”

“It’s fine, really. I know a lady never kisses and tells, and since I’m no lady, the burden must fall to you.”

This makes her smile. “Yeah, I guess you have a point.”

“I’m sure Quincey would understand if you steered him in a new direction.”

“I hope so. Though I know how he gets when he’s interested in a story. I hate to make him change things just to spare my feelings.”

“He’d do anything to spare your feelings. All of us would.” Erdene glances at the folder. “It’ll all be okay in the end, Pops, no matter what happens.”

***

Quincey finally calls her back just after lunch, and Poppy isn’t sure how to tell him that if he continues with the book, she won’t be the one editing for him. She’ll just have to do it fast like taking off a bandaid.

“Hello, hello!” he says cheerily when she answers. “I take it Gil gave you my proposal?”

She twists back and forth on her rolling office chair. “He did.”

“Fantastic, isn’t it? It’ll be like a sneaky piece of history for future generations to enjoy.”

“About that…I think you’re going to work with Gloria for this project.”

There’s a pause. “Gloria? Who’s that?”

“She’s a senior editor and she’s really nice. She has her own office upstairs and—”

“No,” he cuts her off. “I refuse to entrust my bosom heaving masterpieces to anyone else but you.”

“But Gloria—”

“Did Gil give her my work? I’ll call him right now and—”

“No, it was me. I…I don’t think I can edit a book about…us.”

Another pause, longer this time, then, “Oh, I see.”

“Anything else and you know I’ll adore it; I just can’t handle reading everything that happened with Tora and I over and over when he’s gone. Because he will leave, Quincey. One day it’ll work and that’ll be it.” Her vision blurs and she blinks back the tears. She can feel Erdene’s gaze on her back. “I know it probably sounds dumb, but I just can’t do it.”

“Darling, I’m so sorry, that’s just terribly insensitive of me. I suppose when it turned out he was staying, I sort of assumed he meant forever, especially with you two getting so close.”

The knife in her chest twists a bit. “He’s not.”

“Then scrap it, toss the whole thing in the fireplace.”

“We don’t have a fireplace.”

“Then out the fire escape, I don’t know. I just really wasn’t thinking and got caught up in the romance of it all. Forgive me?”

“No, please, I didn’t want to make it a big deal, which is why I talked to Gloria. It is a rather grand story.”

“Yes, but it’s your story, no matter how much I adjust the bits and pieces. There are a million others out there, and I think maybe I’d like to make dabble in cowboys for a change, maybe do a special Christmas story. Darling, put it out of your mind and we’ll go on to the next book idea.”

She takes a deep breath. “Okay, thanks, Quincey.”

“And in payment of my noble and selfless deed, I’m taking you out for a bite. You and our favorite warrior king.”

“That’s not how payment works, and I think he’s still with Alice.”

“Your presence in itself is a gift. And if I get you all to myself, all the better. Chat with Tora and shoot me a text, darling. I’m craving Italian and I feel as if garlic bread would rock his ancient world.”

Poppy laughs and hangs up, feeling better about everything. Though she does wonder if it might be nice having their strange but wonderful story immortalized by Quincey. Maybe in a few years, when her heart heals, skimming the pages would remind her was it was to fall for an ancient king.

It’s evening when she leaves the office, having had to stay for a workshop about marketing. The apartment’s dark too, when she comes in with the intent of picking up Tora. He’d said he was going to be home in time to meet Quincey with her, but his usual black boots are missing from their place by the entryway and his wallet and keys aren’t in the dish by the door.

She pulls her phone out of her purse and gives him a call, but it rings until it hits the voicemail. She shoots him a text telling him to meet them at the restaurant, which is only a few blocks from Alice’s, then leaves the apartment. It’s nice he and Alice are getting time together.

Tora

The blacked-out Mercedes is parked at the mouth of the alleyway when he leaves Alice’s. The car’s back door opens as he approaches, and Tora stills, hands on his hips so he looks casual, but it’s actually so his fingers are closer to the hilt of the hidden dagger.

Vincent Balthuman unfolds himself from the backseat and smiles. “Hello, son. How would you like to become a very wealthy young man?”

Chapter Text

Tora

Vincent Balthuman unfolds himself from the backseat and smiles. “Hello, son. How would you like to become a very wealthy young man?”

Tora snorts and glances around the car, there’s another parked behind it, he can see the nose sticking out from behind the wall. Until he sees how many people Vincent’s brought with him, he won’t risk anything, not when Alice’s front door is only a few meters behind. There’s a good many people settling in for dinner in her dining room, but he feels that wouldn’t stop Vincent from making a good show if he felt like it.

“Why don’t you join me for a drive?” Vincent asks lightly. “I can tell you a little more about my organization and where someone like you might fit in.”

“No thanks.”

He keeps talking, like he hadn’t heard him. “I looked into you, you know. Funny how no one’s heard of you, save for the five Nine Dagger’s thugs you flipped on their heads last night, and some whispers on Ares Street. You’ve made quite the little name for yourself.”

Tora waits, seeing if he’ll say more. He had been a fool to give those men his new, full name. But how foolish, he isn’t quite sure yet.

“I would think someone with your particular skills would have some sort of background, yet I found nothing. Not in the weapons community, not in the metal working one, not in the fashion community my son is so engrained in, that he mentioned meeting you in. Still, I believe you and I would work well together.” He motions to the car. “Come now, let’s talk numbers somewhere a little more private.”

Tora weighs his options for a moment, only the shortest one he can spare. It’s clear Vincent is going to offer him one of those jobs Quincey warned him against, but that doesn’t deter him. He thinks of having a job where he can take care of Poppy for as long he’s here, and about leaving her provided for, at least a little, when he isn’t. If he’s going to work for the devil, at least it won’t be one in disguise, it’ll be one he sees for who he really is.

Tora nods and climbs into the car. Vincent follows, and as soon as the door’s closed, the driver takes off. There’s a flash of headlights behind them and Tora doesn’t need to turn around to know it’s the second car.

“Tell me about yourself,” Vincent orders, his steely, pale gaze fixed on him.

“Not much to tell.”

“Come now, a man like you must be from somewhere, have some people, a history.”

Tora nearly cracks a wry smile at that. It’s like he’s stepped into one of those mob movies he watched on Netflix. He has the feeling he’s about to be made an offer he can’t refuse. “No family. Moved around and now I’m here.”

“I know there’s much you’re not telling me, but I can’t bring myself to care when you seem so capable.”

“How do ya know I ain’t a cop then?” he challenges.

“Men like you don’t join the police force, Tora, and if they did, I’d know them. They’d live nice and cozy in the front pocket of my suit.”

He doesn’t know what that means but moves on. “Cut to the chase. What do ya want?”

“I admire a man who isn’t afraid to be direct. To make matters simple, my organization ensures this city runs smoothly. We keep crime at bay, give out loans, collect on those loans, offer our protection…we’re a multifaceted company with many positions available.”

“Lotta smooth talkin’ words, but none of ‘em tell me what the fuck ya want.”

“I want you to join my organization. I can tell you have something inside you that would make you invaluable to the Balthuman clan. I could offer you a position as an enforcer to begin. It’s dirty work, but my pay is fair.”

“Talk plainly, Balthuman. How dirty we talkin’?”

“Beatings, threats, the odd killing.” Vincent pauses, as if waiting for Tora to say something, object perhaps. “I take care of the men who take care of me.” He then reaches into his jacket and pulls out a slip of paper, handing it to Tora. “This would be a salaried position with bonuses paid for particularly…difficult jobs.”

The paper reads 175K. He has no idea if that’s a good number or not and doesn’t want Vincent to see how little he understands. Tora decides to treat it like bartering at a market, assume the price is too low. He crumples up the paper. “Not enough.”

He raises a brow. “Not enough?”

“Not for what ya want.” If he’s going to lower himself to the likes of Ares Street, he’s going to be paid handsomely for his labors. For Poppy.

“How does two hundred grand sound?”

That’s a big jump, but is it big enough? “Gettin’ there.”

Vincent chuckles. “I respect a man who knows his worth. Tack on twenty grand more. If I wasn’t so keen to snap you up before another clan, I’d hardly offer this much.”

“Ya want work, ya want me, ya gotta pay for it.”

“I always pay my debts.” He holds out his hand. “So, what do you say? Ready to make a real living?”

Tora grasps it and they shake. Though he’s agreed to nothing more than a job, he feels the bond of it, the solidification. It settles over him like a heavy fog, cloudy and bitter.

The driver stops at the end of a dark road, the windows on either side of them dark and still. Tora has a bad feeling about whatever it is he’s going find when he steps out of the car, but he has little choice but to follow Vincent, to see what lies ahead.

They go inside a business with barred windows and empty shelves. It smells of rot and dust, and he fingers his hidden blade as they silently walk through the rows of shelves and to the back of the building. There’s yet another room, dim, though slightly lit by the yellow light that streams in from a broken window overlooking an alleyway. In its hazy glow sits a man on a metal chair who reeks of fear and filth.

“Tora, meet my former financial advisor, Richard,” Vincent says, motioning to the man in the chair. “Richard, this is Tora. He’s just joined the ranks as one of my enforcers.”

Richard’s eyes are wide, showing the whites like a startled horse. “Please, Master, Balthuman. I just—”

“Stole from me,” Vincent cut in, voice still jovial. “You thought I wouldn’t notice, so you stole right out from under me, bit by bit.”

“I was going to return it, I swear. Please, I can—”

“Do nothing. You can’t do a single thing to rectify the situation, so I’m left with making an example of you.” He looks over his shoulder to where Tora lingers, and smiles. “Come here, son. Come and prove yourself.”

Tora stiffens. This isn’t some back-alley brawl or seedy shakedown; this is a man in a torn suit tied to a chair. There wasn’t going to be much honor in this new job, but this is beyond thought. This can’t be worth whatever it is Vincent plans to pay him.

He crooks a finger and a golden ring on his hand flashes. “Come now, Tora. Can’t be reprimanded the first day on the job now, can you?”

The men from the other car are standing behind him, a quiet, besuited mass that seem to push him forward by thought alone. He has no choice but to step before the chair. He stills, waiting to see what Vincent has in mind. He’s already decided to take the money offered and build a life to leave Poppy when he’s gone, but for some reason, he didn’t think he’d be called upon to earn it so soon. He thought he had more time.

“Now hit him.”

Tora gaze flicks to Vincent. He’s watching him with unveiled amusement, waiting, pale eyes seeming to glow. Taking orders and taking lives is how he’d been raised until it was his turn to be the one who pointed his finger. In war it’s different and the stakes are clear, here they’re anything but. Still, perhaps this is how war is fought when there’s no more need of horses and shields.

So, he cocks his fist and swings.

A sickening crunch fills the room and Richard yelps.

“Again,” Vincent orders.

The blow lands on the side of his head.

“Again.”

“How do ya want this to end?” Tora asks quietly.

“With my satisfaction.”

He hesitates for only a moment.

“Come now, Tora. Don’t tell me you’ve already gotten cold feet? We have a deal, you and I, and soon you and Poppylan Wilkes will be out of that cramped apartment.”

The time for hesitation is over with the mention of Poppy and Tora swings.

He lands another hit, then another, and another as Vincent keeps murmuring, “Again. Again. Again.”

Richard squirms, unable to move away from the quick, even blows that make harsh contact with his head and neck. Tora turns his mind off as he does on the battlefield, letting his body take over where his thoughts would normally give him pause. He feels the pain in his knuckles as they brush over bone, smells the thick tang of coppery blood, hears wet cracking and crunching. Yet it’s as if it’s all happening to someone else. Being done by someone else.

When Richard no longer moves, Tora stops and stares down at the mangled mass that was once his head. He glances at Vincent, who has his brows raised. Then he claps. “Well done, my boy. Well done indeed.” He cocks his head toward the body. “Someone clean this up. It’s getting quite late and I’m meeting my wife for dinner.”

Tora refuses to look back as they leave and go to the car. He keeps his breathing even, his face a mask. He won’t let Vincent know what he’s thinking, give him a whiff of his unease. There’s no other choice but to shove that feeling into a box, bury it in the wastelands, and worry about it when he can do nothing else but burn the contents.

The interior lights turn on when they climb into the car, and there’s a smattering of blood on his split knuckles. Some of it’s his, some not, and speckles of it dot his shirt and pants, his arms up to the elbows. He hopes it stains the fine, leather seats.

“And how do you feel?” Vincent asks casually as the driver pulls away, the second car not following them.

“’Bout what?”

He chuckles. “I knew you were a smart man. Something tells me we’ll be good together, you and I. Very good indeed.”

Tora says nothing as they drive, the city dark around them. He doesn’t even say anything as the car stops before Poppy’s apartment building and the driver hands him an unmarked, white envelope.

He jogs upstairs to the apartment, not eager to have anyone see his bloodied clothes and hands. Luckily, the building is quiet, and he lets himself in without being spotted. He’s careful to ensure the door’s locked tight behind him before calling out to Poppy.

There’s no answer. He remembers his cellphone and takes it out of his back pocket, reading her brief texts he hadn’t seen before. At least she’s safe with Quincey and Vincent’s apparently busy with his wife.

He rips open the envelope from the driver, streaking it red. Money flutters down, piling on the comforter. He can’t stand to look at it. Can’t stand to see what a man’s life is worth in this time.

Tora shucks off his clothes and shoves them all into the washing machine Poppy taught him how to use. He knows he can’t let blood settle on fabric and needs to wash it all away before she comes home and sees him like this—like…like…like his true self.

He scrubs his skin raw, heart beginning to race, spiraling, hurdling. He feels fucking sick. Despite the truth of his time and birth and station, he’s been able to present himself as something else to her, something softer, sweeter. He hadn’t realized how pleased he’d been to touch her with unstained hands. But as the water runs pink then clear around his feet, he realizes he had always been that man with bloodied fingers, he just hadn’t had the opportunity to flex them since coming here.

His pulse still pounds when he leaves the bathroom, pulling on a pair of shorts. He needs to do something, break something, fix something, anything to stop the pulling in his chest.

He opens the balcony off the bedroom and stands at the railing, sucking in deep gulps of crisp, night air. Even with closed eyes, he can see the city clearly, a living, writhing thing, like a poisonous snake. Yet, even that seems harsh, as he’s done nothing more than add his own venom to the streets.

“Tora?” Poppy’s voice calls softly, his name sweet from her lips.

He can’t respond, has no idea how to when the sin closes his throat.

“Tora?” The sweetness is gone, and her voice is strained, strangled, a stilted whisper. “Tora, what have you done?”

Poppy

Quincey had ended their dinner before their usual dessert, strange for him, but not unheard of when his phone pings with a text. Usually though, his eyes sparkle as he plans to meet with some lover, who he always tells her and Erdene about over coffee the next time he comes into Giant Goldfish. But this time, his mouth pressed into a thin line, and he merely told her he’d call her later.

It must be tough juggling all those partners. She’d met a few since knowing him, all model-attractive with an edge to them. It looked like one might have ended things for good. She makes a mental note to pick him up a sinfully sweet paperback from the used book store they both like next time she sees him.

The light in her living room is on when she comes in, though she doesn’t see Tora’s shoes beside the front door where they usually are when he comes home. She wonders if maybe he’s gone up to the roof or down the block to the convenience store. But a breeze cutting through the apartment, beckoning her to the balcony

“Tora?” she calls out, spirit lifting with the thought of spending some time together before she has to go to sleep.

Something on her bed makes her pause. It’s a pile of hundred-dollar bills scattered across her blanket. She picks them up and drops them again when her fingers brush over something damp. Red.

Her fingers are red.

Her stomach flips and she notices the envelope. She knows what it means at once, though she wishes she didn’t so he could just lie to her and tell her it isn’t what it seems. But she sees the blank envelopes that are delivered to Quincey at times, knows they come from his father. But more than that, she saw how Vincent Balthuman had looked at Tora with something akin to hunger when they met.

“Tora?” Her voice comes harsh and reedy despite her attempt at staying calm.

He’s there on the balcony, his form edged in light, unmoving and silent.

“Tora, what have you done?”

The hysteria in her voice must be what finally makes him turn, and for a second, it’s like she doesn’t recognize the man before her. He looks the same, but different, a changeling.

“Did you go to Vincent Balthuman?” she dares ask.

“He came to me.”

Poppy swallows. “And he gave you money?”

He nods.

“For…for a job?”

Another nod.

She debates how much she wants to know, if she could handle the truth of it. But she has to force herself to be brave. “What did you do?”

“Killed someone.”

Poppy’s head spins, her gaze beginning to narrow to a pinprick. “I need to sit down.”

Tora’s beside her in a second, his touch feather light as he helps her to the bedroom. She stares down at the pile of money, and he silently takes it, and the comforter, into the living room. Poppy drops onto the bed, taking deep breaths as her vision blurs with tears.

“You killed someone?” she whispers when she hears his footsteps behind her.

“Yes.”

“Who?”

“A man who stole from Vincent.”

Poppy squeezes her eyes shut. “You killed someone.”

“I had to.”

“You killed someone!” Her chest hurts, a painful thrum of heat.

“I’ve killed a lot of someones, Poppylan,” he tells her, his voice much closer now.

She opens her eyes to see him kneeling before her.

“I killed my first man at ten and haven’t stopped since. I’ve killed hundreds, more than that, and ordered the deaths of thousands. It’s who I was before I came here.”

“Before, it was your way of life. Your kingdom. But to do it for Vincent Balthuman?”

A muscle in his jaw feathers. “I did for you.”

“For me? Why the hell would you think you’d need to kill someone for me, Tora? What made you think I would need or want that?”

“He knew ‘bout ya. Knew I lived here.”

“So, what, he threatened you?” The pieces are slipping into place, slowly but surely. Of course, he only killed for her. That’s more in line with the Tora she knows.

“At first, I took the job for the money.”

“But why?”

“Didn’t want to be a burden.”

“Tora, you’re not.”

“I ain’t havin’ anyone pay my way and I wanted to leave ya with something when I go back to my time.”

The pain is back. “You killed someone for money because you thought I would want it.” She sniffs as the first tear rolls down her cheek. “Because you thought I’d want your blood money.”

His face is still a cold mask, but there’s a hint of something beneath, something of the man who waxed poetic about starlight marks just last night.

“We need to…we need to keep you away from Vincent.”

“Ain’t gonna happen now. I took his job and he’s gonna pay me.”

“Then quit.” She knows it sounds stupid as she says it, but she needs to suggest something.

“Ain’t no quittin’, ‘specially when he made it clear he knows exactly who ya are to me.”

Poppy doesn’t see a way out of this mess and she both pities and hates Tora for getting tangled up with Vincent. Rationally, she understands that there’s no saying no to a clan boss, but she wishes there was, and that Tora could have refused.

“What now?” she asks. “You’re going to be his hitman?”

“I’ll do what I have to.”

“You’ll leave in the middle of the night and bring home envelopes of money?” Poppy can’t stop the tears and she despises it. “You’ll come back covered in blood?”

His mouth flattens into a thin line. “It’s just a job. It’s the same shit I woulda been doin’ in my time.”

“That doesn’t make it better.”

“Ya know what I was ‘bout to do when the lightnin’ hit? I was about to decapitate someone. I’d already killed more than two dozen men that day and was gonna do it again when I wound up here.”

His words are true, and she knows it, but it doesn’t lessen the shock of knowing he’s now killed here. “It’s different.”

“No, Poppylan, it ain’t. Killin’s killin’, no matter what time ya in. The only difference between now and then is that ya angry with me for it.”

“Of course, I’m angry. You took a life here when you didn’t need to and now you might get arrested. Right now, someone might find the…body and then they’ll—”

“No body. And no one’s gonna arrest me.”

Poppy wants to stop crying, but she can’t. The deep, wracking sobs cut through the apartment, and she pushes Tora away as she stands. She makes to go and grab her purse so she can leave, go anywhere where she can fall apart. Usually, she’d go to Regina’s Peak, but she can’t ever go there again.

Tora grabs her arm. “Poppy.”

She yanks it free. “I have to get out of here.”

“Ya can’t drive like this.”

“Then I’ll sit in the parking lot.”

“No, this is ya home. You stay.” He goes to the closet and bulls a duffle bag off the shelf.

Poppy watches him shove clothes into the bag, still dressed only in a pair of shorts. Her sobs are ebbing into hiccups, and she realizes that once he’s packed, he’ll go, and she won’t know where he is…and she’ll be alone.

“Don’t,” she whispers.

He zips up the bag and glances at her.

“Don’t leave.”

“I’ll call Quincey and stay with him.”

“Just stay here.”

“I fucked up, Poppy, and I don’t wanna make it worse.”

She spins the silver ring, which she’d hung on a thin chain, around and around. “And I don’t want to be by myself after you just told me Vincent Balthuman basically blackmailed you into murder for me.”

He takes a deep breath and drops the bag to the floor. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”

“But it did. You should have never gotten involved with him.”

“I can’t take it back.”

“He’s a dangerous man.”

“I know, but I’m more dangerous than he’ll ever be, sweetheart.”

His words make a shiver roll down her spine because she knows it’s true. “But you’re not in your time anymore. You don’t have an army.”

“Don’t need one to keep ya safe.” He takes a step toward her, then another, until he kneels at her feet. He bows low, his hair brushing her toes. “While I’m here, I’m not a king or a prince or general. You are my queen, my advisor, my heart. While I’m here, my body and soul and strength are yours.”

Poppy has no idea how to respond to his strange, but warming declaration. She never thought she’d have need of anyone’s protection, but now she’s glad to have his, though she wishes she didn’t.

When Tora doesn’t rise, she sits on the floor. He rights himself when she places a hand on his head. The motion brings her palm to his cheek, and she leaves it there.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs.

“I know.”

He opens his arms. “Come here.”

She climbs into his lap, straddling him, and runs her hands over his shoulders. “Are you okay?”

“Fine. Always have been.”

Poppy isn’t sure if she believes him, but she doesn’t want to argue. Not with him. Not now. All she can think of is being close to him and forgetting everything from the past hour, let their body erase the memories.

When she brushes her lips over his neck, he pulls away slightly. “Poppy—”

“Don’t say anything. Just touch me.”

He nods and kisses her, though it’s too tender for what she needs. She craves fire and bruising kisses and mingled breaths. His caresses are too soft and gentle for what she desires.

Poppy pulls off her shirt and unhooks her bra, grinding into the hardness that presses against her core. They’re separated only by his shorts and her underwear, making her grateful she’d worn a skirt today. She rolls her hips, and he moans, his bare chest grazing over hers, over her peaked nipples. She does it again and shivers with the brief flash of pleasure.

Tora threads his fingers through her hair and kisses her with the kind of ferocity she needs. She continues rolling her hips as their lips and teeth and tongues clash. She’s hurrying toward orgasm and his hand grasps her ass, dragging her harder against his cock. The friction makes her gasp against his mouth. And when he tightens the hold on her hair, the faint pinch of it only adds to the pleasure until she’s crying out, body convulsing.

She barely begins to recover when she lifts herself up enough to pull his shorts down the few inches to release his cock. Then she shoves her wet panties to the side and angles him into her. She’s so slippery, so sensitive, the gliding motion nearly prolongs her orgasm.

The rhythm she sets is an untried one, but Tora helps her ride him, murmuring “Good girl,” into her neck as he teases her breasts. “Such a fuckin’ good girl.”

This position is a new one for them. It's different, deeper, something she didn't know possible. And though she loves the weight of his body on hers, there's something almost powerful about being on top. They're nearly eye to eye, and they're so close, she can see each and every minute change in his expression.

Her hands run down his neck, over his shoulders, his chest, his back. After the roller coaster of the last hour, delighting in his body is an absolute treat. She ignores his split knuckles as they graze over her breasts, choosing instead to delight in his calloused palms and hot, wet mouth.

He groans as he cums inside her and she doesn’t stop rolling her hips against him until she no longer feels the pulsing of his cock.

Poppy collapses against him, trying to catch her breath as Tora skates his fingers up and down her spine. It's sick how easy it is to forgive a man with blood on his hands when you love him so deeply. She knows she should have let him leave, helped him pack, even called Quincey herself to come and pick him up. But she never would. She would never do anything that would take him away from her for even a night.

And Tora holds her as if he knows what she's thinking, and that he understands. He probably does. Just as he is used to killing, he's probably so used to the guilt that must follow when you take a life, he doesn't feel the pang of it anymore. As he said, this is who he has been, is now, and will be when he returns to his own time.

She just needs to learn to accept it.

Chapter Text

Tora

He flexes his fingers, keeping the skin around his healing cuts loose. It’s been a while since an ache lingered deep in his bones, and normally a little scrape wouldn’t bother him one bit, but bringing it into Poppy’s world has made it all the more painful. Made it fester.

He drapes an arm over the back of Quincey’s couch and runs his fingers over the knitted green fabric of it. He’s antsy but can’t pinpoint why or what to do about it. And Quincey’s ice-blue gaze on him isn’t helping.

“What?” Tora snaps as Quincey opens his mouth without saying anything for the hundredth time.

He jumps. “I was just…shall we order lunch?”

“Not hungry.”

“Should we have a drink then?” He rises from the armchair he’d been perched in and goes to the bar cart that seems to always have different bottles and glasses on it every time he’s there.

“Not thirsty.”

Quincey huffs a laughed. “Neither am I, honey, neither am I.”

Tora tilts his head back and closes his eyes. “This is all so godsdaamned fucked up.”

“You’re telling me.”

“Yeah. I know I am.”

“It’s a common, modern day saying. I’m agreeing with you.” There’s the sound of ice on glass and a series of splashes. “I knew something like this would happen as soon as he set his eyes on you in that restaurant.”

“He knew all ‘bout Poppy.”

“He knows everything about everyone, which I suppose is partly why he’s so interested in you. You’re no one. You’re from nowhere.”

“That’s one way of sayin’ it.”

“She’ll be alright though.” Quincey presses a cup into one his hands and his fingers curl around it instinctively.

He opens his eyes and glances at the pink drink. “How do ya figure?”

“Because I’ll ensure her safety.”

Tora grits his teeth. He’s supposed to be the one keeping her safe, not Quincey. “How do ya think ya gonna do that?”

“I’m still figuring it out, but she’s been my editor and friend for two years. I’m not going to let my father use her like some kind of weapon against you. Then there’s the fact he wouldn’t be too pleased if he found out I was writing again and she was helping me.” He sits back down and takes a long drink. “I know you’re probably not going to be thrilled, but I’ve called Gyu and Damien to join us.”

“Why?”

“This is beyond us, and I see no reason to not ask for help. I trust both of them completely, and you can as well. Don’t worry, you don’t need to explain your whole time traveling prince thing to them. They know and adore Poppy too and will want to aid us in any way.”

Tora shrugs. “Can’t hurt to tell ‘em. Shit, at this point, everyone’s gonna know.” He sips his drink. It’s sweet with a splash of that tang of liquor he never quite got used to. The taste of cherries lingers on his tongue. “And I’ll tell ‘em whatever I gotta to keep her safe.”

It wasn’t long before there’s a knock on the door and Quincey yells, “It’s open!”

Gyu and Damien step in, expressions serious. Gyu’s a scrawny looking kid, but Tora senses that he isn’t as weak as he plays. While Damien looks like someone who belonges on Ares Street, Tora has the idea he isn’t a mindless thug. It’s men like them that are far more dangerous than the obvious ones.

Tora nods in greeting as Gyu sits beside him and Damien plops down on the floor, stretching his tattooed legs before him.

“So what’s the plan?” Damien asks, sparking an immediate conversation.

“Well, I spoke to my father this morning and it seems he sees Tora as quite the…acquisition. I actually believe he outranks you now by leagues,” Quincey says around the rim of his glass.

Damien’s brows rise. “I’ve been running with the Balthumans since I was fifteen.”

“Sorry, darling, that’s the way the cookie crumbles.”

Here are two more people he could potentially put in more danger because of his thick skull. If they were going to be part of whatever group they were forming in this apartment, they deserve the truth.

“I ain’t from here,” Tora begins, swirling the ice around in his drink. “I ain’t from ya time at all. Sounds like bullshit, but Poppy saw it happen. I can’t figure out how to get back, so I’m stuck here for a while. Met Vincent and he’s got me on his payroll now.”

Gyu blinks at him. “Are you for real?”

“Yeah. I was here before it was a city. Ya call it Old Narin now, but back then I was a godsdamned king.” He lets out a wry laugh at the ridiculousness of hearing it outloud. “My shit’s sittin’ in ya museum now. I might even still got a hoard of treasure buried in the northern slopes. There—”

Quincey holds out a hand and leans forwards. “I’m sorry. Did you say buried treasure?”

“Yeah, it’s what we did when we weren’t in the capitol. Unless some museum found it, I guess it’s still there.” He looks around at the three surprised faces, all wide-eyed. “What?”

“I know I’ve called for a serious meeting, but you’re dangling buried treasure before me like some sort of angst-ridden pirate, and that I can’t ignore.” Quincey sips his drink with a delighted wiggle. “Honey, it looks like we’re going to have a busy weekend indeed.”

Tora rakes a hand through his loose hair, then ties it up in a bun atop his head. “Ya want the gold and it’s still there, have at it. Don’t give a shit since someone’s probably already snatched it. What I want is to keep Poppy safe.”

“If we find that treasure, it could be worth millions.” Quincey puts his empty glass on the coffee table. “If we find it, I’ll call my fence and we can have it sold for cash in a matter of days. You could be a wealthy man.”

His jaw tightens. He hadn’t thought of his hoard until now and the reality of it hits him in the gut, He could have dug it up a week ago, sold it, given it to Poppy, evaded this whole tangled mess with thousand year old coins and jewels. Yet he tied himself to a madman who values his fists. 

Fuck.

"I see your mind going a mile a minute.” Quincey’s voice snaps him out of his inner turmoil. “But it wouldn’t have changed anything unless you were going to use that money to leave town as soon as my father saw you. He always gets what he wants.”

“And you two work for him?” Tora asks Damien and Gyu.

Damien shrugs. “Low level grunt.”

“Tech guy,” Gyu adds. “We’ve both been with him since we were teens. Most who work for him were nearly raised by him, or his lieutenants. And Quincey’s right. Vincent doesn’t let anything stop him when he sees someone with a…talent he can exploit.”

“Yeah,” Damien agrees with a sigh. “He basically snatched me out of foster care and before I knew it, I was pushing people around up and down Ares Street.” He looks up at Tora. “But I’m with you when it comes to Miss Poppy. We all are.”

Tora appreciates his simple words, their willingness to help. “We’re gonna have to be smart. I need to figure out how to keep her outta his way now and when I leave.”

“You’re going to go back?” Damien asks.

“I gotta. It’s hard to explain, but seein’ how everythin’ I worked to build and secure in my time ended up fittin’ into one room…I don’t belong here.” His hold on his glass tightens. “Look at how I fucked up Poppy’s life. Vincent knows all about her just ‘cause I’m a fool.”

They all fall silent, and Tora knows they see his point. He’s just surprised they accepted him being a time traveler so easily. He thought they’d doubt him at least a little, but they were happy enough to pledge themselves to his cause of keeping Poppy safe. He owes them now, and he’ll find a way to repay their loyalty to her before he leaves.

Damien reaches into his jacket and pulls out a carton and withdraws something thin he sparks with his lighter. It glows as he sucks on it, then an acrid cloud spills from his lips. It smells of Ares Street.

“What’s that?” Tora asks.

“A cigarette?” He holds it toward him. “It’s…tobacco. People smoke it. Helps calm me down.”

That doesn’t sound like too bad a thing to Tora. He plucks it from betwixt Damien’s fingers and mimics his earlier motions, letting the smoke fill his lungs. A faint burn settles there as he blows out the smoke. But he…likes it, likes how it feels, despite the cough that hits his chest.

“Poppy won’t like this,” Quincey says in a sing-song voice.

Damien lights another cigarette for himself. “One won’t kill him.”

Tora snorts. “Nothin’ like this will.” He takes another pull.

“Idiots,” Quincey mumbles putting a shallow blue dish on the coffee table. “Tap the ash into that, will you?”

“So, if you’re a higher up now, guess you’re our big bro,” Gyu says. “I wanna run with you then  I’d rather be on your side than Shing Ma’s.”

“Who’s that?” Tora asks.

“He does the accounting, but he isn’t above getting his hands dirty.”

“Don’t know no one but you guys and Vincent.”

Gyu nods. “Suck for you then.”

“We’ll make sure to give you the low down on all the guys, big bro” Damien promises.

Tora laughs. “Shit, back home, I’m the eldest brother too.”

Quincey carefully takes Tora’s cigarette and puts it out in the ashtray.  “Now, honey, tell us more about your buried treasure.”

He stays at Quincey’s until he’s sure Poppy’s home from work. The walk back feels longer than usual with the heaviness that follows him, dragging like a chain. His afternoon with the men had been both cathartic in its normalcy, but it was like meeting the other prisoners of war. They’re all trapped by Vincent in some way, and he can’t allow it. He won’t be able to leave knowing what a dangerous mess they’reall tangled in.

Poppy’s standing at the stove when he comes in, and he hates how she jumps when he opens the door, hates how her gaze rolls over him not with the sensual appreciation it once did, but as if she’s taking stock of him, seeing if he’s returned home with the weight of new sin.

“Hey,” he greets, toeing off his shoes.

She gives him a small smile. “Hey yourself. How was Quincey’s?”

“Fine. Met up with Gyu and Pinky there too.”

“Pinky?” She cocks her head to the side. “You mean Damien?”

“Yeah. Dunno why, but his name never sticks in my head. The only thing that does is his hair.” He steps up to the stove and kisses her cheek, looking down into the pot she’s stirring. “What’s that?”

“Just some soup.”

“Smells real good, sweetheart. I’m gonna go fold the laundry. Want me to set the table when I’m done?”

She nods. “Yes, please.”

Things between them still feel off, though she still finds him in the night, her fingers coating over the moon-soaked sheets. At least she isn’t afraid of him though. That’s something he can’t allow, even on the worst of days.

When they sit down to eat, her laptop playing some peppy song he doesn’t know, he mentions the treasure.

“Like a pirate?” she asks around a bite of bread.

“The fuck’s a pirate and why is everyone callin’ me one?”

“They sailed in great, big ships and stole from other boats. Although they didn’t technically bury their treasure like in stories, but it’s just part of the folklore. In books, they’d bury these giant chests and make a map so they could find it again.”

Tora snorts. “They’d make a map so everyone could find out where the treasure was? Idiots.”

“I’m sure they meant to keep the maps to themselves.”

“If they couldn’t remember, they don’t deserve it.”

“Do you think you could find yours?”

“Don’t see why not, as long as it’s still even there. ‘S not just in a hole in the ground, but in a cave as well.”

Poppy’s eyes sparkle. “Buried treasure in a cave. Tora this is fantastic. Can we go on a treasure hunt?”

He’d do anything to keep her looking at him like that. “’Course we can.”

“Tonight?”

He glances over her shoulder, out the window. “It’ll be dark real soon.”

“But that just makes it more fun!”

“Finish ya dinner first, then we’ll go dig up my king’s bountry.”

“Yes, my lord,” she says with a grin.

Tora rolls his eyes. Somehow he feels like he’s made a mistake.

Poppy

It only takes them half an hour to get to the rocky wall of mountain on the other side of the city. Damien, Gyu, and Quincey join them, following Poppy’s car in their own, all ready to play pirate. Her body hums with excitement as they drive, winding down dark roads she’s never seen before.

Quincey’s the first out of the car when they park on the side of a dirt path that brushes against a line of trees. He’s dressed for the occasion in a striped top with a red bandana tied jauntily around his neck. His pale pants are rolled up at the calf as well, and he holds a pristine shovel on his shoulder as he surveys the dark forest.

“Did you just buy that?” Poppy asks as she ties her hair into a ponytail.

“Darling girl, do I look like someone who would just keep a shovel lying about?”

She giggles and switches on her flashlight. “Guess not.”

Gyu holds a large, empty duffle bag and Damien has a second shovel and a lantern with the tag still dangling from the handle. They all look to Tora, who’s scanning the trees, the black wall of rock behind them. He nods once, then takes Poppy’s hand in his. She can still feel the rough edges of the cuts on his knuckles, despite them having had days to heal. She focuses on stepping over fallen logs and tall grass as he takes them into the forest instead of how he got those.

Pretending seems safer than acknowledging them, acknowledging anything about who he works for now. She knows they’ve been dancing around the topic, and they should be adults and discuss his work, but she just plain doesn’t want to. She doesn’t want to picture the man who fetches donuts and coffee for her every morning and knows just how to rub her back to make her fall asleep doing anything to end a life. It’s just impossible to fathom, and she hopes this little reprieve will be just the thing to reset the soft thing of strangeness that has settled over them.

It's darker beneath the leafy trees, which block the moonlight and the remaining glow from the far-off city. Yet it feels like being young and at home in Moonbright when she and her cousins would play manhunt in the woods behind Granny’s house or search for fireflies by the pond. Quincey curses behind them as he stumbles over something.

“Does it look familiar?” she asks Tora.

His brow is knit. “It’s been a thousand years. But I can feel it somehow, though the trees are new.”

They look old to her, but he’s the expert. “Still think we’ll find it?”

“Maybe.” The reach the rocky wall and Tora takes the flashlight, illuminating one side then another. He glances up at the sky then cocks his head to the left. “This way.”

“I should have brought my notebook,” Quincey mumbles. “Gyu, take mental notes for me, please. This is positively invigorating.”

Poppy tightens her hold on Tora’s arm as the beam of light slides over some old graffiti, the paint dulled. They aren’t the only people who have been there. But surely if someone had found his hoard, it would have been in one of the dozens of articles she’s read on Old Narin in the past few weeks. The thrill of a possible discovery makes her pulse race.

“Did you have a lot of treasure?” she asks.

“Good amount. Ya like gold? Jade?”

“I like anything I like.”

“’S that mean?”

“I wear and buy things based on my mood.”

“Well, you can have first pick if the treasure’s still there.”

“But it’s yours,” she says.

He gives her hand a squeeze. “What’s mine is yours.”

Poppy’s face warms. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I’m not. Quincey’s gonna sell it for me and ya gonna be taken care of real good when I’m gone.”

Any good feelings leave her chest with his words. She’s sick of the little reminders that his time in her life is temporary, hinging on nothing more than a little rain.

“There.” Tora’s flashlight beam illuminates not the mouth of a cave, but a crack in the stone wall. He releases her hand and begins ripping away the wines that crept up the rock in the years since he’d last been there.

Quincey peers over Poppy’s head. “That’s it?”

“It opens up once ya inside,” Tora explains, looking back at them. “I’ll go in first.”

“Are you sure it’s safe?” Poppy asks. It’s been ages since he’s been in there and who knows what’s shifted since then.

He shrugs. “One way to find out.”

Then he twists to the side and sucks in a breath and disappears into the stone. Poppy’s heart jumps as his light vanishes with him. She never thought of herself as claustrophobic, but something about following him into a crack in the rock makes her hair stand on edge.

“Alright, come in!” Tora calls out.

Poppy takes a deep breath. “I’ll go next.”

She stretches her arm out before her, running her fingers over the craggy wall as she closes her eyes and is swallowed up by the cliffside. She takes one step, then another, sliding her feet over uneven ground. The path is narrower than she expected, and her breathing quickens as she takes yet another step and still hasn’t reached Tora. Did the way split at some point? Did she somehow end up somewhere else?

“Tora?” Her voice is a squeak. “Tora, are you there?” She opens her eyes, but all there is is darkness still, complete and utter darkness that makes her chest seize. She calls out louder, “Tora?”

Fingers brush hers and she screams before Tora’s voice answers, “I got ya, sweetheart. Come on.”

She grips his hand and lets him lead her into the chamber, lit by the glow of the flashlight. It’s a real, true cave with a sandy floor and uneven walls. There’s a coppery, musty smell, but at least there’s room to breathe. She needs to ask him how he even found such a place as this.

“That was freakier than I thought it would be,” she confesses, still holding tight to his fingers.

Tora kisses the top of her head. “Ya did good, Bobby. And look, it’ll still be here.” He shines the light on a smooth, large stone with a chip on it that looks like it was made with a chisel. “It’ll be under that.”

“Jesus, Mary, and Madonna queen of pop, that’s a tight squeeze,” Quincey gasps as he stumbles into the cave, Damien and Gyu coming in behind him.

“This place gives me the heebie jeebies, big bro,” Damien says as he looks around.

The space is well lit now, thanks to the lantern, and Tora gets right to work, wedging his fingers beneath the stone and heaving it over. “Shovel.”

Quincey passes him one and Damien steps forward with the other. Gyu picks up Tora’s flashlight, and Poppy sits on the overturned stone, watching with rapt interest as Tora makes the first dig. It’s not like the archeological programs she’s seen on TV with their little trowels and careful brushes, it’s a hasty movement of earth, the pile at her feet growing as Tora and Damien scoop heavy dirt out of the way.

One of the times Damien digs, there’s a dull thunk and Gyu leans forward. “Is that it?”

Tora nods and goes to his knees to brush more dirt away.

What looks to be a large, earthen pot is buries there, the dark, brown-red clay faded and chipped from the shovel, but still there. Poppy leans forward too, watching as Tora uses a small knife to pop the lid off, cracking it in the process. He tosses the pieces behind him and in its place is a true treasure, dirty, but clean beneath.

Quincey claps his hands. “Just like pirates.”

Tora reaches in and picks up a handful, letting coins and a gold chain slip through his finger. He looks up at Poppy and grins. “It’s still here.”

“This is incredible,” Gyu whispers. “I’m no history buff, but this would make some museum really fucking happy.”

“No museums,” Tora says. “From what I’ve seen, they steal from people and all that remains of where it came from are little plaques. This is mine. Ours. But Poppy gets first pick.”

She perks up. “Oh, I. don’t—”

“Come on, Miss Poppy.” Gyu grins and unzips the duffle bag. “If he’s the King of Ares Street, that makes you the queen. You have a crown in there, big bro?”

Tora shrugs and scoops some of the dirty treasure into the bag. “Think so. It’s been a while since I saw the bottom of this pot. Goin’ on…seven years in my time.”

Bit by bit the treasure goes in the bag, a lifetime of wealth, until it’s just Tora and Damien plucking the last of the coins from the bottom. It’s larger than she expected, and the bag’s going to weigh a ton. She’s glad Tora and Quincey are going to be carrying it. Gyu goes first with the lantern, followed by Damien with the shovels. Then Quincey, the bag, Tora holding her hand with his free one, and Poppy’s the last to leave, the last to glimpse the ancient treasure cave in the light of her flashlight.

They’re all dirty and giddy when they crowd Poppy’s apartment, dumping the contents of the bag on an old blanket she pulls out of the hall closet. She puts a kettle on for tea while Tora fills a storage container with water to begin rinsing his treasure. Her favorite movie growing up was The Mummy and here she is, living her childhood dream.

“Ya look happy,” Tora says as the bin fills at the sink.

“Tonight was fun. I never thought I’d go treasure hunting for real.”

He smiles and she notices a swipe of dirt on his cheek. “Time travelin’, princes, treasure…right outta one of ya books, huh?”

“That’s putting it mildly.”

Quincey, Gyu, and Damien are huddled together on one side of the pile, sifting through the filthy pieces, rubbing bits clean with old dish towels. Poppy sets a tray of tea on the coffee table and takes in the coins and necklaces and bracelets in the brightlight of her living room. She’s never seen anything like it, even in a museum, and the fact that it’s there beside her bookcase of paperbacks and secondhand couch is a ridiculous concept.

Tora sits beside her, crossed legged, and picks up a few pieces, dunking them in the water and watching the silt settle at the bottom of the clear container. Bit by bit he cleans gold bangles while Quincey polishes a silver ring and Gyu looks up items online, trying to see if he can find comparable pieces. Poppy sips her tea and takes note of each thing as the growing pile of riches grows before her.

“Here,” Tora says, taking her hand and sliding a gold bangle on her arm.

She twists it from side to side, there’s a tiger etched on the thin metal. “This is so pretty.”

“Ya ain’t pickin’ nothin’, so I’m gonna pick for ya.”

Quincey puts a silver circlet atop his head, an emerald gleaming in the center. “This is adorable.”

“Killed the man who wore that with an arrow,” Tora says mildly.

Grimacing, Quincey slowly removes it and places it back with the rest. “Alright then.”

“How much do you think all this is worth?” Damien asks.

Gyu doesn’t look up from his laptop. “The coins alone are in immaculate shape…but the jewelry is…it’s a lot. A lot, a lot. Life changing money a thousand times over.”

Tora doesn’t seem to be listening as he picks through the chains and rings, finding a necklace with a heavy ruby and diamond charm and putting it over her head. Rings follow, both of intricately carved jade. Then another necklace made of twisted silver and an anklet with what looks to be tiny bells.

“I can’t accept all this,” she murmurs as he drops a necklace of pale blue beads on her lap.

“Too late, Bobby. Don’t think I’d look good in any of this.” He grabs one earing then sifts through the pile, presumably to look for the matching one. “Every time ya say ya can’t accept somethin’, I’ll just give ya somethin’ else.”

“If I were you, I wouldn’t stop talking,” Quincey says, his arm jingling with beads and charms. “So, Tora, how much of this do you want to sell? Or do you want to take it back with you?”

Poppy’s stomach hollows out and she busies herself with cleaning a necklace as Tora says. “I’ll still be there when I get back. Shit, when I do go, you should check the cave again. I’ll leave more if it works that way.”

She stays silent as they finish going through the jewels and coins, deciding to sell the coins first and dole out the rest little by little. Though everyone, save Tora, keeps a few pieces for themselves. The rest goes back in the bag and with Quincey to his apartment, where he has a large safe in his closet for his own treasured watches and gems.

Poppy takes her time cleaning the things Tora gave her and setting them on her dresser. He’s already in bed by the time she finishes, one arm beneath his head as he lays on his back. She pulls on a large shirt to sleep in and crawls up beside him. He immediately wraps an arm around her, and she rests her head on his bare chest, savoring the warmth, the even heartbeat.

“Good thing tomorrow’s Saturday,” she says through a yawn. “It’s nearly three.”

“Wanna go get a brunch tomorrow?”

“Get a brunch?”

“Heard ya tell Erdene ya wanted to ‘get brunch’ soon. Where do we get one?”

She laughs. “It’s an expression. It’s a meal between breakfast in lunch with alcohol.”

He nods sagely. “So, do ya wanna?”

“Of course.”

Tora kisses the top of her head. “Then get some sleep, sweetheart. Ya gonna be real busy tomorrow.”

“I’m off work and all we’re doing it getting brunch. That’s hardly a busy day.”

“Trust me, Bobby, I’m gonna keep ya very busy.”

Poppy blushed. Maybe a busy Saturday was exactly what she needed.

Chapter Text

Poppy

Poppy wakes with Tora’s mouth on her thigh.

At first, she thinks it might be a dream, a hazy, warm dream where everything feels so deliciously real. Each nip of his teeth is a memory, every brush of his lips something her body can recall even in sleep. His touch traces her center and her back arches, making it clear she hadn’t imagined a single bit of it.

“Mornin’,” he murmurs against her sensitive skin when she moans.

“Good morning,” she gasps, mind still misty with sleep.

He circles her clit with his tongue. “Fuck yeah it is.”

Poppy begins to respond, but the sound gets trapped in her throat. His hands and mouth are absolute magic of the most wicked sort. A thousand years is between them, yet they’re both here together, right now, an impossible thing. Yet, it is possible, because it’s true and she has her legs on his shoulders and her fingers threaded through his hair, and each movement makes her breath come short.

He makes her come hard and she’s still quivering with the aftershocks when he moves above her, his arms caging her in. She spreads her legs and his hard cock brushes over her center. She’s so sensitive, her body ready to welcome him in. Sex between them is still impossibly new, but who knows how long he’ll be here now. How long she’ll be able to enjoy this special brand of closeness.

“Ya so fuckin’ beautiful,” he whispers as he slides into her, inch by inch. “So fuckin’ perfect.”

His hair falls around them like a curtain and Poppy holds on to his shoulders as he hooks a hand beneath one of her knees. Each thrust is an electric pulse through her sensitive body. She had no idea this is what sex could be, this overwhelming sensation of tingling pleasure and hard muscles against hers and nipping teeth on delicate skin. His powerful body, which could do so much in his time, is soft for her, only her. She loves that about him, how he can taper his strength to hold her like she might break, yet fill her, fuck her.

Tora rolls his hips just so, which helps to press against her clit on every thrust. His mouth finds her neck, her cheek, her ear.

“This feels so good,” she moans, her nails raking over his back.

“Fuck,” Tora groans. “How good does it feel?”

“I feel like my body’s on fire.”

“Goin’ too fast for ya?” He releases her leg and cups a breast through the shirt she wore to bed, the fabric rasping gently over her peaked nipple.

“Could you go faster?” The feeling of him pounding against her clit creates a sensation she wants more of.

He answers her with a series of quick thrusts that has her hooking her legs over his hips. The angle allows his cock to go in deeper, for her to stretch around him, her arousal slicking with each pass. He rolls her nipple between his fingers, applying just the right amount of painful pleasure that makes her body thrum with need.

She wants more. She wants it deeper. She wants it harder.

“Yeah? Is that what ya want, sweetheart?” he growls into her hair.

Poppy didn’t know she’d said that out loud. But she nods.

Tora slows his pace. “Wanna try somethin’?”

Her clit throbs without the pressure. She nods again.

Tora slides out of her, an agonizing drag. “Turn over.”

She obeys at once, getting on her elbows and knees. She hears Tora move behind her and then his hands are on her ass, her hips, her waist, trailing down her spine, touching everywhere but where she needs him most. She burrows her face in a pillow. He’s torturing her, and she bets he knows it.

But then his cock is there again, pressing against her entrance as one of his palms slides up her shirt to push down lightly between her shoulder blades, the other settling on her hip. When he’s back inside, the fullness of him is completely overwhelming. She didn’t think it was possible for him to feel any bigger than he already was.

“Ya alright?” he asks, stilling, their bodies completely joined.

She squirms, trying to get him to move. “Please,” she breathes.

His thrusts are slow at first, an excruciating unhurried pattern that has her mewling. He ramps up his movements gradually, then his hands begin to wander, grabbing her breasts and roaming over the globes of her ass. She’s so close to orgasm, it’s right there out of reach and all she needs is a little more…something. Her mind’s foggy with lust, so much so that she doesn’t think she could even put her desire into words.

But Tora knows, he always does. His fingers suddenly strum her clit and Poppy crumbles completely, pussy throbbing as she cums. His thrusts are hard, erratic, and the orgasms don’t seem to end as his fingers keep grinding over her sensitive folds, squeezing each drop of pleasure from her body until she thinks she can’t cum again. Her final one ends as he finishes hard within her with a kind of guttural sound that makes her toes curl. His cock pulses until he’s done, and he slides out of her wetly, their mixed arousal dripping down her thighs.

Poppy collapses onto her stomach and Tora kisses her shoulder, then murmurs. “Shower?”

Her legs barely work, so she’s all too happy to have his assistance. Though there’s nothing sexual about how they bathe, even when Tora’s hands sweep over her body, washing her clean. He carefully lathers her hair, untangling it with his fingers. It’s a relaxing thing to do, and she relishes his careful attention. It’s been too long since she felt so cared for by someone.

Her fingers brush over raised scars on his stomach and chest, most hidden beneath tattoos. “Did they hurt?”

He looks down at them, water droplets rolling over his skin. “At the time? Like a bitch. Now? Can barely remember ‘em.” He puts his hand over hers, pressing her palm to his chest, and takes a deep breath, lets it out slow. “Do ya mind ‘em?”

“Your scars?”

He nods.

“Why would I mind them?”

“They’re proof of who I am.”

She doesn’t think that makes much sense. She herself has a scar on her chin from falling off her bike and another on her elbow after climbing a tree went poorly. Neither of those marks define her. “That’s ridiculous. They’re proof of nothing except that you survived in your time. I don’t mind them one bit. Do you mind my dimples and stretch marks?”

His expression is utterly offended. “Why the hell would I mind those?”

“It’s the same thing. Peoples’ imperfections rarely have interesting stories. Yours do, but they aren’t what makes you who you are.”

The water’s growing cold, but Tora doesn’t move to turn it off. “But it’s part of who I am in my time…and now in yours.”

She knows it’s true. He’s killed in battle a thousand years ago, and again now, when Poppy is alive and there’s cars and electricity and cameras and police to track him down. But she can’t think of him like that, a murderous being who can be so gentle with her yet take a life. It’s an impossible thing to reconcile.

Poppy isn’t sure how to respond, so she just slides her arms around his middle, pressing her cheek to his chest. No matter who is when he’s not with her, she can’t help but maybe love him.

***

Being out and about with Tora is a wonderous thing for a number of reasons, most of them selfish. There’s a sense of exploration as he quietly asks her what a fire hydrant is or how a bus and a car can fit in the same size lane on a street. Even the briefest of walks becomes a time of adventure. Then there’s the looks, the appreciative ones from other women who see how tightly he holds her hand, how he drapes an arm over her shoulders as they wait at a crosswalk. She knows what they see when they look at him, and she completely understands.

They end up at a café she frequents with a large striped awning and outdoor seating on a patio, perfect for people watching. Tora’s reading lessons have been going wonderfully, though she explains each dish on the menu for him so he can order himself when the waitress comes. He’s always pushing her to teach him so he can move through her world like anyone else.

“Is this where you and Erdene like to eat?” he asks, putting his sunglasses back on. They’re dark and fit his face perfectly. He’s looking more modern by the day.

“Sometimes. We usually go to this other one near Alice’s. I just know you can get a table without a reservation here, so that’s why we came.”

“What’s a reservation?”

“It’s when you tell a place in advance that you’d like to come.”

He grins in that way he does when he’s about to try his hand at being witty. “Then can I make a reservation at ya place later? I’d fuckin’ love to c—”

“Hush!” she squeaks, looking around. No one’s paying them any mind and his tone was low, but she still feels a blush through her cheeks to the roots of her hair.

He laughs and pours her a mimosa from the glass decanter brought by a waitress. “Ya too easy, Bobby.” Then he leans forward and looks at her over the top of his sunglasses. “But I’m still gonna need that reservation. Somethin’ tells me I’m gonna be real hungry later.”

Tora

Tora twirls an unlit cigarette through his fingers as he watches Vincent watch him, the higher ups in his organization all seated on either side. It paints a rather courtly picture, a corrupt king and his legion of branded men. Tora faces them, his expression carefully crafted into nothingness, maybe a bit of boredom, but mostly nothing at all.

He still hasn’t figured out a way to escape this agreement he’s entered with the man, and all he can really hope is that he grows bored with him, that the novelty of his brutality fades quickly. Tora can’t—won’t—leave knowing he’s roaming the city, a constant threat to Poppy. That’s an issue he’ll have to sort out soon enough.

“Drink?” Vincent offers.

“Lighter,” Tora says. He’d snatched a cigarette from Damien on his way into the imposing estate house. After this, he’ll have to go buy his own. The burn in in lungs is both a punishment and sick reward that he doesn’t want to forgo.

“Martin, help the boy out.”

A stocky man with a ponytail and that damn crest on his neck slides one across the table. Tora nods and takes it, waits for someone else to speak as he lights it. The first inhale stings, but it gives his body something to focus on other than the uncertainty if the meeting before him. He also enjoys how one of them lets out a small cough when he blows out a steady stream of smoke. Satisfying.

“So, Tora, regale everyone with your credentials,” Vincent prompts. “Tell them of your…special skills.”

He takes a long pull from the cigarette. “Ya mean killin’ someone who’s been tied up with my fists?”

He cocks a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, but there’s something there that shows Tora he likes his cheek. “Precisely. We must decide just where to put you. So, tell them of your skillset.”

“Trained in hand-to-hand combat, strategic warfare, handheld weapons, stealth, trackin’, outdoor survival, horsemanship—”

“Some medieval times shit,” Claud mutters.

Vincent holds up a hand. “Now Claud, don’t look down your nose like that. There’s a certain charm in our new friend. An odd refinement beneath the brutality.”

Tora snorts. There’s nothing refined about beating a man to death.

“The lower stock could use a bit of training,” Shing Ma says, crossing his arms over his chest. There’s something about him Tora can’t quite place. Everyone else he can read, but Shing Ma is different somehow. Different maybe like him.

“We could stick him with the new stock,” Martin suggests. “Have him run them through the courses. See how this country boy stacks up against city blood.”

“How are you with a gun?” Vincent asks.

Tora doesn’t want to tell him he’s never fired one before. “Prefer quieter weapons.”

“Smart.” He raps his knuckles on the table. “See? A little change, a fresh viewpoint. Martin, take him to the range out back tomorrow and put him through his paces.”

“Is he gonna take the mark?” Claude asks. He notably doesn’t have one on his neck like some of the others do. Unless his is somewhere else like with Quincey, who has them on his arm and chest instead.

Vincent studies him, swirling his drink around in his glass. “We’ll see. Do you have a car, son?”

“Don’t need one.” Not that he could drive it anyway.

“You will when you work for me. When I call, you answer. When I text, you answer. When I whisper through the void, you answer. And you answer quickly. So, you’ll need a car.”

Tora nods. “Then I’ll need a pay raise.”

Vincent laughs, though the men at his side look nervous. “And your current salary won’t cover it?”

“Nope.”

He shakes his head. “No one else talks to me like this, you know that?”

“The disrespect,” Martin spits. He’s going to be the tough one.

“Now, Martin, I appreciate the new blood not being afraid to speak his mind. How I do enjoy a little change here and there.” He leans back in his seat. “I’ll consider it.”

Tora stubs his cigarette out in the ashtray someone set before him, waits for more. He doesn’t offer a single thing about himself to them. He refuses to.

“Doesn’t say much, does he?” Shing Ma asks to no one in particular.

“Just how I like my dogs,” Vincent muses. “Silent.”

Tora’s careful to keep his expression still as stone. He knows Vincent’s testing him at each turn, in little, tapping ways to see if there are any cracks in his armor. Unluckily for the old man, Tora is meticulous in the care of his shields.

Vincent stares at him for a moment, then two, and finally waves a hand. “Dismissed. Return here tomorrow at four.”

Tora wordlessly pushes his chair back from the table and stalks from the meeting room. Quincey’s jogging down a wide, marble staircase and looks surprised to see him there.

“Meeting with my father?” he asks as he follows Tora outside.

“Wanted to size me up with the other fucks.” He goes to where Damien sits on the hood of his car. “Pinky, ya good with a gun?”

He looks up from his phone. “Yeah, I’m okay. Why?”

“I want ya to teach me how to use it.”

“Well, okay. There’s a shooting range behind the house. We can—”

“No. Don’t want anyone knowin’ I don’t have a godsdamned idea what I’m doin’.”

“Shall we all go to the range then?” Quincey suggests. “I can go get a few pieces from the safe and meet you at the one on 8^th Avenue.”

“Yeah, I couldn’t do with some practice,” Damien says, sliding off the hood.

They get in the car and Tora pulls out his phone, sends a text to Poppy.

TORA: going out with pinky and Q. U OK?

BOBBY: Yep! I just edited a few reports for tomorrow and I’m thinking I might make shrimp scampi pasta for dinner.

BOBBY: Do you know when you’ll be home?

TORA: late. That OK?

BOBBY: Totally. Where are you guys going?”

He thinks about lying to her, but he promised her honesty, and he intends to give her just that as often as he can.

TORA: something called a shooting range. need to know how to use a gun

The little dots signaling that Poppy’s writing pop up on the screen, disappear, pop up again, then finally a text comes through.

BOBBY: Be safe.

He slides the phone back in his pocket and watches Damien drive. His fingers drum on the wheels as he turns, one hand flipping a stick every so often to indicate a turn. “Is it hard?”

“Is what hard?”

“Drivin’.”

He laughs. “Nah, once you get the hang of it, you don’t even need to think about it.”

“Like ridin’ a horse?”

“Wouldn’t know.”

“Ya ain’t never been on a horse?”

“Sorry, big bro, but have you seen any horses here?”

Tora looks out the window. He hadn’t seen almost any animals, save for some birds and dogs being walked by lengths of colorful rope. “Are they all gone?”

“Like dinosaurs? Nah. They’re out in the country probably. Like where Miss Poppy’s from.”

“Have ya been there? To Moonbright?”

“A few times. Her Granny’s so funny. She’s like Poppy but with a dirty mouth.”

He thinks Poppy’s sweet mouth is delightfully dirty but is glad Damien can’t say the same.

“And here it is.” Damien pulls into a small parking lot of a non-descript building.

They wait for Quincey until he parks beside them, and they go inside together, him carrying a heavy duffle bag. Damien shows him a .22, a .45, and an AR-15, each one wildly different and not all as easy to use as the movies make it look. For hours he practices loading and unloading, aiming, drawing, pulling the trigger, and finally putting it all together until he can hit a target. Aiming a gun isn’t the same as a crossbow, yet at the same time, there’s something familiar about it that makes it easy enough by the end. He won’t win any marksmanship prizes, but he won’t look a complete fool tomorrow, and he can’t as for much more.

“Keep the .45,” Quincey says. “Bring it tomorrow and say it’s yours.”

He pops out the magazine and empties all but one of the bullets, dropping them into his pocket. “Thanks.”

“And be early, if you can. I’ll be there, that way I can fail miserably on the range and take some of the heat off you.”

“Ya don’t gotta do that.”

Quincey zips up the bag up and hikes it onto his shoulder. “Yeah, I do. I got sloppy taking you two to dinner and now you’re tangled up with my father. I didn’t want this for you…or Poppy.”

“S’alright. He seems like he woulda found me anyway after Ares Street. Nothin’ we can do ‘bout it now.”

He nods, though he looks like he wants to say something more, but just waves goodbye in the parking lot. Tora and Damien get into the car and Tora pulls out his phone for the first time. It’s just after eight, later than he expected. He sends Poppy a text.

TORA: on my way

BOBBY: Okay! I saved some dinner for you.

TORA: thanks sweetheart

“Miss Poppy gonna mind you bringing that gun into her house?” he asks.

“Dunno. Didn’t think about it.”

“She probably won’t, to be honest. But if you’re in the life like the rest of us, it won’t hurt to have one in case you need it.”

“Think I’ll need it?”

He shrugs. “You won’t until you do, and it would be bad news to be caught without one.”

“By Quince’s old man or someone else?”

“Does it matter?”

“Guess not.” He lifts his hips off the seat and shoves the gun in the back of his jeans. “Don’t wanna take any chances. See ya tomorrow.”

Tora takes the steps two at a time, the cool metal of the skin slowly warming against his skin. He wonders if she’ll smell the gunpowder on him, sense the weight at his back. Maybe he shouldn’t have brought one up without talking to her first, but if it’s to keep her safe, it can’t be such a bad secret. Everyone carries them, small and large, serious, and not. This lays somewhere in the middle; he just isn’t sure which way it tips the scales just yet.

The apartment is fragrant with garlic when he comes in, Poppy sitting at her desk with headphones on. He leans down and brushes his lips over the exposed skin of her shoulder, making her jump.

He laughs as she drops her pen and hastily pulls her headphones off. She tips her head back and smiles at him. “You scared me.”

“Sorry, sweetheart.”

“Did you guys have…fun? Is that the right word?”

“’S alright as any. Just gotta do it for work.”

Her brows knit. “Oh. I guess you do.”

His stomach twists with the look of disappointment on her face. He’s always had blood on his hands, but never any she could see. She blinks and it’s gone. Maybe she’s just as good at wiping her features clean as he is.

“Want tea?” he asks, trying to sway the subject.

“No, thanks. I just found a formatting issue that I need to work out.”

“Alright. I’m gonna go change then,” he says, heading toward the bedroom.

He’s been thinking of where to stash the gun since leaving the range, somewhere no one would stumble upon it, not that he expects anyone to come in and move furniture. He’s settled on behind his nightstand. There’s just enough room between it and the wall that it can’t be seen, but he could grab it if needed. As for the rest of the bullets, he drops them into one of his socks and puts that in the back of the top drawer of the nightstand. It’s not perfect, but it’ll have to do.

Poppy’s still working when he comes out, so he heats up some leftover pasta in the microwave and watches her type from his seat on the couch. She’s taken off her headphones now and music fills the apartment. Music here is so different than in his time, missing the drums and kotos and biwas of his. It’s fast with winding words, but still has a catching beat he imagines all songs do, despite their times.

 It's late when Poppy finally closes her laptop and stretches, making that small squeak sound she always does when she’s been sitting too long. He’s going to miss those tiny things when the storm comes, the things you only learn when you come to see someone in darkness and truth, know them by their bare bones and the sound of their breath. He wants to know Poppy like that, he realizes for the thousandth time. He wants to know her by the brush of caramel hair and whisper of sleep.

He wants to know her forever.

Chapter Text

Poppy

She’s seen less of Tora these past weeks than she would have liked, and every day is different. Sometimes she wakes and his side of the bed is cold, and she knows he’s gotten a call in the middle of the night. Other times she makes plans to meet him at Alice’s and he shows up hours later. In their apartment, bloodied and chain-smoking on the balcony. They don’t even talk about storms and lightning and rain anymore. It almost feels like he’s given up on going home, and that frightens her for reasons she can’t quite explain.

He's still him, still strong and handsome and kind when they’re together. But now he’s someone else as well, someone she doesn’t recognize who has a pocket full of bullet casings and a fresh bruise on his side and secret meetings he tells her not to worry about. But she worries, she worries so much she makes herself sick with fear as she sits in bed waiting to hear the click of the lock. This isn’t what she wanted when she selfishly begged the universe to let him stay. Maybe this is her punishment. Maybe it’s his.

“Where’s ya mind at, little lamb,” Alice asks, coming to sit with Poppy at the table in the back of her dining room.

“Where it always is.”

“Worried ‘bout that grandson of mine?”

She tries to smile. “I hardly worry about anything else.”

Alice takes a pull from her vape. “Don’t. He’s a big boy, he can handle himself.”

“Yeah, a thousand years ago. Now there’s clans and guns and bombs.” She stares down into her mug of green tea, the contents long cold. “He isn’t supposed to be here.”

“Neither am I, but that’s the way shit happens sometimes. Bet ya weren’t supposed to be up on a cliff in the rain when ya met him either.”

“That’s different. I didn’t go anywhere.”

“But ya did change all the same, even if ya didn’t mean to. Ya in this life now, girl. Ya know there’s more to it than what we see and know. There are things we’ll never understand, you and me, but I know that boy down to his marrow and he’ll take care of ya.”

“I’m not worried about me. I’m worried about him.”

“Don’t be.”

Poppy puts down her cup. “How can you be so calm about this? He’s getting in too deep with Vincent Balthuman and I’m afraid—”

“I wish he wasn’t all tangled up with him either, but there ain’t shit we can do ‘bout it now.” She sighs and adjusts her glasses. “He stayin’ for good?”

The question catches her off guard, even though it probably shouldn’t have. She asks it herself every day. “I…I don’t know.”

“Ya don’t talk ‘bout it?”

She shakes her head.

“We don’t know how this works. Might be somethin’ just we can do, people of our blood. Might be random. Might only happen in spring or winter or when the moon’s full behind the storm. But if he ain’t stayin’, save yourself the heartache little lamb.”

“What are you saying?”

“If he ain’t in it forever, then don’t tie yourself to him.” Another pull of the vape. “I like ya, girl. Ya good in a way most people ain’t, and I don’t want ya hurt or worse because he’s runnin’ with the clan now.”

Her stomach twists. “You want me to leave him?”

“Ain’t sayin’ that. Just sayin’ that if he’s goin’ back, it’ll hurt less if ya do before ya get it in ya head to play family. Take it from me, it’s a hard thing to leave a kid behind or choose which family ya follow.” Then she picks up the teapot in the center of the table and tops off her cup. “But if he’s stayin’, if he means to, then don’t let him go ‘cause he’s the kind to bleed for ya, and that’s a rare thing.”

Poppy wants to tell her the last thing in the world she wants is for Tora to bleed. She’s helped him clean scraped knuckles and strange cuts on his arms and side more times now than she’s cares to count. If never seeing that again means sending him back to Old Narin, then that’s what has to happen. But she won’t let him go until it’s time. She can’t. Her heart won’t take it.

It’s dark when she leaves Alice’s, and she wishes she’d driven instead of walked, but when the sun was out and the clear sky promised a warm evening, she’d thought the fresh air would do her some good. But now the sidewalks are largely empty and her steps sound too loud when she passes shadowed alleyways.

She pulls out her phone and shoots a text to Tora. If he’s at the apartment, maybe he can meet her.

POPPY: Hey, I’m heading home from Alice’s. Still at work?

He doesn’t respond, and she isn’t surprised. He goes hours between contact, as long as two days at times. She misses how it was before Vincent when things were fresh and safe between them. They didn’t have secrets or fears outside the possibility of him being trapped here. But even that was nothing. It could have even been a good thing. They could have forged a future together, they could have traveled, moved to a place with land, maybe–

A blacked-out car peels to a stop at the sidewalk beside her and she jumps, alarmed at how close the front tire had come to hopping the curb. Some people have no business being on the road. She keeps walking but stops when she hears her name.

“Poppylan Wilkes,” calls a man’s voice.

She turns to see someone unfolding himself from the back of the car. More men follow from the other side until four of them are striding toward her, all suited, all framed in the glow of the headlights behind them.

Poppy doesn’t wait to see what they want because one has a Balthuman crest tattooed on his neck, and she doesn’t recognize him as one of Quincey’s friends, her friends. She turns on her heel and begins to run, clutching her purse to her chest, body freezing cold with fear and dread and the knowledge that the footsteps she hears aren’t hers being echoed, but those of the men chasing her.

It isn’t long before a hand closes vice-like around her arm, jerking her to a stop. She opens her mouth to scream, but she’s slammed against the brick of a closed deli as the tattooed man grins down at her.

“What do you want?” she asks, throat tight.

“To talk.”

“I-I don’t know anything.”

Someone laughs and the man says, “So jumpy. Haven’t even asked anything yet.” He gives her a once over in a leering way that makes her skin crawl. “So, you’re Tora’s girl, huh?”

Poppy doesn’t answer. She isn’t sure telling him the truth would keep her safe or bring her harm. Something about the way they’re all looking at her doesn’t make her feel like it would matter either way. Some people like violence for violence’s sake.

“Must be,” one covered in piercings says. “Heard he was all wrapped up on some shorty.”

The tattooed one cocks his head. “Tasty little piece.” He releases her arm and cases her in with his, hands on either side of her head as he leans in. “Where’d a guy like him find a girl like you?”

Poppy squeezes her eyes shut. She could knee him in the groin and make a run for it, but they’d just catch her. Calling for help probably wouldn’t do much, since the businesses around them were all closed, and she knows she’d end up with his hand around her throat if she tried. Flee, fight, fawn, she isn’t sure what to do, but her body seems to have decided fawning was the only answer.

“What do you know about him?” Tattoos asks.

She shakes her head. “Nothing. I don’t know anything.”

“Bullshit. He’s living with you. You’re going to tell me you don’t know a goddamn thing?”

“I really d-don’t. We…he…we just met.”

“Pretty girl like you getting all wrapped up in clan business?” he chuckles. “Seems a waste.”

The pierced one asks, “Where’s he from?”

“I don’t know,” she squeaks.

“Scharch, we gotta go,” someone says from the car. “Martin wants us.”

Tattoos, apparently named Scharch, sighs. “Rain check on the rest of the convo, pretty girl.” He presses a kiss to her cheek like they’re old friends saying farewell, then he pushes off the wall.

She still hasn’t opened her eyes, can’t bring herself to until she hears the slamming of car doors and the sound of an engine revving, getting louder, then disappearing completely.

Her knees give out and she slides down the wall, hair catching on uneven bricks as she sits on the sidewalk, knees to her chest. Her phone vibrates in her bag, but she can’t open it. She can’t move. She can just sit there breathing in and out and trying not to focus on the slimy, disgusting feeling of being touched and whispered to and kissed by someone who probably had more plans for her before being called off.

There’s no telling how long she sits there on the side of the dark road, but the coolness of the stone beneath and behind her seeps into her skin. Or at least she thinks it’s the cold that has her hands shaking as she finally pulls her phone out of her purse. It’s ringing again and Tora’s name is flashing on the screen.

She tries to answer as she accepts the call, but nothing comes out.

“Hey, Bobby, where ya at?”

Her tongue is stuck to the roof of her mouth.

“Bobby?”

Her throat’s so tight, it’s like she’s being strangled.

“Poppylan, are you there?”

A sound finally escapes her lips, high and keening.

“Where are ya?” he demands shortly.

“I…I…”

“What’s wrong? Ya hurt?”

“I…” She can’t do it. She can’t speak and she has no idea why.

“Where are ya?”

The words are there, they’re just trapped somehow, idling in her vocal cords.

“Sweetheart, please, tell me where ya are and I’ll come to ya.”

She blinks and looks up and down the empty street, trying to focus on something. She knows where she is, she’s taken this route a thousand times. But the name of the road escapes her. Her gaze settles on a coffee shop and the library beside it. Then she looks up at the sign dangling above her head, and whispers, “Narin Deli.”

“I’m comin’.”

She hangs up and holds her phone and bag to her chest. Her legs still won’t cooperate and allow her to stand. Things like this don’t happen to her. She doesn’t get accosted in the street or harassed by clan members. But then again, things like this apparently do happen to her, because it just did and he…and she…

Her mind is awash with thoughts of what might have happened.

A car pulls up and before she can scramble to her feet to flee, Tora’s before her, crouching, hand to her cheek. His fingers come away wet, and she doesn’t remember starting to cry. But then a sob bursts from her lips and Tora’s carrying her to the car.

Damien’s behind the wheel, but he says nothing as he drives toward her apartment.

“What happened?” Tora asks, his hands skating over her arms, down her neck, over her shoulders like he’s looking for an open wound.

“Th-they were a-asking about y-you.” she manages through the chattering of her teeth.

“Who?”

“Fi-five of th-them I think. One h-had a B-Balthuman ta-ta-tattoo on his n-neck.”

Tora wraps his arms around her, pulling her close. “’S alright, sweetheart. Ya gonna be alright. Ya recognize any of ‘em?”

“One h-had p-piercings all over a-and b-bl-black hair.” She swallows thickly, still shaking despite the heat of him surrounding her. She must be in shock. She’s seen it be like this on TV. “One c-called Scratch I th-think.”

“Scharch?” he asks tersely.

“M-maybe. They g-got a c-call from someone n-named M-Martin I think.”

“Fuck.” It’s the only word she’s heard from Damien since she got in the car.

“They touch ya?” Tora asks.

She shakes her head, knowing what he means. “Just m-my arm.”

Tora’s stroking her hair, murmuring, “’S alright, sweetheart. ‘S alright.”

It’s not alright. None of it is.

Damien stays in the car, idling outside the building as Tora takes her up to her apartment. He removes her shoes and checks the locks on the windows and doors. Then he puts her in bed, tucking the blankets around her before making some tea. He does these things silently, methodically, like checking things off a list.

Then he sits on the edge of the bed and when Poppy looks at him, she sees the fierceness of his gaze, the bits of hardened comb in the sweet honey. He cups her cheek and kisses her forehead, then whispers, “I’ll be back soon.”

She sits there silently, still, focusing on breathing in and out and in and out until she can do it without thought. Only when she can breathe without thinking does she realize Tora’s gone.

Tora

Damien follows him through the alleyway, and somehow Brian’s joined them, then a handful of others are waiting at the mouth of it to fall in line behind. He’s accidentally formed a little war band all his own in the time of cars and electricity and airships that cross the great, salt seas. But there are no horses in his party, nor swords or arrows, just fists and knives and the gun he has tucked in the back of his jeans that he doesn’t want to use. Not because he can’t, but because he wants to feel them die. He wants it to be personal because that’s exactly what it is.

“Where are they?” Tora asks when they reach the music and lights of Ares Street.

“Club Miracle,” Brian says at his side. “Claude’s there with Scharch and Shing Ma.”

“Was Shing Ma there when they got Poppy?”

“No. He’s been at the club all night.”

He nods. Only two then. Two is a nice, even number. He likes even numbers, though in this instant he wouldn’t have cared if there were ten or thirteen or thirty. Either way he’ll have payment for Poppy’s fear in blood.

“Stay out here,” he tells those behind him. “Don’t want ya wrapped up in this shit.”

“We wanna back you up, big bro,” Damien says. The rest murmur their agreement.

“Stay here.” His words drip with finality. There’s nothing to argue with when it comes to this. He’s going to kill Claude and Scharch and maybe Shing Ma if he must, though he never did anything to Tora. But Vincent will know, Tora wantshim to know that he was the one who did it. He wants everyone to see that no one fucks with Poppylan Wilkes because when they do, he is her fist and blade and vengeance.

The club thrums with music, biting and rolling, coursing beneath his skin. The women writhe on stage and men drinking and smoking glance as him as he prowls around tables and poles. Those who meet his eye shy away and he knows exactly why they won’t catch his gaze, won’t risk drawing attention to themselves.

He’s made a name for himself in the weeks he’s been in Vincent’s employ. They call him the Tiger now for the kanji at his back and the animal inked on his leg and his very name and nature that speaks of claws and teeth and a predator who relishes the taste of blood. He thought being the Tiger of Ares Street would bother him, but it doesn’t. He needs their fear to sustain him, because without it, he’s just a normal man, and that’s the one thing he can never be because normal men end up dead, but king and gods? They live for fucking ever.

Scharch and Claude are sitting on either side of Shing Ma in a booth against the far wall, the pink haired dancer draped over the back of the leather seat. They look up as he approaches and Tora’s aware that the club has gone still and quiet around them beneath the music, the women all streaming toward the back, the patrons frozen in their places.

“Well, if isn’t the tiger,” Scharch chuckles. “Come for a drink?”

Claude shifts in his seat and Shing Ma merely sips from his glass.

“Ya know why I’m here.”

The pink haired dancer grimaces and slinks off. Smart.

“Can’t say that I do,” Scharch says.

Tora doesn’t answer in words, he just puts a hand on the back of Scharch’s neck and slams his face into the table. Claude makes a choking sound, but Shing Ma just stares, stares as if he sees him for what he is, stares as if he knows exactly who he was and who he will be again when the lightning comes.

Scharch spits a glob of blood onto the table when Tora releases him. “What the fuck?”

“Ya know why I’m here,” Tora says again.

“We were just playing around.” Claude’s eyeing Tora with the sort of fear he imagines Poppy must have felt. “We didn’t hurt her.”

“Don’t matter.”

Scharch glowers. “Vincent’s gonna pissed when he—”

Tora’s hand is at his neck now, not choking him, but pressing hard enough with his thumb that he knows Scharch can feel the promise of it. “Ya think I give a single fuck ‘bout what he says?”

Scharch reaches into his jacket pocket, but Tora’s anticipated that, knew what was hidden there by the way his jacket sat against his chest. Tora pulls it free and flips the safety off.

“Ya fucked with the wrong one,” he growls, gaze flitting from Scharch to Claude to the rest who watch him but don’t step in to help. “No one’s gonna save ya.”

Claude slips out of the booth, empty hands raised in front of him. “Come on, Tora, we were just fucking around. We didn’t mean—”

Tora’s fist connects with his jaw and all the while, he wonders if Shing Ma will step in, say something, save the two men who belong to Vincent just as he does. But he’s watching with a blank expression Tora knows takes years to master in the face of brutality.

Claude tries to fight back, grabbing a beer bottle and smashing it on the edge of the table. But Tora has brute force on his side. He twists his arm, driving the jagged ends toward Claude’s throat. It presses into the tattooed skin, coating Tora’s hands with hot, acrid blood. He senses Scharch has made a run for it, but he doesn’t care. Tigers always catch their prey.

He leaves Claude on the flood beside the booth. He’s still alive, but the glass cut deep enough that there will be no saving him. He’ll just claw desperately at his slippery neck until his chokes, drowned by blood and fear.

Killing shouldn’t be so easy, but it is. Killing not for money or from the threat of Vincent is more than easy, it’s a pleasure. It’s a wonderous thing to use his body and skills for something that matters. He takes lives not for the benefit of his kingdom now, but for something much more precious.

Unsurprisingly, Scharch has been caught as soon as he left Miracle, held fast by Damien and Brian. His eyes are wild as Tora steps up to him, fingers still dripping.

“Why did ya fuck with Poppylan Wilkes?” Tora demands lowly. The street around them hums with interest and fear. He feeds on their attention, raises his voice so all can hear. Why did ya fuck with somethin’ that’s mine?”

“We just wanted to talk to her, ask a few questions.”

“So ya put ya hands on my girl, got in her face, scared her, and ya thought I wouldn’t come for ya?”

Scharch swallows but doesn’t answer.

Tora cups a bloodied hand around his ear. “Can’t hear ya.”

“Who the fuck are you, anyway?” Scharch spits. “You show up and we’re all supposed to just accept you?”

Tora can taste the false bravado in his wavering voice. “Who am I? Haven’t ya heard? I’m the Tiger of fuckin’ Ares Street.” He glances between Brian and Damien. “Let him go. He thinks he’s hard, he thinks he can take me, then let’s see.”

Scharch looks unsure, but shrugs off his jacket all the same. Tora has his gun, but Scharch has a tiny, thin blade. He brandishes it before him, shifting from foot to foot. Tora just cocks his head in what he knows is an unsettling, predatory way. He’ll let Scharch take the first shot, see what he thinks might actually take him down.

Predictably, Scharch rushes him, but Tora palms his face and brings him down hard on his back. His head makes a wet sound on the pavement, but Scharch must sense that if he doesn’t kill Tora, he’ll forfeit his own life. He tries to bring the blade up, but Tora wrenches it from his hand. His fingers try to claw at his face, but Tora’s arms are longer, and a hand on his chest keeps him from scratching his eyes out.

Three sharp plunges of the knife in Scharch’s side and it’s over. It always had been over, if Tora was honest with himself. He was just playing with his food.

He wipes his hands off on Scharch’s discarded jacket and tosses it over the prone body along with the knife. The gun he keeps tucked beside the first. Then he nods at Damien and the rest, who melt into the shadows of the buildings around them. Others still watch, though they keep their distance. Save one.

Shing Ma glances down at Scharch, hands stuffed casually in his pockets, and asks, “Need a ride home?”

“What, so ya can try and end me for fuckin’ up ya friends?” He huffs a laughs and digs his lighter out of his pocket to light a cigarette. There’s blood settled in the cracks and lines of his hands. “Un-fuckin’-likely.”

“They’re not my friends,” Shing Ma says easily. “But I could be yours.”

“That right?”

“Who do you think called and told them they needed to speak with Martin to get them away from that girl?”

Tora bristles. “So ya knew what they were gonna do?”

“No, I suspected. They were quite interested in who you really are and thought that girl would be a good place to start. Clan life is complicated, and outsiders are always considered untrustworthy. What they would do after they found out what they wished isn’t something I’d like to imagine. ”

Tora doesn’t feel like listening to him wax poetic about the intricacies of the clan. He wants to get out of here and get back to Poppy, who’s being watched over by Gyu from the parking lot of the apartment complex. His phone buzzes in his back pocket and it’s Vincent. He expected this at some point, just maybe not so soon. Still, he answers with a cloud of smoke.

“What?” he asks.

“Don’t what me, boy.” Vincent’s voice is clipped but measured. “I just had a very interesting conversation with someone who told me you just killed two of your co-workers in plain sight.”

“Yeah, I did.”

“May I ask why you decided to kill two of my best assets with dozens of witnesses.”

“If those two were ya best, then I’m pretty fuckin’ insulted.”

There’s a heavy sigh, the sound of ice in a glass. “Why did you do that? Was the job last night not bloody enough for you?”

“Plenty bloody. But what happened just now was personal.” He glances at Shing Ma, surprised to find him still standing there.

“You need to learn to take hits on the chin, boy. You can’t go around killing anyone you feel.”

“Noted.” He waits to hear if he’ll be punished or called to the manor for some kind of conversation.

“You’re damn lucky you’re worth ten of them. Damn fucking lucky. But cross me again, boy, and it’ll be the last thing you do.” Then he hangs up.

Tora puts his phone back in his pocket and flicks his half-finished cigarette into the gutter. Those two had worked for Vincent for years, yet he’ll let their deaths go unpunished? The man has no loyalty to anyone but himself.

“Change your mind on that ride?” Shing Ma asks.

“No. I’m walkin’ home.”

“Suit yourself,” he says, turning and beginning down the opposite direction. “Remember, only a fool shows his greatest weakness to his enemies. You’re no fool, Tora Tasura.”

His words make Tora’s hair stand on end. Not for the implication everyone now knows that Poppy is the key to his undoing, but because the words Shing Ma spoke were said in his mother tongue.

Chapter Text

Poppy

The tea doesn’t taste right when it’s not in her preferred pink and yellow sunset mug. And the banket’s too hot over her lap now. Her jeans are too tight too. All of her is uncomfortable. All of her is so damn uncomfortable and scared and sad and…angry.

Angry’s such a simple word, too simple it seems, but that’s what she’s feeling now, that’s what’s bubbling beneath her skin, simmering there and making her too hot in her own body. She’s angry with those men for frightening her and angry with herself for letting them and angry with Tora for leaving when she needed him. She needed him and he left without a world to do God knows what.

When he does come in an hour later, quietly and bathed in shadows, she’s sitting in bed in a pair of legging and a sweatshirt, clutching a half-empty mug of tea she’s been drinking from the correct cup. She’s warmer now, not just because of the fear and anger that had festered into a fever. Though her fingers still tremble when she puts the mug on the nightstand and pulls aside the blanket.

He didn’t come right to her right away like she expected but had gone into the bathroom off the living room first. He usually does that after work, so she doesn’t see the mess before he greets her, but he hadn’t been at work.

Had he?

The door’s open a crack and she steps in, the tile cold on her bare feet. Tora’s scrubbing his knuckles at the sink with a little brush, the water coming pink within the porcelain. When she comes nearer, she notices the speckles of blood on his arms and shirt.

“What did you do?” she whispers, unsure of how much she actually wants to know.

He answers without looking at her. “What I had to.”

Poppy bites her lip. He hurt someone because of her? For her? She’s equal parts terrified he’ll get caught and mortified him evading the police is her first thought. She should be horrified that he’s washing blood off his hands in the ocean-themed bathroom she painted herself when she moved in a year ago. But she’s not. She’s…she’s nothing. She’s just her and he’s just him and it’s become a normal occurrence to see such a scene play out among her plants and pillows and half-finished canvases.

It shouldn’t be though. Things like this shouldn’t happen in homes like hers with people she knows. Though everything changed with the storm, and Alice was right, she’s changed too. She accepts things she used to only read about in books, which means accepting all of him.

She places a hand on his back and recoils when her fingers brush over something hard. “What’s that?”

He turns off the water, shifting out of reach. “Nothin’.”

His sharp tone makes her pulse thrum with insistence. “Let me see what’s under your shirt.”

“I said it’s nothin’.”

He’s being short with her, unfairly so. If he hates what he just did, he only has himself to blame. She didn’t ask him to do a goddamn thing. So, when he brushes by her to leave the bathroom, she yanks the bottom of his shirt up, revealing the butts of two guns.

“Tora!” she gasps as he whirls around. “Guns? Really?”

“What did ya expect? Loaves of bread?”

His gaze is steely, but he doesn’t scare her one bit. “Don’t you think you should have asked me before bringing them in here? That’s what partners do.”

His jaw tightens and he pulls both from the back of his jeans. “I ain’t sayin’ sorry.”

“I honestly would be more surprised if you did at this point.” She tries to match his hardened stare but knows she never truly can. “I want them gone.”

“Not happenin’ Bobby.”

“Gone, Tora, I mean it. I don’t want them here.” She puts her fists on her hips she glares up at him. If this is a test of stubbornness, then fine. He might be some Old Narin warlord, but she’s a modern woman who’s had to be tougher than any man to get respect at school and work and life. If this has to be her hill to die on, fine.

“This is for y—”

She holds up a hand. “Don’t you dare say it’s for me. Don’t you dare try to push blame and fault. I didn’t ask you to work for Vincent. I didn’t ask you to go get guns. I didn’t ask you to go do whatever it is you just did!” 

His chest heaves as he asks, “No ya didn’t ‘cause ya don’t know any fuckin’ better!”

“Oh, so I’m just some stupid girl? Not anymore, I’m not and that’s thanks to you.” She’s not used to yelling, especially not to him, but in this moment she’s grateful for the thick walls and vacant apartment below hers. Her anger has bubbled over and there’s nowhere else for it to go.

“I’m fully aware, Poppylan, which is why I had to clean up my own goddamn mess tonight. I’m just tryin’ to keep ya alive and set shit up for when I leave so when I’m gone ya don’t end up getting’ hurt by some other guy just like Scharch.”

So, he’s still leaving. Of course, he is. She’d been a fool to pretend there had been a chance that he’d choose this time over his, her world over his kingdom…her over everything he’s ever known. She’d been a silly girl who’d been daydreaming about a future with a man who belongs in the past. She feels pathetic.

He rakes a hand through his hair, leans against the doorframe. “I’m sorry, alright?” His voice sounds so very, very tired. It almost makes her feel bad for him. Almost.

“I wish it was alright, but’s not, and a half-baked apology isn’t going to cut it.”

“Then what is?”

“Making it right by getting those guns out of heer and telling me where you were tonight, why you left me when I needed you. And going forward, not treating me like I’m incapable of handing all this when I’m tangled up in it now the same as you.”

Tora looks like she slapped him, and he lowers his voice. “I didn’t want ya to feel like I left ya.” 

“Well, I did because you left. The last thing I wanted was to be alone. So…where were tonight when you left me?”

“Takin’ care of Scharch and Claude.”

“And what does that mean?” She thinks she already knows, but she needs to hear it for herself.

“They planned on takin’ ya. They wanted to know ‘bout me and decided to use ya to do it. If I didn’t make an example of ‘em, they woulda just done it again. And if not them, then someone else.”

“When you say ‘make an example’…”

“Found out where they were and killed ‘em. Made it bloody, made it public, and let everyone on Ares Street know ya off limits or they answer to me.”

Poppy swallows thickly, mind blurring. “I need to sit down.”

Tora holds out a hand to her, but she doesn’t take it. She can’t when flecks of blood stain his shirt in her name. She goes into the living room and sits on the couch to give her weak legs a moment to reform. 

He follows and kneels before her, hands on her knees. “I’m sorry, Poppylan. I had to do it. People like them don’t just move on.”

“I could have just been more careful next time I was out alone. You know, call a cab instead of walk or—”

“Or nothin’. Ya shouldn’t have to change ya whole life ‘cause I’m shit at navigatin’ this world. Nothing ya do can stop people like them. If ya took a cab, they’d just come here instead. If ya walked with Gyu, they’d gang up on him.”

She shivers involuntarily.

“I’m the one who fucked up and I’m the one who has to make things right.” His voice is softer and kinder and him. “Since I got here…it’s like I was swept away by the river of time where things just move so fast and I’m just tryin’ to keep my head above water. I don’t want ya to drown with me, sweetheart.” His gaze shifts away. “The rules are different here, but in ways, they’re exactly the same. Men like Scharch and Claude and Vincent are eternal. Maybe I came here to fix that.”

“What do you mean?”

“Maybe I’m here to get rid of ‘em.”

Poppy takes a deep, stabilizing breath. “And maybe you’re here just on accident because of some rift in time or between worlds. Maybe you’re not meant to do anything here but survive.”

He lowers his head into her lap. “I’m so sorry. For all of it.”

She’s still angry with him, but she can’t sustain the kind of fire it takes to fight him, especially when his flame has extinguished. She brushes a hand over his hair, trying to sooth him the best she can. She doesn’t want this for him or herself. If it was up to her, they’d go back to the beginning where things were new but simple and the biggest fear was if he’d get back home, not if they’d survive another day.

Soon, he stirs and says, “I’m gonna go shower.”

Poppy sits for a while longer until she can no longer feel the weight of his head on her thighs. The adrenalin’s worn off and she’s bone tired in a way that doesn’t necessarily mean sleep. When she hears the water turn off in the bathroom though, she forces herself up and into the bedroom. She peels off her leggings, then her sweatshirt and exchanges it for one of Tora’s shirts.

Tora steps out and pulls on a pair of briefs, then sits on the end of the bed to brush his damp hair. Poppy climbs in behind him, taking the brush. She silently works it through his inky black tresses, the repetitive motions soothing her frayed nerves. She can control little in this world, but she can control little things like this and what she does about them.

“Thank you,” he says quietly when she turns to put the brush on the nightstand. He’s gotten off the bed and is now on his knees beside her. “I’ll get ‘em out of the apartment tomorrow. I shouldn’t have made decisions without ya. I’m just so used to…don’t matter. I’m sorry, I am.”

She sighs settles against the pillows. “It’s okay. Tonight’s just been a lot and the last thing I need is something from that part of…things in this apartment.” 

“Ya right. I’m gonna need a gun from time to time, so I can’t drop ‘em completely, but it’s ya home and I shouldn’t have hidden shit from ya. I ain’t used to answerin’ to no one.” He puts a hand on her leg. “But from now on, unless ya in danger, I’m gonna answer to you. Ya word is law to me now.”

She can hear the sincerity in his voice. He’s right, when would a prince—a king—ever bow to anyone? He’s kneeling for her, on his knees as he apologizes. She puts a hand over his, too tired to talk or fight or hash through all that happened tonight.

“Come to bed,” she whispers.

“If ya ever want me to leave, I will.” She opens her mouth to protest, but he keeps speaking. “I mean it, Bobby. I fell into ya life through no fault of ya own, and if ya ever want me outta it, I’ll go. But I’ll take care of ya as long as I’m here, no matter what.”

“Come to bed,” Poppy says again, pulling down the comforter.

Tora slides in beside her and flips off the lamp, then pulls her to his chest. “I’ll make it right.”

“Hush. I can’t talk about it now.”

“Alright.” He kisses the top of her head and traces soothing lines down her back with his fingers.

His touch is nothing but heaven to her, complete bliss. After tonight, she longs to bask in the feeling of him pressed against her, to erase the chilling sensation still lingering on her cheek that reminds her how she was kissed by a ghost. She just wants to lose herself with Tora and think only of them.

Poppy tilts her face up and begins kissing his neck, gently, feather light. His body turns towards her, his hand sliding up her shirt. She’s glad he understandable. Maybe he needs some true human contact too, the kind where you can turn off your mind and focus on the sweet release you know will come.

His mouth finds hers after she pulls off her shirt. She’s nude now beneath the blanket and his kiss deepens as one hand threads through her hair to allow him greater access. Though her pulse races, there’s something sweet about their love making that forces her to relax and turns her core molten. He’s being so tender, she almost wants to cry.

When he finally enters her, her slick with need, a feeling that grows with each smooth slide of his cock within her. It’s a slow, torturous thing, but Poppy’s all too pleased for whatever she can get, especially when his gaze is fixed on hers and she can see desire reflected in the honey.

“Ya feel like fuckin’ magic, sweetheart, so fuckin’ good.” 

His words send a delicious chill through her body that has her pussy clenching around him. His rough voice and words always brush over something deep inside her, sparking more desire with anything he says. He gently hooks a hand beneath her thigh, and while his strokes doing quicken, they’re harder and more deliberate. Still, it doesn’t lack any of that tenderness he gives her, any of the devotion she feels as he looks down at her like maybe he truly does answer to her now, really does want to do anything to make her happy.

When she cums, it’s a leisurely orgasm that hits her deep in the belly, then trickles into her limbs. She can feel him pulsing within her as he finishes as well with a groan that polishes off her orgasm, made all the stronger by looking into his eyes.

He was wrong and terrible and sharp tonight, but she can’t bring herself to chastise him for it, not when they only have a sliver of time left and she wishes she could stop time.

Tora

He’s up before Poppy, unsurprisingly for all she’d been through. He slips out of bed and pulls on some clothes, then takes the guns from the top of the dresser and shoves them in the back of his jeans. She’s still dead to the world when he takes his key, phone, and a wad of cash and leaves the apartment.

He’d been a prick, an absolute asshole last night. Who the hell did he think he was yelling at her like that? How dare he raise his voice in her home over something he did? He could barely sleep with the guilt of it. Poppy didn’t deserve the brand of harshness that came with his time and she’ll never get it again. To the world, he’ll be the tiger. To her, he’ll be whatever she wants.

Gyu’s on duty, just reading himself to leave his shift, when Tora finds him in the booth.

“Gettin’ outta here?” Tora asks.

“Yeah, big bro. Gonna run to the store for my sister, then get some sleep before working at the Black Swan tonight.”

He glances around the empty lot. “Need ya to do somethin’ for me.”

“Anything, big bro.”

He pulls the guns from his waistband. “Need these stashed somewhere. Poppy don’t want ‘em in her place but I don’t wanna totally get rid of ‘em.”

“No problem.” He stands on a stool in the booth and pushes the corner panel of the ceiling off. Then he holds out his hand. “We’ll put them here. The only other guard is one of Young Master Quincey’s, so they’ll be safe here for whenever you need them.”

“Thanks.”

Gyu stashes the guns, then rights the ceiling panel. “Is Miss Poppy okay? I heard about what happened.” He climbs down from the stool and they leave the booth together.

His jaw tightens. “She’s fine. I fixed it.”

“Heard about that too.”

“And Vincent didn’t give a shit. Guess I’m more valuable than them.”

Gyu locks the booth and pockets the keys.

“What do ya know ‘bout Shing Ma?”

His brows knit. “Not a lot. He’s really close to Old Master Balthuman. He’s his right hand man when it comes to money.”

“Know where he’s from?”

“All I know is China, but I’m not sure what part. Why?”

Tora decides to keep trusting Gyu. It’s gotten his this far. “Think he’s like me.”

“Like…a time traveler?”

“Maybe. He spoke my mother tongue last night. Poppy says no one’s talked like that in hundreds of years, it’s a dead language now. But he knew it. And I reckon he knows what I am.”

Gyu’s pale as he rakes a hand through his messy hair. “Fuck. Think he’ll tell the big boss?”

“Dunno. Maybe he already has and that’s why the old man doesn’t give a shit what I do.”

“But how would Shing Ma know?”

He shrugs. “Fuck if I know. Keep ya ear to the ground, alright? Need to figure it out.”

“You got it, big bro.”

Tora leaves him by his car and heads down the block to the bakery he used to get Poppy donuts and coffee from. He isn’t sure when he stopped doing that, when he became a version of himself he didn’t quite recognize. Of course, he’s never been one to fawn over a woman, but he always knew if he found the right one, he wouldn’t abandon her in a harem or leave her to own devices unless he had to, unless it was dire. He wanted a true partnership, and as Poppy so plainly stated last night, he hasn’t been holding up his end.

He buys an assorted box and a sugary sweet latte she favors alongside his green tea, then heads back to the apartment. Sometimes, he feels like he’s getting the hang of being in this world, moments where he can see the allure of a place where all the foods you could ever want are in one shop and water flows into basins in homes, clean and crisp as any mountain stream or hot as if it’d just been taken off the fire. Life here could be easy.

But it wouldn’t be his life.

His life is a thousand years ago in the mountains and still empty valley of Narin. His life is by the blade where his army bows to him, as do all the people of the north. This life could be a good one, but he fears it would always feel false, taste like a lie. 

The apartment’s brighter when he gets back. Poppy’s up and is opening the windows throughout the living room. He can see the balcony door is wide open to let in fresh air and he bites the inside of his cheek to keep from chastising her. She’s right that he needs to respect her decisions, even if they scare the shit out of him.

“Oh, hey,” she looks surprised to see him. “I thought you went…to work.”

He holds up the tray of coffee and tea and the box. “Breakfast.”

Poppy smiles and the tension that had tightened the space between his shoulder blades lessens. “Thanks. I think I needed some caffeine and sugar after yesterday.”

He gets her a small plate from the kitchen, and she takes her coffee and donut out onto the balcony. She sits on one of the little white chairs and tilts her face toward the sun like a flower. He almost doesn’t want to go out with her, break her peaceful moment.

But soon she opens her eyes and smiles. “Are you joining me?”

Tora picks up his green tea and drags the chair around to face her. “Any plans for later?”

“Grocery store maybe? Nothing crazy.”

“Since we’re doing the whole partners thing, there’s somethin’ I need to tell ya.”

Her face tightens. “That doesn’t sound good.”

“’S nothin’ like that, I don’t think. I mighta found another traveler like me.”

Poppy’s eyes widen and she leans forward. “Who?”

“Shing Ma. He works for Vincent. Last night he told me he’s the one who called those men off ya and then he said somethin’ to me in my language.”

“No way.”

He nods. “I’m gonna call him and meet up. Need to know what’s goin’ on.”

“I’m coming with you when you do.”

“The fuck ya are.”

She glares at him over her coffee cup. “I thought I made it perfectly clear I was tired of you treating me like I was incapable of anything.”

Tora works his jaw. She did say that, and he basically agreed to keep himself in check. He needs to start treating her like a partner. He promised. “Alright, ya can come. But if shit starts gettin’ messy, ya outta there.”

“Call him now.”

“Dunno what to say yet. ‘Hey, it’s Tora. Are ya a time traveler? Let’s get a drink?’”

Poppy shrugs and picks up her donut. “Why not?”

He shifts his hips to get his phone out of his pocket and decides to get it over with. He scrolls through the contacts and presses his number.

“Tora, I was wondering when you might call,” Shing Ma answers in the Old Tongue.

“So, I did not dream it,” Tora replies in the same as Poppy watches.

“Unless we have the same dream, you did not.”

“We should speak.”

“I agree. It has been a long while since I met another who swims down the river of time.”

Speaking this language sounds so foreign in his mouth after so long. “Tonight. The Black Swan.”

“Eight?”

“Yes. I will be bringing Poppylan.”

“Is that wise, King of the North?”

He tenses at the use of his almost-title. “Where I go, she shall go.”

“Now that would be very interesting if it were true.”

Shing Ma hangs up and Tora stares at the blank phone screen. “We’re goin’ to the Black Swan at eight. Gyu’s workin’ there tonight, so I’ll have him get us one of those private rooms and make sure he serves us.”

She lets out a long breath, donut still untouched. “Hearing you speak…it’s so…strange.”

“Feels strange now. Even when I see Alice, we talk like this in case anyone’s listenin’.” He leans forward and puts a hand on her thigh. “Ya still good to come tonight?”

Poppy straightens her shoulders. “No, but I’ll be there because there’s no way in hell I’m being left behind again.”

***

Poppy fretted over what to wear for the better part of an hour as Tora sat on the edge of the bed and watched. She’d settled on a black dress with a high neck and long sleeves that, in his opinion, gave her a no-nonsense look that oddly enough suited her. She’d even put on some of the jewelry from his hoard, the gold bangle with the tiger and a pair of heavy, gold earrings with rubies in the center. He decides he needs to have her, take her wearing nothing but the gold and jewels he’d hidden a thousand years ago.

She smiles up at him, red-lipped, and says, “You ready to go in?”

He nods and takes her hand as someone in a suit opens the door for them. Gyu’s behind the bar, but as soon as he sees them, he leaves his post.

“Big bro, Miss Poppy.” He’s dressed up as well as he motions for them to follow him down a long hall. “Shing Ma’s already here.”

“He’s early,” Tora says.

“So are you.”

Tora had wanted the upper hand of settling in the room first, but when Gyu pushes open the doors, Shing Ma is already seated at a table set for four, a drink in his hand. 

“Good of you to come, King of the North,” he murmurs in the Old Tongue.

“English tonight,” Tora says pulling out a seat for Poppy. “This is Poppylan Wilkes. Poppy, this is Shing Ma.”

Poppy nods at Shing Ma, who offers her a grin. “Miss Wilkes, a pleasure.”

“Let’s get to it,” Tora says. “Who are ya and what do ya know?”

“Come now, let us be civil. We’ll order dinner and share a drink, just as we would have done long ago.”

He doesn’t like how absolutely thrilled Shing Ma seems, but snatches his menu anyway. They order food and drinks from a recently reappeared Gyu, then Tora says again, “Who are ya?”

“I’ve always been Shing Ma, that hasn’t changed.”

“How did ya know who I was?”

“A strange, golden-eyed man with no background and the kind of savagery I haven’t seen in hundreds of years shows up unable to read or drive a car appears suddenly in Narin, I take notice. Pair that with his interest in Old Narin and the name Tora Tasura, the moniker of two Northern royals, and it isn’t hard to piece together.” He sips his drink. “To anyone else, it would be nothing more than a new brand of strangeness. But to someone constantly seeking others, there were signs for those who knew how to look.”

“Where—when are you from?” Poppy asks.

“I was born six hundred and sixty-two years ago to a scholar in what is now Taiwan. When I was sixteen, I boarded a ship for mainland China to continue my studies. A storm came and capsized the boat. The sky was full of lightning.” His eyes drift, as if recalling the roiling waves. “The next thing I remember, I was in a hospital in modern day Fuzhou, China, surrounded by strange, flashing boxes and clean, white walls. They assumed I was just a poor fisherman’s son who’d gotten hurt, hit his head maybe. When they couldn’t locate any family, they put me in a home for boys. From there, I traveled, trying to learn what I could about how I got here, if there were others.”

“And are there?” Tora asks. 

“I’ve only met three. A young woman and her child who came here together and an older man who ended up committed, thought mad. I haven’t found what connects us yet.”

Gyu opens the door, bringing drinks and an air of curiosity Tora ignores until he’s gone. He doesn’t want Shing Ma to know who is aware of them. Not yet. Not until he can actually trust him.

Poppy swirls the cocktail straw around in her drink. “How did you end up working with Vincent Balthuman?” 

“I have a mind for numbers, not violence, oddly enough. Without a background or formal education here, I ended up working in accounting on Ares Street, helping people avoid taxes, cook their books. Vincent took an interest in me.”

“Does he know what ya are?” Tora asks.

Shing Ma chuckles. “And make myself sound mad? I tell no one.”

“Ya as good as told me.”

“If you understood what I said, then my assumptions about you were correct, if you didn’t, then it wouldn’t have changed anything.”

“And knowin’ now does?”

“Possibly. Will you stay?”

Shing Ma is nothing but direct now. “I have to go back.”

“Why? In my time, the north had been abandoned. Your brother’s children’s children’s children’s children nothing more than figureheads in a waning nation.”

“That’s why I have to.”

“You think your legacy would be any different?”

His question hits him in the gut, and he bristles. “I have to try.”

Shing Ma puts his empty glass on the table and fixes his gaze on Poppy in a way that had Tora taking her hand beneath the table. “And you, will you try to go?” 

“I…I thought it was just…” She falls silent, her palm clammy against his.

Tora hadn’t considered taking her, not seriously. He didn’t think it was possible. But maybe it could be. If he held her tight enough when the lighting came, if he tied them together, chained her to his side, maybe he could take her with him. 

Or maybe they would still end up apart, him back where he belongs and her a thousand years or more in another direction.

“I see.” Shing Ma laces his fingers together. “I’ve considered trying my hand at returning, but found my prospects are much better here. They’d be even better if Vincent Balthuman was gone.” He raises a brow. “His removal would benefit us all.” Then a pointed glance at Poppy.

“Do ya have a plan?”

“Half of one.” He pulls a notebook out from inside his jacket and tosses it onto the table. “I have part of a plot here, given to me by someone who reminds me so very much of you.”

Tora reaches for the book. It’s tattered and stained. “He from a failed kingdom too?”

“He wishes he came from a world so grand.”

The notebook has lists of names and dates and places. There are pictures too, grainy ones taped here and there. “Dunno what this means.” He passes it to Poppy.

She flips through the pages, brows knit. “I recognize some of these people. Is that…” Her gaze flicks up to Shing Ma and she slaps the book shut. “If what’s in here is true, then there’s murders in here. Bribery. So many crimes.”

“Exactly.”

Gyu comes in with fresh drinks and tells Shing Ma, “There’s a man here that says he’s expected?”

Tora stiffens. “Who the fuck is here?”

Shing Ma grins and raises his glass toward the door to a tall, black-haired man with violently golden eyes. “Tora, Poppylan, let me introduce you to our new friend, Goliath.”

Chapter Text

Poppy

Poppy looks between Goliath and Tora, the similarities startling. Both have olive skin with high cheekbones and golden eyes framed with thick lashes. Goliath’s hair is short, but it’s the same thick, inky black as Tora’s. They could be brothers.

“This some kinda joke?” Tora asks Shing Ma. “Ya bring in some…some…”

“Stunt double?” Poppy offers, still staring at Goliath.

Goliath sits in the empty chair and stabs a thumb in Tora’s direction, face blank. “This him?”

Shing Ma nods. “Yes. This is Tora, the man I spoke of. He’s going to help us unseat Vincent once and for all.” He’s smiling in the feline way that makes Poppy shiver. “Tora, can you guess how you and Goliath are connected?”

“No, but I guess ya gonna tell me anyway.”

“He’s either your great, to the fortieth degree, grandson, or grandnephew. Isn’t that interesting?”

Tora tenses beside her and she stares at Goliath. Could family ties be so strong after a thousand years? She can hardly concentrate on that when the word grandson was so casually tossed on the table beside the water glasses and centerpiece. Grandson meant that Tora had children in his time, will have children in his time, or at least one. The idea of him with another woman, having a family with her, makes the liquor in her stomach sour.

“How the hell would ya know that?” Tora asks.

“Genealogy is somewhat of an interest of mine.” He pauses as Gyu opens the door, pushing a cart full of plates. He sets one before all of them, then leaves with a small smile in her direction. “I enjoy finding the ties between us all, to know where we came from, and in some cases, who came from us. The familial line is blurry at times between you all in the north, but as soon as Goliath stepped onto Ares Street two weeks, I knew he was of your blood.”

“So ya brought him here just to show me?”

“No, it so happens he’s the one who compiled this notebook of secrets. It turns out he has his own issue with the Balthumans he’d like to settle.”

Tora looks at him. “What’d he do to ya?”

“Killed my parents,” Goliath says evenly, cutting into his steak. “Then he took one of my friends. As soon as he stepped out of line, he killed him too.”

Poppy can’t stop glancing between them, finding similarities in the slope of their noses and shape of their long fingers. Her body heats with jealousy and envy and all the unfamiliar feelings that bubble now beneath her skin at seeing his maybe-descendant. She doesn’t know exactly how time works now, but Tora must truly go back. He must meet some girl, some pretty princess perhaps with long, dark hair and graceful movements, and the voice of an angel. He must marry her. Love her. Give her a child.

Her eyes prick and she fixes her gaze on her pasta as Tora asks Shing Ma, “How am I fittin’ in to this plan?”

“By killing Vincent.”

Poppy drops her fork to her plate with a clatter. “No! That would be suicide.”

“Not necessarily. In three days’ time, the first true storm of summer will be here. In short, I will take the notebook to my contact in the police department while Goliath here causes a ruckus on Ares Street. With everyone’s eyes there, you will simply walk into the manor and kill Vincent. By the time they find his body, you’ll back in your time and the police will have their hands full arresting everyone in this book.”

“I tried to go back before,” Tora says. “It didn’t work. I know someone who’s traveled a few times and she never had a problem, so I dunno what’s different ‘bout me.”

“This’ll be a hurricane. If there’s any night you’ll be able to return, it’s this one. And who is it that you know who can travel as we did?”

“Don’t matter,” he answers. “Their business is their own and they ain’t part of this.”

Poppy’s pulse races, thrums with unease and the overwhelming weight of everything all at once. Murder and wives and time travel and…and it’s just too much. She feels herself cracking as Tora mentions how Quincey might help and Shing Ma begins listing the people he knows that’ll look the other way. She blinks back tears as her chest seizes with all the tears she can’t shed before them.

“I’m just going to go to the bathroom,” Poppy whispers to Tora, rising from her seat.

He catches her hand and looks up at her. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I’ll be right back.”

As soon as she’s out of the private room, the tears begin. She has no idea where the bathroom is, and she follows the hall blindly until she bumps into someone.

“Sorry,” she says, then glances up. “Gyu?”

“Miss Poppy, you okay? Did something happen?”

She takes a shuddering breath. “I don’t even know where to start.”

He puts a hand on her shoulder. “Do you want to tell me about it?”

“Tora’s going back, and that guy in there is his great, great, whatever, meaning when he leaves he has children with someone and they’re planning on…oh, it doesn’t matter. I just needed a second. Where’s the bathroom?”

“I’ll take you.”

“Thanks, Gyu.”

He walks her the ladies’ room, then leaves her with a, “I’ll bring dessert when you get back. Any requests?”

“Chocolate?”

He smiles. “Done.”

The ladies’ room is blissfully empty, and she stares at her pink-cheeked reflection over the marble sinks. She’s a fool, a pretty, little fool in red lipstick and high heels who walked in here beside Tora like she would continue walking beside him for the rest of her life. Now she knows she only has three days until he’s gone forever. Gone.

And she loves him, that’s the worst part of all. She didn’t think she would, not entirely, but she does, desperately so. She loves him so much she feels like an idiot for letting herself fall for him so hard. She puts a hand over her mouth to muffle the sob that comes unbidden. It feels like her chest is snapping open, her breastbone breaking under the weight of her grief.

The door opens and she hurriedly swipes at her cheeks and tries to make it look as if she’s merely washing her hands as a woman comes in and enters a stall. Her reflection looks back at her with red-rimmed eyes and smeared lipstick. She takes a sobering breath and opens her purse, fixing her makeup the best she can. She doesn’t want to be missed.

Gyu is clearing the dinner plates when she returns and Tora puts a hand on her back when she sits, leaning in. “Ya alright, sweetheart?”

She tries to smile. “Yeah, it’s just a lot.”

“Don’t worry, Bobby. I’m gonna take care of ya.”

“I know,” she says, leaving out the part where he can only promise that for three days.

Gyu places a slice of cake before her, a decadent chocolate, a bigger piece than anyone else received.

She looks up at him. “Thank you.”

He winks, then disappears.

“It’s decided, then?” Tora asks, his hand still on Poppy’s back, warming her, settling her. “We’re gonna get rid of him for good?”

“It’s the only way.” Shing Ma pours a coffee from a silver pot into a fine cup and offers it to Poppy. “Care for coffee?”

She takes it with a nod. “Thank you.”

“What about Poppylan?” Tora’s speaking to Shing Ma now. “I need her to be protected when I’m gone.”

She hates being spoken about as if she isn’t here, but it can’t be helped. She knows he isn’t doing it out of malice.

“Ares street will be too busy to worry about her,” Shing Ma tells him. “If you’re concerned, send her back to Moonbright for a week or two until things settle. Send Damien with her.”

“How do you know I’m from Moonbright?” she asks.

“I collect information the way others collect shells on the shore, Miss Wilkes.”

“As long as she stays outta this, I’m good. Don’t want any of this comin’ back on her,” Tora says firmly. “If there’s a chance she gets hurt or worse, I’m out.”

Shing Ma nods. “I understand. And you have my word that if Miss Wilkes is in agreement, she’ll have whatever protection I can offer.”

Goliath is studying her over the table, and he looks so much like Tora, her chest aches. She selfishly hopes he leaves Narin soon, so she doesn’t have to think of Tora every time they cross paths or she sees him on the street. She doesn’t think her heart could take it.

“We’ll be goin’ down Ares Street after this,” Tora says, taking his phone out of his jacket pocket and sending off a text. “I think Poppy needs to be seen with me, needs to be seen with everybody so there’s no confusion about who looks after her.”

The idea of going to Ares Street doesn’t exactly thrill her, but she knows he’s right. She can’t be seen as alone and friendless, now that everyone apparently knows her connection to Tora. It’s a necessary parade.

“It’s a good idea,” Shing Ma agrees. “To keep up appearances, I won’t be joining you. But I’ll have some of my men, those unattached to Vincent join you as a show of strength.”

Tora nods. “Thanks. I appreciate it, Shing Ma. I do.” He looks over at Goliath. “And you?”

“What about me?”

“Ya stickin’ ‘round after this?”

“Maybe. Haven’t decided yet.” He leans back in his seat. “Shit, we look a lot alike.”

“Yeah, we do. ‘S like lookin’ in a mirror.”

“A better looking one.”

Tora laughs. “You wish, ya little punk.”

Their chatter and banter goes on through dessert as Poppy sits in silence. But as Tora and Shing Ma begin discussing which places on Ares Street they need to be seen at, she catches Goliath’s eye. She wonders what he makes of this strange dinner, the time traveling and clan connections, and his own ancestor sipping tea beside him. She wonders if it all feels oddly normal to him now as it does to her.

Goliath’s still staring at her when they all get up to leave, so she asks, “What is it?”

“I’m trying to figure out what your role in all this is.”

She laughs ruefully. “So am I.”

Quincey’s waiting outside the restaurant with Damien and Brian and a dozen other men. He nods at Tora and gives Goliath a strange look. Poppy tells, “Tora will explain later.”

Then Tora holds his hand out to her, and they begin walking, a strange procession of besuited men behind them. It’s only a block to Ares Street and she can feel the unease in the air, the uncertainly of the mayhem beneath the glow of the neon lights. But there’s something else there too, a power, an anticipation of what may come.

She glances at Damien, who’s smirking at something said by another man. Even Quincey is settling into his place as the Young Master Balthuman with an aloof glower. With her at the head as they step onto Ares Street, she tries to exude that exclusive authority, that brand of clan strength that walks behind her.

There’s no danger here tonight, not with Tora and Quincey, and Damien and Brian and all the others that join them as they go in and out of bars and clubs, making sure she’s seen. It’s a heady feeling being plied with champagne and treated like a mafia princess. She has to admit to herself that’s exactly what she feels like now as they leave the sixth place, her flanked by Quincey and Tora as if she’s their equal.

But as they head into the seventh, she puts a hand on Tora’s arm. “Can we wait here a second? I need some air.”

“’Course.” He leans against the brick wall and lights a cigarette. It’s a nasty habit, and she hates that part of her finds it attractive to see smoke swirling around his head.

She settles beside him, twisting the tiger bangle around her wrist over and over. “Do you think…do you think he’s yours? Goliath, I mean?”

He shrugs. “Dunno. My brothers mostly had dark eyes, save for Asura’s who were red like our father’s, and mine, gold like our ma’s. He could be.”

“Is it weird?”

“Everythin’s weird, Bobby. Ya doin’ alright?”

“My feet hurt and I’m ready to sleep for a hundred years,” she says honestly. “And…and I feel strange knowing you probably had children, or at least one child.”

He looks surprised at this, as if he hadn’t thought what the knowledge would feel like to her. “Do ya?”

She nods, suddenly unable to pretend any more. “It means you do go back, and you probably get married and have a family with someone. I…I don’t like it.”

He flicks his cigarette away and turns to her. “Why?”

“You know why.” Saying it would be too humiliating.

“Why.”

“You’re leaving. It doesn’t matter what I like or don’t like.”

“It matters to me.”

A group of laughing men begin down the street and Tora pulls her into an alleyway beside the club the others are in.

“Please,” he says.

It’s better here in the dark, away from the lights of Ares Street. Everything hard between them is easier in the dark. Part of her wants to be completely honest and tell him she loves him, but she knows it probably won’t change anything. And if it did, she’d just feel guilty she forced him to stay. So she picks the safer bit of truth. “I’m jealous when I think about someone else having you that way, having that piece of you I can’t.”

“It hurts ya?”

“Will you think less of me if I say yes?”

His hand cups her cheek. “Never.”

“Then yes. It hurts.” Her voice cracks as she leans into the warmth of his palm. “Knowing you’re going to have a whole life in three days that I don’t have any part of hurts more than I can say.”

His lips crash into hers, hungrily, seeking that security she hopes to find herself in his arms. His touch stops the tears, halts the crying entirely. It’s hard to feel anything other than complete need when he kisses her. Impossible.

Tora

He’s drunk on Poppy, who tastes of champagne and chocolate. She’s been on his mind all night in that slinky dress with the high heels and red lipstick he’s sure will end up staining his mouth. He doesn’t mind though. He hopes it will. He hopes when they join the others in the light of Ares Street, they’ll see her kiss-swollen lips and the way the red of them streaks down his neck.

Three days. Three days. It’s an unholy amount of time to have left with her. And here she is, hurt over what will happen, what already has a thousand years ago, maybe. He keeps hurting her and he will a thousand times over without even trying. He almost wishes he could be erased from her memory when he leaves, so she can be spared at least a bit of pain.

But not remembering her is unthinkable. And the idea he’ll marry another and sire children with her? Just as inconceivable as anything else. Though what else did he expect? His legacy isn’t possible without a child of his own. But having one with another rips his chest apart, sours these final moments with her.

She mews into her mouth as his hand brushes her breast. The thoughts of what may come leave him at once. He loves the sounds she makes when she wants him, and fuck he wants her just as badly.

Tora pulls up the hem of her dress, his fingers gliding up silky skin. He half expects her to stop him, but she doesn’t. She lets him touch the apex of her thighs, find the wetness gathered there already. Imagining doing this with something else…her doing this with something else…it ignites something feral within him, something ancient and wanting.

“I need to feel ya,” he says against her neck as he slips a finger through her folds, rounding her clit. “Let me feel ya, Poppylan.”

She fumbles with his belt, and he pulls her dress up higher. When his cock is free, he grips her thighs beneath her ass, and lifts her up. Her back’s against the wall and her legs wrap around his hips. She’s so wet, so tight, pulsing around his cock as he buries himself inside her in one quick thrust.

“Fuck,” he hisses, fighting the urge to cum in her already. He wants this to last. He wants all of it to last as he pumps inside her. “Ya too good, Poppyland, too fuckin’ good.”

Her nails dig into the back of his neck. “Don’t stop,” she begs.

“Never.”

He wishes he could mean it, because he doesn’t want to stop ever. He wants her, all of her forever. He wants to fuck her and love her and make her his in all the ways it counts. He’s never thought of himself as terribly selfish, but with her, he is. With her, he’s nothing but selfish.

“Ya feel so fuckin’ perfect,” he murmurs to her. “Like you were fuckin’ made for me.”

She moans quietly into the crook of his neck.

“Fuckin’ soaked. Always fuckin’ ready for me.”

“Please, please, please.”

Her pussy clenches around his cock and he knows she’s close. Her slickness clings to him, her breathy gasps bringing him closer to the edge. The three words he wants so badly to say cling to his tongue. They taste of her and him and them and all the things he wants to swear to her in iron and blood and gold.

She’s cumming as he does, finishing inside her in five bursts of sheer pleasure. Knowing his seed is in her, despite the modern day shot she takes to ensure they won’t take root, fills him with a strange gratification. And knowing she’ll look and smell and feel recently fucked is even better. When he puts her back on her feet and rights her dress, he lets his fingers slide up her inner thigh to touch the mixed arousal there.

“That was unexpected,” she says breathlessly, trying to fix her hair.

It’s beautifully mussed. She looks perfect. “Can’t keep my hands off ya.”

“I wouldn’t want you to.”

He leans down and kisses her chastely on the lips. “We should get back. We need to show no one’s gonna fuck with ya.”

“You say that like people seeing me will make a difference.”

“It will. They’ll see ya got power. Ya got a position here.”

“But when you leave—”

“Don’t,” he says, kissing her again, unwilling to think about that just yet. “Not tonight.”

Poppy blinks up at him and smiles. “Okay.”

In the light of Ares Street, Poppy looks sufficiently fucked, something that pushes a bit of pride into his chest. Only hecan do that to her, make her come undone against a wall as the music of the club reverberates in the stone. She stands on her toes, even in the heels, and wipes a bit of lipstick off the corner of his mouth with her thumb. He’s tempted to tell her to leave it. He wants to be claimed by her as badly as he wants to do the claiming.

He places a hand at the base of her spine as they enter the club. It’s Saturday night and sea of people writhe before them. Though as they step onto the dance floor, they part like a river around a stone. They look from him to her, must sense the power she possesses now, even if they don’t understand it.

He’ll make her all the more powerful when he returns, just as he planned. She’ll be the goddess of time, the name on the mountains. The thought of taking another and having her by his side makes him ill to think about. Making someone else his bride, making her a queen to have princesses and princes by makes him absolutely sick. No one deserves a crown more than Poppy. No one.

“There you are,” Quincey greets from the private booth. It sits upon a raised platform, the perfect place to be seen, and the men of lower clan rank mill about the edges, a collection of men in suits, savage in their finery. “Drink?”

“I’d love one,” Poppy says as she reaches the table, smiling at Goliath.

A jealous part of him wonders if this descendent of his might be his replacement, step in when the dust settles. He brushes the thought aside. Just because they look so similar doesn’t mean Goliath will be good to her, not in the way he would be. And it doesn’t mean she’ll have him, even if he offers.

Tora grabs her a glass, filling it full of champagne. She likes the bubbly, sweet fizz of it, and he can’t take his eyes off her. If she asked him for stars, he’d find a way to force them from the sky so she could adorn her wrists and hair with them, wear them like diamonds, unendingly brilliant.

Then he sits on the edge of the booth, and she perches on his knee at once, leaning back to rest against his chest. He presses a hand to her belly, his thumb skating just beneath the swell of her breast. If people can see them, she doesn’t care, so he doesn’t either. She’s a queen on her throne now, thanks to his viciousness and Quincey’s birthright.

“How many more places are we going?” she asks Quincey.

“This is the last stop, darling. I saved it for the grand finale.” He raises his glass to her. “How do you like being the Tigress of Ares Street?”

Her cheeks pink beneath the neon blue glow of the lights. It might be from the alcohol, but he doubts it. “Is that…”

“Matches mine,” Tora says in her ear, secretly pleased.

She tilts her head back against his shoulder and says, “I hardly earned it.”

“So ya don’t hate it?”

“I don’t mind reminders of you.” She nips his ear, sending a jolt of desire right down to his cock. “I have a reminder of you sliding between my thighs with every step I take.”

He groans, feeling himself harden. She’s hardly ever crass, and never ever is in public. “Ya killin’ me sweetheart.”

She rolls her hips slightly. To anyone else it’ll probably appear as if she’s just adjusting her place, but he knows her better. She’s teasing him. Little minx.

“Home soon?” she asks.

“Anythin’ ya want. Always.”

“Don’t make a promise you can’t keep.”

Her words are light, but there’s a weight to them, a reminder that he can’t. That there is no always. There can’t be when a thousand years lay between them.

He reaches for a bottle of champagne and tops off her glass. “Remember the first time we went to a club like this and ya sat in my lap in that pretty pink dress?”

She nods, sipping her drink.

“I’ll never forget how ya looked. Should we dance then? One last time?”

She nods again, something new in her eyes he knows is grief. He tries to pretend he hasn’t seen it. Instead, he focuses on her hand in his as they leave the booth and enter the main floor where the music cuts through to his bones, rattles in his chest as she runs her hands up his chest and beings to dance.

Tora mirrors her movements, following the sway of her hips as his fingers glide up and down her sides. He wants to imprint the memory of her body against his skin, never forget how she feels and tastes and smells. He knows it won’t take much effort though. Women like Poppylan Wilkes come only once in a thousand years, and he has that kind of woman now, the kind he loath to leave.

***

He isn’t sure what wakes him. Maybe it’s the cool air coming from the open door or the sound of a floorboard creaking, but he awakens all the same to a dark room and an empty bed.

He eases out from beneath the blanket when he hears a small sniff coming from the balcony. He follows the sound to find Poppy sitting there on the concrete ground, knees to her chest, face buried in her arms. She looks so small there, it plucks deep something in his chest.

Tora crouches down beside her. “What’s wrong?”

She sniffs and looks up. “I’m sorry, did I wake you?”

“No. What’s wrong?”

“Don’t worry about it, please.”

“All I do is worry, Bobby.” He sits and gathers her into his lap. “Now tell me.”

She takes a deep, stuttering breath. “It’s not enough time.”

He expected a similar answer, but it still hits him in the gut. “I know, sweetheart, I know.”

“You’re leaving me, and it’s terrible and selfish to say, but I don’t want you to. I don’t want to be without you.” The last word disappears into a sob and her tears slide down his bare chest.

Soul aching, he weaves his fingers into her hair to hold her close. Gods, he wants to stay, He can’t, but he wants to so fucking badly. “I know.”

“No, you don’t. Goliath is your descendant—”

“Might be my descendant.”

“It doesn’t matter. You’re going back to your life and the entire reason is to protect your legacy. That means a queen and kids and a whole existence that’ll be over for me as soon as you’re gone. You’ll just be a memory, something in a museum. Every time I go, it’ll be like visiting your grave and I don’t think I can survive it, because even though you’ll be alive in your time, you’ll be long dead in mine.”

He isn’t sure when he started crying, but he is. The tears sting his skin, make him feel weak when he’s supposed to be strong for her. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t say that, please. I don’t want to spoil what time I have left with you. Please.”

The last time she said please, he’d been inside her, thinking of how perfect she was. Still is. Always would be. Will be. His world begins and ends with her and if he was anyone else in this universe, he’d stay, gods knew he would.

He loves her, he loves her, he fucking loves her. He loves this girl he has no business loving, a girl who shouldn’t even exist until long after he’s nothing but stardust. He can attempt to lie to himself and saying he tried not to, but there wouldn’t be any use. Poppy was too easy to fall for, too easy to consider ruining his kingdom for.

“I love you,” he says before he can stop himself.

She pulls away a bit to look up at him. “What did you just say?”

“I love you.”

“No. You don’t get to do that!” The fresh tears come streaming down her cheeks. “You don’t get to say that to me then just leave. Take it back!”

“No,” he says fiercely, pulling her back against him. “I can’t. I won’t.”

“Take it back, please, Tora. Take it back.”

“Never.”

She sobs into his chest, her arms tight around his neck. “Why would you say that to me? Why now? Why couldn’t you just—”

“I had to tell ya.” Her crying is breaking his fucking heart, but he can’t stop himself. It’s like his mouth won’t stop even when his mind is screaming at him to shut up and not make it worse. “I love ya now and I’ve loved ya for a long while. And I’ll love ya when the valley’s empty and I’ll love ya still when the villages grow into cities and everythin’ I am is nothin’ but ash. Time won’t stop this. I won’t let it.”

“Please, Tora.”

“Come with me,” he says, taking her by the shoulders and looking down into her silver-rimmed eyes. “Come with me, please.”

“But what if it doesn’t work for me?”

She didn’t immediately say no. There’s still hope, a bit of it left. He’s desperate to hold on to it. “I know it’s a lot to ask ya, to ask ya to leave everythin’ here behind. But I need ya, Poppylan. I want ya by my side in this time and every other.”

She swipes at her cheeks with the back of her hand and gives him a watery smile. “It sounds like a proposal.”

“Isn’t it?” he asks her, heart racing as the realization dawns on him. “I want ya to come back with me.” He takes her face in his hands. “Marry me, Poppylan. I’ll make ya a queen. I’ll make ya happy, I promise.”

She gasps, silent for a moment. “You mean it?”

“I swear.” And he does. He doesn’t deserve both her and his kingdom but having both would be a wonderous thing. “Come with me.”

“Yes.”

His heart leaps. “Yes what? I need to say it.”

“I’ll come with you.”

“But will ya marry me?

She nods.

Grinning, he says. “I need to hear it, sweetheart.”

“Yes.”

Chapter Text

Poppy

The world is new when she wakes in Tora’s arms. It’s full of unimaginable possibilities she holds onto beneath the sheets. There’s so much to do before this final journey, the largest of her life. There’s the apartment lease to end and things to give away and people to say goodbye to. That’ll be hardest part. She’s glad, at least, that Granny will still have her cousins. She won’t be entirely alone.

Tora stirs, eyes still closed as he pulls her to his chest and sighs. “Too early.”

“You’re usually the one up with the sun.”

“Ya kept me up late last night, if ya remember.”

She smiles against his neck, his words flickering low in her belly. “I do.”

“Ya still mean it?”

“Mean what?”

“That ya gonna come with me, ya gonna be my wife?”

He makes it sound so simple, and maybe if he was someone else it would be. He’d have taken her out to dinner somewhere nice and gotten down on one knee and given her a ring like in jewelry commercials. They’d drive to Moonbright to show her family, then get married in the little church there, the one with the rose garden out front. But things aren’t simple, yet she’s still so sure she’s doing the right thing.

“Of course, I mean it.” She shifts back a little to look at him. “Do you?”

“Yes. I don’t want ya to ever doubt it. I meant it when I said I’ll make ya happy, sweetheart.” He brushes the hair back from her face, his fingers lingering on her cheek. “You’ll live in a palace and be a queen.”

The idea is laughable. “It sounds so fake.”

“Well, it ain’t. When we get back, I’ll take the vow to be king and then you’ll be my queen. The Queen of the North.”

She’d done some research into Old Narin when Tora first got here, including the lives of what royals she could find. The information was scattered, but it was clear each king in his day had a wife and concubines and a harem full of women. She hadn’t thought about it until now, and the thought makes her stomach flip. She won’t be one in a home of ten or more, will she? She’ll be giving up a lot, but she won’t give up monogamy.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

“Is there…do you…” She’s never had to ask anyone if they had multiple wives before. He’d told her once that he didn’t have a wife, but a mistress, maybe? Is she supposed to just spit it out? Ask if there’s a rotating schedule? Not that she’d accept being anything but the only one.

“Just ask what ya wanna ask, Bobby.”

“How many wives are you planning on having?”

His brows rise. “Didn’t plan on havin’ more than one.”

“Then…concubines? Mistresses?”

“Wasn’t plannin’ on havin’ any of those either.”

Her cheeks heat. Not she feels a little foolish. They’d spoken once of marriage, and he said he held it in high regard. “Would you be expected to though?”

“Sweetheart, I’ve seen twenty-six winters. If my advisors had their way, I’d have been married to one of their daughters eight years ago and betrothed long before that.” He kisses her forehead. “I always made it clear I’ll marry once and only once when I choose. And I chose you. I just wish ya didn’t have to give up everythin’ to do it.”

“Losing my mom then my dad made me see that we’re not guaranteed any time here, none of us are. Sometimes the rewards are worth the risks, and I might not be able to get used to no running water or movie theaters, but it’s worth it to be with you.”

“We have runnin’ water in the palace. It comes from the mountains. And the floors are heated too. You’ll have ya own wing with servants and gowns and jewels and whatever ya want.”

“Hmm…can I have a cat?”

He knits his brow. “But they live in the kitchens.”

“No, a pet cat. One that you take care of and sleeps in bed with you and—”

“In bed?” He looks shocked. “They’ll steal ya soul right outta ya fuckin’ body.”

Poppy giggles. “That’s a myth. Oh, god. Are people going to think I’m some kind of crazy witch person when I show up there in jeans, speaking another language, and wanting to cuddle a kitten?”

“We’ll say ya from the far south. They speak somethin’ close to ya tongue and they never come so far north.”

“I suppose I’ll have to learn your language though. And your customs. Like…what do you eat? Do women have rights? Are there paints and books?”

He takes one of her hands and laces their fingers together. “The language will come in time. Most in the palace speak yours ‘cause of all the merchants and such. As far as food, it’s not so different as it is here. Rice, meat, fish, vegetables, fruits when we have them, bread. Just a bit…harder to come by. Though ya ain’t gotta worry ‘bout that. Ya gonna be the richest woman in the north.”

“Wouldn’t I just be married to the richest man?”

“Nah. Ya gonna have a thousand horses of ya own and some property.”

“Women can own property in your time?”

Tora laughs. “’Course they can. It’s not like it is now, but I ain’t leavin’ ya with nothin’, though ya won’t ever have nothin’ as the queen, even if I die.”

He says it so easily, but she flinches. “I guess I kinda of forgot that was a possibility.”

“Not a big one, don’t worry ‘bout it, Bobby. Takes more than a spear or two to kill me. But I want to make sure ya protected no matter what. Once we’re married, ya always gonna have a home in the palace and if there’s ever…if we ever have a kid, you’ll be even more secure.”

“I suppose having children would be my job, wouldn’t it?” The thought is so foreign. At only just twenty-one, the idea of starting a family had always felt a long way off.

“I’d like a child, just ‘cause I’d like a child with you. I ain’t gonna ask ya to do nothin’ like that unless it’s what ya want too. Ya gonna be my wife, but ya still be ya own person. We have herbs in our time to stop a seed from takin’ root, unless what ya have here can be taken with us. But it’s always gonna be ya choice.”

“Do you mean it?”

“Every word. Havin’ you is more than enough for me. I’ll be more than grateful for anythin’.”

She draws herself closer, unsure of why her cheeks warm at the thought of a baby with Tora. “I’d like to have a family one day, not right when we get there or anything, but one day.”

He grins. “Just tell me when and I’m sure I can do my part.”

Poppy giggles. “I’ll keep that in mind. Maybe I should try to get a dress though…something like what I should be wearing so people don’t talk any more than they already will.”

“I’ve been gone from my people for weeks now, and when I show up, it’ll be with a bride. They’re gonna talk no matter what.”

“Still, there’s a costume shop I know of that’s big with cosplayers. Maybe I can get something there to help me blend in a bit.” All the planning is getting rather exciting in a detached way. There’s so much to do and literally no time at all to get it all done. She’ll be leaving a lot of loose ends for Granny and her cousins to sort out, but that can’t be helped. She needs to try and travel with Tora if she wants a shot at staying by his side.

“What are ya thinkin’ ‘bout?”

“Everything that has to get done. The packing and the goodbyes and the apartment—”

“Leave it all,” he tells her. “If it doesn’t work, ya need a life to go back to.”

Poppy’s chest seizes. “Don’t say that.”

His voice is kind and gentle as he says, “I want ya to be okay no matter what happens. If somethin’ goes wrong, ya need ya home and ya job. You’ll get all my money too. I know ya don’t like how I got it, but Quince and Gyu are gonna make sure ya get my cut.”

“Please don’t—”

“And if ya are still here and I’m not, go back to the cave. I’ll leave ya somethin’, somethin’ just for you.”

She wants to cry but feels like she’s all out of tears. She can’t let one more drop when she must hold on to the hope that it’ll all be alright. Hope might make all the difference. “It won’t come to that, but okay. I’ll go.”

He brings their laced hands to his mouth and kisses her knuckles. “Thanks, sweetheart.”

“But it will work,” she says fiercely. “I’ve decided.”

Tora smiles, though his eyes don’t reflect much joy. “That’s my girl.”

“You sound sad…second thoughts?”

“About you? Fuck no.”

She sighs and sits up. “I guess I should get moving then. I need to see Erdene and figure out how to handle Granny and my cousins.”

“What’ll ya tell ‘em?”

She shrugs and scoops her robe off the floor. It’s a cheap reproduction of silk, and it’s strange to think she’ll be wearing ones like the kind behind glass in the museum before long. “Nothing. I think…I think I’ll write them a letter and give it to Erdene if I’m able to travel like you. I don’t want to worry them unless I have to. Erdene will help them see it’s true and take care of things here for me.”

The robe is cold against her skin, and she stands as she ties it. Tora’s still lounging in bed, dark hair splayed on the pillows, sunlight scattering on his stomach and chest. He stretches his arms overhead, making his muscles roll. She’ll be seeing this sight every day and she doubts it’ll ever get old.

“See somethin’ ya like?” he teases with a smirk.

Poppy rolls her eyes and turns to go into the bathroom. “Ah, to have the confidence of a thousand-year-old time traveler.”

She hears him laugh as she closes the door and turns on the shower. Hot, running water will be one of the major creature comforts she’ll miss. That and ebooks and coffee shops and…there’s too much to list that she tries to not think about it too hard. But then she squirts her expensive rose-scented shampoo in her hand and grimaces. Add that one to the list.

***

Erdene waves at her as she comes down the sidewalk in her direction. Just the sight of her smiling face and bouncing, lavender ponytail makes her chest tighten. This’ll be the last time they’re together.

“Hey, Pops, what are we shopping for today?” she asks as she looks up at the high end costuming sign. “If you and Mr. Tall, Dark, and Broody are planning on getting kinky in the bedroom, I wouldn’t drop a mint on a costume from here.”

Normally, a comment like that would make her laugh, but it’s hard now. “No, that’s not why I need a costume…there’s a coffee shop across the street. How about we sit for a moment and talk?”

Her face falls. “That doesn’t sound good.”

“It’s not bad, not like you might be thinking.”

“I’m not really sure what to think, but okay.”

It’s a quiet affair as they cross the street and order at the counter. Poppy picks a table outside on the empty sidewalk where there’s less of a chance of being overheard. She has a lot to say and doesn’t quite know how to say any of it at all.

“So, spill,” Erdene says, shaking her iced latte to mix it. “What’s going on?”

“Okay…don’t freak out—”

“You’re pregnant, aren’t you?”

Poppy nearly drops her coffee. “No, of course not. It’s…I’m…I’m going back with him.”

Her brows raise. “Excuse me?”

“Tora’s leaving tomorrow night when the hurricane hits and I’m going too.”

Erdene doesn’t say anything for a long while, then asks, “Are you sure?”

“I am,” she tells her firmly. “I’m going with him, and it has to be tomorrow.”

“Why tomorrow? Why not in a few weeks or months or…tomorrow night?” Her large eyes blink again and again as if she’s fighting tears. “Why?”

“For so many reasons, but mostly because we met another traveler who says tomorrow is the best shot for Tora to get home and…and I don’t…I have to go.”

She toys with the paper straw in her latte. “So, this is it? After tomorrow if I ever want to see you again, I have to actually go to the museum to do it?”

Poppy lets out a watery laugh. “Maybe. I’ll be married to Tora, but I don’t think I’ll be important enough but maybe I can try to do something big. Build a giant library or have my portrait painted a hundred times so something’ll show up in this time for you to see.”

“Will I forget you when you go?”

“No, of course not. Tora’s grandmother traveled back and forth for years, and nothing ever changed.”

“So, you can come back one day?”

She shrugs. “I don’t know. I’m really not even sure if it’ll work this time. I just couldn’t leave without seeing you.” Without saying goodbye.

Erdene dabs her cheek with a napkin. “I can’t believe it. I know it’s all true, but having you go back isn’t something I considered before now. My biggest worry was him going and leaving you heartbroken.” She sighs. “Can’t you wait just a little bit? There’s going to be a hurricane, but there are hurricanes every year.”

“It’s not just the hurricane.” The sidewalk’s empty, but she still lowers her voice and leans in. “They’re going to kill Vincent Balthuman.”

Eyes still teary, Erdene’s mouth drops open. “What? Are you kidding? Who is they?”

“I don’t know all the details, and even if I did, I don’t want to involve you. Long story short, Tora has to leave when it’s…done.”

“This story just keeps getting crazier.”

“I know. And I need you to do something for me when I’m gone.”

“Anything.”

Poppy unclasps her bag and pulls out three sealed envelopes and an apartment key. “If—when—I go, can you give these letters to Granny and my cousins? And here’s the key to my place so they don’t have to wait for the landlady to get my things.”

She stares at the envelopes. “What will you tell them?”

“The truth, even though it sounds ridiculous. But Granny’s imagination is large enough that she might even believe it.”

Erdene takes the lot and puts it in her bag. “I’ll make sure they get them, I promise.”

“Thanks, Dene.”

She grins a little too widely, a little too much. “Now, no more tears. I’m guessing you want to blend in with the locals, and the cartoon avocado t-shirts aren’t going to cut it. So, let’s go see if we can find you something fit for a queen.”

Tora

Tora, Quincey, Damien, Brian, Goliath, Gyu, Shing Ma and his men, all sit in the private room at a restaurant two hours from the city. It’s cramped with all of them rounding a simple, table with drinks before them all. Strange being in a room with everyone who’s fully aware he’s a time traveler, including a few strangers who don’t give him a second look when Shing Ma explains his existence and their plans, ending with Tora on top of Regina’s Peak, going back to his own time.

“Poppylan’s comin’ too,” Tora announces in a breath of smoke.

“Our Poppylan?” Quincey asks, eyes wide.

“She wants to.”

“And you’re just going to…take her to a place with no running water or heat or Netflix or books?”

“We got water, heat and books,” he says gruffly. Being reminded of everything she’s giving up at every turn doesn’t better his mood any. He’s fully aware what she’s leaving behind and will spend the rest of his life making it worth her while.

“You’re bringing the girl?” Shing Ma smiles over his drink. “I look forward to seeing what changes come when you’re gone.”

“What do you mean?” Gyu asks.

“Him taking her back with him probably won’t change much here, except that she’ll be gone. But it will change history, perhaps in a larger way than expected. It’s possible she’ll be nothing more than a footnote in history like most royal wives from then—if you intend to marry her, that is?”

“I do,” Tora affirms firmly.

“Then she might be a footnote, or she may make more changes. There’s been a few people I believe may have been travelers throughout history, just based on their futuristic ideas or mysterious comings and goings. She might be one of those very people who leaves an impression.”

Tora’s wondered that, tried to think of the ways Poppy might change things. Taking animals as pets in the house is one he’s already planned on. But he can picture her mixing things into her coffee and introducing lattes to the court and maybe even pants for women and a larger library than the one already in the palace. Of course, he’ll have to send for literary merchants from the far west, promise them safe travel. But most of all, he’s already decided she’s going to make her mark. He refuses to let her be an unnamed woman to history.

“If it turns out she can’t travel, she’ll need to be protected,” Tora says. “Gyu knows she gets my money, but I won’t be here to take care of her when shit goes bad on Ares Street. Damien, I need ya to take her to Moonbright until shit settles, and Quincey I’m askin’ ya to make sure she gets a nice, new place when she gets back.”

“She’ll be fine,” Shing Ma says. “I’ll swear an oath to it.”

This surprises him. He didn’t think Shing Ma would be all that keen on helping him, though at the same time, he seems a good enough man who’s constantly been in his trust. “Will ya?”

He nods and rises, taking a pocketknife from inside his jacket. He presses the point into the pad of his thumb until a bead of blood falls into a glass of water. Tora does the same with his small dagger and their blood mixes together until it’s indistinguishable as Shing Ma says in the old tongue, “I swear to thee my king and lord, thy will shall be mine, this promise I keep. Poppylan Wilkes shall be in my protection as long as she wishes, as long as there is danger to her or her kin. As long as my body holds breath, my word is bond.”

Tora stares at him over the table, then nods. “Thank you.” It’s been a long while since anyone swore over mingled blood.

“Oh, thank god, I thought he was going to drink it or something,” Quincey says with a sigh as they both sit back down.

“I could, if that would make you feel better,” Shing Ma offers lightly.

Quincey’s face greens. “Oh, that won’t be necessary.”

“What’s the big deal with this Poppylan girl anyway?” Goliath asks, arms crossed. “It’s not like she’s going to be helping tomorrow night.”

“Shut ya fuckin’ mouth,” Tora snaps. Goliath rolls his eyes and it’s like looking in a godsdammned mirror. “If she ain’t takin’ care of, I ain’t doin’ shit to Vincent. And ‘s not like I’m askin’ you to do anythin’ for her, ya little shit.”

Goliath opens his mouth as if to speak, but Shing Ma raises his hand. “If you’d like to keep your tongue, you’ll shut that gaping maw.”

Tora raises a brow at Goliath as he screws his mouth shut and glares.

“Should I drive you to Regina’s Peak when it’s…over?” Quincey asks after a moment of tense silence.

“I’ll have Poppylan do it,” he says with a noted glance at Goliath. “’S only right so we don’t waste any time.”

“I’ll make sure the security system is down,” Gyu adds. “But wait until you see the front gate lights flicker once. That’ll be me sayin’ there aren’t any cameras and I’m in control of the system.”

“Still lookin’ at eleven?” Tora glances at the time on his phone. Twenty-one hours from now.

Shing ma takes another drink. “Eleven sharp. Ten minutes before, Goliath will set the bomb.”

They sort through the plans again, then a third time until each bit of it is committed into every memory. It’s been a whole since Tora felt like he was back in a war band, clustered in a tent to talk plots and strategy. His skin prickles with the familiarity of it all, with the knowledge that will be his life again by midnight tomorrow.

He looks to the glass on the table, the mingled blood within where three times have merged into a simple cup, a promise of what is to come, an unbreakable bond.

***

Poppy’s in bed when he comes home, the apartment dark. She’s been busy, he notes. There are boxes in the living room labeled with the names of her cousins and Erdene. As he peeks into one filled with books, he realizes she’s giving away all her things. He understands, but it still saddens him to see how her living room has grown bare, her favorite things boxed away for someone else.

“Tora?” Her voice is sleepy, questioning.

He rounds the boxes and goes into the bedroom. “Hey, sweetheart. I’ll be there in a second.”

She burrows back into the blankets with a “’Kay.”

He goes into the bathroom and brushes his teeth, sheds his clothes and puts them into the hamper as if it’s a normal night and he’ll ever wear them again. He realizes he’s doing everything for the last time. He’ll never again ride in Quincey’s car or go to sleep in Poppy’s apartment or drink modern wine out of a thin-glassed goblet.

Tora flicks off the lights and goes to bed. He curls his body around Poppy’s warm, soft form and breaths deeply. “Sorry for wakin’ ya.”

“It’s okay. I’d rather you wake me. I like you’re knowing you’re here.” She arches against him with a hum. “I missed you.”

“Was only gone a few hours.”

“Are you saying you didn’t miss me at all?” she asks playfully. “How rude of you.”

He runs a hand down her arm and settles it on her hip. “My sincerest apologies, my queen.”

Poppy giggles. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Just gettin’ used to it.” He kisses the side of her neck and slides one arm beneath her neck, bending it to cup a breast. “Ya gonna be a queen, Poppylan. The richest and most feared.”

“Feared?”

His fingers slide over her hip to rest between her legs, adding a bit a pressure, just as she likes. “Ya gonna have power, so much. Ya word will be law in your land.” He slips his hand into her panties, gently, slowly. “You’ll have armies to command and more riches than any king.” She’s wet, but not wet enough. He begins a steady rotation to slicken her, to feel the sweet tensing of her body as he pinches her nipple. “No one will have more of anythin’ than you.”

“That’s a lot of promises.” Her breathing comes fast, and his cock is so hard against her ass. He can’t stop his hips from bucking against her.

“And I mean every one, sweetheart.” He slides a finger inside her, crooking it as he grinds the heel of his hand into her clit. “The world will bow to ya.” She makes a small noise, and her body begins to tighten. “You’ll never regret lovin’ me, choosin’ me.” She tenses as she comes, her fingers gripping his arms. Her nails bite his skin as he teases her breast and has her ride out her orgasm on his hand.

Still trying to catch her breath, she begins pushing down her panties. He kicks off his briefs and is inside her in one burning thrust. Fuck, he’ll never get tired of how soaked she gets when she cums, how her body writhes in his arms. He’s never taken her from behind before and the sensation is…he doesn’t have the words for it. No matter how Poppy shares her body with him, it’s always exquisite, always perfection.

She arches her back away from him, and he runs a hand down her spine. He watches his cock disappear inside her over and over a she moans.

“Ya like this?” he asks. “Like me havin’ ya this way?”

She fists the sheets. “Yes, yes!”

His fingers dig into the softness of her hip as he rocks into her. Her low groan of approval makes his stomach tingle with the promise of release. Doing this for the rest of his life is obscenely wonderful, better than anything the gods could ever promise him. Maybe him being here is the gods doing for some reason. Maybe they knew he needed a woman like her, maybe they knew she belonged with him. When they get back, he’ll be sure to thank them properly for blessing him with such a bride.

“Don’t stop,” she pleads into the pillow. “Don’t. Stop.”

Gritting his teeth, he keeps the same pace until she cums, pulsing around his cock with a cry that forces his own rapid release. He’s loath to pull out of her when it’s done, but she soon leaves the bed to clean up and he rights his briefs, waiting until she comes back to pull the covers around them both.

“This is our last night here,” she murmurs against his chest. “Our last night in this bed.”

“Ours in the capital will be just as nice,” he assures her. “Nicer now, that I’ll have a wife to care for. Silk pillows and the softest of things.”

“Do you think people will accept me as your wife?”

“They’ll accept ya if I saw they will. And when they get to know ya, they’ll have no reason not to love ya. We’ll have a fine weddin’ with a great feast and dignitaries from all over.”

“Do you have wedding rings there?”

“Weddin’ rings?”

“You know, rings you wear once you’re married so everyone knows you’re, well, married.”

He cuddles her closer, breathing in her rose scent. He’ll make sure to keep have all the rose soaps and perfumes he can find at her disposal. “Everyone’ll know we’re married ‘cause ya gonna be queen with ya face on coins.”

She laughs. “My face on a coin like Queen Elizabeth? That’s so strange.”

“Not where we’re goin’. But if ya want weddin’ rings, then that’s what we’ll have. What are they like?”

“Men normally wear plain bands on this finger here.” She lifts her left hand and wiggles a finger. “And women usually have both an engagement ring, a band with a diamond or other stone, then add another band on their wedding day.”

“Which stones?”

“Diamonds are traditional, but I like colorful ones. Like a nice amethyst or sapphire.”

He nods, committing it to memory. “I’ll have some brought to ya then, as soon as we get there. I’ll wear a ring too, if ya want.”

“It would be nice. I know we’ll be a bit of a…public couple, but…I’d like to keep some traditions of home.”

“And ya will, sweetheart. Just say the word and you’ll have whatever ya want.”

“You make it sound so easy.

“Bobby, when we get there and ya see what I have to give ya, what’s rightfully yours, ya gonna see it is easy. For you, it always will be.”

He holds her as she sleeps, knowing this may be the last night in this bed, but it won’t be their last night together, or the gods will have hell to pay.

Chapter Text

Tora

The armor feels strange after being kept so long in a box, the weight off, the straps too tight. But it does feel more like him, more like him than the jeans and t-shirts and gun ever have. Though he’s decided to bring a gun tonight, tucking the cool metal inside a leather panel at his side. He won’t go in unprepared when so much weighs on his ability to do his final duty in this time.

Poppy’s been in the bathroom a while showering and getting dressed in the clothes she wouldn’t show him. She’s been quiet since coming back from seeing Erdene. She’s not angry, but he knows she’s sad. He wishes there was another way, and he isn’t sure if he’s selfish for going back or if it would be more selfish to stay. He can’t think about that now when it’s all nearly over and everything rests on the next slice of time.

He laces up his boots and takes the plastic Ziploc bag of pictures off the counter, sliding them inside his shirt. He’s leaving most of the ones Alice took here in the kitchen for her to have back and for Erdene to use as proof with Poppy’s family. He’s only taking one of his mother. The rest are all the modern shots of him and Poppy, their friends, her cousins, her Granny, her father, all the people they’re leaving behind. He’s taking a few extra of her, just in case…in case…

The bathroom door opens and Poppy steps out, leaving him stunned into silence. She’s wearing a pale blue hanfu dotted with cherry blossoms. A long, white, fur-lined cape falls over her shoulders to sweep the ground as she steps toward him, brown study boots peeking from beneath the hem of her skirt. His chest warms to see she’s wearing bits and pieces of his jewelry, her jewelry now, including a floral jade pin stuck through the simple bun she’s pulled her hair into.

“Think I’ll pass?” she asks with a small twirl.

“It’s nearly perfect. Where did ya find somethin’ like that?”

“You can get anything you want in this time if you have the cash, and it’s not like I need to save my money.” Poppy smiles and goes to her dresser, to the simple, brown bag on top. “Erdene and I went to a costume store people who do serious cosplays use. The dress has a zipper, and the boots have rubber soles, but as long as no one looks too closely, I’m hoping I can blend in for a little bit.”

It’s so real he can almost taste it. He’d been a fool to think Poppy shouldn’t come to his time. She looks impeccable in the clothes from his world, wearing the jewels he hid before the city they stand in was so much as a thought on the wind. She belongs with him in his time wearing fine gowns and jade bracelets and rubies the side of her fist.

Poppy’s sticking things in the bag, just a few creature comforts, as she says, including several bottles of Tylenol and allergy medication and her favorite paperback book. Her fingers hover over a strange black box with a cord and thin panels.

“What’s that?” he asks, looking over her shoulder.

“A solar battery pack. I wanted…if I bring my kindle and this, I can keep it charged and still have all my books. But I shouldn’t, right? I should just bring things that I can hide easily or won’t stick out?”

“Bring what ya like. ‘S not like people are gonna go through ya stuff.”

She smiles and slides it into her bag, along with the kindle. “I went through Amazon today and bought, like, a million books. I’m not sure how traveling will affect it, but it’s worth a shot to have enough to read.”

He winds his arms around her and kisses the top of her head. Their reflection is stark in the mirror above the dresser, a piece of the past among her flat screen television and electric lights. Again, he’s struck with the reality of what’s happening and the press of time forcing them forward to conquer kingdoms and maintain an empire that’ll last until the stars die and the world stills.

“We should leave,” he says at last.

She lets out a long breath and bites her lip. “This is it.”

“Not yet. One more stop.”

“One more stop,” she echoes.

Tora waits by the door as Poppy mills through the apartment one last time, rounding taped up boxes and brushing the leaves of the plants that dangle overhead. She doesn’t cry though as she flips off the lights in each room as she leaves and doesn’t still as they step into the hall and he locks the door behind them with his key.

The sky is dark, darker than true night, as the heavy clouds obscure the moon. It’s a night for mayhem, a night for death. The promise of it all makes the air crackle with possibilities.

They get into the car and Poppy white-knuckles the wheel. He puts a hand on her thigh. “Sweetheart, look at me.”

She does and for the first time tonight, she looks scared.

“Say the word and ya out. You can still change ya mind.”

“I won’t.”

“It’s just one more stop.”

“One more stop.” She turns the key and car comes to life. “You’ll be safe?”

“The safest.”

He hopes he’s telling her the truth. Vincent should be in the house with little to no guards, and with Gyu taking down the security, it should be simple. It should take no more than a few moments once Quincey opens that door.

Unless Goliath doesn’t set the bomb. Unless Vincent isn’t there. Unless Quincey doesn’t open the door.

They reach the high walls surrounding the estate and park in front of another house, far enough from the gates where they won’t be noticed. Tora’s pulse thrums with the strange calmness that always comes when he’s about to take a life. It steadies him, grounds him, makes nothing else in the world matter more than collecting that soul.

There’s a far-off bang, and the front gates swing open a minute later to allow a line of cars to leave.

“What’s that?” Poppy whispers, as if they can hear her.

“Golith set a bomb off in a Balthuman building downtown.” He shifts his armor and pulls his dagger out, sliding it into his sleeve for easier access. Then the lights framing the now-closed gates flicker once and Tora leans in to kiss Poppy. “I’ll be back soon.”

She nods, eyes wide. “Hurry.”

He presses his lips to hers and leaves the car. He jogs across the dark street and pulls one of the disarmed gates open. The driveway is long and tree-lined, leaving him with some coverage as he runs between the well-tended trunks.

This is who he is. This is what he was born for; to topple empires and build new ones from their ashes, to ensure that no one has the power to threaten him or those closest to him. He should have killed Vincent Balthuman long ago, but it can’t be helped. He can’t turn back time except to go back to the beginning.

There are only two cars in the lot before the manor house, both empty. He edges the building until the front door opens. Quincey pokes his head out and whispers loudly, “Hello?”

“Is it clear?” Tora asks.

Quincey squeals, stumbling back against the door, clutching his chest. “Jesus, Mary, and Beyonce, you scared the hell out of me.”

He has no idea what a Beyonce is. “Anyone else here?”

“Two men, but they’re downstairs. My father’s on the second floor in the library. It’s the fourth door on the left.”

Tora steps inside but pauses. “Ya good with what I’m ‘bout to do? It’s ya father.”

His mouth flattens into a firm line. “He’s never been a kind man. Not to any of you, not to my mother, and not to me. I feel like he’s never been much of a father, so there’s no use in getting sentimental now.” He takes a deep breath. “Hit me.”

“What?”

“I need you to hit me and hit me hard, preferably on the left side, the right has all the best angles. If anyone’s to believe rival gang members rushed in here, I certainly can’t come out unscathed.”

Tora pulls his fist back and punches him hard in the jaw at just the right place to split his lip and ensure a nasty bruise in the morning.

“God, don’t be so eager!” he says, clutching his face.

He grins. “I’ve known quite a few fine kings take their thrones by ridding the world of the unkind rulers before them.” He clasps his shoulder. “You’ll make a fine king.”

Quincey’s eyes fill with tears. “Goodbye, Tora.”

Tora merely nods, then slips further into the house. He rushes up the wide staircase, keeping low. The manor is large and silent, his feet are just as quiet as he reaches the landing. One, two, three, four heavy oak doors. He presses his ear to seam of the fourth, waiting to hear something beyond, but all is quiet.

He slowly pushes it open and sees Vincent standing at the storm-filled window, his back to him. Tora takes steady, measured steps. He despises taking a man’s life from behind, but time isn’t on his side, and it must be fast, and it must be now, and it must be finished soon because the first roll of thunder welcomes the first flash of lightning beyond the glass.

But then Vincent turns and for the first time, a look of surprise shines on his features. “Tora? What the hell are you doing? What the hell are you wearing?”

He slides the knife from his sleeve, the comforting weight fitting into his palm.

“What the fuck do you plan on doing with that?” he sneers, stepping toward his desk.

Tora suspects there’s a gun there, some kind of weapon. He needs to act.

One step, another, then Tora leaps onto the desk and Vincent lunges for the top drawer. Tora kicks him in the chest, sending him back against the large window. The drawer’s ajar and the hilt of a gun peeks through. He stands on the desk, looking down at Vincent, at his messy hair, his wide eyes. This is the man who terrorized boys, who ordered killings for his own gain, who used his power to rule with an iron fist.

“Who are you?” Vincent asks as thunder shakes the glass behind him, lightning illuminating the room.

He steps off the desk, blade tight in his fist. “I’m the Tiger of fuckin’ Ares Street.”

Poppy

Poppy drums her fingers on the wheel, heart racing at a sickening pace. It’s hard to see out the windshield with how hard the rain’s coming down, but she can’t risk turning on the wipers in case anyone sees her car loitering on the empty street.

It’s only been eleven minutes. Or has it been more? She should have been paying better attention, but she can hardly tear her eyes away from the gate. The lights dotting the walls are still dark and the iron still motionless. Each moment makes her dizzy with nerves.

Headlights approaching make her duck down behind the dashboard, as if anyone can see her in this storm. But she peeks and sees they’re stopped in front of the Balthuman gates. They honk the horn, then when the gates don’t open, someone gets out of the passenger seat and hurriedly yanks them open wide enough for the car to pull inside.

When the gates close, Poppy thinks she might actually get sick, might actually vomit. Tora’s inside now with Vincent and reinforcements are driving up now. Shouldn’t she do something? Call someone? But who?

She pulls out her phone and scrolls through her contacts. She can’t risk Tora’s phone ringing, or Quincey’s. Gyu is doing something with the security system. Damien. Damien should be free. She can—

The passenger side door opens, and she screams as a darkened figure climbs in. But it’s only Tora, soaked and serious. She throws her arms around him.

“I’ll get ya all wet,” he says.

“I don’t care. How did you get out without—”

Tora pulls away. “We need to go.”

She grimaces and turns the key. There’ll be time to hear the whole sordid tale soon enough. But now she needs to get as much space between them and Balthuman manor as possible. The rain comes down hard and the sirens that seem to fill the streets makes her hair stand on end. Tora’s sitting calm and still beside her. She wishes she could get a bit of his calm, at least enough to be able to focus on the road and the drive ahead.

Each time she sees blue and red lights, her grip tightens, and she holds her breath. Of course, no one will be looking twice at her car and of course no one would ever think she was involved in a…a…a murder.

“Bobby, what is it?” Tora asks.

She slows to a stop when they hit a red light. “What?”

“Ya made this weird sound. Ya alright?”

She hadn’t been aware she made any noise at all. “Yeah, I’m okay. I guess it just hit me that I’m the getaway driver for a murder.”

“Ain’t a murder if ya deserve it.”

“I’m not sure that’s how that works.”

“It is in my time.”

She supposes it is. A lot is new and different, and it scares her, it honestly does, but not as much as a life without Tora would. She’s going on a grand adventure like the ones in novels, like the ones she never thought a girl like her would go on. Now she knows there’s magic in the world, unlike any she’s dreamed of. Time and history and love all whipped together into a final cacophony of this and them and the rest of their lives.

The rain is just as hard when they reach Regina’s Peak and park as she did a hundred times before. The headlights illuminate the place they’ll be for only a moment before she turns the car off. Erdene and Damien will be coming to pick it up in the morning, and she doesn’t want the battery to die in the meantime. Such a mundane thing to worry about when she’s at the end of the world as she knows it.

There’s no sound but the rain hitting the windshield for a moment before Tora whispers, “Ya can still change ya mind.”

“No, Tora, I can’t. I don’t want to.”

He leans over the center console and cups her cheek. His hair is still wet, clinging to his neck and the top of his armor. “I love ya, ya know. It’s gonna be okay. I’ll hold on to ya the whole time and it’ll be alright.”

Poppy’s throat is too tight to speak. She’s almost afraid now that if she opens her mouth, she’ll vomit. So, instead she merely nods, closes her eyes as he kisses her softly.

“Come on. We should get out there. I’ll carry ya bag. Just want ya to focus on holdin’ on to me.”

As she opens the car door, the wind ships it out of her hand. She’s glad her hair’s up, since the same gust blew off her hood as soon as she stepped onto the storm. Tora’s by her side at once, holding tight to her hand, probably in case the lightning comes faster than they anticipate.

Together they step up to the edge of the peak, their feet sinking into the rain sodden earth. Below them lays the city, a sea of lights and cars and sound. She can’t hear them now, but she can imagine them, the noise of people laughing in the streets and the buzz of someone calling up to her apartment. She’ll miss those little things she never put much stock in before, the hum that had melted into the background of her life.

“Last chance, sweetheart,” Tora says over the rumble of thunder that echoes in her chest. “If ya wanna stay here, go back to the car.”

She shakes her head and winds her arms around his middle. “I’m coming with you.”

A flash of lightning makes her jump, but Tora holds her tight, one hand cupping the back of her head, the other hard on her back.

“Just close ya eyes,” he tells her. “Just close ya eyes and next time they open, we’ll be home.”

Home.

Home didn’t mean much before, it was just a word like any other, interchangeable with house and apartment and Moonbright and Narin. But now she’s leaving a larger home of her time for a new one where she’ll build a life with Tora. She doesn’t care if she doesn’t end up in history books, she only cares that they’ll have their time together to have a home and a family and a real chance at the kind of love she thought only existed between the pages of novels.

And being afraid of an adventure so grand is nothing to be ashamed of. Wasn’t Frodo frightened when he left the Shire? Wasn’t Feyre frightened when she went over the wall? Wasn’t Patroclus frightened when he first followed Achilles? They ended up living lives worth writing about, and hers shall be no different, even if no one ever pens a word of it.

“Hold on to me,” Tora commands over and over as the pain comes down hard, sliding down her back, over the curves of her cheeks. “Hold on to me. Hold on to me. Hold on to me.”

She isn’t sure, but the thunder seems to grow nearer and even through her closed lids, she can see the lightning flash, taste the tang of the storm on her tongue. The shaking might be from the cold or fear, but she leans into it, lets her body tremble as she focuses on Tora’s voice. He’s the only thing familiar now, the last bit of it, and she grips him until his fingers feel numb and—

The lightning’s so close it raises the hair on the back of her neck and there’s a sickening pull in her stomach, like she’s being wrenched apart from the inside. She keeps her eyes closed as Tora’s chanting grows louder still. Hold on to me. Hold on to me. Hold on to me. He’s louder than the thumber, than each rolling bit of it that tears through her bones, makes her teeth rattle in her skull. He’s louder than her racing pulse and the sound of screaming as her body feels like it’s been set ablaze. Someone’s screaming, but maybe it’s her. She can’t tell. She doesn’t care. She just wants the pulling and burning to stop.

Hold on to me.

Hold on to me.

Hold on to me.

And Poppy keeps her eyes closed.

Chapter Text

Tora

The wind that rolls over his cheek isn’t the biting, gnashing kind of a storm, but the sweet caress of spring. The warm sun seeps into his skin, so gentle, so soft. Soft like the grass he lays upon. Soft like the promise of time.

Tora opens his eyes, mind hazy and mouth tasting of untested copper. There’s a buttercup swaying just in front of his nose. It’s spring then, true spring, and mid-morning by the looks of the sky.

He pushes himself up, ignoring the swoop of nausea that sweeps through his chest. The valley below is empty, a green ocean of grass that rolls with each warm breeze. There’s no city there, just the vibrant, brilliant, untouched earth of his time. His time! He can hardly believe it. Poppy was both his anchor and his sail. She came with him, and all was well.

He turns, grinning. “We’re home, sweetheart.”

But there’s nothing but empty space and large rocks and a smattering of trees and some of the things she’d had in her bag that has somehow broken. Pages from her favorite book drift by with the wind. Her kindle lays in the grass with a cracked screen. There’s a hairpin by his hand. A jade one with a carved flower at the top that’s chipped now.

“Sweetheart?” he calls, still sitting, almost afraid to move.

The breeze ruffles a nearby tree, large leaves a vibrant emerald.

“Bobby?” he calls again, a bit louder as he rises to his feet.

A bird takes off, swooping down into the valley.

“Poppylan?” His knees buckle, but he steps toward the tree, looking behind the trunk, then beyond the stones leading down to flat ground far below. Maybe she fell. Maybe she’s hurt.

“Sweetheart, talk to me!” He’s yelling now, voice echoing in the sweet spring valley.

It’s all too empty, too still, too silent.

“Poppylan!” He screams until the rest of the birds leave the safety of their perches.

“Poppylan!” His voice grows hoarse as he searches the peak, digs his fingers into the soft earth, desperately seeking her in even the most unlikely of places.

“Poppylan!” The hour grows late, and his throat closes with the unease of calling out her name again and again.

The sky, once a cozy shade of the most perfect blue he’d ever seen dips into pink and purple. Night is upon him and he’s finally coming to terms with the fact that though he’s gone back to his time, Poppy’s been left behind. He isn’t sure how. He’d held her so tightly, they’d nearly become one. But he woke up alone. And she must have too.

He sits heavily back down in the grass.

He’d left her. He hadn’t meant to—didn’t want to—but he had all the same. He left her alone with her life packed into boxes and rain soaking her hair. He left her behind when he swore to love her always, marry her, make her a queen. She’s supposed to be here by his side, walking to the nearest camp so they can start the rest of their lives together.

Tears burn his eyes, and he closes them to keep them at bay. The last time he screamed a name to the sky, he’d been doing it for a woman long dead. Now he’s done it for a woman yet to exist. He’d failed his mother’s memory, and he’s failed Poppy’s trust in him. She’d given her everything, everything she had, even the bits he was too selfish to refuse. And he’d left her.

He lays back as night falls. He’s once again a king, yet it feels like a hollow title. A king without a queen is merely someone to put on coins. A king with a fine queen beside him is worth much more than the empty throne that sits next to his in the capitol. It’s worth more than the stinging in his chest. He’ll have to go home soon. But not yet. Not until he knows he won’t throw himself off the peak. He takes a final big breath as a gust of wind sweeps by.

And Tora keeps his eyes closed.

Poppy

Six Months Later

Sometimes she still looks for him, when the days feel too long and the nights too lonely. She looks for him in the museum now named for some far-off descendant of his. She looks for him on the peak when the rain promises lightning. She looks for him in the streets when a shock of black hair disappears in the crowd. And she looks for him always when she thinks about facing the rest of her life without him.

The changes his return brought came about all at once with the sun. First is the ancient, stone estate tucked into the mountainside. The House of Tasura, as the figurehead royals are called in this time, don’t live there anymore, but it still stands, calling to visitors to tour the barren rooms and the crypt where the bones of old kings are buried. She hasn’t been able to visit it yet. Knowing he might be there among them is too unthinkable to accept.

Then there are the cherry blossom trees that grow on Regina’s Peak, in the garden some say a king once had built for his dear mother and a long-lost love the legends say threw herself off the cliff. She knows that last bit’s an exaggeration, but sometimes she wonders if that’s what he thought happened to her when he woke up alone.

She still cries when she thinks of that terrible moment of understanding that had split her world in two.

To her, the realization of it all came slowly as breath returned to her lungs and her heart stopped flipping in her chest. She’d noticed the rain first as it pelted her face, cold and unrelenting. She remembers thinking it strange the weather carried over through time. But then as she reached out to find Tora’s sobering warmth, her fingers met nothing but mud.

“Tora?” she croaked; voice strained from screaming.

When he didn’t answer, she sat up and out of the corner of her eye she saw lights. Not the lights of a war camp of the fires of a battle hard fought, but the lights of buildings and cars. There were no horses or soldiers or capitol or Tora. There was only her on that cliff with muck soaking into her sodden cloak and violent winds that made the trees shake.

The wind roared and rain lashed, and she was alone.

She stayed alone until the morning, letting the storm soak and bruise her until her feet and hands were numb and cheeks stung, and throat burned from crying and the last of the lightning drifted away. She let the cold settle into her bones since that was easier than getting into the car and diving to her empty apartment.

She didn’t have a picture of him. Never even…

The hardest bit, the thing that still nips at her mind as she tries to sleep every night is that she never even told him she loved him back. She doesn’t know how she hadn’t, why she hadn’t, but she didn’t realize it until it was too late and there was nothing left of him but his modern clothes in the closet of the apartment that felt too empty without him. He left and never heard those three words from her lips.

Erdene had pulled her from the rainy fog on the peak, bundled her in the back of the car. She might have asked questions, but Poppy can’t remember, even to this day. She just recalls Damien following in his car and helping her up the stairs. They’d tripped over boxes, and he left while Erdene got her showered and dressed and tucked into bed. She’d stayed with her through it, held her as she cried.

But that was then, and now Poppy’s settled into life a bit, though there’s one thing she hasn’t done yet…gone to the cave. But she can’t put it off any longer. This is the last thing Tora asked her to do that she hasn’t yet, and once it’s done, it’ll be the start of her own healing.

She goes through her new apartment, readying for the day, a late start if she’s honest with herself. She calls it new, but she’s been here five months already and has unpacked all her things. Though Tora’s are boxed up in the guest room’s closet. She hasn’t been able to toss any bit of it. She hardly goes in the guest room at all unless Granny or one of her cousins visit. Having space to entertain them has been a blessing of this large apartment.

It's in an older part of the city where all the walls are trimmed in dark wood and a stained-glass window sends speckles of color across the living room floor. Quincey had picked it out for her and sorted the movers and set up for the rest to paid every month on the dot from an account he promised Tora had earned every penny of. Strange to think how he’s still caring for her from another time. It seems like something he’d do if he could.

She goes to her coffee shop first, where the same barista always calls out, “Hey, goddess of time. The usual?”

That part makes her smile. Tora had joked about naming a goddess of time after her, and he had. It makes the latte sweeter. Not all memories are bad and painful, some are just right.

She’d almost gone to the cave a dozen times since waking up alone, but today she’ll go through with it. She’s wearing sturdy boots and has a strong enough flashlight that she’ll feel a little better when she slides between the stones. Last time she had a hand to hold, this time she won’t. But she’s getting better at going through things alone now, from moving into a new apartment to letting Quincey write that tawdry romance novel based on a time traveling warrior they both miss.

The forest is cold and largely barren, though a red-breasted robin hops from limb to limb, from tree to tree, as she steps through the fallen leaves. She smiles up at it, liking the feeling of being followed by the chirping, little thing. He’s a pop of brilliant among the faded shades of fall.

She finds the gap in the wall and shakes off the chill that clings to her fingertips. She’s never been claustrophobic but recalling how it was to flounder in the dark until Tora found her is enough to make her stomach twist. She takes a deep breath and clicks on the flashlight. With a final glance at the cheery, red robin, she steps forward to be swallowed by the stone.

Ignoring the rushing of her pulse, she continues deeper into the silent crush of the rock until she’s let out into the cavern. It’s as if the air’s finally returned to her lungs and she half expects the cave to be empty. If he went back in time to leave her something, wouldn’t it have been found when they were all there together? It hardly makes sense for something new to appear. Unless time isn’t some straight line. She’d read a theory once that time is a tangle, overlapping and knotting and flowing in ways no one could ever understand. She hardly has a mind for science, but that makes the most sense. His time overlapping with hers seems to be the only thing that would explain how he and Alice, and apparently the others, ended up here.

The walls are the first thing she notices. They were craggy and bare last time she’d seen them, nothing special at all. But now they’re all etched and carved and painted, and it’s all there. There are deep red poppies carved and tinted, peonies that might have once been pink, birds with hints of discolored blue. Her name’s engraved beside his among a garden of stone. It must have taken him ages and her throat’s burning as she takes it all in.

He'd left something for her indeed, something lasting and private, something no one but them probably will ever see. She blinks away the tears and sweeps the light across the floor, finding the hole they’d first dug. That at least hadn’t changed. She continues looking and sees a bit of uneven wall where it goes in, forming somewhat of a shelf. There’s something there, something she hadn’t seen last time either.

She sits the flashlight on the ground, light facing the ceiling, so it illuminates the cavern, and goes to the wall. There’s an old, wooden case edged in iron there. Her heart pounds as she eases it off the shelf and settles it on the floor. The iron’s rusted a bit, so she must use her keys to pry the lid off. It’s freed with a sharp snap and a cloud of dust makes her cough.

She sweeps it aside and gingerly lifts out a bit of worn silk that might have once been a bright blue. Something falls to the floor with a delicate series of clinks, and she drops to her knees. There were two gold rings, one plain and perfectly smooth, the other holding a single stone. She brings it to the light and finds it’s a sapphire, dark and clear and pure.

He remembered what she’d said about the rings. He remembered the sapphire. He remembered.

Poppy starts to cry as she slips the sapphire ring on her finger. It doesn’t feel right to put on the band as well. They were never married—never will be—but to keep the sapphire as a reminder of the strangest, most marvelous time in her life is enough for now. It’s enough to start healing.

It’s late by the time she leaves the cave, and she’s unsure if she’ll ever come back. Part of her wants to, but the other thinks it’ll be holding on too tight to the past. And now she has the ring, which is an even better keepsake, an obviously more portable one than she could have ever hoped for.

She goes to Alice’s for dinner, hoping to beat a bit of the after-work rush that often takes up most of the tables. Since she stopped working for Giant Goldfish and started out on her own, she no longer has to fight the crowds leaving the business districts as she once had. She goes to Alice’s at least three times a week. They never speak of Tora, not since the first time Poppy went back.

“Ya still here,” Alice had said when she stepped out of the kitchen.

Poppy nodded.

“He gone, then?”

Another nod.

Then Alice had poured them each a cup of sake and that was that.

“There’s my little lamb,” Alice says as Poppy settles at the counter. “Thought ya weren’t comin’ in today.”

“I was feeling a little sentimental.”

Alice pulls on her vape. “Yeah? Why’s that?”

Poppy holds out her hand. The stone glitters in the overhead light, cleaned up by the hem of her sweater. Now it looks like the space between stars.

She adjusts her glasses and lets the bubble-gum scented cloud drift away. “Ya got a new man and ya gonna marry him and ya ain’t even brought him by to see me?”

“It’s from Tora.” His name tastes strange after months of it only rolling about in her mind. She hadn’t said it for so long.

“How?”

“He left it for me in the cave. Before he left, he told me to go back there if I…couldn’t follow, and he’d leave something there for me. I finally went.”

Alice sighs after a long moment. “Nice ring all the same.”

She nods, tucking her hand beneath the counter. “It is.”

“Let me get ya some food, girl. Ya gettin’ too skinny.”

Poppy smiles as Alice leaves. She says that every time she sees her, no matter what. She likes fussing, and Poppy likes being fussed over. Between Erdene and Alice, it’s been easier to settle back into life. Between the two of them, she feels little less lonely with each passing day. Quincey and his band of “Merry Men” as he calls them, are always over or inviting her out too. He’s made quite the legitimate business out of his father’s and Damien, Gyu, and the rest have left the darker corners of Ares Street, at least for the most part.

She pays her bill and leaves an hour later, planning on an early night with a new movie on Netflix and some hot cocoa chocolates she bought from the candy store yesterday. That’s become her typical Friday evening, and she doesn’t mind it much. She’s settled into the routine and reminds her of how things used to be before the first storm when she still lived happily in her little apartment.

Sometimes she misses it, but her new place has the largest, brightest windows for her plants and those built-in shelves where she can display her books. She’s been thinking of painting—

“Poppylan?” calls a voice so familiar and true. It’s the sound of a church bell, the call of a dove, the waves crashing all at once. It sends a rolling chill down her spine that makes her close her eyes to settle the sensation and ground herself back to the earth.

“Poppylan?” it calls again, followed by footsteps that echo against the brick.

She puts a hand to the wall to stabilize herself.

“Poppylan.” It’s no longer a question.

Poppy turns at last and opens her eyes.

Chapter Text

Tora

He lands on the peak with a dull thud, the wind knocking out of him hard enough to bruise. Maybe it feels worse since he didn’t expect it to work. He didn’t brace himself at all. He’d attempted the trip twenty-eight times before, but apparently twenty-nine is the lucky number. Now that he’s back, he has a chance to make things right.

If she’s still in Narin.

If she hasn’t found someone new.

If she still even wants him.

Tora refuses to think too much about it, and stands, brushing himself off. The peak looks different in the sunny, chilly, light of day. It isn’t some barren lot with a half-built roof. There’s still cherry trees and smooth, grey stones. The trees are bare with the coming winter, but he knows they’re his, or at least they’re the descendants of his saplings. He’d wanted a garden for her, and he’s pleased it’s survived in some way.

Rolling the kink from his neck, he sets off toward the road. He passes a plaque, metal and flat and affixed to a stone. It tells the tale of a long-ago king who planted a single tree for his beloved mother then planted another for each year he lived without a woman who threw herself from the cliff when he didn’t marry her. It’s a load of bullshit, but what’s he going to do about it? Leave a shit review online to tell them they’re wrong?

He's clad in leathers and fur, strange for this time, but warming as he jogs down through the mountains toward the city. He doesn’t know if he’s making a mistake. The doubts nip at his heals with every step. She really might have moved away to escape what happened. Or she might be angry with him and feel as if he left her on purpose, though he hopes that isn’t true. Leaving her behind was the most traumatic of things, and he prays to the gods she went to the cave and found the rings. Prays she accepted them for what they were.

What they still can be.

It's just after midday when he reaches the city, and he can already feel the eyes upon him as cars drive by and people give him second glances as he hits the sidewalk. He can’t blame them though. He’s over six feet tall with long, wild hair, and dressed like some savage from the past. Well, that’s exactly what he is, but it doesn’t exactly help him fit in.

Luckily, Poppy’s apartment isn’t too far, and he enters the gate code to let himself inside, earning him a startled look from the guard he doesn’t recognize. Tora doesn’t stop to explain himself though. He goes right to the first door and presses the intercom for her floor, suddenly feeling out of breath. Will she answer? Will she open the door to him? Will she take him back?

“Hello?” asks a grainy voice that doesn’t quite sound like her.

“Poppy, ya there?”

“Who?”

He lets out a long breath. He knew she wouldn’t be there, but has to be sure. “Lookin’ for Poppylan Wilkes.”

“Don’t know her.”

Tora grits his teeth. Of course, she moved. He told Quincey to move her, after all. He wanted her set up somewhere safe and grand, somewhere fit for a queen, which is what she still is to him, since he was crowned, after all.

He goes to the guard booth and raps on the glass. A thin, bespectacled man opens it slowly with a, “Can I help you?”

“Gyu still work here?”

“Yes, but he’s off today.”

“Can ya call him for me, please? I left my phone at home and he’s supposed to meet me here.” He’d actually lost his phone sometime between here and there, but that doesn’t matter.

He gives him a long look. “Are you one of those Dungeons and Dragons players?”

Tora has no idea what the hell that is, but nods.

“My nephew plays every Thursday over at the comic store on seventh. He doesn’t wear the whole getup, but he brings a sword sometimes.” He chuckles and picks up a phone. He punches in a few numbers and after a moment says, “Gyu? I have a man here…”

“Tell him it’s Tora Tasura,” he offers.

“I’ve got a Tora Tasura here for you. Says he forgot his phone and you’re supposed to be here?” He pauses, then looks at Tora. “Tall, black hair, all dressed up…yeah, alright. See you soon.” He hangs up. “Gyu said he’ll be here in a few minutes”

Tora listens to the man go on and on about his nephew until Tora pulls out one of his daggers and hands it to him, hilt first. He doesn’t need these things anymore. He doesn’t plan on taking any more lives. “Give this to him.”

He adjusts his glasses. “Don’t know a lot about weapons, but this is a fine piece.”

“Handmade.”

Gyu’s car squeals into the lot and Tora nearly laughs as he practically falls out of the driver’s side. “Holy shit. Big bro!”

Tora grins. “Hey.”

“Holy shit.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. It’s me.”

Gyu throws his arms around his middle. “Holy shit. Does Quincey know? Miss Poppy?”

“No. Came here first to find her, but she’s moved.”

“Holy shit.” He pulls away and digs in his pocket for his cellphone. “I can’t believe it.”

Tora glances over his shoulder. The guard’s watching their exchange, so he says, “Let’s get in the car.”

Gyu frowns at his phone. “She didn’t answer. Quincey’s home though. Let’s go surprise him.”

Being back in a car in a city is a wild thing. He forgot how fast they are, how grey everything is beyond the windshield. It’s unsettling to say the least. But he reckons he’ll get used to it soon enough. Gyu, for his part, is still prattling on as he drives, mostly “holy shit,” but he also asks how and when and why.

Tora’s tired, but he does his best to keep it together as they pull into Quincey’s garage. At least he’s still in the same place, though according to Gyu, he’s bought out the two floors below him and is knee-deep in connecting them all. He doesn’t plan on ever retuning to the Balthuman manor, and he can’t say he blames him.

He opens the door in a flash of pink and feathers, then gasps, “If this is Goliath pulling another fast one, I will literally jump off my balcony.”

“’S me, Quince,” Tora says, looking behind him toward the empty living room. “Lookin’ for Poppy.”

“She doesn’t know you’re here?”

“I found him at her old place,” Gyu says. “Have you seen her? I tried to call, but she didn’t answer.”

Quincey rummages in the pocket of his robe and tries her number. Frowning, he hangs up. “Let’s go to her apartment.” He steps into the hall, still wearing slippers.

Tora nearly laughs. He’s dressed as an ancient warrior, Gyu is wearing two different shoes as if he left the house in a hurry, and Quincey might just be bare beneath his robe. They make a strange party, but he doesn’t give a shit.

But it’s Quincey who looks him up and down, then frowns. “Maybe you should change.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you winterized George of the Jungle.” He opens his door back up and pulls him inside.

“The fuck is that?”

“Doesn’t matter. You need a shower and a change.”

“Don’t got time, Quince.”

He rolls his eyes. “But, honey, we do. By the time you’re presentable, Poppy might be call us back. Although the fur is working for you, I must admit.” He fingers a tuft of it on Tora’s shoulders. “Is this fox?”

Tora slaps his hand away. “Fine. Wash and change, that’s it.”

Hot showers was one of the little things he missed on days he soaked in a large wooden tub of tepid water to get clean. If he wasn’t so worried about finding Poppy, he’d take the time to enjoy the scalding water cascading over his back as he washed. But he doesn’t have that luxury. He cleans up himself and raids Quincey’s closet for clothes that aren’t brilliantly colored or patterned. By the time he’s dressed, Quincey’s also changed, and he and Gyu are waiting by the door. Tora notes his shoes match now.

He spins his ring round his finger as they try calling her over and over and then go to her apartment, one in a fancy, old building beside the river. No one answers when they buzz up and the guard at the door tells them she left early.

“Drop me at Alice’s,” Tora says when they finish checking the coffee shop she favors and a bakery and the bookstore. “I’ll see her for a while ‘til she turns up. If she calls ya, send her there, alright?”

“Want us to come with you?” Gyu offers.

“Nah. Wanna see the old lady anyway. See what’s changed on her end. Everywhere.”

“A lot has,” Quincey says as they park near the alleyway that leads to her shop. “Ares Street is still a mess, but it’s manageable, and no one ever connected you to that night. Or to Poppy. We got away with it.”

“No shit?” Tora asks, surprised.

“Shing Ma covered for you, said you’d left to go abroad earlier that day. There were plane tickets and everything. After that, people just assumed you took up with the Yakuza or tried going straight under a new identity.”

“He still around?”

“Shing Ma? Of course. I don’t have a head for numbers and it’s quite amusing to have someone from the past in the office.”

“And Poppy?” Tora asks, looking down the mouth of the alleyway. “She alright?”

There’s a pause. “She wasn’t, but…she’s better now.”

He wants to ask if she’s seeing anyone, but that seems presumptuous. She’s beautiful and funny and smart with the kind of heart that seeps love. He wouldn’t blame her if had moved on. He’d hate the fucker and he’d skin him alive if he treated her wrong. But if he treated her right, if she was happy, if she didn’t want him anymore…

“Call Alice to reach me,” he says, getting out of the car.

Thinking about her with another kills him, carves at the unhealed wound deep in his chest that was scratched there when he woke up alone on the peak. He shoves his hands in his jacket pockets as he moves down the narrow street. But he pauses when the door slides open, and a woman steps out. Her long, wavy hair is up in a ponytail, and she’s bundled in a bright red coat, smiling as she shuts the door. She looks like a godsdamned angel before she turns away to head down the other side of the alleyway.

 “Poppylan?” Her name leaves his lips unbidden, sweet as honey.

She freezes, stops completely.

For a moment, he’s almost unsure if he should leave her be, but he can’t stop from moving toward her, slowly, carefully. “Poppylan?”

Her hand reaches out to the bricks beside her like she might fall.

He stops, begging her to turn around so he can see her, truly see her, not just on the thin photographs on paper he’d worn soft. “Poppylan.” He can taste the desperation on his tongue.

She slowly turns, eyes closed, and when they open, everything in his life falls into place.

He’s razed cities since they parted, solidified his line, written the future for his heirs so there’s something of them left in this new, strange time. He’s killed and fought and conquered and wept—wept more then he thought possible, wept like a child as he grieved a most heinous loss. There was pain and discovery and blood and iron…and it was all for her in the end.

Poppy

She’s cracked. She finally cracked like chicken egg into a mixing bowl. It’s a wonder she’d kept from hallucinating this long, but here she is, hallucinating an entire human being from another time. She should probably call a doctor. Should probably stop drinking with Alice. She should probably do something other than stand there, rooted to the spot, pinned like a butterfly by a golden gaze.

Tora takes another step closer, looking just as he had six months ago—seven really—tall and dark and bathed in shadows. But his eyes are the same brilliant amber that flashes in the faint light from far-off streetlamps. She’s only ever known one other man who had those eyes, and he lives in the Tasura estate now deep in the mountains and hasn’t been back to Narin in weeks.

She rubs her eyes with the heels of her hands. She shouldn’t have let Alice talk her into a third sake shot. “Why am I seeing you? Why now? Why after all this time?” There must be a logical explanation, but he’s still standing there when she looks again, wearing jeans and a shirt and a plain black jacket as if he’s always belonged in this time. It’s the realest mirage she could ever hope to conjure.

“Ya seein’ me ‘cause I’m here.” Another step. Another. Then one more still until he’s so close she can feel the warmth of him, feel the tickle from a strand of his loose hair as gust of wind blows it against her jaw. “I came back.”

“How?” the word squeaks out her tight throat.

“Same way I got here. Took me two years, but—”

“You’ve only been gone six months.”

“And I was gone three years from my time when I first came here. Dunno how this works, but it does.”

Poppy has a million other questions about the twisting ropes of time and why he’s back now and what’s changed in his heart and what still lies between them. But she’s suddenly so very, very tired and so very, very scared. She’s not scared of him, but terrified of what will happen to her if decides this is nothing more than a visit.

“Did I…did I make a mistake comin’ here?” he asks quietly.

“No,” she says at once, tentatively reaching out to grab the sleeve of his coat. It’s truly there. He’s not a mirage. “I just can’t believe you’re here, that you’re real.” Her voice cracks at that last word and it’s as if it’s broken the dam within her that kept the tears away.

Tora pulls her against him at once and she’s home at last, home in a way she never thought she could feel in a dark alleyway in the center of Narin. She clings to his chest listens to the steady beating of his heart as he strokes her hair. It’s real, he’s real, despite the strangeness of how he got here, the impossibility of it all.

It’s every dream of the last six months come to fruition. He’s as real as the stone beneath her feet and the air in her lungs and the ring on her finger. He’s here and home and real and she’s afraid if she ever lets go, he’ll be torn away from her again.

“Why?” she asks into his shirt, damp with her tears.

“As soon I realized what happened…I kept tryin’ to come back.”

“But why?” It had always been her or his kingdom, and when she was left behind, she thought the universe had chosen for them.

He pulls back and his eyes are tear rimmed. “Because I love ya so fiercely even time couldn’t stop me from havin’ ya.” Then he kisses her. It’s two thousand years and two lifelines and two times tangled into something that shouldn’t exist but does only for them.

“You’re here.”

“And I ain’t goin’ nowhere…if ya still want me.”

“Of course, I still want you. I’ve wanted you every day since you left. Wanted you so, so badly.”

His fingers are stroking the back of her neck, warm and strong. “When I couldn’t get back, I was so worried ya would forget about me. Then it was two years later, and I thought ya mighta met someone else. Married someone else. But I had to know for sure.”

“But what if I had and then you came here for nothing?”

“Makin’ sure ya were loved are cared for and safe woulda been enough for me.”

She blinks back more tears as she thinks about all the things he left behind; his kingdom, his crown, his…his heir.

His son.

She’d seen the family tree showing a son born a year after he left her time. Yet he’s back in six months? And there wasn’t a wife mentioned anywhere, but that doesn’t mean much with old records. But to her, it meant that he had a life after, enough of one to cement his line, which is what he wanted. Would he really leave his own child to be with her? That makes a prickly pit settle deep into her stomach. Her mom left her because she didn’t want to be a mother. Her dad left her because he died, and to her, that was the only reason acceptable to abandon a child.

“What of Yusura?” she asks, recalling the name on the digital tree that spiderwebbed across generations.

“What of him?”

“Did you…leave your son?” she asks, having to look away. She hates having to ask him something like that, but it flitted into her mind, somehow freed from the box she’d stuffed it into in the earliest days of her loneliness.

“I told ya I wasn’t gonna marry nobody but you, and I kept my word.”

“I’m assuming sex education is lacking in your time, but you don’t have to be married to get someone pregnant.” She didn’t mean to snap at him, but coming back to her might have meant leaving a child fatherless and that she can’t easily accept.

“He’s not mine. Not like that.” He cups her cheek. “I had to name a successor, and my brother Asura was too weak with sickness to ensure he’d live. I adopted his son as my heir to keep the line strong. There was no wife, no lover, no child.”

Poppy feels equal parts stupid and shamed for her fleeting belief that he’d leave a family in his time. “I’m sorry. I looked you up online and saw—”

“Don’t.” He swipes her tears away with his thumbs. “I’m here and ya still want me. I don’t care ‘bout nothin’ else that happened.”

She stands on his toes and pulls him down by his jacket for a kiss, a kiss to span the ages they were parted, a kiss that warms the body she didn’t know was cold until now.

“I want you, I want you so much,” she says against his lips before her eyes open. “And I love you, Tora. I didn’t say it before when you were here, not because I didn’t feel it. It just…didn’t come out somehow. But I needed to tell you now, just in case. I needed you—need you—to know I love you.”

“And I love ya so fuckin’ much, sweetheart.” He kisses her again, lightly. “But ya ain’t gonna be a queen now. I ain’t gonna risk tryin’ to take ya back and have somethin’ happen again.”

“I don’t care about any of that. Just…come home...with me.”

He grins, showing the dimple she missed so dearly. “Always.”

Chapter Text

Tora

They walk back to her apartment, leaving her car at Alice’s, with her telling him how things have changed, how his dynasty hadn’t ended, how things were the same, but also different in ways she had yet to fully unravel. He listens in near silence, breaking it only to ask her for more. She has a list at home, she tells him, a messy compilation of all the things that have shifted from the small, like the poppies that grow on the base of the mountains, to the big, the royal house of Tasura being alive and truly well.

That’s the thing he has the hardest time understanding. But maybe Yusura had taken all of Tora’s notes to heart. Before he left, he’d written down as many decrees as he could, the things he knew of the future, and stacked the counsel with men he trusted to assist Yusura if Asura died before his young son was grown. He wants to ask about his brother, but his death will only bring heartache, even if he knows everyone from his time is long dead.

“Hi, Gary,” Poppy says cheerily as they enter her building.

The doorman gives Tora a look, then tips his hat. “I remember you. You were here earlier for Miss Wilkes. Glad to see you found her.”

“Me too,” Tora tells him with more truth than the man knows.

They ride the elevator up the several floors to hers, then he begrudgingly lets go of her hand so she can dig her keys out of her purse. Not touching her is a new torture.

“I’m all unpacked,” she tells him as she unlocks the door. “But I didn’t exactly leave the house expecting guests today.”

“Real messy?” he teases.

She scrunches her nose and lets them inside. “No…I prefer the term lived in. Not all of us have palaces with maids.”

“To be fair, I lived most of my life in a yurt.” He looks around the entryway to the neat rows of shoes and the framed paintings on the wall. He had only ever pictured her in her old, cozy apartment when he’d daydream about returning to her, and getting used to this one will be a little strange at first.

“So, what do you think?”

He glances down at her. “’Bout what?”

“The new place?”

“Shit, Bobby, only saw ya shoes and the door.” He grins and helps her out of her coat after he toes off his shoes.

He skims each of the curves her loose sweater hugs as he shrugs off his jacket and hangs it beside hers. The pull to rip down her jeans and have her against the wall makes his cock throb. But it’s been years for him, months for her. He doesn’t want their first time together to be a fast coupling. She isn’t some camp follower, a lady of the night who’s used to a soldier’s rough ways. He doesn’t want to frighten her with his hunger.

“Gimme the tour,” he presses, a hand on her back. Soft touches to spark the memory of his body within her. Gentle caresses to sooth her frazzled nerves. He can tell she’s nervous. She’s worrying the hem of her sweater and biting her lip in that way she has. He doesn’t want her to feel rushed.

“Then…here’s the living room,” she begins, stepping down the short hall. He takes in the large fireplace and shelves upon shelves of books. There’s a plush, blue couch with a coffee table piled with even more books, and plants hang before a wall of windows overlooking the darkened city. He runs his fingers over a fluffy, white blanket tossed over the back of the couch as she leads him toward the dining room.

“I don’t eat in here much,” she tells him as they pass the pale wood furniture. A sparkling chandelier dangles above it, sending a cascade of rainbow-flecked light skittering across the top of the table. Fit for a queen indeed. Quincey did well.

The kitchen’s next, and it’s brilliantly white from the floors to the counters, where a single pink mug sits beside the sink. A small table and a set of chairs is tucked in a corner below yet another large window. A leavy plant sits atop it, no surprise there. He spies pictures stuck to the front of the shiny, silver fridge and he glances at them as Poppy tells him something about how the fridge can make hot water for tea. A pang of disappointment hits him to see he’s not there among the smiling faces, though he doesn’t exactly have the right to be annoyed. All the pictures they had together were in the bag he carried to his time. Now they’re probably nothing but dust.

“There’s one of the bathrooms,” Poppy says as they walk down another hallway. “There’s a half-bath off the living room, but I forgot to show you that.” Then she opens a door. “Here’s the guest room. All your things are in the closet here, so you can unpack them and move them into my room if…if you want. Unless you’d rather stay in here. It’s totally your choice.” Her cheeks pink and she adjusts a decorative pillow on the bed. “I mean, your money paid for this place after all.”

“Whatever I have is yours. There is no my money. ‘S ours.” he says simply, opening the closet doors. There’s a stack of boxes on the floor, each neatly labeled with his name. “And ‘course I want to. But only if ya still want me there.”

“I do.” Poppy puts her hand on his arm, The sleeve of her sweater covers all but the tips of her pink-painted nails. “I always will.”

He smiles and kisses the top of her head. “Then I’ll move my stuff in. And I’ll be gettin’ a job, a good one. Quincey said he’ll give me somethin’ real nice so I can take care of ya. I know ya don’t need me to, but I wanna make sure ya got everythin’.”

“I’m already perfectly happy,” she says with a smile. “Come on, I’ll show you my—our—room.”

He likes the way that sounds. Our room. Our apartment. Our kitchen to share meals in. Our bed to explore in. Ourhome. Our family. Our life. Nothing feels like his or hers anymore, not now when he’s made his choice and the universe and gods allowed it. Everything is theirs to have and keep.

Their room is at the end of the hall through a set of double doors. They open with an audible click and Tora looks up at the high ceiling with another sparkling fixture that casts the place in a warm glow. Off to one side is a small fireplace flanked with pale blue chairs and more shelves filled with books and pictures. On the other is a wall of windows with a glass door that leads to a dark balcony.

At the back of the room is a massive, unmade, canopied bed draped in blue and white. It’s flanked by nightstands and a door on either side, that Poppy explains leads to a walk-in closet and yet another large bathroom. He peeks inside and is gratified to see it has a tub big enough for two.

“What do you think now that you’ve seen it all?” She asks as he wanders toward the fireplace.

“’S real pretty, sweetheart.”

“Too girly?”

He shrugs. “It’s a room and it looks nice. If ya like it, so do I.” He scans the pictures on the mantle, recognizing Erdene and Quincey and the rest. Another collection of images he isn’t in. They’ll have to change that. He wants their home to full of them.

He goes around the bed to see the balcony and pauses. There’s a picture on the nightstand, one that makes him stop. In a gold frame is a photo of them smiling outside Alice’s, the fake cherry blossoms a brilliant pink behind them. His chest squeezes and he picks it up, running his thumb over the glass.

“Gyu saved it from my phone,” she says, coming to stand at his side. “I brought it with me that night on the peak and shoved it in my dress when we went to go. It got fried, but Gyu worked his magic and was able to print it for me.”

“Fuckin’ Gyu.” He owes him big for giving Poppy a piece of them while he had so many when they were parted. He puts the photo back on the nightstand and follows her to the balcony doors. There’s a long table full of potted plants before one panel of windows that he can imagine live outside in the warmer months.

The balcony is large and a table and set of chairs sits to one side. The thick, stone wall that edges it helps protect them from most of the harsh wind, but Poppy doesn’t seem to mind the cold as she goes to the edge and puts her hands on the top to look down. He comes up behind her, caging her in with his arms so she doesn’t get too cold.

The sleeves of her sweater fall to her wrists, and he sees a ring on her left hand. His ring. On that finger. So, she found them after all, and wore at least the sapphire one since. The thought of it makes it so he doesn’t feel the chill in the least. She’s worn it like a brand, a token of his love. He hopes it’s big enough, flashy enough. If it’s not, he’ll buy her a new one if she’ll still have him.

“Ya found it,” he whispers, bringing his mouth to her ear. “And ya wearin’ it.”

She turns and looks up. “I just went today, actually. I wasn’t ready before, because it was the last bit of you. So—”

“Today? When?”

“This morning.”

He runs his finger over the stone. “Maybe that’s why. Maybe you takin’ the ring, wearin’ it…maybe that…pulled me back.”

Her eyes are wide. “Do you think so?”

“Maybe. I never wanna find out how strong the bond is, so I don’t think we’ll ever really know.”

“All this time, if I just went to the cave sooner, you might have come back earlier?”

“We can’t know that.” He holds out his left hand, shows her the silver ring he’s worn for nearly two years now, made the same time as hers. “Maybe you were on to somethin’ with ya ring idea.”

She laces their fingers. “You’re wearing one too?”

“Felt wrong not to when ya told me what they meant. I always hoped that I’d get back to ya and you’d see I’d try when ya found the rings. Was the other one still there?”

Poppy nods and pulls it from her pocket. “I didn’t think I should wear this one too. It’s the one you wear when you’re married. Though by that logic, I shouldn’t be wearing this ring either, since you haven’t proposed.”

He kisses her knuckles, right above the sapphire. “’S that?”

“One of the people in the couple gets down on one knee and asks the other to marry them. Sometimes it’s grand and dramatic with a speech and other times it’s sweet and simple. I just liked having something from you. One last thing.”

“Ya gonna have a thousand more things from me,” he promises, going to his knee. He isn’t prepared for something elaborate, but this’ll have to do. He’ll make it up to her every day for the rest of their lives. “I wanted ya two thousand years ago and I want ya now. In that life, this one, the next…I don’t want any of ‘em unless ya with me. I know I can’t make ya a queen, but I’ll treat ya like one. I won’t ever let ya think ya made a bad choice by pickin’ me. I love ya, Poppylan, I love ya through time and all the ages and all that’s yet to come. Marry me and we’ll face the rest of it together.”

“Yes,” she says at once, falling to her knees and throwing her arms around his neck.

She feels so good against him, so real and warm and perfect. He never thought of himself as the marrying kind, but then he met her and couldn’t imagine anyone else by his side. He’s made a lot of choices in his life, ones that changed his kingdom and even history by his count, but none have been better than picking her over all else.

“That’s in then?” he asks into her hair. “Ya gonna be my wife?”

She nods and laughs. “I am.”

“Good. Won’t accept nothin’ less. Ever.” He kisses her cheek, her forehead, the tip of her nose. “Gonna put the other ring on now? That how it works?”

“You’re supposed to put it on when you get married. Same for your ring.”

He glances down at his band. “Keepin’ it on. Dunno how, but I think these bits of metal brought me back here. I ain’t riskin’ takin’ it off now.”

Poppy shivers slightly and he thinks it’s not just the early winter chill. “Let’s go in then. I need to warm up.”

Tora grins and stands, bringing her with him. “That right?”

Her lips quirk up and her gaze flits over his form. “I’m very cold. I think I’m going to need your help.”

He reaches out and hoists her over his shoulder. The laugh she lets out drifts into the night sky like the playful jingle of bells. He can’t believe he’s so lucky, can’t believe he managed to find a woman like her and for her to love him back. It took hundreds of years, but he found happiness not at the end of a guandao, but in the life of a girl in a world of electricity and towers and leafy plants in colorful pots.

Poppy lands among the bedding like she was dropped into the sky, soft blues and stark whites beneath the rainbow gleam of the chandelier. Crown or not, she’ll always be his queen.

He pulls off his shirt before crawling up her body. He’s dreamed of this moment for months—years—but the reality of her beneath him is better than any midnight imaginings. Her taste, her touch, it’s enough to topple kingdoms.

“Fuck, I missed ya,” he says as he nibbles her neck. “Missed ya so much.”

“I missed you too.” Her fingers thread through his hair, making goosebumps roll down his back. He hasn’t been touched in two long years and the decadent sensation of it envelops him fully.

“Two years. Two years without ya. Fuckin’ torture.” He drags his tongue to her ear and whispers, “Pure. Fuckin’ Torture.”

The shiver she answers with makes his cock harden.

“But we’re gonna make up for it.” He slides his hand up her hip to touch the smooth skin at her side. He wants to dig his fingers into the soft flesh there, lose himself in her body. But this needs to be slow. At least this first time. This time he needs to make it good for her, good enough that she won’t regret agreeing to be his wife.

His tongue slips against hers as he runs his hand over the lace-covered swell of her breast. Her nipple is pebbled through the fabric, and he moans at the memory of how it felt to bite the sensitive peak, to taste the creamy skin as she clung to him in extasy.

Poppy reaches down and grasps the bottom of her shirt, pulling it up. He helps her take it off and it joins his somewhere beyond the foot of the bed. He swears he could cum just by looking at her, at the spray of freckles on her chest, the dusty pink of her nipples beneath the nude lace. She’s not even fully undressed, and he knows if he died right now, he’d greet the gods and thank them for the gift of broken time.

“Fuck, ya so beautiful,” he says against her lips.

Her hands roam over his back, nails lightly scraping his spine. “Please, Tora.”

“Please what?” He knows exactly what by the way she rolls her hips, how her thighs tighten around his.

“I need to feel you.”

Tora can try to play games, tease her, draw it out, but he can deny her nothing. Not when it’s been so long. He has no choice but to help her unbutton her jeans and sit back to pull them off. He hardly notices what color her plain, cotton panties are, as she starts pushing them down as soon as he starts unzipping his fly. She’s impatient, his little queen.

Poppy sits up and takes off her bra and for the first time in two years, he’s not just hungry for her, but absolutely ravenous. His entire body aches to be up against hers, the primal need of it makes his pulse thrum.

“I never wanna stop feelin’ like this.” He lays back down beside her, kissing her as he speaks, his hand sliding down her stomach to the slick heat of her core. “I never wanna leave his bed.”

“I wouldn’t complain.”

“I’d take good care of ya,” he says as her hips buck up. He slides a finger into her with a groan to sate her appetite. “I will take good care of ya.”

“I can’t,” Poppy murmurs, grabbing his arm. “I just want you. Your fingers aren’t enough.”

“Ya don’t want it slow?” he asks to be sure. He’d wanted to worship her body and spend the night focusing on pleasing her with his hand and mouth before his cock joined the fun. But he won’t complain. He’ll gladly take and give whatever she needs.

She cups him over his jeans, brown eyes wide with need. “I’ve waited months for you. You’ve waited years for me. We have the rest of our lives to go slow.”

That’s all the confirmation he needs. He pushes down his jeans and briefs then kisses up her body, beginning at her knee. It’s not a torturous drag of lips, but a frantic trail up her thigh. He licks the lines there, the thin, silver streams of stretchmarks, quenches his thirst with her skin. Her hips roll in response, and he lavishes swift, wet attention on every part of her but her pussy, the soaked curls already glistening with sweet arousal.

His mouth closes over a breast. Her fingers claw at his back. His cock drags up her leg as she moves. She reaches down to wrap her hand around it. His balls tighten with the sudden contact after so long of only knowing his own touch. Her body shakes when he flicks his tongue around and around one of her nipples. Her breasts have always been so sensitive, as sweet as he remembered.

“That feels so good,” she moans as he glides his cock through her folds.

Tora has to bite his cheek hard to keep from cumming already. She so goddsdamned wet. It’s going to take all his willpower to not finish before they even start. But two years is a long time to go without her. He takes solace in the knowledge he’ll never have to be without her again.

The slide into her is deliciously slow and he savors every inch as he kisses her, committing the exact feel of it to memory. Her eyes flutter shut and her lips part with a sweet gasp when he’s all the way inside. He pauses for a minute. He isn’t sure if there’s been another since he left, he doesn’t really care, but he doesn’t wish to hurt her.

“Ya alright, sweetheart?” he asks, running a hand up and down her thigh.

She nods and rolls her hips. “Please, Tora. Don’t…just…I want you to move.”

He laughs lowly, kissing her. “That right?”

“Don’t test me,” she scolds playfully, smoothing her hands over his shoulders. “I need you, Tora.”

Need. That’s an apt word for this, for them. It’s all about need.

His lips never leaving hers, he snaps his hips, thrusting into her with enough force that she cries out. She wraps her legs around him, setting a slight angle that makes his head spin. She’s so wet and tight and soft and perfect. He doesn’t know where to kiss or touch after all this time, can’t decide where to even begin.

His hand snakes between them to find her clit. A few gentle strokes has her gasping, her nails digging into his back. Fuck, he missed the breathy noises she makes when climbing toward release. The soft sounds go right to his cock, make it hard to think of anything other than her body beneath his.

“Don’t stop, Tora,” she pleads, her hips rising to meet his with every thrust.

“Never,” he swears.

He kisses her deeply as she cums, her pussy pulsing around his cock. Her cry as she finishes forces his own sharp release. He empties himself inside her, gritting his teeth to stop the dizzying, breathless pleasure from addling his mind. He wants to remember this feeling, each savage bit of it.

“I love you,” she murmurs, brushing her lips over his neck.

“Love ya more,” he answers, sweeping his hair over his shoulder. It’d come loose from the tie that held it back. Then he slides out of her, already feeling the loss of her slick, tight folds around him. “You alright?”

“Perfect.” Poppy sighs, eyes closed. “I want to go shower, but I don’t want to get up yet.”

Tora curls his body around hers, drags the blanket over them. “We don’t got anywhere to be, sweetheart. Take all the time ya need.”

Poppy

The next thing Poppy remembers is the sunlight streaming in through the windows. She hadn’t gotten back out of bed last night; the warmth and safety of Tora’s arms was too precious to give up. Then she was asleep, dragged out of it only by the fact she hadn’t pulled the heavy drapes shut.

Tora’s still sleeping as she slowly slides out of bed. She doesn’t immediately go to the bathroom though. She just sits on the edge a moment and stares at him, at the mass of inky hair and the pop of colorful tattoos and the ring on his finger he wears just for her. It still feels like an impossible dream that he’s here.

She slowly closes the drapes so he can sleep a bit longer, then pads into the bathroom, leaving the door open a crack in case he wakes up and wants to find her. On her way to the toilet, she catches a glimpse of her tangled, sex-mussed hair and swollen lips. It’s been a long time since she saw this version of herself.

After peeing and brushing her teeth, she decides to fill the tub. Soaking in the fragrant water is a treat she indulged in some mornings when the apartment felt too large and cold without him. Being enveloped in it was comforting in a way she couldn’t quite explain. Though now as the water laps at her breasts, she knows it was a cheap imitation of being embraced by Tora himself.

“Bobby?” he asks from just outside the door.

She turns her body, resting her elbows on the edge of the large tub. “You can come in.”

He’s wearing his briefs and he smiles down at her. “Ya up early.”

“Stupid sun.”

“So I saw. Got any toothbrushes?”

“Bottom drawer. Toothpaste is in the cabinet to your left.”

He digs in both and brushes his teeth. She scans his tattoos as he does, the tiger on his leg, the kanji between his shoulder blades. She’s unsure, but she thinks there’s a new scar there on his left side, a raised on that isn’t the white of a long-healed cut, but the puckered one of something half-fresh.

When he’s gone, he turns around. “Want company?”

She smiles and moves to make space. “Please.”

He sheds his briefs and climbs in, the water reaching the top of the tub. “Smells like ya.”

“What do you mean?” she asks as she drains a bit of the water so it doesn’t slosh onto the floor.

“Ya always smell like roses. Never saw a lot of those, but I recognized the scent on ya.” He pulls her into his lap, and she straddles him. “’S one of the things I did when I was stuck in my time. Bought up all the rose oil and perfume in the capitol so somethin’ would smell like ya.”

The image of that makes her heart tighten. “I’m sorry.”

“Why? ‘S not somethin’ to be sorry for. I’m here now and I don’t gotta miss anythin’ ‘bout ya again.”

She runs her hands over his chest and down to the side where the scar sits. “How did you get this?”

His brows flicker up. “Spear, I think.” His fingers move to his back. “Or this one’s the spear and that one’s an arrow.”

“You don’t remember?”

“Don’t need to if it ain’t stuck in me and it ain’t killin’ me. Used to not scar so bad though. Asura says it’s what happens with us sometimes.”

“What do you mean?”

“’S an old story from our line. Ya see, Asura and I were different than our brothers. He had the red eyes of our father and I have the gold my mother had. To us, our people, different eyes were the different powers within the person. They held bits of the Okuri-inu in them that gave them strength and luck. When ya got too soft, they leave ya. Asura found a bride just after I left. His eyes were different when I got back.” His hands run a soothing line up and down her spine as he talks. “Might be a load of shit, but sometimes I don’t think so. Eyes don’t change. Blood don’t run freer for no reason. He got soft, so the demon left and ya could see it in his eyes. But Yusura? He got his old man’s eyes.”

Poppy isn’t sure what to make of that story. Demons? Wolf spirits? Changing eyes? “I hope yours stay the same,” she tells him, tracing his jaw with a fingertip. “I’ve never seen eyes like yours before.”

“Who knows. Maybe one day I’ll wake up and they’ll be different.” He dimples. “Ya gonna kick me out if they do?”

She purses her lips, pretending to think.

He barks a laugh, his hands cupping her ass. “Cruel woman.”

“The cruelest,” she agrees, kissing his neck.

“But ya mine.”

She nips the skin there, then whispers in his ear, “Only yours.”

He groans and she pulls away, smiling as she drifts to the other side of the tub. She likes toying with him. Without the threat of him leaving, she can allow herself to relax and enjoy the way his gaze darkens like a playful predator when she teases him.

Tora reaches out and grabs her hand, pulling her to him again. Her back goes flush against his chest, and she can feel his hard cock at the base of her spine. His hands smooth up her thighs, over her breasts, pinching her nipples. Her clit throbs with the promise of more as she watches him touch her. There’s something erotic about seeing it unfold beneath the cloudy rose-scented water.

He breaths in her ear as he touches her, cupping her breasts and sliding his hands down her stomach. After months without him, having him behind her, above her, inside her is something she isn’t sure she can live without again. It’s like he always knows just what her body needs, exactly how to rub her clit and just the way to crook his fingers so she writhes against him.

Poppy cums like that, arching her back as one of his hands grinds against her clit with his fingertips hooking within her. The other gropes her breasts, plucking her nipples and rolling them with a mix of pain and pleasure that acts as her final undoing. She never noticed how a voice echoes in the marble of the bathroom, but her breathy moans bounce back as she orgasms, thighs clamping down on Tora’s arm until he releases her.

She hums, half sated, but still craving more. She turns in the water, climbing atop him. His cock slides through her all too sensitive folds, making her buck and gasp. He sucks at her shoulder, on the curve of her neck, as she angles his cock at her opening and lowers herself down. It feels different in the water with this new position, but she likes how they can be face to face and she gets the added benefit of his free hands since he doesn’t have to hold himself up.

“Fuck, I love ya,” he groans, went hair clinging to his shoulders.

Poppy rolls her hips, finding a rhythm that has her clit brushing over his public bone with each pass. “I missed this.”

“I missed everythin’.” Another bite to her neck. This one feels bruising, but she likes it. She Needs hard hands and teeth and nails today. She needs to feel him in every way to remind herself that it isn’t a dream. She hopes he marks her.

His grabs her ass and helps her ride him. But she still feels in control, still feels so close to him in this moment. Water spills over the lip of the tub, but she ignores it, lets it pool on the floor. She’s chasing an orgasm that’s just out of reach with the man she thought she’d never see again. It’s a heady feeling of need and ecstasy she’ll never give up, hopes she never stops feeling.

She loves Tora’s face looks when he watches her cum. It’s rapturous, full lips parted, eyes half-closed with brows drawn tight. He always looks at her like she’s the one who defied time, like she’s the ancient, mysterious queen, a being from another era with power. Like she truly is the goddess of time he built the temple for when he went back to his people. He makes her feel like a goddess at the very least.

He cums with a roar, holding her so tight to him she feels her lungs empty. She doesn’t move though, just settles against his chest as she catches her breath. Tora shifts slightly and empties some of the cooling water for the tub, replacing it with hot. The change in temperature makes her shiver and she sits up.

“I’m guessin’ ya came in here to wash before I interrupted ya?” he asks, kissing her shoulder.

She nods and stretches. “Mhm, but now I’m so comfortable I want to go back to sleep.”

“I’ll take care of ya, sweetheart, then ya can go back to bed.” He glances at the neat rows of soaps and scrubs and oils and picks up a shampoo. “Turn around.”

Poppy does as he asks, closing her eyes as he uses his hands to wet her hair and lather the fragrant shampoo. She lets him clean her, wash her body, and run his fingers over her skin. It’s not inherently sexual, but an act of deep tenderness. He will take care of her, she realizes, has since before he left, and will for the rest of their lives.

When she’s finished, she returns the gesture, taking her time to learn the new marks on his skin. So many for only six months. No, two years. He’s two years older now than when they last met. He’s twenty-eight now somehow. It doesn’t mean anything though. There are so many strange and unexplainable things about the situation, what’s a little change in age?

When they’re bundled back in bed, damp hair on the pillows, he asks, “What of my people? They got a king or an emperor or what?”

“The house of Tasura?” She lets out a small laugh, nestling closer to his warm, nude body. “It’s…he’s…something.”

“What’s that mean?”

“You remember Goliath, right?”

He nods.

“When you went back and things changed, he woke up one morning the heir to everything.”

Tora jerks. “Excuse me?”

“He’s was heir, the next in line after some great-great uncle. He’s already died, but Goliath keeps putting off the coronation.”

“Get the fuck outta here.”

She giggles. “He was just as surprised by this information. He hates it. Not the money and fame part, but the having to be in charge part. He’s always in the paper making a mess of things. They call him the Playboy Prince.”

Tora rolls his eyes. “All that just for the little shit to cock it up.”

“He lives in the estate up north. Well, he’s actually usually on a yacht with super models most of the time.”

“Dunno what those are.”

“Boats with pretty girls.”

Tora nods. “So, it’s survived all this time and ended with him.”

“It has. I mean, the royals don’t have the power to do anything, not like when you were in charge. But they do all this charity work and keep all the historic sites together. It’s nice.”

“Strange to think there’s no more war. For my line anyway. It’s all we were for thousands of years.”

She traces a koi fish on his chest, each scale is perfectly defined. “But now you don’t have to fight ever again. Ares Street is nothing like it was.”

“Now I guess I’m gonna get some office job like Shing Ma. Couple of time travelers just sittin’ at desks.”

“When you put it like that, it does sound a little strange.” Then she remembers the book in her nightstand, the spine uncracked. She’d yet to read a single word. “There’s something else that’s new.”

“Oh yeah?”

She untangles herself from his arms and leans behind her top open the top drawer. She pulls out The Tiger and the Dove. It’s a proof copy, with the real release set for several months in the future. But just as she hadn’t been able to edit this book, she hasn’t been able to read it yet either.

“Quincey wrote this.”

“So?” Tora glances it. “He writes all kinds of shit.”

“Well, this one’s about us. I couldn’t bring myself to read it just yet.”

His brows raise as he flips the pages. “That right?”

“Mhm. I have no idea how it ends.”

“Then I guess we gotta start at the beginnin’.” He settles back against the pillows and looks at her expectantly.

“You want me to read it aloud?”

“My readin’s ain’t as good as yours, but I wanna see what he’s had to say ‘bout me when he thought I was gone for good.”

She sits back beside him, book in her lap. “These characters aren’t us, just based on us.”

“Either way, I wanna know.”

“Me too.” She flips the cover open, the pages lit by the morning sun streaming in the full-length windows and begins to read.

Marigold Wells always liked the rain, the way it soothed and cleansed and helped things grow. She liked storms even more. She loved the feel of rumbling thunder in her chest and the cozy cups of tea she’d sip on the porch of her little white house with the blue shutters she painted herself. The way the lightning lit up the sky made her heart sing with the thrill of it all.

One particular storm felt different to Marigold. The scent of the rain, the quiet of the woods around her cottage, it made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. Even the lightning was strange, the way it cut through the clouds, made them glow an unusual purple.

There was a flash in the near distance, the sound of a breaking tree. Lightning could spark fires; she knew that well. And fire was a dangerous thing in a rural town like hers, an hour away from the major cities. She had no choice but to pull on her slicker and boots and grab a flashlight from the drawer in her kitchen. If there was a spark, she could sound the alarm.

She stamped through the sodden earth, kicking up mud as she ran toward the acrid scent of burning and electricity. The last time something like that happened, it took years for the forest to regrow. Ages still for the animals to return.

But when Marigold stepped into the clearing, there was no fire, but a man. A man who stared back at her with a pair of luminous golden eyes, eyes of honey and lightning.

Chapter Text

Tora hates the feel of suits in this time, the way the jackets are always too tight at his shoulders no matter how tailored it is, and the pointless jacket has these little, tiny pockets. Too small for even the daintiest dagger! He has this weird gold sash beneath his jacket as well, claiming him as a member of the house. Which one, no one’s really been able to figure out. And the concept of a tie makes no sense. It doesn’t serve any purpose aside from giving an enemy the chance to grab the end of it and strange you. Unless you took it off and strangled him with it first. Tora knows he’s fast. He has the upper hand.

What he does like though is the dresses in this time, particularly the one that Poppy’s wearing right now. It’s a shimmering pink that scoops low over the swells of her breasts and hugs her torso until flaring out to the floor, it glitters softly beneath the artificial candles in the chandelier overhead as she moves. It fits her perfectly, her curled hair brushing the off the shoulder straps he wants to push the rest of the way down. But his favorite thing she’s wearing tonight is the gold wedding band.

It's not a new piece by any means. It’s ages old in reality, and she’s had it in her possession for months, but fuck does it fit her well now that she’s his wife. Poppylan Tasura. She says it sounds strange, but it’s music to his godsdamned ears. Funny, since it’s not like he used Tasura as his last name in his time. Didn’t even have one. But now that it’s his and she’s his and he’s hers, sharing a name is something so terribly grand.

“Stop fidgeting,” Poppy murmurs, poking him discreetly in the side.

“Nobody’s lookin’ at me.”

“That’s not true.” Her gaze flicks to their left where the press is assembled, a cluster of discreet men and women carrying cameras. They mill about the ballroom in Tasura Manor snapping photos of the guests who demurely smile and chat amongst themselves. “If you look like a surly little lord, that’s what the papers will call you.”

He snorts. “Surly little lord? If we’re married, that make ya the surly little lady?”

Poppy rolls her eyes, but smiles. “Just behave. A few speeches, a toast, and we can sneak out of here before cake.”

“Ya sure ya wanna do that? Looked like a real good cake.”

“When did you see it? It’s been in the kitchens all day.”

He shrugs and snags a glass of champagne for her from a passing waiter. “Got lost lookin’ for Quince’s room. This house is too damn big.”

“Was yours in the capitol smaller?” she asks, taking a sip.

“Hardly. Look at this place. Only got stables for six horses. Six. That ain’t nothin’.”

She giggles, then her eyes widen. “Look, there’s a band. I didn’t know there’d be music.”

He turns, seeing a line of taiko drums and a number of other instruments he recognizes step onto a low stage. It’s been ages since he’s heard the music of his time played live and his skin prickles with the thought of it. He had no great skill in many of them, though his mother tried. The best he could do was sing and pluck the strings enough to make her clap when she listened. He isn’t sure when he stopped singing. He just did.

But when they begin, it’s nothing like he imagines. It’s some odd, modern take on a song he half-recognizes. The singer’s pronunciations are off when he tries the old tongue, and though the drummers are fantastic, the koto is off key or maybe ill-strung or just in the hands of someone who can’t quite play it.

Someone claps him on the back, and he turns to see Goliath, half-drunk on fine champagne. But he supposes it’s his birthday, so he might as well drink as much as he likes.

“Nice touch, eh?” Goliath asks. “Remind you of home, old man?”

They’re standing in a ballroom filled with dignitaries and royals and all the fine born and bred people that could be invited. There’s tiny plates of food he doesn’t know and drinks enough for a thousand people and music that’s supposed to be from his time, but sits somewhere between then and now. He’d rather be back in the stables with the horses.

“Not a bit,” Tora says. “Where the hell did ya find them?”

“I didn’t. The party planner did.”

“Well, I bet they’re real nice folks, but he’s garbage at singing.”

“Tora!” Poppy hisses. “Be nice.”

“Sorry Bobby,” he whispers before looking at Goliath again. “Next time, ask me to help when ya messin’ with shit like this. All that space in that big head of yours and no brain.”

Goliath chuckles. “You’re hilarious. Think you can do better?”

“Know I could.”

“Then do it.”

Tora crosses his arms. “What?”

“If you’re so great, then get up there and show them they’re all shit.”

“I ain’t doin’ that.”

“Scared?”

“No.”

“It sure sounds like it. Scared you’ll look dumb in front of your wife?”

“No.”

“Come on, big bro Tora, show us how they do it back in the olden times when dinosaurs ruled the earth.”

He knows he’s taunting him, but godsdamed it, it’s working. “Not happenin’.”

“A wager then.”

Tora stares at him expectantly. He reminds him so much of his younger brothers, all piss and vinegar and mouthy as hell. He’s annoying, but he’s an odd reminder of his old life.

“If you get up there, I’ll give you my crown,” Goliath says with the kind of sincerity that nearly makes Tora think he might be sober.

It’s his turn to laugh. “Yeah right.”

“Fine. A grand then and the crown.”

He mulls it over. “I’ll take one of ya cars. My pick.”

Goliath gives him a strange look, then nods. “Whatever.”

They shake and Tora plucks the glass of whisky from Goliath’s hand, downing it in one gulp. If he has to listen to another bastardization of another song of his youth, he’ll scream anyway. Might as well show them how music should actually sound.

“Where are you going?” Poppy asks, grabbing his arm.

“Just gotta take care of somethin’, sweetheart.”

He waits for a break in the music and steps onto the low stage. The sash he’s wearing seems to always give him permission to do whatever he wants at royal functions. The band pauses and people murmur behind him as he asks quietly, “Ya know The Winter Flower?”

The singer scowls, though his words are polite. “Yeah, but we stick to—”

Tora snatches his koto from his hands and settles on his stool beside the microphone. He pushes that away. Done right, the instrument and the voice will be loud enough to not need it. “We’re doin’ The Winter Flower. The prince ordered it.”

Strange to refer to anyone but himself as a prince, especially Goliath, but it does the trick. The band falls into place and the singer steps back. He should have had another shot of whisky to loosen his throat. He can’t believe Goliath goaded him into this. But he’ll get a sports car out of it and be able to stretch his fingers a bit. He decides he probably won’t even drive the car much, but it’ll annoy Goliath and that’s all he really wants.

The little shit.

The drums start, signaling the beginning of the song. Tora scans the crowd, finding Poppy. She’s beaming, wide eyed as he plucks the koto, finding the key he needs. It’s been years, but it comes back to him, this song from his past. It was his mother’s favorite, a favorite of all war wives, he learned. It’s about what grows on a battle ground when the snow melts, what’s left of them when the valleys clear. Bittersweet, the longing within it is clear and he draws out the words as he plays, the drums reverberating in his chest.

When he’s finished, he looks back up to find Poppy. She’s smiling madly and dabbing at her eyes. His wife is such a godsdamned softy. Fuck he loves her.

Tora hands the koto back to the singer with a, “Right language, wrong pronunciation.”

“And what are you, a professor?” he shoots back.

“Somethin’ like that.”

“Tora, I didn’t know you could play an instrument. And your voice!” Poppy takes his hand, giving it a squeeze. “Now that I know you can sing, I’m never going to let you stop.”

“One and done, Bobby. I ain’t a radio.”

“No, but you like to see me happy, don’t you?” she teases.

“Yeah, which is why I’m lettin’ ya pick which one of Goliath’s cars we take home with us tomorrow.”

She giggles. “He must have really thought you wouldn’t have done it.”

He puts his hand on her back, strokes the strip of bare skin at her back. “Jokes on him then, I guess. I like showin’ him up.”

“A crown and a car,” Goliath croons as he walks away. “A deal’s a deal, old man.”

The band picks up another song, another modernized thing that has people dancing, whirling round the floor before the stage. It’s not even a song for dancing. It’s actually one the women would sing when spinning the wool into cloth in the camp.

“Let’s dance,” Poppy says, putting her empty glass on one of the high tables.

“Don’t dance.”

She takes his hand. “Well, I do, so suck it.”

“Suck what?” he asks with a grin.

Her cheeks pink. “It’s an expression. Just—come on.”

Tora lets her drag him onto the floor. He likes how after all this time he can still make her blush with a look or a wink or a few cheeky words. But she has him wrapped around her little finger, so perhaps they’re even.

He’s not much of a dancer, not when it comes to this slow, twirling sort of dance everyone’s doing. But he follows Poppy’s lead, careful to keep his steps small enough that they’re evenly matched. Soon, they’re whirling with the rest of the couples, all the finely dressed people who were born into royalty without the war and strife and struggle. It’s strange being one of them, even on the fringe, when he had to fight and kill and deceive to keep his crown.

“You okay?” Poppy asks when the dance slows into something else.

“Yeah, just thinkin’.”

“About what?”

“Everythin’. How I’m here with these people and even though I’m just as…sometimes I forget where I came from and then I’m here, in this place where my home used to be, where bits of it still stand in the forest, covered in ivy, and I think of how it’s gone.”

“Just the buildings are. But everything lasting is still here. Before, your line didn’t exist, not like this. But look. Look where we are, at how respected the Tasuras are…even if Goliath’s the head.”

“He’s just a kid. He’ll grow up.” He says it but doesn’t quite feel it. Goliath’s been shying away from meetings and events the past few weeks, even though this is the year he hits his majority and should now take the crown as king. The partying’s gotten worse, the womanizing, the cars, the money. No matter how many talks they have, Goliath just laughs and calls him a dumb old man.

Poppy brushes her hand over his neck, fingers gentle in his hair. “If he’s just a kid, then what am I? I’m three years younger than him.”

“You are my wife. You can be whatever ya want and I won’t say a godsdamned word ‘bout it.”

She laughs as he twirls her. “You say that, but when I brought home a kitten, you looked at me like I brought home a hand grenade.”

“I felt stupid as fuck when I brought him to the vet, and they called out for Catrick Swayze. They asked if I liked to dirty dance. Like, the fuck is that about?”

Poppy lets out a loud laugh, then reigns it in to a chuckle. “They were asking about the movie Dirty Dancing. It’s a classic. And I think you and Catrick are getting along great though.”

“The little shit made a nest outta my hair the other night when I was sleepin’. If he keeps that up, I’m cuttin’ it all off.”

“Don’t you dare.”

Another spin, the kind that has her skirt whipping around his legs. “Why not?”

“You know perfectly well why not.”

“Yeah, but I like when ya say it.”

“Well, I like your hair and would be deeply offended if you cut it.”

“Fine, then the hair stays.”

He doesn’t hate Catrick, even though the frenzied furball seems to like nothing more than to climb up his pant leg and fall asleep on him so he feels like he can’t get up. The cat’s growing on him though, more than he’d like to admit.

The music drifts to a stop, and at the head of the room, Goliath is taking up his place for the toasts. Tora takes Poppy’s hand, and they go to the font together. So far, they’ve avoided how they’re related to Goliath, and the House of Tasura. Tora not having a real background has worked in his favor so far. The reporters can’t get shit on him. That only seems to make them hungrier for more.

They sit in the row of seats facing the crowd. There’s an empty one beside Tora for Goliath, and the rest on Poppy’s side are full of the highest raked royals from Sweden and England and a few other countries he can’t remember. The fact that Goliath was a mouthy nobody a year ago and now is holding court like a proper future king is hilarious. At least he can put on a good show.

“Thank you all for joining me this evening to celebrate by twenty-fifth birthday,” Goliath’s saying at the podium. “I understand this is the year I would take my place as the head of the Tasura clan, as small as we now are. I would have been proud to be your king.”

Tora blinks and feels Poppy stiffen beside him. The fuck is he going on about? Would have? There is no would have. He didn’t go through everything for Goliath to throw it away. He’s the future of the line, the only person able to—

“But my brother, my elder brother, is the true heir.” Goliath turns and looks at him.

Tora freezes. What brother?

“He means you,” Poppy whispers.

He hadn’t realized he’d asked that aloud.

“Tora has been living abroad these years getting a full education on the Tasura line and the histories of this land. While we first agreed I would lead, I think we can all agree I’m no Prince William in the royal department.” He pauses as the guests laugh politely. “Which is why I’ve convinced my brother to take his rightful place as king. Tora?”

“Go,” Poppy hisses when Tora doesn’t immediately move.

He stands and straightens his jacket. Coming up beside Goliath, he murmurs, “The fuck’s goin’ on?”

Goliath speaks through his grinning teeth as the cameras flash. “We both know I’d suck at his and you were literally born for it. Besides, you won the bet.”

“I won a car.”

“And I offered a kingdom. Take it. Be who you were meant to.”

Tora clasps his hand, still not quite accepting what’s happened. He was born a prince, raised a warrior, became a time traveler, and then a lover. Then he was a king and then a normal man, and now he’s to rule once again when the world is new and the capitol glitters with electric lights and the sounds of cars? He looks to Poppy, who smiles and nods.

“Ya mean it?” Tora asks.

“Take it. I’m more than happy being the Playboy Prince while you do all the actual work.”

“Thank you, Goliath.”

He shakes his head. “Thank you for coming back. I wasn’t cut out for this. Now say something…kingly, old man. We’re starting to get some pretty weird looks with all the whispering up here.”

He goes to the podium and takes a deep breath. He needs to keep his words clear, his accent dampened. He has no idea what to say. These aren’t warriors or courtiers from his time. These people don’t expect a ruler, they expect a figurehead at the most. That loss burns, but it settles into nearly nothing as he realizes the world’s gone full circle.

“Thank you, Goliath, for taking the evening of your birthday to make this announcement. And thank you all for placing your faith in me. And, by extension, my wife Poppylan. I will do my best to be a good king and do my duty to this land.”

That’s all he can think of to say, but the crowd seems to accept it. He holds his hand out to Poppy and she joins him as the cameras click and flash. He lets them take their pictures, lets them ask their questions, though half of them he doesn’t know how to answer. He hasn’t been abroad, hasn’t studied, doesn’t know shit about whatever backstory Goliath just pulled out of his ass.

“Did you know?” she asks in a whisper.

“No. I had no idea.”

He allows a few more photos before slipping away with Poppy out a side door and into the empty garden. It’s a balmy, late summer night, so the guests are inside where the air is cool. He loosens his tie and leans back against the stone railing overlooking the flowers and the fountains that tinkle in the quiet of the dark.

“You mad?” he asks as she settles into his arms.

“No. Should I be?”

“Ten minutes ago, we were just us. Now…this is ours. We…shit. It’s a lot of responsibility, even in this time.”

She puts a hand on his chest. “And we’ll figure it out. We’ve been through crazier things. At least this version of crazy can do some good. Besides, you were meant to be a king. I guess the universe decided you were just going to be one in another time.”

“So, ya wanna do it?” he asks. “If ya don’t, say the word and I’ll tell him. This isn’t somethin’ I’m gonna force ya to do.”

“You want to be king, I know you do.”

She’s right. He wants to be who he was born to be, though when it comes to the things in this world, he wants the most, it’s nothing compared to her. “But do you wanna be queen?”

Poppy smiles. “I want to be by your side, no matter what. I was ready to go back in time to be with you, and that’s without running water. We can still have the life we planned, just in this era. You can bring in old traditions and we could make new foundations. Maybe something with literacy programs or—”

“Sounds like ya put a lot of thought in it, huh?”

“We were always going to be on the fringes of the royal house, so I thought we might as well do some good. But now? Now we could make so many wonderful changes.”

He kisses her, tastes the smile on her lips. “Fuck, ya so good, Poppylan. So smart. I’m fuckin’ lucky.”

“Funny how things turned out.”

Tora laughs at the thought. He kept the crown, in a way, just changed everything else. He leans forward until his forehead touches hers. “See, sweetheart? I told ya I’d make ya a queen.”