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Chapter Text

"I'm so happy you were able to visit." 

Rhys leans back into the well-loved armchair that used to reside in his parents' house and now sits facing an upgraded bed from his first days at this fort. It hardly registers as a fort anymore, but moreso a home as he hears Mist and Mia laughing and strokes Ulki's feathers. He's already made it abundantly clear that he's happy that Ulki could visit him, smiling, laughing, and practically skipping through the town all day, but he says banal, obvious things just to hear Ulki speak. 

"Me too," he says, in a rumble that'd be indistinguishable if he tried to say anything longer than that. It's exactly what Rhys wants. 

"You were so cute rolling in the flowers," says Rhys, half because he means it and half because he totally predicts the way that Ulki feigns irritation at it with a halfhearted wiggle and a sigh, complete with wordless muttering that he doesn't actually mean. 

"You've probably never been in such a wide open field in Phoenicis, yeah?" 

"No." 

"I don't think I have to ask you if you liked it," says Rhys as he gently digs his nails into Ulki's marginal coverts. They're soft, and he only brushes the ends of his nails and his fingertips into them because they're the delicate cover to his bigger feathers. He hums somewhere between affirmation and satisfaction. 

Rhys pulls his hand away. "Oh dear, I think there are still some flower petals in your wings," he giggles. "Here, I'll get you all pretty." He reaches behind Ulki's ear, but when he unfurls his hand, there's not one color that they had seen in the meadow. 

"Huh. They must've wilted." 

"Hmm?" Ulki rolls over to try to inspect what Rhys has put in his hair, but they scatter onto Rhys's lap and onto the floor. "Oh. Those are my feathers." 

"Your feathers?" Rhys parrots. He leans in to get a closer look at where his fingers last touched Ulki's wing. Nothing looks to be amiss. 

"Was I too rough with them?" 

Ulki doesn't seem concerned--just annoyed, mostly--but Rhys knows that he tends to underplay it when he's unhappy or in pain. 

"My dear?" 

"No, nothing like that," says Ulki, with a heavy enough sigh that Rhys can feel his chest rise and fall on top of his legs. 

"Then what is it?" 

"My wings are just molting," he says. 

Rhys pauses for a moment. "Ummm... does that... hurt?" 

"Mmm... kind of, I guess. Not really. Not enough to really worry about, I think," says Ulki. "Mostly just annoying. My feathers are all going to fall out, and I'll get some new ones." 

"Oh. That's a relief!" 

Ulki lets his arm collapse and hang out of the chair, letting the feathers that are in his hand float to the floor. "Not for me!" he whines. 

"You don't want fresh new feathers?" says Rhys, at a loss. 

"You think the ones I have now are gross? Hrrrmmm..." 

"Oh, no, no! I didn't mean that at all!" 

A soft hum of a laugh gives Rhys a drop of reassurance. "I am only acting petulant because I'm annoyed. I should have planned a little better. Now you are stuck with me," says Ulki. "Although I can't imagine that you in particular are unhappy with that." 

"I'm still just confused, mostly," Rhys admits. "You mean this will prevent you from getting home?" 

"Pretty much. Unless maybe I had my body weight in pemmican, I could make it back to Phoenicis without just passing out," says Ulki, looking to the ceiling for ideas on how to get back to the island. 

"Oh, gosh! Does molting tire you?" 

"More than I care to admit. Tibarn did have to carry me once." 

Rhys laughs at the thought of it, and mulls everything over quietly in his head. 

"I will figure out a way," says Ulki.

"Yeah, it sucks when you feel crappy away from home," says Rhys, his voice tinged with sympathy as he absentmindedly plays with the button on Ulki's tunic. 

"It is not so bad. I have shed my feathers under worse circumstances," says Ulki. "I just don't want you to have to deal with it." 

"What? No! That's a stupid reason!" 

The alternative hangs between them. The only problem that Rhys can foresee is Boyd being annoying, but then again, that's a timeless issue. The Greil mercenaries have certainly dealt with worse. 

Well, he also has little to no idea of what it's like for a hawk to molt. And he told the schoolchildren that he'd be back in only three days. And it wouldn't hurt to check on his parents, either--it's been a while. 

"You're sure?" Ulki ventures. 

"Yes," Rhys says anyway. "How long does it take for you to molt, anyhow?"

"...About a month." 

"Oh, that's not so bad!" says Rhys, with no conception of the length of a month stored in his mind besides "a nice, long time to see my boyfriend". 

"I hope you don't regret your decision when I start acting like a jerk." 

"You're always saying those silly things, and you're still as sweet as can be," Rhys says with a chuckle, and leans his head forward to peck Ulki's nose with a little kiss. Ulki seems to want to get a jump on proving him wrong and nudges his face with one hand. 

"I don't think I have much of a choice now, anyway. I can't just make you fly home if you're too tired! A boat trip would be over two months. Why don't you stay?" 

"Ugh... why can't Boyd and Titania put their strength together and throw me back to Phoenicis, or something?" 

A cackle runs up and escapes from Rhys. "I can't believe you want to leave me, Ulki!" he teases, and pinches his cheek until he frowns with his teeth. 

Ulki sighs a sigh to end all sighs. "Fine. You had better not laugh at me when you see my wings all scraggly and disheveled, or I'll... no, I can't do that," he says, deflating immediately. 

"Is that the actual reason you wanted to leave?" 

"Hey! You will understand when you see them." 

"Oh, cut it out! You know I think you're my handsome boy, no matter what." Rhys sits back and enjoys the fruits of his work, a pink hue that dapples Ulki's craggy face that he then tries to obscure by burrowing it back into the fabric of Rhys's robes. 

"I am not." 

"You're right. Handsome hawk has alliteration." 

A defeated groan gets lost in Rhys's laughter. "Please don't call me that," says Ulki. 

"I won't. Can you imagine if Janaff overheard that?" 

"Stop!" 

"Okay, okay," says Rhys, running his fingers through Ulki's hair as something of a seal on his promise to stop causing mayhem. "'My dear' and 'sweetheart' will have to do." Ulki at least doesn't seem to disagree. Rhys stretches and rolls his shoulders. 

"Let's just sleep on it, alright? Our heads will be clearer in the morning," he says, already thinking about how he's going to break it to the rest of the mercenaries. This stupid hawk isn't going anywhere.

Chapter Text

Thump!

"Yes, dude! We're gonna hang out so much!" 

Breaking the news to the rest of the company is going over quite well so far, all things considered. Boyd... is a little confused, perhaps a bit unduly optimistic, but he'll catch the gist of this soon enough. Rhys scours the others for their reactions as the real length of a month settles in over all of them like sand after it's been kicked up in a stride across the desert. Rolf finishes the glass of water he had at breakfast, seeming more embarrassed by Boyd's jumping around than anything else. Mia has the same smile that she always has, especially proud of herself this morning because she had made breakfast. Gatrie lounges on the sofa, seeming to learn about Rhys and Ulki for the first time now, but his nonchalant posture bodes well. Titania is covering for Rhys at the chapel, so he'll fill her in later. 

"Don't go bother him, stupid! Rhys just said he's tired," Rolf scolds Boyd. 

"Never a dull day in the old Greil mercenaries' fort... nor a dull month," says Mist.

"Haha, yeah. If anyone needs to get anything down at the market, I'll be going there today to get lots... aaand lots of fish," says Rhys. 

"What for? I thought we were having cream of broccoli for dinner." 

Shinon emerges, rubbing his eyes, wearing a tunic stained from the last time that they had cream of broccoli soup for dinner. 

"Oh. You are still here," Rhys mumbles, partially as an insult, partially because he'd actually forgotten that Shinon is here in the midst of all of his time at the chapel, letters, knitting projects, and reports on his father's arthritis. But mostly as an insult. 

"The fuck's your problem?" Shinon groans as he refuses to make eye contact in favor of fussing with his hair. He still can't get it into a sleek ponytail regardless, and strands tumble into his scowling face. 

Rhys rolls his eyes. "The fish isn't even for you. That's my problem," he says, then his lips curl into a taunting grin. "It's for my boyfriend." 

"Your who?" 

The living room goes from confused and cautiously celebratory to buzzing with tension in an instant, like it's been electrocuted. Boyd and Rolf share a glance. Tacit urges from Mist to have just left it at the first sentence. 

"Yeah, you wish you were me," Rhys says anyway. Shinon is always doing this, and he can't keep ruining the fun whenever he pleases forever. He hopes that there's a kernel of truth to it, too, that his purported hatred is nothing but a veneer. 

"I've expressly stated before that I do not wish I were you," Shinon says flippantly, with an infuriating smirk. The creases in his face get deeper every time he does it; it's a practiced move that his muscles know better than any other expression. Rolf shuffles behind Boyd, as discreetly as he can manage. 

Rhys huffs out of his nose and tries not to let it get under his skin. "Whatever," he says, just to get the last word. It doesn't matter. He gets to pet Ulki's feathers, and Shinon doesn't. 

"Come on, man! Do you have to ruin everything? Ulki won't even bother you! He only likes me and Rhys, anyways," Boyd complains. 

"What?!"

"Okay, I think it's time I make the most of my day before I have to be back at the chapel!" says Rhys, and there's no sound that he wants to hear more than the slam of the wooden door behind him. He darts away as the rest of the mercenaries break out into hullabaloo. If he doesn't run, he'll break the bones in his hand punching Boyd in the face. And Shinon, too. He skids to a halt outside of the fort, far enough away that he mercifully can't hear the end of a sneer that starts with "don't get feathers in--". 

"He's so embarrassing!" cries a voice that startles Rhys. He turns his head around to see Rolf trailing behind him with sunken shoulders. 

Rhys clicks his tongue. "I know," he says. "Let's just go, and let them all sort it out." 

"You're right," Rolf says with a weak smile. 

"It's beautiful out today. Let's enjoy it." 

"Yeah!" 

The early-Autumn breeze soothes him. Rolf walks at a fast clip, and Rhys tries to keep up with him, but admiring the changing foliage makes it difficult. After a few turns, the road leads to an archway that denotes the entry to the marketplace. Rolf leans against it, waiting. 

As Rhys passes under it, he checks to make sure that he actually has the money in the bag that's slung around his shoulder. It's under a bunch of wilting violets that tumble out when he rummages around. 

"Oops. Those were from yesterday," he says to no one in particular. He can't imagine that Rolf really cares. 

Even at this early hour, the marketplace is alive. Horses' hooves make even clicks against the cobblestone as they carry patrons and passersby alike. A few of the more carefree merchants are still hauling their things up and setting up their booths, singing and whistling along with the flow of the work. Cheapskates are already haggling the prices of eggs, of bread, of tallow and yarn and stones said to repel evil spirits. A colorful caravan sets up shop, advertising exotic wares for a limited time only. 

But Rhys has his eye--or perhaps his nose, more accurately--on one thing, and one thing only: the sprawling stand filled on the bottom half with glistening chunks of ice, and upon it a dizzying array of fish that stare back at him with iridescent black eyes. Bass, a few kinds of it, pike, tuna, walleye, trout, sardines, salmon, all neatly presented by a wrinkly, leather-skinned woman in a tank top that it's a little late in the season for and teeth that protrude from her bottom lip ever so slightly, flanked by her stout, muscular daughter. Behind them, a paunchy man whose round cheeks are streaked with green and whose large ears come to a point curls his stripey tail around the icebox that he's sitting on and hums a sailor's shanty. Oscar knows them: Tess, Rey, and their daughter who's only known as Clemmy. 

"Good morning!" Rhys says brightly as he approaches the stand, giving no indication of the amount of screaming and bickering and beginner-level magical incidents and frogs and vomit that's gone into the money that he's about to fork over. At least Elincia values education and has the Crimean government pay lavishly for the type of work that Rhys does. And the smell of fish is nothing after enough run-ins with fire magic. 

"How's it goin', boss?" rasps Tess. 

"Urk... it's certainly going," says Rhys. His cheery act is blown over like a house of cards. 

She laughs with a tinge of pity in its abrasive sound. "I hear that! I hear that," she says, revealing a wide, yellow-tinted smile splotched intermittingly with brown. "What can we do you for you today?" 

Rhys pulls a hundred gold's worth of coins from his bag, feeling like a decadent fool. "Could I please just have however much of whichever fish you'd like to get rid of the most that a hundred gold will buy?" he asks. 

The entire family breaks into hoots of laughter. "We wanna get rid'a all of this equally!" cackles Clemmy. 

"This guy's got us solving his riddles three!" 

Rolf's eyes glaze over with irritation as Rhys's cheeks burn. "Rhys, why didn't you just pick his favorite?" he asks. 

"Oh, dear. What a terrible boyfriend I am! I didn't ask..." 

"He's never told you his favorite?" 

"No... he was still sleeping when I left. And why would that come up otherwise?"  

"Divorce." 

"You're not helping!" 

"Wait, wait, wait!" says Tess, trying to stifle her laughter. "You said one hundred gold?" 

Rhys nods. "Yes, one hundred. My poor dear... he's very hungry!" 

Suddenly she's very serious. "This poor dear of yours, is he perhaps a dragon? Or a lingcod, or a chub?" she says incredulously. 

"No. A hawk," says Rhys. 

"Oh, of course! He must be molting," she says. Rhys nods again. 

"I'll have you squared away lickety split, then," she says as she grabs a few paper bags. "Bass and pike'll get you the most bang for your buck. That okay?"

"Mhm." 

"I used to date a girl from Kilvas, oh boy! She got nasty when it came time for a new set of feathers! Totally blindsided me! I had no idea what was comin'." 

"Umm... should I be afraid?" asks Rhys. 

"Mama tells me horror stories sometimes," Clemmy pipes up. Tess elbows her playfully in between wrapping two fish in paper. 

"You're scarin' the fellow! Clemmy, you're gonna ruin our business here!" 

Clemmy sticks her tongue out. "Liz is so much worse and you know it, trying to show customers all the bugs she's caught!" she says, and they both laugh as the angler piles another bag high with fish. 

"She's only six, baby." She takes the coins from Rhys's hands without answering his question. 

"I knowww. But if I see one more ladybug in our house, Mama, I'm gonna go buck wild." 

"You know you love your little sister regardless," says Tess, then finally faces Rhys again as Clemmy pretends to be angry with crossed arms. She hands him four heavy paper bags. "Thank you, sir. You just paid for someone to clean all the beetle shells out of our house!" 

The entire family lights up the fish stand with their laughter again. "Um... you're welcome!" says Rhys. 

"May Ashunera walk with you!" Tess calls as Rhys and Rolf turn away, both of their arms laden with the purchase. People waiting behind them exchange glances and murmur. 

"And you, as well!" 

Against their better judgment, they linger in the center of the market. It's a long enough walk that neither one of them wants to go out for just one thing.

"You think everyone's still mad?" asks Rolf, breaching the question that they're both wondering. 

"I've cooled down some, myself," says Rhys. "It was kind of my fault, anyhow." 

"Don't say that. You were there! It was Boyd who opened his big, dumb mouth. Again."

"Yeah, that's true." 

"And Shinon's always welcome to stop being racist. He could grow up whenever he wants," says Rolf, his eyes darkening. 

Rhys begins to drift towards a stand from which the smells of honey and cinnamon emanate. "He could certainly do that," he says, briefly lost in that wishful thinking. They know he won't. He lets this anodyne remark fade into the air like the smoke of a long-extinguished fire. 

This stand is a little more active. Rhys nearly trips over an excited child who's parading around with a newly-acquired cookie that's about the size of their face. Apple pies, blackberry tarts, barrels of popped corn kernels coated in honey, in maple syrup, in sugar. Jars of fruit jam, slices suspended in syrup, candied cranberries and honey-roasted nuts. An uptick in interactions between Crimeans and Gallians has resulted in rich truffles made of chocolate from the Gallian rainforest on sale in this Crimean town. 

"Pick something," says Rhys. 

"What? Why should I do it? Are you telling me that you don't know Ulki's favorite dessert, either?" 

"No, for you, silly!" 

Rolf shifts the bags of fish into one arm to rummage around in the pocket of his shorts. 

"What are you doing?" asks Rhys. 

Confusion knits Rolf's eyebrows. "Well, you aren't planning for me to steal it, are you?" 

"Gosh, no. I was just going to get it for you." 

"I make plenty of spending money now. I've got a whole student." 

"I know... but won't you let me do something nice for you, too?" says Rhys, with a little bit of pleading that he knows he's good at. 

Rolf's amused chuckle cuts right through his act. "Rhys, you've really been hanging out with Ulki too much. Pouting isn't gonna work on me," he says. 

Rhys falters, caught red-handed. Rolf has always been keen to him, among the first to notice when he'd become ill, but this reliable solution of letting him pick out something nice at the sweets shop to cheer him up is losing ground as Rolf fishes in his pocket again. 

"Look, I know you still feel bad about this morning. It's fine. I'm gonna get embarrassed sometimes. That's just the reality of who I had available as a teacher when I felt like I needed one," Rolf says as he pores over the various nuts. 

A pang of admiration crawls out from Rhys's heart, even under Rolf's intense scrutiny. It seems like just yesterday that Rolf thought he could take on an entire pie, or he'd choose something ridiculously sweet like the bird's nests that glisten with honey, and now he's deciding between the things that he used to pass off as gross. 

"I think you were right to say what you said. Sometimes I wish I had had it in me to push back. I just idolized him too much," Rolf says, counting up his coins on the table. Rhys doesn't stop him. 

"What?" 

"Nothing. You're just grown up now." 

Rolf looks away for a moment, his lips quirked into a smile that seems just as distant. "Ha. That's usually how time works," he quips. "Are you gonna get anything?" 

"Hmm... no. I think I spent quite enough at the fish stand," Rhys says sheepishly. 

"Thought so." 

"Umm... is there anything else you need while we're out?" 

"No, let's go home. Your boyfriend is probably starving," says Rolf. "How much do hawks need to eat while they're molting, anyway?" 

"I suppose I'll find out soon," says Rhys. 

Rolf laughs as they pass under the archway, back onto the road. "Wow," he says, halfway under his breath. 

"The leaves are really starting to change, huh?" says Rhys. 

"Well, yeah. I'm just saying wow 'cause you guys are so lucky to have each other," says Rolf, grown but not without his childlike wonder. "I mean, the royal vassal of a foreign nation? No offense, but how did you do that?" 

For the first time since the day prior, Rhys really laughs, too. If only Rolf knew how useless that "no offense" addendum is, as Rhys often wonders the same thing himself. "Your guess is as good as mine. I suppose I'm just that adorable! But at the end of the day, royal vassals are just people, too." 

"Hmm, yeah. Ulki's never struck me as the type of guy who'd put any stock in stuff like that," says Rolf, then his smile turns a smidge sinister. "It's just funny to hear you call someone who serves one of the strongest kings on the continent 'baby' and 'dear." 

"Hey! He is baby, and he is dear." 

"Not saying he's not," Rolf replies nonchalantly. "I love that for you." 

"Oh, I know," says Rhys, ruffling Rolf's hair. "I just get embarrassed. You know me."

"Well, so do I. Stop that," he chuckles, and pushes Rhys's hand away. 

"Okay. Sorry." 

They fill the space between them with menial conversation while the fort slowly comes back into view. Conversation about their respective students, about what Ike and Soren might be up to right now, about various wild animal sightings, until Rhys's heart sinks to see Shinon leaning against the facade right outside the front door. 

"There you are! It took you long enough!" Shinon spits once Rhys and Rolf are within reach of the door. 

"What's the rush? I thought you wanted the cream of broccoli," says Rhys. 

"Don't be a dumbass. I don't want any fish. Hurry up and get your pet! Gatrie and I tried to make cookies, but now Boyd's dumb ass is out back trying to give them all to him!" 

"Huh?" Rhys ignores the "pet" descriptor. Or tries to, anyway. Doesn't Shinon know that hawks usually make for horrid pets? 

Beyond their attempt at a flower garden, and the fence wherein it was to be kept, under the oak tree, Rhys spots Boyd first, standing next to Ulki who's nearly blending in with the trunk. He's cross-legged on the ground, looking to be scratching into the dirt. His wings are certainly looking worse for wear. 

"They've got nuts! Those have protein," he hears Boyd saying coaxingly. "And you like nuts." 

"Boyd?" says Rhys.

Boyd jumps. "Ah! Rhys! You didn't hear that!" he says. 

As if Rhys needed anyone else flustering him today. "I didn't even think it was anything bad until you reacted like that," he sighs, feeling his anger reignite. 

"Bugs and worms are still better," says Ulki, and shoves one in his mouth in front of both of them without a care in the world. 

"But cookies probably taste a whole lot better," says Boyd. 

"You are irritating me!" says Ulki, bristling. 

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, I'm just trying to be a good friend!" 

Rhys uses his free hand to rub circles into his temple. He can already feel the stress headache coming on. Can't Boyd do anything right?

"Boyd, I think you could be a good friend right now by leaving us alone," he says, as placidly as he can manage. 

"Okay..." Boyd says dejectedly, and trudges off while taking bites of Shinon's cookies for himself instead. 

"Yeah, they're bad, anyway," he calls as he practically pole vaults over the decaying fence. "Hard as fuck." 

Rhys takes timid steps towards the tree once Boyd is completely gone. Around the tree's roots, the dirt is littered with marks and the fuzz of feathers, and the ends of Ulki's fingers are dyed brown on one hand. 

"Dear?" he says, fearing the worst. By some miracle, Ulki perks up a little. "I got you some fish." 

He nearly topples over when Ulki's clean hand crashes into one of the bags that he's holding. Shreds of paper congregate at their feet before Rhys can process what's happening. 

"Oh, gosh, don't--!" 

"Ow!" 

Ten gold hits the ground, smeared in dirt, still looking up at Rhys with one black eye, pleading. 

"It's frozen!" yelps Ulki. "My teeth..." He puts one hand to his jaw. 

"I was about to say to come inside so I can cook it for you..." 

"Hm? I know how to cook. Mostly because Janaff does not. We don't usually cook fish, but it shouldn't be hard," says Ulki. 

"What? No! Let me do it." 

"No!" barks Ulki, then is quiet for a tense moment. "I am being a jerk and frightening you. I can hear your heart speeding up. Don't do things for me when I'm being a jerk." 

"I'm not gonna listen to you," Rhys says firmly. Now he can hear his heart speeding up, too. One hand lingers over his chest, as if he could will it to stop, and for Ulki to forget that he heard anything. 

"Fine, you know what? We'll race to the kitchen, and whoever gets there first can cook," he proposes. He starts walking before he even finishes his sentence. 

"Hey!" 

Rhys ignores his protesting and fires the gunshot that begins the most sluggish race ever. He trots to the fence and curses the muscle memory that moved him to lock the gate as the rusty latch refuses to budge. He struggles against it; it's so old and bent that it has its own special mechanism that even takes the most dexterous among them a few tries. As he finally wiggles it open, he glances behind him to see Ulki still in the tree's shade with the all-too-familiar stance of someone who has stood up too fast. 

The creak of old wood welcomes Rhys to a patch of shrubbery that mires him. He slams the gate closed. Shoots and leaves attach themselves to his shoes. He lifts his feet higher, undeterred, even if he doesn't need Ulki's hearing to pick up the sound of him catching up. 

"Why don't you fly?" he takes the risk of goading him as he reaches the edge of the pachysandra. 

"If you saw the way I look trying to fly with the way my wings are now, I would disintegrate," says Ulki as he breezes by the unlocked gate. 

"You're only hurting yourself! I'm gonna get there first!" Rhys says, daring a playful smile. 

"No, you are not!" says Ulki. 

Rhys passes under the small archway that opens up to the Greil mercenaries' mass grave of their gardening efforts. In the fastest glance that he's ever taken in his life, he sees Ulki rooting around in the pachysandra for one of his sandals. 

"Lose your shoe?" he says. 

"I'll... no, that's much too harsh," Ulki mutters as he wiggles his foot back into his shoe. "Keep it up, and I will shave. Your garden is awful!" 

"I didn't mean it! I didn't mean it! What shoe? I never said anything about a shoe!" says Rhys. He feels a laugh brewing in his throat, but struggles to keep it there until he looks over his shoulder again and sees Ulki smile, too. Then it's an easy jaunt to the front door. 

"My own boyfriend! Winning so dishonorably!" 

It's the last thing that Rhys hears Ulki say before he closes the door behind him. He doesn't care about the Phoenician sense of honor; there's fish to cook. 

"Rolf? Where'd you put the rest of the fish?" he calls out as he saunters into the kitchen and sees the table suspiciously devoid of the bags that they just brought home. For a moment he fears that this has nothing to do with Rolf, and that Shinon has crossed from simply being a jerk and a provocateur to a monster. 

"In this skillet. Everything else is in the icebox." 

To his relief, Rolf's voice comes from the direction of the little stove where Oscar's presence lingers even while he's being tormented by Kieran--known more commonly as "serving the Crimean Royal Knights". 

"Oh--! Darn it!" says Rhys. 

"Sorry! Do hawks not like their fish cooked?" 

"It's fine. It's just what I was going to do!" 

Rolf's eyes flick towards the sizzling bass, then back towards Rhys. "I guess you just weren't fast enough, then. I thought I'd give you a break since you went to shoo Boyd away. Shinon and Gatrie left their fire going, anyway..." 

"Oh, that was nothing." 

"Uh, do you wanna take over, then? I don't think it's completely done cooking," says Rolf, tentative, ever weary of the many times that "it was nothing" were the last words that Rhys uttered before passing out. Rhys knows this, and he can't ignore the warnings from his knees and his head. 

"Forget it," Rolf says when Rhys doesn't respond fast enough. "Sit. You're probably tired after walking for most of the morning, right?" 

Rhys almost gets mad. Getting bossed around by a kid! But he has to remind himself. Rolf isn't a kid anymore, not the skittish, squealing child that he had to sing to sleep while his brothers went off to fight for the money to keep him clothed and fed. That's a thing of the past, born of necessity. He pulls out the closest chair. 

"Thank you," he says instead. 

"Of course. I just wanna try to help you," Rolf says as he pokes around at the fish with a long spoon. 

"Hawks like cooked fish fine." 

Ulki flops down in the chair opposite Rhys, a mismatched woven one with a fraying armrest because Shinon just won't stop picking at it, and rests his head down on the table. 

"Okay, that's good," says Rolf, but as his eyes pore over Ulki's wings, a grin sneaks onto his face. Rhys tries not to look at him. No, he's already pushed the envelope plenty, teasing his poor bird. If he looks at Rolf, they'll both laugh. There's nothing funny about it. This is just what birds look like when their feathers are falling out. It's not funny. 

"I think it's done," Rolf says mercifully, distinctly looking away from Rhys. He grabs the nearest plate and holds the skillet above it to let the fish slide onto it. He's learned well from Oscar, but he could work on the presentation. He sits next to Rhys and puts the smelly fruits of his labor down on the table. 

"Um... let me get you a fork and a knife," he says, only moments before one of Ulki's hands practically materializes in an instant to grab chunks of fish in quivering fingers. 

"Or... not." 

There's not a thought behind his eyes while it vanishes as quickly as he took it. His features twist after it goes down, his brows furrowing and his nose wrinkling. 

"What's the matter?" says Rhys. "Rolf, did you cook it with something weird?" 

"Huh? What now? I didn't really put anything else in the skillet. I was kinda going for speed, you know." 

"What do you mean, 'what's the matter?' I didn't do anything," Ulki says through the most obvious expression of disgust that Rhys has ever seen mar his face. 

"Why, you look like you might hurl!" 

"Likely thing to happen when you eat too fast." 

"I won't take it personally. I know I'm not as good as Oscar," Rolf butts in unhelpfully. 

Ulki is quiet for a moment, eyes to the ground, his face still creased. Pain starts to branch out from Rhys's temple as he worries that this silence will precede fish vomit all over the table. Please, he thinks, in the deepest annals of his mind, safe from the source of his anguish. The carpet in the chapel JUST started smelling better.

"Rolf, your cooking is fine. I just don't like striped bass very much," Ulki finally says. 

Rhys puts his face in his hands, washed over with relief, but also with regret and anger. Maybe he and Boyd really aren't so dissimilar in this regard, messing everything up. 

"Oh, see, I knew you would get upset. Don't do that," says Ulki. "I appreciate you going out to get that for me." 

"I would've stayed a little longer and asked you what you like if I hadn't gotten into a stupid fight with Shinon," says Rhys. 

"It also would have been helpful for me to ask for some of the oatmeal that Mia made," says Ulki. "But it looked very bad." 

"Oh, good heavens..." 

"Uhh... I'm gonna go practice archery now..." says Rolf, and shuffles behind Rhys, then makes a break for it. 

"You could've just left," Rhys makes a half-hearted effort to call after him. 

"Whatever. I just tried to get the last word in. And the first word in. Ugh!" he mutters. "He gets to have his horrible worldview, but it's Boyd and I who mess everything up for ourselves when we try to tell him to shove off. I shouldn't have just run away. I should've punched him!" 

"The day is still young," Ulki says simply. 

"I guess that's true. Ugh, I should get over it already. Rolf already told me to," Rhys says into his hands. 

"And I have not had lunch yet." 

"What...? Oh," groans Rhys. He takes his head out from inside his hands, and rests it instead on his forearm. When he peers across from him, Ulki is... smiling, ever so slightly.

"I guess I should ask now. What do you like?" 

"Hm? I could get it myself, really. You do enough already," says Ulki. 

Rhys's fingers curl, and he takes in a deep breath. His nails dig into his palms painfully before he unfurls them. "Could you stop making things difficult and answer my simple question? Please?" he snaps. "You're going to be here for a few more weeks. Just tell me what you like. You know I'm happy to get it for you."

At this, Ulki shrinks. "Sorry. I don't mean to make anything difficult," he says, playing with the ends of his sleeves. Rhys is attentive to this, as always, but it still hardly keeps him from saying I know! with the sharpness of a spear. If he does, he knows he'll just make it harder for Ulki to think of anything. 

"Hmm... I like tuna and trout the most. If I can catch those, I'm happy. Sardines are nice, too, especially if I need something quick and easy," says Ulki. 

"I'll look for those next time," says Rhys, trying to blot out the memory of those more expensive fish looking up at him. His headache gets even worse thinking about it. A hundred gold still would've bought him plenty of any of those. What did he have to prove by having so much? At least he can be fairly certain that he'll find them again. 

"Hooray. You are the best," says Ulki as one of his feathers floats right onto the table. It's a small consolation prize that Rhys laps up like an animal drinking out of a puddle. 

Ulki's ears perk at the sound of lumbering footsteps approaching. Rhys sinks further into the chair, too tired for whoever it is. Where's Titania? Can't the school day be over already? 

Gatrie pokes his head in. "Hey, guys. Boyd gave us our cookies back, but we, uh... made too many. Do you want some?" he asks. 

"Sure. Do whatever you want," Rhys says into his sleeve as Gatrie dumps them onto the table regardless. He lingers there as he unloads the rejected confections, with that perpetual dumbfounded look that he has scrawled across his broad face and that's always accentuated by seeing gay people in real life, not for very long but long enough to irk Rhys. 

"These are not that bad, after all," says Ulki, but it almost sounds like he's chewing on rocks. Rhys blinks slowly and tries to delude himself into seeing something delicious in Ulki's hand instead. 

"It's almost as if they were made for me. They are bland like I like. I thought they would be much too sweet. Beorc have weird taste buds," he continues. 

Rhys is sure to make a note of that. Trout, tuna, and sardines. Bland, not too sweet. He's glad that he didn't get anything at the sweets shop, finally happy with himself. 

"Do you still want to go to the lake today?" he asks lazily, tracing the lines in the wood of the table with his finger, ready to have a funeral to lay to rest the plans that he had for today. 

"I suppose now is the best time to go until my feathers grow back in," says Ulki, unenthused. "This is the most that I will have until then." He picks off a particularly small (and consequently burnt) cookie. 

"Do you think that the entire nation of Crimea will be there, too? Are they all there to see Ulki the featherless freak?" Rhys pokes at him. 

"It's embarrassing!" 

Rhys reaches across the table until he softly has Ulki's face in his hand. "And these crumbs in your beard aren't?" 

"They are! I didn't see that!" 

"Mhm," Rhys hums as he scratches lightly. "If we go, maybe you can have some nice raw fish, fresh from the lake. Nice, stinky raw fish..." 

"Much to think about," says Ulki, but his tone and the smile that Rhys feels right under his fingers say "yes". 

Chapter Text

Ah, the lake. A crystal pool of memories, one of the outer limits of Rhys's world as a child. All of the morning's troubles seem to get lost in its glossy expanse and the sounds of birds and frogs. Under the shining ripples lie fond recollections of trips here by his mother's side because she was so enamored with the fish and birds who call it home and still now skid across and under the surface. Here is one of the places where she instilled him with her own unbreakable zest for life; she was over forty when she was taking him on her expeditions and would excitedly point out swans, loons, and egrets, rainbow trout, catfish, and sunfish. 

"Got you!" 

He stands up and ducks behind a patch of reeds. Drops of water dribble down his nose from his hair. Peeking out from between the plants, he tries to gauge Ulki's reaction. His wings are sopping, too, just as they had planned. If they're both wet, near a body of water, they had surmised, anyone who passes by won't think anything of it, and they might be able to bypass how conscious he is of the sparse feathers there. It seems to be working... for the simple fact that nobody else has passed by. 

Rhys knows he can't hide. Ulki could easily hear him from this distance even if he weren't giggling. He draws nearer to the reeds, and leans down next to the lake. Rhys withdraws farther into them, ready to jerk in another direction once Ulki splashes water towards the reeds. 

A moment passes. Nothing. He smiles. Now that they're both good and damp, having exhausted the hit and run strategy that comes so naturally, Ulki must be introducing more of the psychological element to this, leaving Rhys to wait for when he'll strike. 

He's going all in with it. Rhys relaxes. They're not at war anymore, and being able to outsmart the opponent isn't a matter of life and death anymore. 

But then he tenses back up. That could be exactly what Ulki wants him to think before splashing him. It's harder to see through more reeds, but he tries to make out what's going on. 

He can only keep it up for so long. Nothing seems to be moving outside of the reed patch. Could this be the plan? Luring him out? Rhys takes one cautious step forward, and strains his ears and eyes. He thinks he hears something rustling in the grass nearby, some sort of small creature. No water. He takes another. Surely Ulki won't drag this out much longer, as he himself hates surprises and being startled so much. 

Rhys figures that he might as well just take the water to the face at this point, and emerges from the reeds. He braces for a cold shock that never comes, squeezing his eyes shut only to briefly open them and see Ulki sitting by the edge of the lake, hunched over with his face in his knees. 

"That's not going to work!" he laughs. "What, do you think you think you can play dead like a possum?" He can't say he's not amused by the prospect of such a mighty creature employing the tactics of the very animals that he eats. 

Ulki still doesn't move, despite Rhys totally being onto him. 

"Oh, don't be a sore loser!" Rhys says as he leans down to put his hand in the lake. He splashes, just a little, a tiny shower that's mostly concentrated onto Ulki's shoes. 

"Ahh! Stop!" cries Ulki, unfurling. "Millet for brains!" 

Rhys inches backwards, nearly losing his footing. A cold snap flares across his stomach. 

"I thought we were playing..." he says as he stabilizes himself. 

"We were. 'Were' is the past tense, is it not? Don't annoy me," says Ulki.

"What do you mean, 'don't annoy me'? Don't you think I'm trying? What ever is the matter?" asks Rhys, the perennial question. 

His words fizzle out into the air for a quiet moment. 

"You are going to laugh at me," Ulki decides.

"No, I won't," says Rhys. He thinks about demanding an answer of when he's ever laughed at Ulki, but bites his tongue. 

"Then you will get angry that I have ruined our time here," Ulki says with a break in his voice.

"Whoa, hey," says Rhys. "I didn't mean to make you cry!" 

"Nevermind that," says Ulki, but Rhys's eyes follow the single tear that slides down his cheek. "Why do you always think that you've done something wrong?" 

"I--"

"Don't answer that. It will only make me cry more!" 

"Then what's all the fuss about, my darling? I thought we were having a good time here!" 

"We were! That's what is getting me so undone. Stupid things wreck my mood completely while I'm molting." 

"Just because it's stupid doesn't mean I can't try to help you," Rhys says as he approaches much in the way that he inches his hand towards boiling water whenever he helps Oscar cook. Ulki doesn't outright deny that. He can't, really. 

"Well, it's stupid," he says instead. 

"For as much as you hate other people confusing you, you're really leaving me in the dark here," Rhys sighs. He reaches one hand out to caress what feathers that Ulki has left, and his favorite spot is easy for Rhys to remember even if it's much more sparse-looking than he's used to, always a surefire way to at least palliate his dour moments. 

Yet it slips out from under his palm, startling him and leaving him even more directionless. 

"You think you can do whatever you please! Leave me alone!" says Ulki as he hugs his wing closer to himself, away from Rhys. 

"Sorry! You usually like feather pets," yelps Rhys, feeling as though he's standing in a canoe amidst a windstorm, paddling in the opposite direction of the current. 

"Don't touch my wings. They're tender," says Ulki, and his eyes flick towards the lake. "Tender and ugly." 

"My dear--" Rhys begins, but Ulki doesn't want to hear it. 

"Why would you bring attention to them? Are you truly so stupid? What if your hair was falling out and I just started to put my grubby hands all in it like I was kneading a bread dough? And you had to watch it happen because you're stupid and forgot that you can see yourself in large pools of water?" he says. 

"Bwuh...! I-I've never had wings! Now I know," says Rhys. "For what it's worth, I don't think your hands are grubby..." 

Ulki puts his face in his non-grubby hands. "Why do beorc get to be called the children of wisdom?" he sobs. 

"Hey!" 

"Hey, yourself." 

"Okay, listen. Why don't we just go back and dry off? That will probably cheer you up a little," Rhys offers. "Being wet and cold makes everything worse." 

"No. I feel wet and cold." 

"What ever could you mean?" 

"I mean that I should be wet and cold for being a jerk to you. I told you that I would ruin it," Ulki says dejectedly. "Leave me alone. You're breathing too loud." 

"What? I'm what too loud? What am I even supposed to do about that?" Rhys says, gesturing frantically with his hands. 

"How many times do I have to tell you to leave me alone?" snaps Ulki. 

Rhys stands up, perhaps a little too fast, and a bout of dizziness and fuzziness afflicts him before he can form words again. 

"Okay! You can sit there in your prison of your own making!" he says. 

"I will." 

"Fine!" 

Rhys walks slowly, taking glances behind him. With every one, he expects that he'll see Ulki standing up to follow him, but with every one, he remains a motionless lump on the ground. Rhys whips his head towards the road from where they came with an indignant huff, but his feet still drag. 

He's fine, he thinks to himself, ad nauseum. Apparently I'm breathing too loud, anyhow.

Ulki can definitely still hear him from this distance, hear him huffing and sighing and beating the grass off of his robes, all the little sounds that set him off when he's already irascible. Rhys wills himself to go farther down the road, against his instinct. Maybe getting out of earshot is what will make Ulki reconsider sitting alone sopping wet in a place that couldn't be farther from home. 

An apple orchard that spans the entire stretch of road that he turns on to signals that the fort is only a little ways off as the sun begins to hang low in the sky. A breeze cuts right through Rhys's clothing. Still, he watches for a cloud of dirt being kicked up from the road as Ulki lands on it from the air. 

Footsteps stop him. He turns around, hopeful, only to see Kieran marching down the road. 

Wait. What?! Oh, lovely. 

"Rhys! Why, I can't believe I didn't say something sooner! Those flowing white robes and your hobbling gait are simply unmistakable!" 

"Thanks." 

Kieran deftly ignores Rhys's flat response and strides up to him. "What's up, man? How have you been?" he blares. 

"I'm not in a good mood," says Rhys. 

"Why the long face? It's beautiful out! Probably one of the last warm days of the season. What's troubling you, my friend?" 

"Um... yeah, that's why. I get sick more often once it gets cold." 

"Enjoy the warmth while it lasts, then!" says Kieran, and splays his arms out like he's lying on the beach as he faces the setting sun. 

"I'm trying," says Rhys, without adding but my boyfriend is being pissy.

"Something preventing you?" 

"Well, obviously, it's going away." 

Kieran laughs heartily. "Ah, of course! The evening brings a foreboding chill! It poses a formidable challenge to cheer up with a kiss from a cold wind." 

"Can you just let me go home, Kieran?" Rhys snaps. 

"I'm coming with you!" 

"Whyyy?" Rhys whines. "Oscar isn't even there. What do you want?" 

"To cheer you up, of course! Just for the length of the walk. Come on, we haven't seen each other in a while!" says Kieran, linking arms with him. 

"I'll allow it if you let go of me," says Rhys, defeated. He can't deny the sentiment, and now there's no question about whether or not Ulki will show himself. 

"Deal!" And blessedly, Kieran lets go. 

"Thanks," says Rhys, sincerely this time. 

"So what are you doing out here? Have you got a day off from your work at the chapel?" Kieran asks as he already begins to outpace Rhys. 

"No, I decided that I don't care about children and safe magical practices anymore and abandoned my well-paying and rewarding job to stare at the lake for the rest of my life," says Rhys. "Yes, I took a day off!" 

"Okay! So I have got my work cut out for me cheering you up. Hah! It should be no problem for Captain Kieran," says Kieran, impervious. 

"I wouldn't be so sure. What are you doing out here, anyhow? Did you take a day off from your job?" 

"No! Never! I was simply returning after a day of standing guard at the town. But I am on duty for a new job: making you smile again!" 

"Sounds like General Geoffrey just wanted you out of his hair for a day," Rhys snides. 

"You wound me! Seriously, man, what is going on with you? Did you get into a fight with someone? Your tongue seems so... honed for battle today!" 

"No," Rhys lies. Well, it wasn't really a fight, was it? He crosses his arms, staring off as if the clouds will form themselves to spell out an answer. Well, the prison of your own making thing was kind of mean. And true. "Millet for brains" did kind of hurt. Maybe the details aren't important. 

It's quiet. First, he's washed over with relief, but when the bright reds of Kieran's hair and outfit catch the corner of his eye again, it dawns on him how miraculous it is. Almost as if Kieran's actually giving him the chance to tell the truth. 

"Yes," he says instead. "But it's none of your business." 

"None of my business! I suppose that's fair enough," says Kieran. 

This ray of reasonableness makes Rhys squint when it shines across his face. The garrison that he'd built to keep Kieran out now seems so disproportionately large compared to the tiny spat concealed within it. 

"It was kind of my own fault. I made everything worse," he sighs. 

"I doubt that! With your kind face? I believe you are too eager to blame yourself." 

"That's a separate issue. I did make it worse this time. It's not even a big deal. Ulki will get over it." 

Kieran's eyebrows perk. "What could you possibly have fought about? You two are, well... birds of a feather!" he says with a cheesy grin. 

"Shut up," groans Rhys. "I don't even know. We literally fought about nothing, now that I really think about it. I just didn't know that molting makes hawks so... moody!" 

"He always seemed moody to me!" Kieran says unhelpfully. 

"He doesn't like you." 

It seems to take Kieran a moment to actually recognize this possibility. "A truly pitiable predicament! Don't we both find our respective nations to be of utmost importance? We should be the best of friends," he says. 

"I can't even imagine a world where that's the case," says Rhys. He can't think of a more disastrous pair. 

Kieran sighs. "Now, this is in no way becoming of an honorable Crimean knight, but oh, Rhys... I am so jealous!" he says. 

"Well, you had your chance. Seriously. I really doubted myself," Rhys says with a self-effacing chuckle. "I'm sure if you had gotten in the habit of talking quieter, you might've been able to get him to warm up to you a little." Another lie, and for no real reason. 

"What? What are you talking about?" splutters Kieran. "No! My heart belongs to Crimea! I'm jealous of you for having experienced flight! If I may be quite honest, I find your feathered companion to be a little homely!" 

"I think his nose makes him look more birdlike!" says Rhys. Yep, Kieran's still mad about being told not to juggle axes while Rhys let himself be hurled hundreds of feet into the air. Well, maybe not hurled. Lifted. It can't possibly be a tenet of Crimean royal knighthood to hold a grudge for so long, can it?

"Verily! I just personally prefer clean-shaven men with normal-sized ears! I mean no insult," says Kieran. Maybe it is, and Rhys truly has no idea what it's like to be a Crimean royal knight. 

"Nice backtracking, you moron. They're not that big!" says Rhys. "What happened to your job of cheering me up?" 

"Forgive me! I am so forgetful," Kieran says solemnly. 

"Right. Forgetful," huffs Rhys. 

"Maybe one more flight before it gets cold will cheer you up, and you have no use for me," says Kieran. 

"Maybe," Rhys says frigidly, relieved to feel the stone path that leads directly to the fort under his feet. He doesn't even want to imagine how horribly a stint into the sky would go. 

"In that case, I hope you two work it out. Perhaps, then, when we cross paths again, you will be less cross!" says Kieran. 

"Thanks, Kieran. I'm sure it'll all smooth out," says Rhys as he turns the doorknob. "And thanks for a non-boring walk." 

"Anytime! Just call my name!" Kieran says proudly. "Although you even have someone who is easier to call from anywhere. For shame!" 

"You're sure you're not jealous of anything else?" 

"I said my heart belongs to Crimea!" Kieran calls as he begins to walk the other way, his stentorian voice echoing over the hills. 

"And to Oscar," Rhys mutters as he slips behind the door, low enough that Kieran doesn't hear it under his continuous blathering.

"I am only lamenting that my skills are inferior! Why, you should be jealous of my prestigious station in service to Her Majesty!" 

"See you around, Kieran," Rhys says dismissively through the sliver between the door and its frame, then puts a damper on his yelling with a slow turn of the knob, nearly reducing his blaring farewell to a reasonable volume. A sick relief grips Rhys as he leans against the door. 

"What wonderful friends I have," he thinks aloud, his voice a dusting of sound that hardly disturbs the sleepy fort. For as much as can go wrong, he physically cannot annoy Ulki as much as Kieran can. 

Chatter draws him to the kitchen, where the original three Greil mercenaries are gathered. Shinon has finally thrown on a sweater that doesn't have any stains on it, and sips some stinky alcohol that Rhys can't identify from his favorite cup. As he comes closer, he can hear Titania telling an enthralled Gatrie about her day at the chapel, though the strands of hair escaping from her braid tell him enough on their own. 

"Oh, Rhys!" she says warmly as he steps towards the table. "Did you enjoy your day off?" 

Despite her innocuous interest, Rhys instantly feels Gatrie's eyes poring over his scuffed clothes. 

"Uh... yeah. We had a good time, mostly," he says clumsily, realizing too late how that probably sounds to Gatrie, but not wanting to make her work today in vain. He sits down and picks at a streak of dirt. "How were the children today?" 

Titania laughs softly. "A handful. But I'm telling you that," she says. "I'm glad you'll be back at it after tomorrow; I'll say that. You've got more of a knack for this." 

Rhys swallows hard. "Sorry. I can get someone else to help tomorrow," he says. 

"Don't worry. You deserve this time to relax," she says. "You're still looking a little worn out. How about you have something to eat? We just cooked up some fish." 

"What?! I thought we were having cream of broccoli!" says Rhys. 

"Mist went to make it, but our broccoli had all turned yellow and mushy," says Titania. "Thankfully there was a bunch of striped bass and pike in the icebox." 

Rhys doesn't try to stifle the groan that comes out of him as he slumps in the chair. 

"Sorry. I know you like your soups," Titania says sheepishly. 

"I have all Winter to eat soup! Where are Boyd and Rolf? Didn't they tell you that I bought all of that? It was for Ulki..." Rhys complains. 

"Well, I don't see him!" Shinon says haughtily.

"Oh..." says Titania, the only one who shows remorse. "Oscar came by while you were gone and wanted to have dinner with Boyd and Rolf at the tavern." 

"Oh, for heaven's sake!" 

"Can you really be surprised? There's not much work for those fancy knights to do right now." 

"You two! Why didn't you say anything?" Rhys demands. 

"There's still a few left..." Gatrie says. "Maybe like, one or two." 

Rhys throws his hands in the air, tilting his head in the same direction to keep angry tears from sliding down his cheeks. "Whatever! I don't even care. Ulki doesn't even like striped bass and pike. Heavens above, I do not care. I hope it was delicious," he says. "Why are you all making this harder? I've never taken care of a molting bird before!" 

"Can't you just get some fish that he likes tomorrow?" says Shinon. 

"I hate you!" yells Rhys as he uses the last of his strength to stand up. 

"Love you, too, little Rhysie," says Shinon. "So much that I'm just trying to be helpful." 

"Cut it out, man," Gatrie says halfheartedly. 

"I'm going to bed!" Rhys declares. He could use some dinner, but with his luck today, he'll burn it or spill it, so he trudges off to his little room to finally be alone. He crawls into bed to lie down face-first, not even bothering to pull a blanket over himself or throw on some pajamas. Lying down is a relief, at least. 

"Do I have to fight everyone today?" he complains to no one, and lets the calling songbirds answer him from outdoors. 

Tomorrow will be better, he thinks, and grasps at any ideas on how to make that a reality. Any ideas besides throwing Shinon down a ravine, that is. It's a stressful endeavor. So many options, so many variables, so little time, so little patience. He sinks further into the mattress, his sole comfort. 

Maybe he'll go back and pay for Liz's next bug net, too, or he'll see Boyd and Rolf in the morning and fly into a blind rage. Plans scrawl themselves across his mind, fragments of sentences, beginnings of ideas, but salty tears smear the ink. Indecipherable splotches multiply upon themselves, mixing with memories. All alone. He doesn't just know how long a month is; he feels it. There's nobody to help him besides his own stupid self pawing around in the dark. 

A soft knock startles him. He doesn't budge. 

"You're still mad?"