Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

He stood far from the dock in his greens, staring as the workers loaded them with the supplies that could be scraped by. The Canaries themselves were lounging in the grass or ensuring there were certain products aboard, but none of them needed to warn him of the tall-man’s presence as Kabru strode up the patchy hill to stand beside him. Mithrun didn’t acknowledge him.

“Captain, do you mind coming with me for a moment?” Kabru asked, observing the boxes moved back and forth. “We can walk along the water so you don’t stray too far before you are meant to depart.”

He didn’t forget Mithrun’s ability, but was respectful in his offer regardless. Mithrun gave a stiff nod, following the tall-man as he gestured down the sloping landscape toward the jagged beaches to the south where the sun hadn’t quite hit yet.

They were quiet as they meandered along. Kabru was out of his adventuring gear, now in a blue coat with a brown belt tie. His face was cleaned of blood and dirt, much like Mithrun’s, but it still was strange to see. The past week had been busy since the dungeon collapsed, Falin was revived, and the Queen called them home. He had hardly seen Kabru, much less talked to him directly, so he could only imagine what he needed from Mithrun.

Not to talk to the Queen about the black magic.

To part with more of their supplies for cheaper than what Pattadol had set.

To tell Milsiril that her son apologies, but will never be able to return home like before now that his defiance and betrayal toward the Canaries would lead him into being a criminal: one now protected from charge and prosecution by Laios. Well, if the kingdom did develop and stand, he supposed Kabru would have less fears and would be able to move more freely as a diplomat; however, if things went awry here, Kabru would have nowhere to seek asylum. Mithrun hoped the man knew better than to ask him for such an assurance.

“So much happened,” Kabru said, and Mithrun could almost feel his brow twitch, believing Kabru was kicking around the intended subject, but then he continued, “and I’ve no one to talk about it to. Not between mitigating the sides of this situation, helping Laios and learning from Yaad while he’s around. It’s… odd.”

Mithrun supposed that made sense. Kabru wanted to vent. Nodding absently, Mithrun looked back out to sea when he stopped hearing Kabru’s steps. He shuffled around to look at the tall-man. A sheepish grin met his sight. “I know you have your duties as I’ll be full of mine, but I don’t have anyone to write letters to, and I want to hear from you again. Would you mind if I sent some to you?”

And of your family? Mithrun thought before pausing. That’s right— He mentioned something about that. He met Kabru’s gaze. He was tall and well-statured. Milsiril must have cared for him well enough that when he set out, truly on his lonesome, he managed just fine. If he remembered, he’d have to tell her about her son. “I’ve seen Utaya before.”

There was a shift in those eyes. Kabru’s smile faded to a small, knowing one. “You were there for the disaster?”

“I was not.” Kabru’s chin lifted ever so slightly. “I visited fifty years before it was destroyed. There were sandstone buildings, the fairest of them laden with intricate tiles that caught the sun in fragments. In the center of the city stood a bustling market adorned with handwoven rugas and specially crafted beadery. They had more spices than I had ever heard of before. I still cannot name them all.”

A laugh emerged from Kabru’s throat. There was a crinkle in the sides of his eyes that he rubbed with his knuckle, his gaze falling to the grass as a more genuine grin emerged. “You know, no one really talks about that anymore, but-” He licked his lips, daring to meet Mithrun’s indifferent gaze as he whispered, as though it was a secret worth holding close, “the booth on the right side, farthest from the posthouse– Mr. Bakshi, his name is– serves the best samosas. And, if you went on Sunday near nightfall, he’d discount them half price to get rid of old stock.”

Mr. Bakshi could have not been a thought, much less an adult man when Mithrun visited. Fifty years ago, he doubted there was such booth, much less something worth remembering beyond how much he had detested the sun and the heat in the desert climate. Still, Mithrun’s lips twitched as he processed Kabru’s words.

“Samosas,” he mused, his gaze drifting out over the ocean once more. “I don’t think I tried those.”

“I’d go back if I could,” Kabru continued, his voice softer now, more thoughtful. “I’m glad you got to see it.” Kabru let the silence hang for a while before he nudged Mithrun’s shoulder, breaking the stillness. “You should try a samosa sometime: even if it’s not from Bakshi’s booth. I think you’d like them.”

Mithrun doubted the thing to rekindle his desires would be whatever a samosa is, but Kabru was nothing if not relentless, even if the odds were invariably against him. “I’ll take your word for it, then.”

The moment passed, but it lingered—one of those rare, quiet exchanges between two people who had each lost something. Perhaps that’s why he wanted to send a letter. Mithrun didn’t care what he did. He could hardly bring himself to walk with the demon gone; he had no room for what others wanted to be factored into his day unless it was factual information like the need to eat, the urge to sleep, and other necessities that evaded him.

Before they turned to face the port again, Kabru muttered into the wind, “I’m happy no one will ever talk about Melini this way.”

Mithrun tilted his chin to catch his eye. “Then why are you crying?”

When they headed back, the Canaries were all waiting on the ship. Mithrun almost teleported himself on board without a word of dismissal, and even though no hand or word came from Kabru as it had multiple times in the dungeon to steer him right— Mithrun paused. He turned toward Kabru who had already been gazing at the ship as though it was expected that Mithrun would already appear there. The elf acquiesced that their time together had grown some level of familiarity, and yet it also blossomed something else because Mithrun found himself thinking of Kabru’s home, his family, and the letters that would be brought to him in the early hours of morning from this man he didn’t know more than a month ago, yet had already made him look back. Turn around. Think.

“I hope,” Mithrun began, his words faltering as he came to the unfortunate conclusion that he hadn’t really thought of what to say. For all Kabru has suffered, Mithrun knew better than to address it. To be pitied is to have your worth measured and be found lacking. Straightening his shoulders, Mithrun cleared his throat, “that life treats you kind.”

Kabru smiled. “Have a safe trip to the north, captain.”

He said it as though it was but a brief trip. Tallmen and their sentimental behaviors, he supposed, but he found his lips twitched upward all the safe before he teleported onto the ship.

Are you done saying goodbye to your tallman?” Otta’s remark hung in the air, but Mithrun dismissed it. There were more pressing things to focus on now such as what to make of their report when they arrived on the mainland.

Pattadol, already at the helm, gave him a brief nod of acknowledgement. “Everything’s ready. We were just waiting for you to finish.”

Mithrun offered a curt nod in return. “Let’s go.”

That was when his gaze landed on Kabru, still standing on the dock, watching them as the anchors rose. He didn’t wave or call out. Just waited, and Mithrun wasn’t sure why.

Lycion rolled his eyes as he slinked over to Mithrun, attempting to rest an elbow on the short elf’s shoulder, but the man was already beginning to move away without noticing Lycion’s actions. He walked to the door to the down-cabin, taking the handle in his hand. Fleki chimed in, shaking her head, “That Kabru. Poor guy.”

He disappeared down into the depths.

By quarter to noon, the estate garden’s had been promptly cleared for the gaggles of giggling elves that had planned, a year in advance, to host their stork party. Obrin had whittled himself down to the bone for preparations as his wife milled about, fanning herself and the distended swell of her stomach that reminded Mithrun far too much of ripping through intestines he’s teleported himself into to linger near her longer than to say words of well wishes and deliver upon her a gift he had selected.

He avoided joining the others in the gardens despite it being a well-attended event of past friends and old comrades. Instead, he headed up to his room to watch idly from his window, or perhaps to busy himself in the report he had yet to finish of post-dungeon Melini and how to capitalize on that land per the queen’s request at said information. There was a reason the report was months overdue.

However, at his desk, he found a waxed sealed envelope addressing him in the long-winded way: To The Former Captain of The Canaries, Mithrun of the House of Kerensil. He almost huffed at the way the words nearly ran off the face of the parchment.

Captain Mithrun,

Summer is coming, and one of the better times of year is upon us. After you dissolved from the Canaries, I’ve yet to hear word of what has become of you.

I appreciate the recipe you sent me last. My elvish needs to be brushed up, it appears– or my cooking abilities have yet to show improvement. It has come out a soggy mess once, and the other occurrence it was burnt to a crisp. The duality of these experiences has led me to conclude I must hold off from further experimentation until you arrive next. You can show me how it’s properly done.

You claim to be residing with your brother again. Naturally, the invitation is spread to him as well. I hope your desires lead you back soon.

Cordially, Kabru

The ship was smaller this time around. Mithrun, alone, stepped off with a knapsack and a separate sack filled with coins. When he finally stepped off the expanse of wood that made up the dock, Kabru stood there with two small wrappings in hand. Mithrun accepted one, dropping his bag to the ground to open it and observe the samosa tucked inside as the tall-man stooped down and picked up the forgotten baggage.

“I asked Senshi to prepare them for your arrival,” Kabru explained, slinging the bag over his shoulder. The treat crumbled between his teeth as Mithrun chewed, following the tallman wherever he deemed fit to guide him. When he swallowed, he took yet another bite before delivering his review.

“It’s nice. It’s hard to obtain some spices in the north, so I suppose I should have expected it to taste differently than I had envisioned.” He took another bite, but noticed Kabru had not touched his own. When he had finished, Kabru handed that one over as well with some words of a long voyage on his tongue. Mithrun accepted it upon raising his fingers to the sky, counting the digits between the horizon and the sun until he concluded that it was likely a good time to have a bigger meal.

“I noticed the same in your recipe. It is hard to get a hold of some of the ingredients, which may be the result of why mine have never turned out.”

“That is what I brought with me in case the kingdom was in a sorry state.” Mithrun dug into the next samosa. “We must source the poultry locally, however.”

“I figured as much and have already prepared all I could,” Kabru informed, gesturing with his hand toward the castle in the distance over the homes and shops around them. "I feel it most prudent you stay in the castle. I've had a room cleared for your stay, but I will offer to pay for your lodgings elsewhere if it suits you best."

Mithrun shrugged.

"Then you shall stay with me then. It'll be easier for you to teach me."

Chapter Text

For all his intentions to learn the recipe, Kabru beat around the bush more than he sat and read the script over. Mithrun settled his things within the room provided for him, across the hall from Kabru’s lodging in case he needed anything in the night. Kabru had stressed that– that Mithrun came straight to his room at whatever hour if he so much as needed to quench his thirst.

“Anything at all,” Kabru said, tapping the wood of his door as though each knock would drill its bland form into Mithrun’s mind. He supposed the young man was worried of Mithrun wandering and becoming lost in the boundless halls, perhaps even Mithrun scaring a resident or servant scurrying about the last of their chores before creeping off to bed themselves.

Mithrun, in a different world, would have dismissed Kabru to allow him time to adjust and unpack, but Mithrun no longer cared for unpacking or spending time breathing in a room, demanding silence after such a long and bustling voyage. Instead, he walked up to Kabru, stopping a few feet shy of his smile, and muttered, “You’ve changed.”

Kabru’s finger fell. “H… Have I, now?”

He almost looked embarrassed, smoothing a hand down his tunic as though scraping away those changes. “You lack the same darkness beneath your eyes. Your cheeks are rounded.”

Kabru settled a hand on his face, then smiled through his fingers. “Are you implying I’ve gained?”

Mithrun’s gaze lingered. Even through Kabru’s hand, he could notice the difference, but it hardly would suffice to say Kabru had taken on much more than he had as an adventurer. Even then, with what he saw now, it didn’t sound disgraceful. Kabru would never get to that point, would always deny himself, unless a bigger change occurred. Apparently defeating a demon wasn’t enough. Mithrun could understand the need to continue on after picking something up that could not be put down. “That hollowness has left them.”

Kabru’s hand remained up as his eyes shifted to the side in thought, then met Mithrun’s again. “You know, when we encountered the shapeshifters, you had hardly known the color of my hair, let alone the finer details.”

That was true. Though he hadn’t known Kabru long, even seeing him now Mithrun could nitpick. He stood a little straighter when not being weighed down by his armor and their packs, or Mithrun himself. His hair was longer, neater, and styled in just a way that still held his boyishness while also feeling intended. Not necessarily from his earlier seen facades Mithrun was familiar with within himself— but in a way that Mithrun felt Kabru would have had his hair like this if it wasn’t a potential hazard of being in the way should a lock fall over his eyes even when pushed back. If he hadn’t wanted that, and he was simply late to a cut, it’d be wise to take a second look and leave it for longer.

“There was plenty else to think about. I cannot remember details like those in my state, even if I tried.”

“But you just did,” Kabru pointed out. “You did without trying.”

“Ah.” Mithrun thought about when he had looked at Kabru– really, truly looked at him– and mostly came up blank. “By the tree, and before we set off. You came to talk to me.”

“You hardly looked at me back then,” Kabru muttered. Mithrun couldn’t recall if that was true or not, but Kabru hadn’t sounded bitter or gave any indication that he wanted Mithrun to figure it out on the spot, so Mithrun brushed it off. Clearly his throat, he gestured to Kabru. Upon receiving a rather blank stare, Mithrun uttered, “The letter.”

Kabru’s face turned ghastly for all of three seconds before he sighed out, “Oh, the recipe.”

Kabru had lost the recipe.

“Nothing to be done about it,” Kabru had said, giving up before ever suggesting looking for the sheet. It was only upon Mithrun’s offer to search his study with him that Kabru deemed the idea worth pursuing, leading the elf around the castle in a way that Mithrun felt anyone could get lost in before they arrived at what was his door.

Kabru tugged out an almost absurd ring of keys, flicking through them with disinterest, a task done over days, weeks, and months of a continuous cycle that required no label for any of the individual brass links.

Kabru unlocked the door with a casual flick of his wrist and pushed it open without ceremony, revealing a room that could only be described as a bibliophile’s worst nightmare. Piles of papers teetered at precarious angles, scrolls lay partially unfurled across every surface and piled of each other tangled, and books were stacked in haphazard towers that seemed to defy gravity. Atop the cluttered desk in the center of the room was a few quills and an ink pot. Mithrun paused at the threshold, his brow lifting as he surveyed the chaos.

Kabru glanced back at him, one corner of his mouth quirking upward. “Let’s forget it for now: I’ll find it tonight. Before you grow too weary, allow me to show you around the castle. It’d be a better use of your time.”

Mithrun stepped inside the study, but Kabru caught his wrist. Mithrun arched an eyebrow at the hand, but Kabru’s grip was firm, his exasperation clear as though it had taken enough patience of his to open the door alone.

“Really,” Kabru said, gesturing with his free hand toward the chaos. “You don’t want to get into this. It’s a trap. Allow me to start your visit on the right foot. Please.”

Mithrun held himself straight; Kabru didn’t budge, his eyes firmly set on Mithrun’s, waiting. There was a twist in his brow, the ends turned down in a pleading state that he couldn’t tell if it was a farce or genuine, but he supposed it didn’t matter. With a sigh, he stepped back from the threshold. “Very well.”

Kabru’s relief was palpable. “Thank you.”

As they walked down the corridor, Kabru’s wrist slipped to rest Mithrun’s hand in th crook of his elbow, a hand over Mithrun’s fingers as he guided him. Mithrun’s feet had not cooperated, heading determinedly in an undesirable direction, and this simple action corrected such an occurrence without delay, keeping Mithrun neatly tucked at his side so he didn’t have to think of where to go, only to amble alongside. Kabru must have remembered his pastime of being turned around, yet he made no joke of it as he mused out loud.

“There’s the terrace overlooking the east gardens. At this time of day, the light of the sun catches the fountains in a heavenly glow. It’s a rather nice place to take a knee and enjoy the quiet, or engage in conversation privately. Does that suit you?”

Mithrun wondered how often Kabru got out given how cluttered his work was. He gave a nonanswer. “I see.”

“There’s a winding tower to the west wing. It provides the most wondrous view of the land, though it is hardly visited.”

“Is that so?” Mithrun flexed his fingers against Kabru’s forearm.

“Not far from there, we have an expansive collection of arts-”

“Would it not be best to get me familiar with your kitchens?” Mithrun cut in. Kabru slowed at Mithrun’s interruption, leaning forward just a hair to gauge if he was serious, and even though Mithrun hardly ever bothered to hint toward his thoughts with his facial reactions, Kabru saw something that made his shoulders sag a fraction, his stare leveled in a bland, deadpan that did nothing to obscure his unamused thoughts.

“A tour of the kitchen is hardly the way I wish you to spend your day after travelling with such equally bland views. Open water holds the same monotony of the flames licking a pot to boil.”

“I’d expect your kitchens to be held in high regard. Man cannot live on arts and fine views alone,” Mithrun assured. He then thought for a moment. “Hardly would be allowable by Laios to have it lacking.”

Kabru appeared conflicted as he battled through his next retort. He made a decisive turn in the hall that told Mithrun they were certainly not going to the kitchens. He couldn’t tell: he couldn’t even lead back to Kabru’s office, let alone either of their rooms. How funny that was after Kabru had made such a commotion in his knocks to help drill the door into Mithrun’s mind, but it had looked like any other door. “We will spend all of tomorrow in that cluttered space, fear not. I want to show you the nicer things in the meantime. We have plenty to offer here; please allow me to be your guide.”

“I didn’t realize we were starting my stay with courtship,” Mithrun shot back, his tone dry. When Kabru fell silent, Mithrun had come to accept his clear joke had somehow been missed by the man. How much the court must have rotted him to take everything Mithrun said to heart given all they had known of each other: he knew very well how ill-suited he was for such a suggestion that the absurdity should have garnered a chuckle.

Then again, Kabru himself had yet to take a bride. Perhaps he was overly sensitive; he was at the age tallmen typically wed, wasn’t that right? So Mithrun making a jab, even clearly toward himself and his own imperfections, could have reminded Kabru of his own clear hand. That said, any reason Kabru wasn’t already wed had to rely on the man’s own choice. He was attractive, charming, dishonest but not in a harmful way that men in power tended to be— Mithrun supposed they’d be equivalent if compared to Mithrun in his prime, and he had received marriage proposals before he was even eligible as a prospect. Then again, depending on how long Kabru resided with the elves, he might have not been pursued much. Elves tended to keep tallmen as playthings over partners.

“Lead the way, then, to whatever lofty tower or gilded gallery you think might charm my visit.”

Kabru’s back straightened. They continued on until they met a lengthy staircase. Mithrun took the lead, climbing them with ease as Kabru followed, his steps sounding heavy in his ears. Perhaps he had gained since the dungeon. If that had been the matter, Mithrun wondered how Kabru’s previous body had been able to push as far as he made it. Now, he appeared healthy. His skin glowed differently in the daylight.

“Beyond that matter,” Kabru offered after some time. “I haven’t heard much of you in our letters. Surely, you’ve stories to share. I’d like to know all that I’ve missed.”

Mithrun glanced over his shoulder. Kabru was already watching him. Mithrun turned bac to face the ascending stairs. “You assume I’ve had an interesting life outside the dungeon.”

“I’m sure you have something worth telling. You’ve nothing of Obrin? No tales of your departure from the Canaries? No misadventures of yours? Or are you being modest?”

Mithrun smirked faintly at the man’s probing– but didn’t reply. The conversation trailed off as they reached the top of the staircase and stepped onto the balcony. The soft, golden light of the late afternoon bathed the east gardens below much as Kabru had told him when they strolled through the halls below. Flowers in full bloom stretched toward the sun, and the fountains sparkled as their waters cascaded in rhythmic elegance alongside butterflies that fluttered about with joyous ease. Mithrun could spot stone-like structures that reminded him of his handiwork. Briefly he wondered if they were his own creations, but they looked much nicer than any Melini man he embedded into a wall during his first visit.

Mithrun approached the railing, resting his hands lightly on the smooth stone edge where wandering tropic jasmine grew. He wondered if it was one of Marcille’s projects. It’d need to be taken in before the first frost.... He surveyed the view, his usual guard relaxing as he gazed past the land and to the sea, and all the space between where cows grazed, shepards laid, and carriages took stall for a meal.

Kabru stepped to his side, hands held behind his back. He didn’t look at Mithrun, instead turning his gaze to the scenery, his shoulders straight and his posture tall. “I thought it worth the climb. Do you?”

Mithrun found his gaze not straying after his initial turn away from the nature sprawled out before them, watching Kabru instead of the garden's stillness. The way the sunlight caught the subtle angles of his face and highlighted his features made him appear strikingly different from the Kabru Mithrun had first encountered—less worn, more assured. He had been right, but in the direct daylight it was unmissable. Kabru had changed.
Kabru noticed the silence and turned his head slightly, catching Mithrun’s gaze. “What is it?” he asked, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

Mithrun blinked, his focus shifting back to the gardens. “Nothing.”

Chapter Text

It was difficult. It shouldn’t be: he should be able to look down the row of doors and point Kabru’s out with no hesitation, but here he stood just as the sun was rising from the horizon, and he was lost. He knew Kabru had made sure to knock on the door several times over to drill it wordlessly into his head, and now Mithrun had to come to terms with his lacking memory hindering him from wherever Kabru is sleeping.

Mithrun let out a sigh, scanning the line of identical doors once more as if the act alone might make one of them jump out at him like a beacon. The warm stream of the sunrise casting in through the far windows offered no help in deciphering where Kabru’s room might be, not casting it in a heavenly glow nor shining solely on one door, and though that was natural, it still bugged the irate elf. Frustration simmered beneath his otherwise calm demeanor. Deciding he had no better option, Mithrun raised his fist and knocked loudly on the first door, the sound echoing sharply in the quiet hallway. A few moments passed with no answer. He moved to the next door, repeating the process, his patience waning as he made his way down the line. By the third door, he heard a muffled groan followed by shuffling from inside. The door cracked open to reveal a sleepy, swaying Kabru, his disheveled hair falling in loose waves around his face and his eyes narrowing as he took in Mithrun standing in the hallway.

Kabru leaned against the doorframe, a knowing look in his eyes as he nodded at Mithrun, his tongue poking just from his lips. “You didn’t remember, did you?”

Mithrun straightened his back with a roll of his shoulders. He didn’t deign that an answer, instead tilting his head pointedly to the side. “Are you ready to start cooking?”

His confident smirk dropped in moments, wide eyes taking place as he looked down the hallway. Mithrun tilted his head, following his gaze down the hall, but found nothing. When he returned to facing the man, Kabru had a hand up to his lips and he coughed. “I’m sorry, I think I’m coming down with something.”

Mithrun froze. He blinked, wavering for a moment before meeting the tallman’s gaze once again.

“Sick?” he echoed, the single word carrying an unspoken note of disbelief as he watched those two blue eyes, clear as the outside sky as they always were. There was no redness or puffy look beneath them, his ears weren’t tilted downward, his breathing wasn’t shallow– But then again, this was a tallman. Did sickness present differently? Mithrun wasn’t… entirely certain. Kabru looked healthy, but then again, he couldn’t tell the doors apart from Kabru’s specific one a moment ago. He had thought he had a good idea on what Kabru looked like, but now he had doubts on that as well.

Kabru nodded, shifting his weight awkwardly from one foot to the other as he pulled away from his door frame. “Yeah, it hit me out of nowhere. One minute I was fine, and now…” He trailed off, f gesturing vaguely to himself. “Probably shouldn’t risk getting germs all over the kitchen. Instead, we can go outside and get some air? Maybe visit the town and-”

Mithrun stepped forward, closing the distance between them. Kabru’s lips stuttered to a halt, breath fettering as he fell back a step in surprise, but Mithrun followed him through, their feet brushing as he invaded the man’s space, eye narrowed to examine him closer as he reached up.

Without a word, he raised a hand to Kabru’s forehead.

“What—” Kabru started, his voice pitching slightly higher, but the rest of his protest died in his throat as Mithrun’s cold palm pressed firmly against his forehead. Mithrun’s own lungs caught when Kabru bent his neck a little, pushing against Mithrun’s palm just enough for him to notice it alongside the stain in Kabru’s cheeks. In fact, Mithrun realized in shock, Kabru was burning up a concerning amount. His fingers trembled as he pulled away, eye darting across Kabru in panic as the man continued to stand upright, still smiling lightly and acting normal compared to his… How was he able to stand? Were tallmen that hardy in sickness?

“You’re feverish,” Mithrun whispered, his tone growing firmer as he removed his hand and gave Kabru a once-over. “You should’ve said something earlier. You need rest.”

The elf stepped out of his pace, but only to give himself more room to begin pacing, his expression shifting from skepticism to genuine concern. He didn’t know where to fetch the nurses. Did they have any? What of their mages? Certainly someone could tend to him well– Mithrun hardly knew how to mend sicknesses himself: those usually had to be taken care of slowly, not in an instant like the healing spells Mithrun knew.

“Should I fetch water? No, an ice bath. And you should rest—no, blankets will only make things worse.”

Kabru’s mouth opened, then closed. He stared at Mithrun, his lips pulled in amusement despite Mithrun finding hardly any of this funny, but he seemed to be relaxed as he held up a hand, “Captan, please.”

Mithrun paused. He hadn’t dealt with anyone in this kind of severe state in a while. Perhaps it was Obrin who he had cared for last, but his health was rarely so bad– when he was feverish, it only felt like a slight change on his forehead— Kabru’s case was much more dire, and there wasn’t much he knew how to do about it. “What do you need? Yes… Yes, perhaps you are right. You need to rest.”

Kabru sighed, scrubbing a hand down his face. His ears weren’t downturned, but they were indeed red as he shook his head. “I’m fine! Really, I’m just not at full strength today. No need to worry.”

Mithrun sighed at Kabru’s continued mistreatment toward his own health, saving the majority of his chastising for a different date when the man wasn’t in an awful state. He settled on an amicable, pointed statement that could not be refuted. “You’re clearly unwell.”

“I’m not unwell.” Well, it seemed irrefutable, but Mithrun has been proven wrong on some things before. Kabru gestured vaguely at himself, searching for the right words as he sighed. “Tallmen just… run hotter. It’s normal. It’s really not a big deal.”

As true as that might have been, Kabru still admitted to not feeling well. He might not want to worry Mithrun, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t in need of some type of treatment. Perhaps soup? Cold soup? When Mithrun got sick in his youth, he would not raise a hand for days and have all his whims tended to within his bed. Realistically, Kabru wouldn’t be so docile and needy. Mithrun wouldn’t mind remaining perched on a chair beside his bed, ringing out new clothes to drape over his eyes and testing broth to ensure it was an appropriate temperature and had enough mana-thick ingredients in–

That’s right. When Mithrun was ill, or experiencing similar symptoms, it chalked up to being an issue of depleted mana. Kabru was able to cast spells– perhaps he had been doing more given Mithrun was arriving and simply overexerted himself? He did appear eager to impress Mithrun the other day with the accomplishments they’ve made in Melini; it wasn’t unfathomable that Kabru wanted to be praised for his magical abilities as well. He huffed, smiling a little at Kabru’s antics before his hand shot up to clamp around the back of Kabru’s neck, his fingers threading through locks of his dark hair.

Before Kabru could protest—or even process the sudden movement—Mithrun tugged him down with honed strength that belied his lean frame. Kabru stumbled forward, an abrupt, breathy moan falling past his lips that was replaced with a grunt when their foreheads knocked together.

“Capt- I-” Kabru began, but his words caught in his throat when Mithrun’s other hand rose, clasping one of Kabru’s flailing, tense one. The smooth pads of Mithrun’s fingers brushing against his twitching knuckles as if coaxing him into calm reprieve, mimicking the handholds he knew from his childhood.

“Relax,” he murmured.

Kabru blinked, his breath hitching before he drew out a solid breath. He leaned against Mithrun in a stiff sort of way that reminded Mithrun more of himself than of Kabru. “What are you doing?”

Mithrun closed his eyes, his brow furrowing in concentration. “Sharing mana,” he said simply as he tried to pour some of his reserves over. He could feel the gentle suckling of Kabru’s aura feasting off the droplets he gave over, not trying to overwhelm the man too much when he wasn’t certain how much Kabru could take before becoming mana-drunk. He couldn’t imagine the man could tolerate much: he didn’t use mana often from what Mithrun knew– again, he could be mistaken. Tallmen typically didn’t have the capacity for much regardless, and sharing wouldn’t hinder Mithrun’s abilities for the time being. He had plenty to spare.

Kabru’s hand entwined with his. “Why?”

Mithrun didn’t answer immediately, his grip on Kabru’s hand tightening ever so slightly in case he tried to distance himself. A subtle warmth began to seep into his body, originating from where Kabru’s palm rested against his. It wasn’t an unpleasant sensation, far from it—if anything, it felt soothing, like sinking into a hot bath after a long day. Kabru’s affliction might be a remedy to his own malfunctioning body. He almost cracked a chuckle at the thought, but annoyance trickled in.

He kicked Kabru’s foot as a tingling spiraled down his head and hand, travelling to his chest where it swelled and burned like a fire in the dark. It was muted still– most things were– but he wasn’t stupid. “Stop that.”

Kabru jolted, shoulders hiking as he uttered, “Stop what?”

Mithrun opened his eyes and leveled Kabru a deadly glare. “Stop returning mana. I’m giving what I don’t need to you; I don’t need any in exchange.”

Kabru blinked, his brows knitting together as he shifted, his hair tickling the bridge of Mithrun’s nose. “I’m not returning any.”

Mithrun frowned. He slid his eye closed for a fraction longer, focusing as much as he could on their connection, the feel of Kabru against him; Yet, despite Kabru’s claim, the warmth persisted. Mithrun’s lips pressed into a thin line, his thoughts churning. Was this some sort of reaction he wasn’t aware of between tallmen when sharing mana? An incidental return or some abnormality in Kabru’s physiology, actively trying to give all it could just like the man himself despite what was best to keep him running? It was either that or Kabru was lying because there's no other explanation for this fuel in his limbs and stirring in his chest besides mana.

Before Mithrun could dissect the sensation further, Kabru leaned in, his breath ghosting across Mithrun’s cheek. He nuzzled against Mithrun’s temple with a subtle, catlike movement, the gesture so unexpected that Mithrun’s eye shot open, staring wide-eyed at the tallman who sank into his hold, his own lids already drawn down and not observing the incredulous look on the elf’s face.

“Fine,” Kabru murmured, low and soothing, as though trying to lull Mithrun into dropping the subject entirely. “I’ll stop then. Just do what you’d like.”

Mithrun’s body stiffened, his sharp silver eye narrowing as he tried to piece together what Kabru meant. Stop what? If Kabru wasn’t returning mana anymore, then why did Mithrun still feel like energy was still freely flowing between them? The warmth hadn’t dissipated either—in fact, it seemed to billow with unrestrained force like embers sparking life against flint.

“I don’t—” Mithrun started, but his words faltered as Kabru drew back just enough to meet his gaze, his expression a careful mask of innocence that Mithrun didn’t trust for a second. He was definitely playing some sort of game. Mithrun didn’t think they had much of a relationship for games, or teasing of such a strange kind.

“Relax,” Kabru said. “I said I’d stop.”

Mithrun stared at him, trying to discern what was occurring. The blush on Kabru’s cheeks and the faint smirk tugging at the corners of his lips only added to Mithrun’s growing suspicion toward it indeed being something Kabru was doing for amusement. He rolled his eye.

“Fine,” Mithrun said at last, his voice clipped as he released Kabru’s forehead and stepped back. He turned his gaze away, his arms crossing over his chest as he tried to shake the lingering sensation. “Are you feeling better?”

“I don’t feel entirely right still, but thank you,” Kabru admitted, and Mithrun resisted the urge to hit him given it was entirely Kabru’s fault for returning the mana he didn’t needto– “Maybe we could hold off on the recipe today. Go out for some fresh air like I mentioned before. The gardens, perhaps?”

Mithrun’s frown deepened, though not from displeasure. He studied Kabru for a moment, examining his form. Kabru’s posture was relaxed, his expression calm– he didn’t lean or look unwell. He’d be fine in the gardens, and Mithrun could teleport him back with ease if he needed to bring him back to his room in an instant… After figuring out where his room is.

“If you insist,” Mithrun relented. “We can cook tomorrow.”

Mithrun extended an arm out toward Kabru regardless of his assessment proving it was unneeded. He supposed it was partially muscle-memory from living with and assisting Obrin. “If you’re feeling unsteady, rely on me. Come on.”

Kabru’s gaze flickered to Mithrun’s offered arm, and something unreadable passed over his face before he stepped closer, sliding his hand into the crook of Mithrun’s elbow. His grip was light, almost hesitant at first, before settling into something firmer but still comfortable. Mithrun wondered if his own arm had felt like this the previous day. He laid a hand over Kabru’s, eyebrows drawn tight when he noticed that feeling of mana once again. That Kabru, he thought as he led them down the hallway with a sigh.

“You seem eager to avoid the kitchen,” Mithrun commented after a while as he moved to hold the heavy door open for the man. “I’d hope you’d be less frightened of my abilities at this point.”

Kabru’s smile turned sheepish as he gave a little bow, then entered into the gardens. “I fear not what you can do.”

He hadn’t said what he had feared though.

Chapter Text

There was no space between Mithrun waking and him finding himself roaming the halls until he met eyes with a meeker looking maid who he approached to ask for the direction of the kitchens. He had paused after she had spoken, and a bead of sweat accumulated on her brow until he shook his head gruffy and told her instead to take him directly to the stoop. She did as asked– hadn’t said a lick of a word in their journey across the palace’s insides, then scurried off once he could hear the heavy clatter of pots and pans jamming against each other and telltale curses off the lead chef's lips.

He had not remembered the recipe– he really hadn’t known any of it off the top of his head, but he was determined today to start on what he came there to accomplish, just as Kabru had wished of him: to help him learn how to cook whatever it was Mithrun had given him.

Upon being giving approval by the chef to stow himself, sequestering himself to a tiny corner of the kitchen, Mithrun began to prepare two stations side by side. He set a good amount of pots under the table so they’d be ready as needed, then idled for a moment before realizing he likely had more time to kill than he anticipated when it came to waiting for Kabru to awaken. He had been terribly ill the past day despite the brave face he put on, and Mithrun was in no rush to push him back onto both feet and force him to start dicing vegetables.

And speaking of vegetables, Mithrun went to gather ingredients he thought would prove to be useful. Salt, pepper, butter– the basics he could sneak away with without having to respond for his thievery within the kitchen. Onions, carrots and celery could make the mirepoix needed as a base for most things: gravy, soups, sauces— but Mithrun’s head came up blank whenever he tried to remember what the recipe said exactly.

Regardless, onions were rather universal, and he snagged three for good measure to dice at his convenience as he waited around for his lethargic partner. As he passed the rest of the food storage with the vegetables in hand, he paused upon catching a striking red out of the corner of his eye. Without intention, his steps faltered and he spun on his heel to examine the basket of the tightly pulled skin of a group of fresh tomatoes, still glistening from when they were rinsed from the garden.

A distinct thought crossed his mind: There were tomatoes in the dish. He couldn’t recall what they were: diced, concasse, puree, coulis, confit– He racked his brain trying to recall every which way the ingredient could be prepared, but nothing of that type would stir into his head and yell the answer out at him. In fact, on further thought and with a hopeless smile falling onto his lips– Mithrun was certain he only knew it had tomatoes in it because it was a recipe he had given Kabru. He wouldn’t give him something without tomatoes; that wouldn’t make sense.

And how strange, he thought in jest, to have forgotten so much, to care so little enough to make note of things that mean enough that Kabru would request his presence for helping create such a thing as that recipe– all of which was lost to Mithrun, unable to hold a scrap of interest or desire to recall such details– but he could always remember that whatever he had given the tallman, it had tomatoes because Mithrun had given that recipe to Kabru.

He had taken nearly the entire basket because, as far as he was concerned, the more tomatoes meant the better the dish would turn out. He guided his knife along the tops, cutting out where they had been plucked off the stem as he waited. He hadn’t needed to wait long until Kabru barraged in, frazzled with uncombed hair as he rushed over to where Mithrun was working patiently, not at all urging him to rush or teasing him for being tardy. Still, Kabru had almost looked devastated. Given a moment to clarify, Mithrun was certain he could chase that look away by ensuring him that he hadn’t actually started without him, but Kabru beat him to it.

“You're… cooking.”

Mithrun raised an eyebrow. “As I’ve come here to do, yes.”

Kabru’s shoulders sagged a little. Had his sickness kept him up? Mithrun had the mana to spare, but it’d be useless if Kabru simply handed it back over as he had done the day prior. Stubborn man.

“You’ve more than enough time that you are giving yourself room for,” Kabru said in that coaxing way of his, one that had previously laid Mithrun down, stripped him of his armor and given him massages until he fell asleep with two nods of his head. Mithrun’s skin stood on end from his nerves when Kabru’s hand laid over his forearm. It had covered a good amount of Kabru’s sleeve. He had always been bigger, Mithrun knew that, but seeing the size of those palms after being away from the dungeon for so long struck him momentarily. Had Kabru always been this size, with these hands? Had they always radiated such warmth without the tackiness of sweat?

Mithrun raised an eyebrow as he tore his gaze from Kabru’s hand to look him in the eyes. “I’m doing as promised. You asked for me to come and prepare this dish with you.”

“Yes,” Kabru sighed, “but don’t feel it necessary to rush out the door. You are welcome to stay longer.”

“Stay longer?” Mithrun paused. He mulled the thought over in his head. Stay longer for what? Prolong the recipe for… Kabru’s healing? If he wasn’t feeling well, he could forget everything Mithrun showed him, and then request his presence again sheepishly not two months later. That would be a hassle for the busy advisor, though Mithrun had little to fill his own schedule with in these recent days. He could drop by when the sea was fair and quelled from its raging autumn when the winds shifted and caused them to stir from their lulling slumber.

“Forget it,” Kabru butted in, dismissing the thought entirely with a swift shake of his head. “What I mean to say is that I don’t wish you to rush into cooking just so you can walk right back onto the nearest ship. You can take a few days to relax, to familiarize yourself and to see all that has changed. I’d like to… I wanted to spend more time with you before you head north once more. If you decide to go back.”

“Have I not already seen what I needed to have seen?” Mithrun asked in turn, tilting his head as he took a step closer to Kabru. The man’s hand pressed into Mithrun’s arm unintentionally. It felt so warm. Mithrun’s mouth felt dry. “You’ve shown me the gardens, you’ve shown me your food, and a little of the old town now rebuilt. What else is left in this kingdom that I must so desperately see?”

Kabru didn’t appear to have an answer, but there was defiance in his gaze. Mithrun waited, holding it in his sight until Kabru looked away and a drop settled in the elf’s stomach. It felt uncomfortable. It felt like he had misspoke, but he had not. That was all there was to it.

“And how did you feel about it?”

Mithrun furrowed his brow. “How did I feel about what? The gardens?”

“The food, the town, the gardens, the palace” Kabru listed, rolling his knuckles as though symbolizing a million things at once. “You hadn’t spoke much of the north… Does it compare?”

Mithrun pursed his lips. “The north has gardens. It has it’s own food; it’s own town.”

“And so they are the same?” That wasn’t quite right. Mithrun shook his head.

“There’s something different about them, but I have admittedly not studied either of their places extensively,” Mithrun admitted, then blandly added, “I wasn’t paying much mind to anything you showed me. I didn’t know I’d be tested.”

Kabru’s shoulders sunk again as he brought his hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Is that so?” Kabru exhaled. “So none of it left an impression on you?”

Mithrun hesitated. His first instinct was to say no, to shrug off the question like it didn’t matter. But that wasn’t entirely true– Or at least, he didn’t think it was The gardens had smelled fresh, familiar in a way he hadn’t expected. The town had been different from what he remembered—rebuilt, reshaped, but still holding echoes of something old. And the food… He had eaten slowly, taking in every flavor, every texture, lingering on the taste longer than he meant to. He had noticed things. He had felt something. He was mostly focused on Kabru and his description of things, the way his eyes lit up, the smile he’d cast Mithrun as he showed him whatever he had been apparently dying to present to Mithrun.

“It was nice,” he said finally. “Pleasant enough.”

Kabru hummed, tilting his head as if weighing the words. “Just nice?”

Mithrun shifted, arms crossing over his chest. “Would you rather I weave poetry about it? I don’t recall all that much. I don’t mean to disappoint you.”

“No, I wouldn’t expect that of you, though I say the thought does intrigue.” He paused, glancing at Mithrun with something quieter in his expression now—less expectant, more thoughtful. It faded as his eyes shut and he exhaled as though physically dropping the subject, but he still managed out a quiet. “I suppose I just wanted to know if any of it felt like home to you.”

Mithrun blinked.

Home?

The word settled strangely in his chest, something foreign, something he hadn’t let himself consider in years. The sea, budding dungeons and barracks had been his constant, but not something he could call with such familiarity and comfort. Sure, more recently he’d been staying with Obrin and his growing family, but that wasn’t his home. He was squatting there, if anything, as he figured out his next move, his next purpose. And before that… Before that, he had his parent’s home. Mithrun was certain that’s not what Kabru had meant.

He glanced away. “Why does such a thing matter?”

Kabru studied Mithrun for a moment. “Because I’d like it if you did.”

Mithrun inhaled slowly, the weight of the conversation pressing down on his back. He shook his head, dusting off the residue of feeling as he turned on his heel to look back toward the tomatoes he gathered. He cleared his throat. “We should get started on the recipe.”

Kabru grabbed his wrist.

Mithrun paused, his eye sliding down to look at where that hand held him, but he didn’t tug away. He remained still as Kabru whispered, low and urgent, “Tomorrow. Please.”

Kabru called for a carriage to take them into town where he showed Mithrun the market stalls and, eventually, the streets at night with faded yellows bleeding from window sills and onto the streets. Kabru kept a hand on Mithrun’s back to keep him steady as the day wore on, and Mithrun found it bothersome to have to tell the man he could walk fine on his own. He leaned into the touch instead.

Chapter Text

Kabru was quick with a viable excuse today. “We cannot use the kitchens today. We are preparing for guests from a neighboring kingdom and cannot occupy the table room they desperately need.”

“I am a guest from a neighboring kingdom,” Mithrun said with little defiance, for he rolled over when Kabru simply gave him a look that told him enough: that they would not be cooking today either. That was fine– Mithrun had sat up the night before after refusing Kabru’s massages, he already had walked with Kabru the majority of the day whilst touching, and instead of sleeping right away, Mithrun made some lists of things a tallman might get sensitive about such as being reminded of their short lifespan, garden views, easily obtained sicknesses, wishes to see the town once again as if he didn’t live not a hitched cart ride away.

Instead of protesting the change from their promised baking day, Mithrun replied immediately with, “Well then, I would like to shop for the day.”

“Yes, it’s very tragic and-” Kabru droned before his posture snapped upright, “Wait, huh?”

“I would like to go shopping today.” Obrin had left him a generous sum in his purse before he left the continent. It’d been a long time since Mithrun was trusted with his money freely: it wasn’t from fear he’d spend it all and be careless to remember what he had– He had no desires to spend money, after all— but it was more so a precaution took due to his caretakers and the criminals he needed to work alongside. He was never trusted with too much on any certain occasion to thwart thieves from making way with his hard-earned gold, but… If Mithrun were more honest and had reason to admit it to Obrin, he was certain anytime he lost his wallet that it wasn’t a thief, but him forgetting it in odd places until someone would pick it up to keep.

Mithrun watched Kabru’s face carefully, waiting for some scoff or reluctant groan as he had been himming and hawing at all of Mithrun’s thoughts and opinions so far on this trip— but instead, Kabru lit up. His blue eyes shone like deepwater lagoons touched with playful waves of sunlight, and a wide, genuine grin broke across his face that wasn’t schooled in like the others Mithrun was more familiar with. This was the kind that made him look younger, boyish, and a little too charming for Mithrun’s comfort. Had he looked the same when he was whole? No, there wasn’t a possibility. He’s never been as alive as Kabru is.

“Shopping? What an excellent idea. I’m happy that our visit yesterday inspired you so much. Was there something there you wanted to grab?” Kabru said, stepping forward and hooked his arm through Mithrun’s and resting the elf’s hand on his stable arm, the top covered by one of his hands. Mithrun blinked, caught off-guard as Kabru tugged him toward the door in mindful nudges forward.

“I can walk perfectly fine by myself, you know,” Mithrun said, tilting his head up at him with a faint smile, the protest more perfunctory than genuine given Kabru seemed to want to prove himself some type of gentleman to someone. Maybe there was someone’s attention he was trying to gain by showing his sweet nature. Whatever the matter, Mithrun leaned against him subtly, leaning the burden onto Kabru who took his extra weight in stride.

Kabru just chuckled under his breath, giving his arm a squeeze. “I'm being polite. What would I do if I lost you, and with your sense of direction?”

Mithrun huffed a soft breath of laughter, amused despite himself.

“You’d manage somehow, I’m sure,” he said, voice dry but lacking real bite. He let Kabru lead him, the taller man’s warmth seeping through the layers of his clothes where their arms were joined as they made their way, presumably, to the outside. He supposed Kabru was right. Tallmen ran warm.

Kabru leaned down to whisper against Mithrun’s ear. “But if I don’t let you go at all, we won’t need to cross that bridge.”

Mithrun froze, breath hitching and… a tightness gripped around his heart. He wasn’t sure he’d heard correctly because that was a distinctly un-Kabru like thing to say– it was reminiscent of someone he’d rather not spare the thought effort toward, but the warm, earnest tone he used in spite of such a possessive statement left little room for misinterpretation. His heart gave a peculiar little skip against his still ribs and his eyebrows drew in tight. Ah. So the work of a lady killer. It felt less fun when the shoe was on the other foot and he knew how the game went: flirty lines delivered with the ease you gain as you get used to getting what you wanted, a little too smooth, a little too rehearsed. Mithrun looked up to shoot a dry comment about how Kabru would really need to try harder to get such a thing to work on anybody, and that’s coming from someone so detached he couldn’t understand his own desires when he was developing them– Except… Kabru didn’t look like Mithrun had. He lacked that confident, lazy smirk that came naturally with the delivery of such a charged line, not like a cat before a buffet of willing mice, not like someone expecting to win. He only smiled.

Mithrun swallowed and forced his feet to keep moving, though they felt strangely heavy now, like he was wading through a bog. His pulse had gone traitorous, thudding a little too eagerly under his skin, and he hated that Kabru could probably feel it in how tense his arm had gone. What was this? Being exposed to such naivety? Such innocence? Kabru? Being either of those things? Clearly, Mithrun wasn’t thinking clearly to arrive at such a conclusion.

He tried for a laugh. He felt winded. “You can’t expect such a thing to work. You will need to try better for others.”

Kabru didn’t flinch. He kept their pace steady, guiding them through the dim hallway. After a moment, Kabru hummed thoughtfully. “You think I don’t know better.”

Yes, entirely. “That’s not what I said.”

“It’s what you meant.”

Mithrun frowned, unsure whether he was annoyed, cottonmouthed still from Kabru’s audacity to say such a line to someone like him of all people, or at the fact that Kabru wasn’t backing down as per usual. Even when he did seem to let a subject lie or promise to approach it later, Kabru never truly put it down and when the conversation would veer that way again, he’d almost eagerly offer opinions or new methods. Mithrun didn’t hate his foresight.

“Don’t be wasteful,” Mithrun replied. “You don’t need to offer your charm to me; I enjoy you without the unnecessary flattery.”

Kabru paused their stride. Mithrun hesitated for a moment, considering the feeling in his chest before he nodded. “Yes, I prefer you without it, I think. I like you already.”

The words slipped out before he could decide to dress them up, to protect them in a familiar wrap of uncertainty, always making sure to mend any blow in case he didn’t actually feel that way, in case he was misinterpreting a desire, just in case of anything, really. Kabru’s hand tightened on him. Mithrun noted their still forms side by side and tried to say something dismissive to continue them along, but Kabru cut him off. “Mithrun.”

Mithrun turned to look up, his eye widening as Kabru reached out and set two fingers up on chin. Mithrun blinked, ears battered twitching low as his chin was guided upward, following his turn until he met Kabru’s eyes. He glanced between them, eyebrows drawing in tight at his friend, who stared down at him in such a way that had Mithrun’s mind racking for ideas and understanding. Why was he looking at Mithrun like that? Who could look at him like that at all?

Mithrun’s breath quickened as Kabru leaned close, and Mithrun felt his fingers go numb. EH knew this just as well as any flirtatious line or attempt of sneaking onto someone’s good side. There was no mistaking the way his eyes softened, the way Kabru’s breath brushed warm and close against his own stuttering, chapped lips.

The realization hit like a dropped stone to the stomach.

In a blind flash of panic, the mana within Mithrun’s chest hiccupped. Without a bat of an eye, Mithrun suddenly was not a hand's distance away from the tallman: he was flush against him. Well, there was no universe in which that was intended.

Chest-to-chest, their limbs tangled awkwardly from where Kabru had been reaching, the air stolen from Mithrun’s lungs by the sudden, humiliating proximity and how his face was half-buried in the crook of Kabru’s neck, his palms planted against warm fabric on his chest that gave beneath his fingers.

Mithrun made a strangled sound and shoved at Kabru’s chest, but his heel caught on Kabru’s boot. The world tilted. He fell back, crashing to the floor in a heap of limbs and scuffed dignity, far too late for Kabru’s lagging arms reaching instinctively to catch him. They did, however, assist him up and pat the dust off his tunic as Kabru shook his head, “I’m sorry for startling you. I thought I-”

“Kabru,” Mithrun cut in, his breath ragged from his surprise as he clutched the man’s arm. “You can’t- You can’t-”

“Yes, yes, I crowded you too much. I apologize– I thought I saw a bug. It was nothing.” Mithrun gaped as Kabru pulled away. Kabru donned a sheepish smile, his hand dropping to scratch at his cheek. “Here, you know what? I’ll call a carriage. I’ll be right back,” he said, and without waiting for a response, turned to walk briskly down the corridor.

Mithrun sat there, half-straightened, tunic rumpled from Kabru’s quick work of soothing the stains that’d settle there otherwise, eyed wide as he watched Kabru go.

A bug?

A bug?

Mithrun blinked. He stared after Kabru’s retreating back, slack-jawed, the disbelief mounting as he watched the man disappear oh so casually around the corner like that was absolutely nothing.

Mithrun’s brow twitched, a small storm building in the space between his temple and his clenched teeth. He was still half burning with mortification, still flush with the feeling of Kabru’s chest beneath his hands, still reeling from the too-near warmth and the way he’d felt like he might have just moved to kiss him back no matter how wrong it was, but-

The audacity. The sheer, laughable audacity of the man to try and lie to him — to say that. Like he was born yesterday. Kabru had the gall to pretend it hadn’t happened at all right to his face? Mithrun knew him. He was him at some point, and Kabru was…

Mithrun bristled, straightening the line of his jacket with more force than necessary, fingers trembling slightly as he tamped down the blend of confusion, embarrassment, and — most frustratingly — something very near to disappointment.

His boots clacked loud in the silence as he took a step forward, and then another. “A bug,” he muttered. “A bug.”

He scrubbed a hand down his face, ears twitching, breath dragging harshly in and out of his nose. Kabru wasn’t getting away with this. Not without a scar, anyway — verbal, if nothing else. Mithrun reached the corridor’s bend and peeked around the corner, but Kabru was already out of sight. Of course.

With a huff, he turned to return to wait for Kabru to come back again only to catch his reflection in a window overlooking the countryside. His hair was mussed, collar was skewed and cheeks batted red even in the pale reflection. He looked a mess — a kissed mess, even if it hadn’t landed. He scowled at the thought. He adjusted his collar again, tugged a few strands of hair into place, though they sprang defiantly back into disorder as it tended to on the days he didn’t care to brush it– which was most days. Still, none of that lasted in his mind, already zeroed in on Kabru’s face from his memories.

He shouldn’t care. He didn’t. Not really.

Except he kind of did.

Kabru’s eyes had looked serious. His hand was confident: Like he’d really considered it, for just a moment, that he might want to kiss Mithrun.

And then he hadn’t.

Mithrun’s hands curled into fists at his sides. He wasn't angry at Kabru. Not really. Not for not doing it. He could understand legitimately almost all the reasons one wouldn’t want to. He was ugly. He wasn’t much use for anything. He wasn’t warm, or coddling, or sweet. He lost all his desires and, in turn, should lose all hope or wishes for something as gentle as that: a kiss.

But that didn’t mean he refused to recognize the churning in his gut that told him all he didn’t wish to know: he was the most angry with himself for wanting it.

Chapter Text

Kabru was nowhere to be seen, and Mithrun looked everywhere. The kitchens, Mithrun’s own room (to make sure he hadn’t returned in search of the elf and that they instead were nearly missing each other and not Kabru simply actively avoiding Mithrun-), Kabru’s office, Laios’ quarters, Yaad’s private set-up, Kabru’s bedroom. Mithrun sat on the tallman’s bed, frowning as he pondered over where else to go. At this rate, Kabru was either in a place he hardly frequented, such as the training yard or the town given his mounting responsibilities keeping him from there— potentially the library, maybe in Marcille’s quarters with her laboratory…

Mithrun leaned back to rest on the sheets, sighing through his nose as he tried to create a mental map of where he was meant to be. He’d likely have to drag out someone from their jobs tending to the castle in order to guide him properly and prevent Kabru slipping between his fingers again. Mithrun glanced down to his hand, his fingertips raised above his head in thought and grazing his chapped lower lip. He paused the absent-minded motion, his lips pressing together tight.

Mithrun stared at the ceiling a long moment, letting the silence settle around him. The linens smelled faintly of parchment, ink, and something distinctly Kabru—sharp like citrus peel and worn like leather. He turned his head into the pillowy blanket, his gaze drifting toward the window as his nose brushed the cool fabric. The light slanted in across the bed, catching in the folds of the blanket he hadn’t bothered to straighten from his shuffling. The pillow still held the faintest indentation of where Kabru had lain during the night. Mithrun closed his eyes.

The thought shouldn’t have irritated him, but it did. Kabru was here, and now he was nowhere to be seen. Would it be prudent for Mithrun to wait here until nightfall?

He sat up again, brows furrowed. This wasn’t like him. Mithrun wasn’t someone to chase people down or wait for them like a dog. And Kabru had a way of turning patience into punishment. The man ran off into his ideals and grand plans without so much as a word, without needing another to stand beside him, and when he reappeared, it was always on his terms and with some form of pride in the smallest of accomplishments. Mithrun ran fast as well. He could understand Kabru’s hurry, both in terms of his lifespan and his desire for something more.

Mithrun sighed and rolled forward off the bed, boots thudding softly on the stone floor even through the thin rug littered with discarded clothes. He adjusted the collar of his coat, mind still tumbling through a list of possibilities for Kabru’s disappearance—places overlooked, people he might’ve gone to see, errands he might’ve invented just to be out of reach… Then his eye caught something on the nightstand.

A single sheet of folded paper, set just beside the unlit lamp and an empty glass Kabru must have used for water in the middle of the night… Or, on second thought, perhaps related to the large bottle of booze tucked between the table and the bed, blending just right in to the dark crevice to not alert anyone without a keen gaze. Mithrun ignored it in favor of taking the paper carefully between his fingers, unfolding him with caution. His eyes traced the inked lines once, then again. It was in Mithrun’s own writing: The recipe.

The recipe. The one Kabru was turning his office over in order to find. And yet… here it was. Pristine. Intact. On Kabru’s bedside table.

Mithrun frowned.

This didn’t make sense. Kabru had insisted, insisted, that the recipe was missing, that was why he kept leading Mithrun away to do other things, apologies on his tongue for misplacing something so important. But if it had been here all along…

He looked back to the bed: at the small, faint hollow in the pillow, the folds in the blanket made from their combined effort. Mithrun sat very still, the paper crumpling in his grasp.

“…You liar,” he muttered, a whisper swallowed by the empty room. But there was no malice in it, he could tell even with his limited ability to access and understand himself and his emotions. He looked back to the doorway.

Why keep it hidden? Why lie so smoothly, so persistently, about something so… small?

Mithrun smoothed the paper back flat against his thigh. He knew Kabru well enough by now to understand that lies weren’t always about misdirection or manipulation, and the man couldn’t hurt a fly with the amount of malintent in his body. If he were to liken them to anything, Mithrun would refer to them as walls; shaky ones, half-constructed in a trained eye like Mithrun’s, meant to delay something inevitable. Meant to delay this. Whatever this was.

The hallway beyond the door was quiet, bathed in late afternoon light that spilled through the stained-glass windows in pale ribbons that Mithrun walked through moments prior, noting the view Kabru must have each morning should he not leave before the sun rises. To be surrounded by such beauty and extravagance, and… it seemed, he constructed a lie to be around Mithrun for longer.

Mithrun stepped forward off his seat on the bed a little faster than he meant to. The paper remained in his grip, folded with proper care. He didn’t know where exactly he was going, he’d figure it out, but he needed to find Kabru and confront him as he intended.

Mithrun’s footsteps echoed as he made his way through the corridor, the kind of purposeful pace that invited stares—or would, if the castle were any less empty at this hour. Servants had cleared for the morning to tend to those waking or preparing to clean rooms, and most nobles who weren’t otherwise distracted by diplomacy or indulgence had withdrawn to their own quarters still or were keeping to themselves whilst waiting for a fit audience. None batted an eye to Mithrun beyond to point in directions, and he followed their fingers without further acknowledgement.

The paper in his hand remained, tightly squeezed. Mithrun turned down the west wing, scanning each long, arched opening as he passed. Another bend, another hollow, all winding up empty and flickering further annoyance within the elf at the effort expended toward what was almost fruitless of a journey. However, at the end of a long hall looking out over the gardens, Mithrun found him.

Kabru stood near the far edge of an abandoned balcony overlooking the courtyard. One forearm rested on the stone railing, his other hand extended to look at a unbloomed, greenish white flowerbud he twirled between his fingers. He looked strangely relaxed like that, his hair fluttering like butterfly wings in the breeze, his eyes not ambushed by the morning light, his clothes airy to let the summer cool morning in. Mithrun stopped for a breath, eye roaming, then took another step, pushing the door open to go outside.

Kabru turned, his expression softening into that same aggravatingly sweet expression he always gave Mithrun. He let the flower fall to the ground below.

“Oh—Captain,” Kabru said brightly. “Did you not sleep well? I was just coming to wake you.”

“No, you weren’t,” Mithrun said.

Kabru’s smile hesitated. His eyebrows drew in a fraction, and he took a step toward the elf. “... Yes, I was. You are just up earlier than expected. I didn’t mean to keep you waiting.”

“... Is it really that much earlier..?”

“By an hour, yes, but that’s alright.” Kabru turned back to the garden, settling back as he was against the railing, displaying his usually concealed nonchalance and uncaringness to hold up impressions.
“Have you been awake for quite some time, then?”

Mithrun joined him. He held the paper out between two fingers. Kabru took one glance at it, then proceeded to look ahead once again.

“The recipe you lost.”

Kabru sighed through his nose. “I didn’t say that exactly.”

“The specifics don’t matter,” Mithrun interrupted. “You have been avoiding cooking with me all week. I came because you wanted me here, and now you won’t set out to do what we talked about doing. Do you know how that seems?”

Kabru’s throat bobbed in a swallow, eyes flicking to him before bowing his head. “I’m sorry; I want you to know I do wish to cook with you, but-”

“It seems a lot like you don’t want me to leave.”

Kabru choked. His cheeks grew a fraction darker as his spine straightened and he took a deliberate step from the railing. “... Captain-”

Mithrun narrowed his eye and followed after Kabru, continuing Kabru’s retreat until the tallman’s shoulder hit the wall behind him. “Do you even want to make it? Or did you want me to return to you? Did you want to stall my clock here to bring about whatever is between us now?”

Kabru’s breath caught, his eyes searching. He opened his mouth to speak, but the words tangled somewhere behind his teeth. He didn’t know how to answer that, Mithrun thought with a little bit of humor. Not in an honest way, at least. Not without saying too much even if he already exposed his cards.

Mithrun tilted his head. “You’re clever, Kabru, but you can say it.”

Kabru laughed. It sounded hollow. “You think I’d trap you with a never-ending, never-occuring cooking schedule?”

“I think you would, yes,” Mithrun said. He brought a hand to Kabru’s wrist and felt the tendons flex under his digits, pulling it down to rest at their sides from their tense position. He slowly drooped his hand downward until it was flush with Kabru’s trembling palm, then laced his fingers through Kabru’s wider ones.

Kabru’s lips parted, air rushing out in a slow, unsteady breath. “I just… like when you’re here.”

Mithrun couldn’t suppress a small smile from gracing his face. “Is that why you tried to kiss me?”

Kabru’s fingers twitched between Mithrun’s, as if he meant to pull away—but he didn’t, and Mithrun tightened his hold just in case. Mithrun didn’t press forward despite his hazy gesturing looks to Kabru’s mouth. “I don’t think I cared at all that you wanted to kiss me earlier.”

The shock was clear in Kabru’s gaze as it flicked to his, startled. Mithrun gave the faintest shrug, breezing past that as it wasn’t really important in the entirety of things. “But then you didn’t kiss me,” Mithrun went on, voice steadier now, slower, intentional. “You looked at me like you were going to, moved toward me like you needed me, and you didn’t… kiss me. Why didn’t you?”

The tallman didn’t speak. His lips pressed together, and his face was heated as though embarrassed at Mithrun’s frank way of describing what had certainly occurred, and Mithrun resisted the urge to groan, instead choosing to place his other hand on Kabru’s cheek. He raised an eyebrow, but when met with nothing but that bashful stare and frog-throat smile, Mithrun dug his fingers around Kabru’s ear and pulled him downward. “I thought about it,” Mithrun said. “ And I realized—what bothered me wasn’t that you wanted to kiss me. It was that you didn’t. So, why didn’t you?”

Kabru’s curled slightly where they were joined, his hand tightening in Mithrun’s. Then, gradually, he shifted closer. One small step. Their boots brushed; Mithrun remained rooted, keeping him trapped between his sturdy frame and the wall, but Kabru didn’t look like he was ready to bolt despite his nerves. His other hand hovered before settling at Mithrun’s waist, his palm warm and wide above Mithrun’s hip. Their foreheads met. For a moment they lingered, watching each other without suspicion, but only a tender underlying exchanged sentiment of what any lover has asked themselves before taking a leap: What can be done?

Their noses brushed, once, twice, and then Kabru kissed him.

The tremble in Kabru’s hand in Mithrun’s own steadied as his mouth found Mithrun’s, warm and pliant and riddled with the edges of cracked skin dried from the weather. It had been… decades since Mithrun kissed someone, probably longer than that that he’s last kissed someone he truly wanted to and felt safe around. Needless to say, the moment their lips touched, Mithrun felt his ears rise, trembling as he surged forward, his hand finding the back of Kabru’s neck to pull him down to kiss easier.

There was no rush in Kabru’s kiss: he was just as every bit of poised and gentlemanly as he held himself in his job– it didn’t feel impersonal though: only sweet. Kabru shifted, angling himself lower with a bend of his knees before huffing in displeasure. Mithrun could feel the moment he began to rise up to his full height, sensing the second their lips disconnected, and without sparing a moment, he used the leverage on Kabru’s neck, stepped onto the toes of the tallman’s shoes and kissed him again.

Kabru let out a soft sound—half a laugh, half a gasp that Mithrun swallowed greedily, panting out his own catches of oxygen as his tongue licked along Kabru’s bottom lip. His fingers threaded into the short hair at Kabru’s nape, clutching the strands to gain access to Kabru’s own coy tongue, the one so used to sugaring words and now could season his senses. Mithrun leaned into it all, letting his weight rest against Kabru’s chest.

When they did finally part, it was a slow break away, shared breath between them, their foreheads pressing together again, noses brushing. Mithrun’s thumb traced absently at the base of Kabru’s neck. He stepped off of Kabru’s shoes. “Whatever you want.”

“... Whatever I want?” Kabru replied with a dry throat.

Mithrun’s lips pressed together in thought. “Whatever you want, whatever you are trying for-” His hand tightened on Kabru’s hair- “we are finishing this recipe.”

Chapter Text

There was flour on Kabru’s nose, and Mithrun thought of pointing it out, but the poor man was struggling enough with dicing a carrot that he decided the mirepoix was enough of a task. He’s read books in the past, the ones Marcille likes, and he’s read a million and one ways to lick remnant frosting or custard off your sweetheart’s face. Uncooked flour was a different bull to wrangle, so he settled for just kissing Kabru’s cheek and saying nothing as the tallman beamed.

The kitchen staff was on break after cooking their banquet of a lunch for the castle residents, so Kabru and him had their little untouched corner to themselves, no other noise or people roaming about.

Kabru swiped the back of his wrist across his forehead, smudging more flour onto his skin without realizing. He held up a carrot slice, scrutinizing it before holding it out to Mithrun. “I’m improving. It’s almost even”

Mithrun leaned back against the counter, arms folded, watching with a faint smile. “It has to be smaller.”

Kabru shot him a mock glare but kept cutting, adjusting his hands as he went. The knife clattered once again as he resumed his task. Mithrun finished washing the vegetables, bringing the basket over and setting it besides Kabru’s unfinished carrots. Kabru’s shoulders sank a fraction. “These too? Is this my punishment?”

“I’ll help.” Mithrun rolled up his sleeves. He selected a knife without ceremony from the block, then began slicing into an onion. Cutting the vegetables was easy. Cooking them and not burning anything was a different beast entirely. Kabru would be disappointed if they had to cut more though, so they’d need to do things nice and slow once heat gets involved.

Kabru let out a relieved sigh, straightening again, though his eyes lingered not on the vegetables but on Mithrun’s steady hands as they worked. The soft scrape of blade against wood had its own rhythm that lacked Kabru’s more jumbled movements even after Mithrun showed him a sturdier way to hold his knife for cooking. Kabru watched in silence for a beat too long before the corner of his mouth twitched. Without much warning, he left his knife behind and stepped in close, slipping his arms around Mithrun’s middle from behind. His height let him rest his chin neatly atop Mithrun’s bowed head. Mithrun stilled at the contact, knife poised above the cutting board.

“You’re faster,” Kabru murmured, voice low but fond, “you must have been practicing a lot. Is this one of the new desires you found?”

Mithrun exhaled slowly, shoulders tense for a moment before easing. “No, it’s nothing that grand. I might enjoy it. It doesn’t seem to be a major chore, but I’m not very good at it. My recent creations are more palatable.”

Kabru only hummed, tightening his embrace as he leaned his cheek down to nuzzle Mithrun’s curls. He stayed there, eyes half-lidded as he watched the steady movement of knife and hand. It was domestic, almost startlingly so—the kind of quiet scene Mithrun’d never imagined himself part of. At least, not the one cooking, and not the one being alright to do most of the cooking as his lover watched in quiet awe, only huffing when the onion fumes caused his eyes to water.

Mithrun continued cutting, slower now, letting the warmth at his back settle. He only asked after some time that Kabru started the flame on the stove. He listened, lighting it and feeding the flames until they got the pot set up and began dumping ingredients in. The dough they set out to rise earlier was almost to its peak, so all there was to do was wait after adding the herbs and ordering Kabru to get the water to the broth. As Kabru walked back and forth with the bowl he found, dumping water in, Mithrun tied the stems of the herbs, then tossed the entire thing in.

“Is that… what you’re supposed to do?” Kabru asked as he hoisted the bowl up and poured more into the pot.

“It makes it easier to fetch out,” Mithrun said. “I don’t know. I’ve seen people do it before.”

“For this recipe?”

“No, but I don’t know if it matters.”

Kabru stood there for a moment, then nodded along. “Yeah, I don’t know either. Guess we will figure it out today.”

Kabru leaned against the counter, arms crossed loosely as he watched the pot roll to a bubble. In minutes, the wafting scent of herbs filled the air between them. The old sounds of rhythmic chopping had settled into a comfortable silence between them, punctuated only by the occasional hiss of steam and the occasional stir. After a moment, Mithrun found himself staring at their pot, the wooden spoon in his hand dripping a mess onto the floor.

Soon, their meal would be complete. All their hard work would be put to an end, Mithrun would collect his things, then leave as intended. He glanced up at Kabru.

“My pursuit of desires has been a lot like this.”

Kabru blinked. He adjusted himself away from the counter. “Like… cooking?”

Mithrun shrugged, vaguely gesturing to the pot with the spoon still spitting residue with his jerky motions. “Throwing things around to see what works. Trying again and again. Some things come easier than others, but it’s all… struggle.”

A little smile broke onto Kabru’s face. He nodded. “But it’s worth it.”

Mithrun agreed, “I’ve learned a lot, especially since the dungeon collapsed, but even before then: desires are beautiful, but they can fester when unspoken. They can churn, darken a soul, ruin you, cease you by all you have… all because you might want something selfish. Sometimes it is selfish, entirely so, and if it is– how do you admit it? How do you claim that part of you?”

Kabru shifted his weight. His gaze lingered on the simmering pot, but his mind was elsewhere: Mithrun could see it within him. He never knew he could notice such things again: no, he noticed them– he just never cared anymore.

“I’m still working through it myself.” Mithrun set the spoon down a hint too close to the flame, perhaps, but he turned to Kabru without fear. “I’ve wanted awful things in my life, I’ve been plagued with horrific thoughts, and sometimes I wonder if I had trusted someone… If I reached out and talked to someone, told them these ugly things, that I could have saved a lot of harm. Maybe I could have gotten what I truly wanted in the end: had someone known and showed me how to become happy.”

Kabru’s breathing had changed. His eyes had also lost their shine. With a tense sigh, Kabru nodded. He took a step forward, his hand finding Mithrun’s and raising it between them. He set a kiss upon his knuckles.

“I have those desires too,” Kabru mumbled. “One I struggle with sometimes, because it’s selfish. And I couldn’t bring myself to ask for it.”

Mithrun swallowed. “What is it?”

“…I want you to stay.” Mithrun’s hand tightened on Kabru’s as the advisor’s teeth clicked as he hurriedly added, “And I don’t know if it’s wise, or fair, or reasonable, or even preferable, but-”

Mithrun felt a sharp ache in his chest, and without a word, he leaned onto his toes, closing the scant space between them. Their lips brushed in a tentative, careful kiss, stuttering Kabru’s ramble to an immediate halt until he tilted his head, pressing into the kiss. Mithrun felt a hand on his cheek, another on his waist; he followed, taking Kabru’s collar to hold him through their kiss as he sank back onto his feet.

They lingered like that, lips pressed together, breaths mingling between soft pecks when their heads grew fuzzy. When they finally broke apart to rest, Kabru rested his forehead against Mithrun’s, a smile tugging at his lips. “Stay.”

Mithrun had wondered if serenity was something he’d ever feel again. Here, in the kitchen, the pot boiling over from over Kabru’s shoulder, moments away from him inevitably finding out and panicking as he noticed the spoon had caught a sparking flame, Mithrun was certain this was what a blissful life looked like: with Kabru beside him to carry the pieces he couldn’t quite yet, and, in turn, he’d bear the same.

“Okay.”