Chapter Text
He kept the ring, even if a wedding never came. A month into Mithrun’s stay, the representatives begrudgingly asked when the ceremony would begin so they could return home, and Kabru was surprised when Mithrun told them, “We won’t be marrying yet. I’ll send word when we do. There’s much we need to catch up on.”
Mithrun purchased the house with Kabru’s help, and also was assisted in a granted permission to stay within the country since ‘you two are going to get married soon anyways’. In all honesty, not much felt as though it changed even if it did. Kabru still rented his apartment, though more often than not he came to Mithrun’s home for freshly made food, some affections, and a bed he could properly sprawl out upon with his fiance’s nice, cold hands on his too hot skin. It took a lot longer than he’d admit to give in to the help, the kindness, Mithrun in general. On occasion, as Mithrun made breakfast, Kabru would stand behind him, drowsily burying his face in the bird’s nest of silver hair, and would be struck with the fact that this could have easily never happened.
And that thought was no longer a pleasant feeling, nor did he feel relieved at the idea of being alone. In fact, the first time he remembered that, still chasing off the residue of sleep from his mind, he leaned down and began to kiss the fading bruises on Mithrun’s neck.
Mithrun’s head tilted almost instinctively, baring the pale column of his throat for Kabru as though he’d been expecting this kind of affection, which was not outside of the realm of their intimacy given the marks Kabru had left previously, easily viewable when he wore nothing but Kabru’s shirt, but hidden in his typical conservative attire. His breath hitched when Kabru’s lips found the fading bruises, gentle at first, then dragging his teeth over them, pressing hard into him as the elf stumbled to keep his balance, eye fluttering shut.
“Kabru,” he exhaled in a breathy tremor.
Kabru’s hands slid to his hips and Mithrun gave a surprised jolt when Kabru lifted him onto the counter. A laugh bubbled out of him—bright, unguarded as he let go of the wooden spoon he was using. He looked unfairly beautiful like this: Fresh out of bed, his eyelid drooping from his missing prosthetic, silver lashes catching the early light. His cheeks were brushed pink from his amusement and Kabru’s mouth, his lips parted in a smile too sweet for all he knew of this man when they first met. He wasn’t supposed to be like this; he told Kabru so many times he was nothing but a tool, a guide, something built to protect from his previous tragedy.
“What—” Mithrun pushed some hair from Kabru’s forehead, “got into you this morning?”
Kabru would ordinarily flash a smile, say some witty or clever line that was never responded to the same way it did with everyone before Mithrun. However, the first thought that came to mind was immediate and visceral: I think I love you.
It arrived with such clarity that Kabru physically froze, mouth slacking from his grin. Mithrun blinked, ears tipping forward as he careened down, cupping his lover’s cheeks into his hands. “Is something wrong?”
Kabru cleared his throat once, eyes darting away, then back. He felt heat spread up his neck before the words even left his mouth. “I just really like you.”
And Kabru proceeded to bury his initial thought deep into the recesses of his brain for a few years. If you tell someone you love them, it's a swift and sure-fire step to getting married, and he still kept half his clothes at his apartment. He lived like that: one foot always out the door in case someone moved to slam it shut. His arrival at Mithrun’s was never greeted cruelly, nor with snippish remarks such as ‘looks like you decided to show up today’ or even a honey-dripped coo like ‘I enjoy when you come over…’. No, Mithrun never gave implications, nor showed outright preference even if Kabru knew what it was. Their relationship progressed, Mithrun never sought out more intimate company, and Kabru didn’t want to bother with pretending he needed more than what he had.
Mithrun did ask him, once, while they were sitting in the garden watching fireflies start blinking between the tomato leaves. “Do you have someone else you like the company of?”
“No,” Kabru answered truthfully. “Why- is something wrong?”
Mithrun shrugged. “Just talk.”
Bold of anyone to think of spreading rumors, Kabru thought at the time. It gave him a pang of irritation, but he brushed it off since the elf didn’t appear bothered as he went inside to fix them a drink.
It took a good month for those rumors to reach Kabru though, and they were less desirable than he had been expecting.
Kabru had been coming around the back of the apothecary Rin worked at with a crate of tincture bottles—something Mithrun had forgotten to pick up in his adventures in discovering new things to do and Kabru, ever the helpful one, had offered to grab on his way over to the house. It was scooting between the buildings that he heard voices carry over from the street– and he peered out to see it was two individuals he recognized from the castle.
“—shame, really. Poor Kabru: wasting his years on an elf who won’t even marry him.”
Kabru went still, back straightening at the sound of his name. He shifted back, shadowed behind the corner as he focused on their voices. His neck dripped with sweat.
“Mithrun gave him a ring and then got cold feet!” She sighed, adjusting her haul on her hip as she shook her hair, strands coming out from the tie she pulled it back with. “I’d have left ages ago. Mithrun’s just going to string him along for thirty more years: time doesn’t matter to elves.”
A soft, pitying sigh as the two began on their way again. “Kabru’s too loyal to see it, but everyone knows Mithrun doesn’t want anything deeper. He’s… detached. Strange.” Then, in a faint whisper, “--A little broken after everything he’s done.”
Kabru nearly dropped the crate, and it wasn’t for the blatant mischaracterization of Kabru. They weren’t even close to accurate with that, and he’d laugh, if he had the air for it. But about Mithrun? Saying that about Mithrun? The one who traveled to an entirely different country, gave up his wealth, comfy life and all he knew to pursue Kabru?
And if anyone had cold feet, it was Kabru. He was the one who panicked at permanence. Mithrun wanted him: Badly enough that Kabru could feel it even when the elf tried to hide it with a lingering kiss before Kabru left for his duties, or when he held his hand just a bit too tight before letting go and lacing his fingers behind his back. He wanted, wanted something enough to hang onto it, even when Kabru couldn’t let them just have it, have each other, be alright without him making it messy.
Kabru’s fingers curled painfully around the wooden crate, muscles going tight enough to shake. They don’t know him. If they saw him, they wouldn’t say that. If they were there to witness Mithrun’s small, victorious smile upon waking up early to harvest tomatoes and peppers to add to their omelets in the morning to surprise Kabru, they’d know better. If they saw him standing at the front door, going over the list he made to ensure he had everything he needed before turning to do the same for Kabru, they’d know he was human. If they saw his eyes and how they softened almost imperceptively when Kabru enters through the front door before resuming his activity– If they only knew how many times Mithrun traced the inside of Kabru’s wrist with a nervous thumb, eyes flickering as if he wished he were brave enough to ask again, and how Kabru moved to kiss him so he wouldn’t try.
Kabru swallowed hard, blinking away the heat creeping behind his eyes. Hurt curled warm and heavy in his chest, and, with nowhere to drop it, he resumed carrying the crate to Mithrun’s house.
Mithrun was halfway through arranging the jars he had, all stationed in sections that made sense to him. Kabru made his way in, noting that though Mithrun didn’t turn away from his focus, there was a faint lift in the tattered tips of his ears and his hand held a slight pause as he lingered an inch above two open jars. Kabru set the crate down beside him with a deliberate attempt to not leave any loud noise, then leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Mithrun’s temple.
He drifted to the small table by the window and dropped into the chair, elbows resting on his knees as he watched Mithrun move through the new selection with the same quiet precision he’d cultivated since arriving in this country. His gestures were soft. His shoulders relaxed. He was getting so much better. Kabru saw it when he first arrived, but every day was more clear. And still, Kabru thought, I love him.
Mithrun stepped away from his work. Kabru didn’t notice the way Mithrun’s eyes flicked back toward him, curious and alert as he approached, then reached out above Kabru’s head.
“Hold still,” Mithrun murmured.
Kabru jolted slightly. “What? Why—”
Mithrun reached out and his quick gesture was followed by a quick sting that wasn’t painful beyond the second it occurred. Mithrun drew back, pinching between his fingers a single strand of hair. He held it out with a tiny flicker of triumph, his lips curved just enough to suggest humor. The hair was silver. Kabru’s stomach dropped. Mithrun’s lone eye gleamed with gentle teasing. “Your first grey hair.”
Kabru stared at it. “Oh,” he managed, voice thin.
He was growing older. Of course he was. He wasn’t vain or delusional to the fact he couldn’t stay young forever, and he even welcomed adulthood and autonomy with open arms. He knew he’d grow old and Mithrun would remain the same, ageless, beautiful, holding the first tangible proof of Kabru’s fleeting mortality between his finger tips.
That night, Kabru found himself in Mithrun’s room before the elf retired. He had left him outside, Mithrun still looking out at the road with his lavender tea in hand. Kabru hadn’t made an excuse before wandering off, his feet travelling aimlessly at first before leading him here with his bag he got from beside the reading chair—Mithrun’s reading chair, technically, but lately Kabru used it just as often, curling up with a book while listening to Mithrun move about the kitchen. Kabru knelt, rifling through worn fabric and the familiar scent of traveling, until his fingers brushed velvet box he was looking for.
He drew it out slowly, the spring stiff from disuse; it took him a moment to loosen it with his trembling hand. When he did, he tilted the box and the ring slid into his palm with a soft clink. He stood, staring at the weight that haunted him for years.
Kabru sat on the edge of Mithrun’s bed, elbows braced on his knees, head bowed over the little circle of metal. His thumb traced the elegant and simple design thoughtfully. It was a nice piece of jewelry, and must have cost a little fortune as well, something Mithrun would not hesitate to cough up given he was ready to throw everything in to toss his hat toward a love.
“Damn it,” he whispered into the empty room. He slid the ring onto his finger before he could think better of it. Just as he anticipated, it fit perfectly. Of course it did. Mithrun had his ways or enchantments that he’d have no problem using on such a thing. Kabru stared at the ring as it gleamed back at him, reminding him of the promise he never let Mithrun make.
His throat burned.
He didn’t hear footsteps until a faint shift of the floorboards at the door signaled company. Kabru glanced up to find Mithrun in the doorway, his cup still cradled in one hand. He hovered, then paused upon noticing Kabru’s hand. He leaned against the doorframe, and they both waited despite no one reaching out to speak. Kabru flexed his hand, dropping it into his lap.
Mithrun didn’t stay in the doorway much longer. He came forward, setting his cup on the bedside table as he came to join Kabru. When he did, he bent to pluck up the box Kabru set aside. He shifted it in his hands, examining it with too intense of focus that he rarely reserved for things that mattered. His lone eye stayed fixed on the box, his grip a little too tight around it. Finally, he extended it toward Kabru with a small, strained breath.
“You don’t have to think about… that.” His gruff voice was rarely soothing, a hint too gravelly for his appearance, but it felt oddly like an encompassing warmth nowadays. “Not tonight.”
Kabru stared at him, brows pulling together. “What do you mean?”
“I mean,” he murmured, eyes dropping to somewhere near Kabru’s knee instead of his face, “I’d… like you to stay tonight. Please. I... don't want you to leave. Just for today.”
Kabru’s chest hurt. His gaze flicked down to the ring on his finger, then back to Mithrun’s quivering grip on the box. “…Are you asking for it back?” Kabru asked softly.
Mithrun’s expression cracked with just the smallest tremor at the corner of his mouth, the faintest pinch between his brows. His fingers tightened around the box as if physically resisting the instinct to snatch it, throw it, something beyond what would insinuate sense.
Kabru understood enough. It was all a mess. He let out a slow breath and stood, stepping close enough that their feet brushed. “I want to stay the night.”
Mithrun gasped, his eye wide and pleading, hopeful.
“But… if it is fine with you,” he continued, “I’d like to keep wearing this.”
Mithrun’s shoulders trembled as Kabru closed the distance, taking Mithrun’s hand in his, allowing him to feel the cool band of the ring on his finger. His other cupped Mithrun’s jaw and raised him up to a kiss. Mithrun made a faint, startled sound against his lips, his free hand catching Kabru’s sleeve as though grounding himself or clutching Kabru, destined to have him keep his word to stay. Kabru pulled back, their noses brushing sweetly.
“I want to stay with you,” he whispered.
Mithrun leaned up to kiss him in a soft peck. Before he could draw back, he paused and leaned back up to kiss Kabru once more. Then again, and again, each careful, each in disbelief until a hand wrapped around Kabru’s waist and began to guide him backward. Step by step, peck by peck, Mithrun guided him until the backs of his thighs hit the edge of their bed. Kabru huffed out a laugh, a smile tugging on his cheeks at the sight of the faint blush on his fiance’s cheeks.
“You have to keep wearing the ring,” Mithrun murmured, the words trembling against Kabru’s mouth. “You can’t just take it off now.”
Kabru didn’t tense in response, and before he could simply agree, he remembered himself. Nowhere in his chest was the fear, nor the instinctive recoil he usually felt at any hint of possession or demand. There was no impending cage. There was no trap. When Kabru looked in Mithrun’s eye, he saw the choice: the thing he always provided Kabru without fail. Even now, in their intimate privacy, Mithrun always had a foot to step back upon to give space. The fingers in his back didn’t dig, they only held tenderly.
Kabru’s chest tightened painfully. He returned a silly peck of his own, quick and excited as the elf’s had been.
“I’ll wear it,” Kabru whispered when they parted, their foreheads brushing. “I will. I just— I don’t know about a wedd—”
He didn’t get to finish: Mithrun was already on him, mashing their lips with a sudden, hungry fervor unforeseen. His arms circled Kabru’s torso, pulling him tight and forcing him backward until Kabru stumbled over and fell onto their bed. Any attempt to claim leverage that night was swiftly dismissed. Mithrun led them both, stronger than ever, pausing at the most inopportune times, in Kabru’s delirious neediness’ opinion, to grasp Kabru’s hand and kiss where their ring lay.