Legend of Ransera

"A post mortem," he said, frowning. His charm wasn't truly a veneer, though he certainly amplified that part of himself when working the Cabaret. But even when his face represented what he felt as it did now, it rarely gave enough to satisfy Arry. For all the foxfire fast facial expressions, there was a stillness there too, more difficult to see, and those still waters ran proverbially deep.

"Is this a prelude to goodbye...?" His face looked almost ashen, just for a moment, then he kept talking before Arry could respond to that.

"I think we challenge each other as much as we help each other," he began, "and sometimes the challenge makes us rise and be better and sometimes the challenge just causes an argument or we fuck about it because we don't know how to fix things with words but we want to connect somehow and assure each other and ourselves that whatever we have is real and still present even when we're at each other's throats.

"I don't know if he's anything like me, but I think you are like me in some ways. So if you want my advice, I suppose... slow down. When you want to say something witty and unanswerable, pause and consider whether it's more important to win or it's more important to grow together. When something seems off, ask questions and be patient instead of running with your fears and assumptions to a logical but damaging conclusion." It occurred to him that Arry might think he was talking about Arry's behavior, and he was, but more so it was his own. This was where they were too much alike, seeing things as a competition or a zero-sum game because that was what life had taught them it was.

Aurin understood that Arry saw Torin as a threat or a replacement, but he didn't know how to assure him this wasn't the case, nor to articulate more clearly how his friends fit into his world. But if this was the end, at least he could remember fondly their closeness and be glad that if he sometimes hurt Arry, at least he had helped him get out of a bad situation in Antiris and into a career that he loved and a man whose blood wasn't pumped by a broken engine.

Or perhaps he was banking on Arry taking his words the wrong way, lighting the bridge on fire so he would follow his minstrel to greener pastures and not look back. He had killed, and plenty of people had died because of him. If Arry broke that cycle, then it could be a small win for Aurin as well.

A hidden tension went through him when Arry came near. A part of him wanted to reach out to touch, to kiss, to fuck until things were all right again, but he knew that wasn't what was best for Arry. He was able to maintain eye contact through the elf's riposte, and while it was everything he wanted for his ward, it still felt like a hot knife in the guts. His eyes were burning, but those wells had dried up long ago. And his body responded to Arry's nearness because of course it did.

Carefully, he sat up, turning and cross-legged with nary an inch of air between their knees. He took Arry's hands in his.

"I don't regret anything," he said. "Not in Antiris. Not here. I know I could've handled things better, but you're here and you're moving on to bigger and better things. As long as I'm breathing, I need you to understand that you have someone who will fight for you — not the way you had hoped, perhaps, but for your success and your happiness the best that I know how." If the Gods listened, they might hear him occasionally praying on Arry's account rather than his own, that some good might come of all this. He wanted Arry to have his fairy tale romance, his high-flying and adored lifestyle among the elite, and whatever it would take to make him believe that Arvine Venasyr was easily as fantastic as any Arvalyn Val'Cithaeron.

"You've certainly grown and I'm proud for my small part in that. You're still frustrating as anything, but I know that's because you hold up a mirror to me, at least in part..." There was more he wanted to say, but he didn't know how or couldn't be truthful with himself. There was an ache that might have been a wish that everything he had done had been showing what he couldn't tell, but he managed a trademarked smirk and gave Arry's hands a squeeze. It would only confuse things, make him hesitant to go forward with his new beau. And he was rather certain Arry misunderstood his relationship, such as it was, with Torin, but he didn't know how to articulate that to him or whether it would make a difference.

"Tend to your garden," he said, releasing Arry's hands. "You know I'll be here."

"I didn't initiate because even now there's this power differential..." It was difficult to speak around the knot in his throat. "I always wanted it to be your choice, not you rolling over because I'm just another man who wants to use you. It was meaningful to me. Every time since the first. I'm sorry I didn't make that obvious to you."

The early fumblings had been something he treasured. As Arry's skill had increased, it had been good in new ways. Perhaps they had just learned how to please each other and themselves with greater intimacy. Arry's minstrel was in for a treat, he thought, though he did feel pangs of jealousy. He had a mercenary heart. It flared for Arry on occasion, and smoldered at other times, but never went out. It just never thought to be jealous until someone might be taken away. Perhaps there was something wrong with that. He would be quick to assure people that there was plenty wrong with him.

"Don't worry," he said with a defensive smirk. "I'll wait until you're gone to fall apart."

He was glad he had this little place to himself, that he could lock the door behind Arry when he left. There was nothing he could break, though. Everything he had was a necessary item and nothing more. Arry had commented on that when he first arrived in Kalzasi, weary and hungry to the point of passing out upon his doorstep. It was comical in retrospect, though it had been alarming in the moment.

Leaving the door open had actually helped pick up a bit of a cross-breeze, but the air felt more oppressive now than it had before, at least to Aurin. He had thrown open all points of egress for Arry and tried not to feel the vulnerability of it.

To Aurin's mind, Arry and undesirable ought not to exist in the same sentence, but of course he was biased. And it was much more difficult for a man to fake an orgasm than a woman. Pity fuck, indeed. As if Aurin did things he didn't want to do. A part of him continued to urge that he initiate something now, but despite their frank conversation now, it seemed an unwise course of action, as though he were trying to taint what Arry was building with his musical partner.

And he would not have minded Arry dating the man, but his ward seemed to need exclusivity, perhaps because of the time he had spent doing sex work. Certainly, he had already intimated that he wasn't sure the man would agree to go out with him until he had quit the oldest profession, but here they were.

Aurin tried to smile. He rather failed, but at least it wasn't his native smirk. There were things to say, questions to answer, but he just smiled glumly through it until the end.

"I would like that," he said simply. "And you needn't hide your friend away. I've no ill will toward either of you." In any case, the both of them could probably use the work at the Velvet Cabaret until things shook out with the Golden Peacock — if they shook out with the Golden Peacock. He would certainly redouble his efforts to provide opportunities for Arry to get his foot in the door and prove himself worthy of the career he desired. He was worthy already in Aurin's mind, but there were other, more knowledgeable gatekeepers to the hallowed boards next door.

He kept smiling, though his face felt numb as a mask. Hopefully, Arry wouldn't draw this out. He had never and would never kick him out, but for all his calm demeanor, he was spiraling out within.

"No rest for the wicked," he said with a wicked grin. He figured he would see Arry with his newfound beau sooner rather than later and he would certainly make all attempts to keep things from getting awkward. It was the least he could do for his ward. Even if Arry made some ridiculous proclamation releasing him from any responsibility to him, he would still keep an eye on things, waiting for an opportunity to help. But of course he wouldn't say anything. Arry had to know how he felt. Somehow. Deep down.

Aurin closed his eyes so more of his senses could focus on the soft touch to his forehead. Then his hands were on Aurin's shoulders and his face was so close, a face he had known for years, a face he had woken up next to and gazed at tenderly when nobody was watching. He just smiled as Arry used him as leverage to vault himself to his feet and for the life of him couldn't have felt more complete as a physical support for the boy who had become a man somewhere en route from Antiris.

He felt pride at Arry's accomplishments that almost blocked out the yawning sense of loss opening up in his chest, dropping to the pit of his stomach. Smiling all through it, he saw Arry lose hope or — lose something. But for all Arry's tricks, he couldn't hear Aurin's thoughts. He couldn't know how much he wanted to catch him by the wrist, kiss him on the mouth, banish all the arguments with fucking as if that would solve anything. Instead, he kept smiling like a fucking idiot, like a fucking clown, as the beautiful golden boy began to walk away. It wasn't goodbye, but it was an ending. The ending was a beginning, and it might even be better, but something was dying and he had to mourn it.

The lanky fixer rose to his feet and sauntered along behind Arry, his eyes too sharp and knowing, the better to shutter the windows to his soul.

"Have fun at the market, kid," he said jauntily. "Don't spend too much. You aren't on the theater's payroll yet." He was so full of shit, but then, finally, Arry was gone. He closed the door behind him. He locked it thrice. His collapse against the door was in slow motion so as not to alarm the elf. His body wrenched with something awful. He slid down the door, his ass landing on the floor and his face falling into his hands. He was too fucked up to cry.

He was too fucked up to cry.

He was too fucked up to cry.