Chapter Text
If he ever got the chance to warn his younger self, Klein's first instinct would be to say—never judge a man’s age by his face.
Having a soft spot for a man never ends well.
So Klein thought.
Or, more precisely—having a soft spot for that "sly dog" never ends well.
He watched Leonard—that "sly dog"—happily polishing off the stew Klein had spent all afternoon making, Klein's own expression unreadable.
"Say that again—how old are you?" Klein ground out, finally asking the question that had been eating at him for ages.
"Hm? Just turned twenty-six not long ago. What's wrong, Klein?"
Nothing.
Klein tried for a friendly smile—and failed.
I just found out you're actually older than Benson!!!
A swarm of thoughts that had no business crossing Klein's mind flashed past, and in the end he resolutely grabbed the very first of those should-not-haves—
I should never have had a soft spot for you!
The man in front of him was his colleague—from Tingen to Backlund, from Blackthorn Security to the Red Gloves, he'd latched on and refused to let go—if either of them had been a different sex, Klein would've long since suspected this guy was actually pursuing him.
Though in the end, it turned out the Seer's intuition hadn't been wrong after all.
Yet at the very least, when Klein had teased him for being "a bit gay," he hadn't genuinely believed Leonard liked men—otherwise he'd have kept his distance long ago and never let this “sly dog" into his home. And yet, somewhere along the way, the "room" had quietly fallen out of the equation, leaving nothing but a mate.
So how had things slid to the point of no return?
The first time they met, Klein had taken Leonard for a handsome officer who had no tact and was a little dim.
—who in their right mind tells a victim of something bizarre that they're just glad to see them alive!
Once they'd gotten a bit closer, Klein realized even more keenly that first impressions really did hold up. The guy was just dim. He had no common sense whatsoever, charging headlong without a thought in his head. If not for that pretty face, he'd probably have been beaten to a pulp by now.
Take this: any normal adult knows "next time, definitely" is a polite way of declining, not a literal invitation. Leonard didn't. After Klein said "we'll definitely grab a meal next time," he started hounding him: "When's next time? Tomorrow? The day after? Next Monday?"
With no way out, the thin-skinned young Seer simply couldn't refuse, and ended up at that meal, and at countless meals after.
And it proved true: once a dog latches on, you're done for.
A dog doesn't puzzle over whether your tact is a refusal. A dog only thinks—your "yes" is yes, and that "yes" of yours that's not quite sure but probably a "no" is still yes. In short, unless you say "no" outright, it's all yes.
Damn it. Why did I have to be born Chinese—so reserved, so stubbornly proud? I'm hopeless at dealing with the kind who keeps clinging unless you tell him no flat-out!
For the first time, Klein was at a loss.
His past had made it hard to refuse people outright—especially harmless-seeming requests. And he'd never met anyone who truly needed to be refused outright: most people read between the lines and didn't need things spelled out.
On the other hand, though Leonard kept toeing the line of Klein's limits, he never actually crossed it—the line beyond which Klein would've firmly resolved to keep his distance, no matter what.
Maybe it was instinct. Like a gull, he'd stretch a foot out to test the tide's edge again and again, yet always pull back just in time, never once truly caught by the waves.
So by the time Klein noticed, somehow, his and Leonard's bond had already become the open secret of the Blackthorn Nighthawks.
I don't want any weird friendship with a coworker, honestly... However much he thought that, Klein couldn't find a good excuse to keep his distance from Leonard, who kept showing up. What's more, apart from always wanting to chat and showing bizarre curiosity about him, Leonard really hadn't done anything odd—he'd even eagerly stepped in to mentor Old Neil when he was busy, and always swapped shifts with Klein when he couldn't.
Until one idle chat with the captain, when Leonard came up in passing, Klein teased half-jokingly—
"Honestly I don't think Leonard's much like a Loenese, he's so blunt most of the time."
Dunn sighed, " Well, when you grow up in a collective, sometimes you have to say things straight. Roundabout talk doesn't suit that kind of place."
At first, Klein didn't quite catch what the captain meant.
Seeing his confused look, Dunn realized. "Oh—did I forget to tell you? Leonard's an orphan. No family. Grew up in the Church, only joined us later. The whole squad knows; you're new, so it's only natural you didn't."
Once he understood, Klein fell silent.
An orphan.
He turned the two words over in his mind.
I actually had the nerve to silently judge him for never learning how to deal with people... Klein mentally slapped himself.
After that, Klein started spending more and more time watching Leonard.
Some things are like the man who suspected his neighbor of stealing his axe—look at someone through resentment and you see nothing but flaws; switch to a neutral, even kinder lens, and the person turns out rather decent.
Leonard, for instance.
He grinned when happy and wore his sulks on his sleeve, a chuunibyou who loved claiming he had a big secret, casually casting Klein as a character in the adventure story in his head; a bit vain, clingy, oblivious to social cues, hopeless at poetry, loud...
That was the old Klein's read.
Now he saw it differently.
The Poet might be hopeless at poetry, but his voice was clear and gentle, like a stream—lovely to hear read aloud. His thoughts were plain, so Klein never had to wonder what was hiding behind them. He was handsome enough that a little vanity seemed only fair. Clingy and tactless though he was, when turned down outright he waited like a good boy—so long as you actually told him you were busy—and then he looked exactly like a well-behaved pup waiting for its master to be free and play.
As for that big secret, whatever it was, the pleased look on his face was kind of adorable. Likes adventure novels and chuunibyou? Normal enough—deep down he's still just a big kid.
Before he knew it, Klein's whole view had shifted.
Now he'd come to appreciate that earnest sweetness of his.
Not that there were no problems. For one, he never ate properly, picking at his food like a big kid, only touching what he liked. Yet if Klein seriously told him he couldn't, he'd obediently eat those hated carrots or cauliflower—especially if Klein had made it; then he'd clean the plate without a word.
Or take how he still couldn't dress himself. Klein had reminded him often enough that he was getting better at it now, but in the end Klein usually had to tidy him up once more—by now he could smoothly do up the buttons left undone, tuck the shirttail in, and tame that bird's-nest hair.
Sometimes Klein wondered: maybe Leonard had still been underage when he joined the Nighthawks—this world, after all, had no minors' protection law. He tried to picture Leonard three years back, maybe fifteen or sixteen, trailing after the captain.
So he really was just a big kid, a little puppy, who needed a bit more looking after.
That was where Klein's soft spot for Leonard first began.
In short, after that his threshold for Leonard kept dropping—and dropping—
low enough that when Leonard barged in unannounced, fussing about reading him a poem while he was reading, he'd set the book down and actually listen, then give his thoughts;
low enough that when Leonard leaned in to watch him write a report, chin nearly on his shoulder, he'd just shift over and make room for him to sit;
low enough that when Leonard sneaked the carrots or cauliflower he hated onto Klein's plate, Klein would sigh, eat them for him, even slide over a few pieces of his own beef;
low enough that when Leonard asked "can we have dinner together tonight," he'd mostly stopped refusing, sometimes saying outright, "why not come to mine, I'll cook—Benson and Melissa miss you anyway";
low enough that when Leonard invited him over, and it rained, and Leonard asked him to stay, he hesitated but said yes, even agreeing to wear Leonard's clothes to bed and share his mattress;
low enough that one day he realized: he hadn't thought about keeping his distance from this man in a long time.
Like a line once drawn clean, blurred at some point, until he couldn't even recall where it had been.
Ince Zangwill made off with Saint Selena's ashes. If Sir Cesimir hadn't shown up in time, Klein and the Captain would likely both be dead.
But this high-ranking deacon's next move was odd too—he spoke to Klein alone, telling him that by the Goddess's latest oracle, Klein was now Her blessed one and must go to Backlund as a Red Glove.
For Klein, who'd been hunting for a chance to grow stronger, it was a pillow appearing just as he grew sleepy—though he hadn't a clue why the Goddess had chosen him, Sir Cesimir's promise of answers once his Sequence rose did ease his guard somewhat.
Only, stepping out of that room and seeing Leonard come running the instant he appeared, a pang of guilt stirred in him—
Leonard still bore only hastily dressed wounds, and hadn't gone for proper treatment. He'd just waited there, waiting for Klein, who was being taken away.
"Are you all right? Why did Sir Cesimir want to see you? He's not punishing you, is he? Is there anything I can do?"
Questions tumbled out of Leonard one after another. Watching Klein stay silent, his face grew more and more panicked.
"Leonard," Klein sighed long, "I'm going to Backlund."
Leonard plainly froze.
"You're joining the Red Gloves? Why? You're not even Sequence 7 yet! You never said you wanted to go to Backlund—why all of a sudden? Don't you like Tingen?..."
More questions came; some Klein didn't know how to answer, but he could hear that Leonard didn't really want answers—he just needed to say something, to talk away his panic.
So Klein didn't answer at once, only waited quietly for Leonard to spend himself. By the end, Leonard had found a sliver of calm, then forced a smile.
A terrible smile.
"Congratulations."
Then he said not another word, didn't wait for the answers, just turned and left. His back looked resolved, but his shoulders shook.
...He's not crying, is he?
Klein stood there, suddenly realizing he wasn't as glad as he'd expected.
He'd always wanted to grow stronger, to go home. Now the chance had come at last.
Yet watching that figure walk away, what crossed his mind was something else—
This guy—once I'm gone, can he even take care of himself?
He sighed and didn't follow.
Benson and Melissa were startled by the sudden transfer too, but after Klein laid it out, the siblings accepted it and agreed to regroup with him in Backlund when the time came.
The next few days he skipped the office—Captain Dunn, knowing he was leaving, simply gave him leave to spend time with his family. The others, hearing he was off to Backlund, even threw him a farewell meal.
Except Leonard.
He never showed. Klein heard from the others that Leonard had covered the bill but claimed to be busy—busy with what! Klein was more exasperated than amused.
Annoyed as he was, Klein couldn't let it go and went to his place. Leonard wasn't home—which left Klein speechless. After turning it over, he left a letter. Leonard didn't answer that either.
Plainly put, the guy was throwing a child's fit, wouldn't even show his face, let alone talk like a grown man. A big kid, absolutely a big kid!
Still, Klein felt he understood Leonard—his leaving Tingen really had been abrupt. For someone like Leonard, who'd charge in shouting "friendship!" and "bonds!", it must've felt like a betrayal.
In the end, Klein let it go.
He regretted the friendship fizzling out, but told himself he had to go home anyway, so distance was for the best—and besides, he hadn't much wanted Leonard's friendship to begin with.
Reasonable as it was, Klein was still a little sad.
Departure day was the same. Benson and Melissa, plus a few off-duty colleagues, came to see him off.
Chatting, Klein scanned the crowd for a long moment.
No Leonard.
A grown man would've come to see him off, surely.
Such a big kid.
With a loss he couldn't quite name, Klein boarded the train to Backlund.
The Goddess's arrangement for him was strange: She registered him as a Red Glove and gave him resources, yet told him not to run normal Red Glove missions, but to roam Backlund freely, investigating and digesting his potion to advance in Sequence as fast as he could.
Puzzling as it was, Klein liked it. He became a detective, took the alias "Sherlock," and disguised himself enough to keep "Klein" separate.
Of course, the "Klein" identity stayed too. He rented another flat to stay in touch with Benson and the others—but in truth, he rarely went back.
To the point that one day, finding a little puppy on his doorstep, he was floored.
Soon after learning he'd left, Leonard had applied to the Church and burned through the Midnight Poet potion, advancing to Nightmare in record time. Unlike Klein, he'd been sent to study in Winter County and only lately earned his place among the Red Gloves.
Once at the Evernight Church in Backlund, he learned Klein wasn't a regular Red Glove—no one knew where he went or what he did, or when he'd turn up at the church—Leonard had only found his address by writing to Benson again.
In the end, Leonard fell back on the old trick—coming by after work to wait.
Couldn't you just leave a note... why insist on coming yourself and waiting? What if I never came back? What if I did and missed you? You handle things so childishly, honestly.
Klein had plenty to grumble about, but watching Leonard on the sofa, drinking and blinking up at him, he couldn't say a word of it.
He knew Leonard had never aimed high. Like a big kid, he'd rather stay near his friends than prove himself or conquer the world—clear from how, knowing the Acting Method, he'd still stalled at Midnight Poet for ages. This one claimed to love adventure novels and be the era's hero, but really he was just a big kid who wanted an easy, happy life.
So before leaving Tingen, Klein had braced for Leonard to stay put. Honestly, Blackthorn suited him—people there liked him, overlooked his slips, and Klein even suspected Leonard had made it his home.
Now, this Leonard who'd never chased ambition had suddenly advanced... vain as it was, Klein couldn't help wondering—was it for me?
He'd never met anyone who'd reshaped their whole life for his sake before.
He looked at the man before him anew.
Leonard's looks Klein knew well, but this was the first time he truly studied those green eyes—
green as new leaves after rain, as sunlight through green glass. Too clear, too clean for an adult. When he looked at you, there was no weighing, no scheming—only a child's open tenderness, simply and steadily seeing you, as if you were the only thing worth seeing.
And when he smiled, it was like light through a cathedral's stained glass, dazzling beyond reason.
And if that smile was meant for you—Klein couldn't imagine anyone who could refuse.
Knowing Leonard still had no fixed place in Backlund, reason said Klein should help him find one—a Nighthawk's pay made that easy enough.
But looking at Leonard, who'd camped at his door for days and now grinned at him dopily, Klein couldn't bring himself to say, "How about I find you somewhere else."
And the place sat empty most of the time anyway. Better to just let Leonard stay...
In the end, he took Leonard in—and was shocked to find the other's luggage was a single case.
Compared to the piles Benson and Melissa packed for me, this is nothing—didn't you have clothes in Tingen? You didn't just throw them out, did you...
Tempted as he was to call the other wasteful, minimalism being a virtue and all, Klein decided he'd take Leonard shopping for new things later.
Sleep was the real problem—Klein had rented small, for thrift, never expecting a roommate. The place only had one bedroom.
Sherlock's place had spare rooms, but given the risks attached to that identity and the trouble lately, Klein preferred Leonard and "Sherlock" never cross paths.
The little puppy volunteered for the sofa, but even knowing a Sleepless needed little sleep, Klein couldn't do something so mean to a big kid.
In the end, recalling they'd shared a bed in Tingen, Klein decided to make do with Leonard until a bigger place turned up.
After talking late into the night, Leonard yawned and hugged the fresh quilt into a deep sleep.
Klein was the livelier one—he'd rarely seen Leonard, a Sleepless, this spent, which was frankly novel.
But thinking on it, the other had been working flat-out. Ordinary Red Glove work wasn't light, and after hours he'd come wait for Klein, who might appear anytime, leaving little rest—and even a Sleepless needed real sleep now and then.
Leonard had clearly not been getting enough rest.
Klein couldn't name what he felt—soft spot, maybe, or contentment. He reached to brush the hair on the pillow, then pulled his hand back.
Maybe...
A thought flickered through his mind—and vanished before Klein could even grasp what it had been.
Klein had mostly run as Sherlock and returned there, but after Leonard came, for some reason he kept coming back to this place meant only to hold the Klein identity.
They said Leonard owned little, but the flat had come furnished; only after Leonard moved in did Klein start adding things.
A bigger place was on the list, but Klein had no push to do it—Leonard slept still, had no bad habits, quiet mornings and nights, barely a disturbance; his very presence even helped Klein sleep.
The one flaw: he'd sometimes use Klein to digest a potion, as the Captain once did, eating everything Klein had cooked in his dreams, or worse—charging in, hoisting Klein up by height and strength, and spinning him around.
Klein had lost count of his complaints; he half-suspected that if Nightmare digestion required being nagged in dreams, Leonard could do three men's worth on Klein alone.
Now and then, when both were free, Klein dropped the mask and wandered Backlund with Leonard.
The city dwarfed Tingen. Klein had seen metropolises before; Leonard hadn't—this big kid was curious about everything, dog-like, and gone the moment you blinked.
Once Klein paused at a newsstand for two minutes and turned to find him gone; after a long look he spotted him at the pie cart across the street.
The runaway felt not a shred of guilt, just waved the paper bag and ran over laughing:
"Want a bite? It smells amazing!"
Klein sighed, marveling at that puppy nose, but met those green eyes and took a bite of the pie offered.
"Good?"
"Mm."
The little puppy 's eyes lit up; he bit in too—before Klein could stop him—and beamed, "It's so good!"
Same at meals. Backlund had far more restaurants than Tingen, every cuisine imaginable. They'd still eat out as in Tingen—Leonard, the picky big kid, wheedling out of disliked food until Klein coaxed him into a bite.
Yet one thing Klein found unbelievable.
Leonard didn't like sweets.
He'd first noticed in Tingen, buying a lemon cake and running into Leonard at the office; he'd cut half and offered it.
Leonard ate agonizingly slowly.
A crumb held forever, washed down with black coffee, his face like he was enduring penance. By the time Klein finished his, Leonard had managed a third; Klein, unable to watch, finished it for him.
After that Klein knew, and stopped offering sweets. But in plentiful Backlund he'd still sit in dessert shops.
He'd told Leonard not to tag along; Leonard didn't listen.
So usually Klein would eat and Leonard would sit across with a black coffee, watching with a solemn face.
That solemnity made Klein want to tease; he'd fork over a bite and watch Leonard frown, hesitate, then eat it.
"Well?"
"Too sweet..."
Even so, next time Klein offered, Leonard ate; once or twice when Klein didn't, Leonard gave him wounded eyes for ages.
...as if I am the brute who'd kicked a puppy, a thought he kept having.
But the little puppy was easy to cheer—one pat on the head and he'd smile, like a dog ruffled the right way, grievance forgotten, tail already wagging.
He loved to smile, in Tingen as in Backlund.
In all his life, Klein had never known anyone who turned happy so easily as Leonard.
Even stuck under an eave in the rain, he'd beam, even catch the drops like gifts from the sky—if only he hadn't flung the water at Klein after.
Anyone else and Klein would've been furious; but seeing Leonard laugh without a care, he could only sigh—such a big kid.
And he forgave Leonard anything.
For no reason but that every time Klein looked, Leonard was smiling—not the polite, social smile of adults, but the kind with bright eyes and curved brows, as if the whole world, this person most of all, were lit from within.
No one had ever smiled at Klein—at Zhou Mingrui—like that.
It was new, and warm.
So Klein thought.
Through Leonard, Klein also grew close to others in the Church, like Madam Daly.
He'd remembered her from Tingen and visited in Backlund, but given his mission and odd status, they'd drifted.
Leonard and Daly were clearly closer—more shared time, easy talk of Tingen, namely Captain Dunn; mostly Daly fishing for Dunn news. That dutiful Captain, like Klein, kept asking after Leonard.
After Leonard mentioned it a few times, Klein finally caught what he'd missed in Tingen—
Madam Daly liked Captain Dunn.
He recalled Dunn's tone speaking of her, and sensed it was mutual.
He even went to the Gray Fog to divine it; affirmed, he mulled it over, then had Leonard pass on his read.
Nothing at first; by year's end, near done with the Magician potion, he got Daly's invitation.
Months on, she was as elegant as ever, but her eyes shone—she was happy.
"Dunn and I are together." She met Klein and, uncharacteristically solemn, said it light and clear.
"Congratulations." Klein meant it—both had helped him in Tingen.
"Leonard said you're the one who told him Dunn might like me," Daly said. "I hesitated, but thought—worst case, nothing changes. So I went to him."
"At first he flustered and refused; honestly, without Leonard pushing me and swearing you'd confirmed it, I'd have quit."
"When he kept refusing, I broke down and cried. I'd thought he'd want someone mature, and the age gap made me play the dignified lady. But seeing me sob—you should've seen his face."
"He fussed over me forever, then admitted he did like me, only felt I was young with a future ahead, and shouldn't be held back."
"But I don't care about his roundabouts; if Dunn likes me, he's mine."
At that, Daly laughed like a girl of sixteen.
Klein sighed inwardly: love truly is the finest cure. Happy Daly had dropped the act of maturity for the youth of her years—she was only two years older than him, after all.
Come to think of it, I don't even know how much older I am than Leonard... from the looks of him, barely past twenty. Such a little puppy.
Mind wandering, Klein chatted on; just as he rose to leave, Daly dropped a bomb—
"Oh, Leonard seems to have someone—do you know who?"
"Leonard? Him? Likes someone?"
"I know, unbelievable—he reads like a teen, but maybe Dunn and I inspired him; lately he's been pumping me on how it feels to like someone, and how to confess."
"Ugh, love really is the quickest way to grow a man up. If you'd seen him ask, you'd never doubt he's a child inside."
Klein didn't recall what he said, nor what he thought walking her out.
The bomb left him reeling.
Good, the guy finally likes someone, so he'll stop staring at me.
Klein tried to laugh, and couldn't.
Why tell Daly and not me... Klein felt a small sour prick—haven't I taken care of him enough?
Forget it, think practical—Leonard with someone means he'll move out, which suits me just fine. I'm off to sea under a new face to digest the next potion, so I can end the lease and save.
OK, when Benson and Melissa come—they said around New Year—I'll find them a bigger place then and move this lot over.
All the way home, Klein turned these thoughts over.
He'd started sketching out his plans, but by the door, his mind held only Leonard.
Part of him thought this was good—Leonard with someone wouldn't trail him anymore. No more bright eyes, no more bold invasions of his space, no more turned backs with shaking shoulders.
He should be glad. Wasn't this what he wanted—distance, lines, no one close? He had to go home anyway; entanglement helped no one.
Yet part of him wondered: who? Someone from the Church? A new friend? Why didn't I know? What was that person like—steady? Would they coax him when he was picky, tidy him up, bear with his fits, comfort him, treat him well?
—or better than I do?
The thought jolted Klein; he stamped it out.
At Klein's door, key in the lock, he stood a long moment.
He should bless Leonard. Of course. He'd only ever wanted the big kid well—smiling unguarded, happy and innocent. That he'd found someone was for the best.
He didn't want to open that door—no one waited. Leonard had a mission tonight; he'd said so. He should've gone to Sherlock's.
But he didn't know why he'd come.
No one waited—no Poet on the sofa with a novel, no little puppy yelling "Klein, you're back!" the moment he appeared.
Klein breathed deep and turned the key.
The flat was empty.
Forget it. I am leaving anyway, moving anyway. Anyway—
Klein stood in the dark a long while before he thought to switch on the light.
The crises that followed left Klein no room to wonder who Leonard liked.
Or rather, apart from Daly's one remark, he'd noticed nothing off in Leonard.
Once the Great Smog and the True Creator's descent were past, Leonard still hadn't said he was moving or who he liked, but Klein's voyage was set—he'd prayed and been granted, and written Benson and Melissa of a company sea expedition.
In short, everything was going to plan.
Klein waited for Leonard to confess and announce the move, but even when he stopped him for the talk, Leonard stayed silent.
"Leonard, there's something I need to tell you..."
For some reason, the words stuck.
Just a few months at sea—by the oracle, he'd return. But Leonard's blank look made even "I'm leaving for a few months" hard to say.
"I..."
Klein's hesitance must have given Leonard an idea—his eyes lit up, and he cut in—
"I like you."
Hah?
The words froze Klein; he couldn't take in what Leonard meant.
Seeing Klein's face wasn't the joy he'd hoped for, Leonard widened his eyes, then said it again—slower, more uncertain, quieter.
"I like you... Klein."
Sure enough, Klein looked more scared than glad, and Leonard's face fell—he looked like a puppy caught in the rain.
He sniffled, and cried.
Wait! What did you learn from Daly? Is that your idea of a confession?
It's awful—Poet!!!
Seeing Leonard break down, Klein snapped to; honestly, he was torn between laughing and crying. He fished out a handkerchief and wiped, soothing:
"Don't cry..."
"Do you hate me?" Leonard choked out, his voice thick and raw, tears still falling, nothing like his usual self.
"No."
"Then why won't you say anything..."
"Then give me a turn to talk," Klein sighed, pressing the cloth to his face, wiping the trail near his chin. "I never said I didn't like you."
Leonard's sobs hitched.
He lifted his head, dazed, eyes red, lashes wet—anyone else would have looked a mess, but on his face, it only made him heartbreakingly dear.
"You... what did you say?"
Klein looked at him and thought, enough.
A big kid's a big kid. The confession a mess, the crying a mess. But what could he do—he'd known this guy, and cared for him, more than a day.
Did he even have a bottom line left with him?
"I said—" Klein wiped his face clean, then met those wet green eyes and said it plainly, "I never said I didn't like you. So stop."
Leonard froze.
He opened his mouth, shut it, opened it again—his brain had evidently crashed. After a few seconds, he managed: "Then... then why..."
"Because I meant something else; you jumped in and startled me." Klein paused. "I'm going to sea for a while."
"To sea?"
"Mm, a few months—the Goddess allowed it." Seeing Leonard's panic rise, he added quickly, "I'll be back. It's just to digest the potion."
"...Can I come?"
Come for what... Klein nearly groaned—I'm going as a Faceless; what potion of yours needs the sea? You can't go torment pirates with nightmares!
But he stopped.
A thought rose; he understood—
"You can't come this time," Klein paused. "But—say one day I had to go somewhere far, somewhere I might not return from, and no one you know now would be there except me."
He looked at Leonard.
"Would you come with me?"
"Yes."
Leonard answered—plain and sure.
No pause, no hesitation, no "where," no "how long," no "why." Just yes. Without a second thought.
Klein knew that with anyone else, he'd have suspected the easy answer—thought it hollow, pretty words that didn't carry the weight.
But this was Leonard.
For some reason, he trusted it. Leonard was just this big kid—plain, direct, no winding paths. Once he set his mind on something, he'd do it, careless of the cost.
In that brief moment, Klein felt strangely at peace.
Even knowing the answer might change with time—the future held too much he couldn't control.
But now, at least, this man had chosen to leave with him.
Much happened at sea, and when it ended, Klein returned to Backlund under a new face—the Goddess's new task: look into Backlund's upper circles.
And the "Klein" identity became captain of the Red Gloves; he made Leonard his deputy, to lead in his absence. Klein never stopped ribbing Leonard's immaturity, but as a Nighthawk, Leonard was beyond doubt excellent, and Klein trusted him completely.
They had more time together. For caution's sake, though together, Klein hid it from everyone; Leonard raised no objection.
They moved to a roomier place—with several bedrooms, only one stayed in use.
For a stretch, Klein even worried Leonard might be underage. The other's innocence sometimes left him with a strange guilt of corrupting a big kid. He'd wonder—Leonard had confessed first, so why was he the one pushing things further?
But once he'd had a taste, Klein let it go. Rather, the Poet's awkward, passive way in such things fed his possessiveness and control.
Only now and then a flicker of guilt—like he was robbing the cradle. Especially when he'd played the Poet to tears.
But now, told this guy was older—so he was the one being robbed?
Klein studied the man before him, up and down—and still couldn't believe this face hid three years on him.
His stare unsettled Leonard; the man paused mid-bite and met Klein's look. He blinked, smiled, then leaned in and smooched Klein's cheek.
A Clown could have dodged, but Klein was unguarded with his boyfriend, and got ambushed.
A blush spread from the spot.
Seeing he'd startled the Seer, Leonard laughed, his green eyes starlit, more than ever a little puppy just learning the world—pure and sweet.
This face really is deceiving...
Klein blushed, then caught something—
Wait—that guy didn't wipe his mouth after eating!
Klein touched the kissed spot. Greasy, as expected.
His look turned dangerous again.
"Leonard!" The Seer became a mad adventurer. "You're asking for it."
A blood-scented smile—the kind that could still pirates' night-weeping—spread on the cold man's face.
"Later. Just wait."
"I'll show you who I am."
He decided that even if Leonard wept and begged tonight, he would not spare this sly dog.