Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Therion wasn’t exactly big on fairs.

At least, not as much as any other thief would be.

Which is to say, not at all.

To thieves, fairs were just a quick way to make some extra cash. The crowds of people made the perfect cover for a little thievery and then a quick getaway afterwards. All those bodies bumping into each other, passing each other by without so much as a glance, no one noticing where a passerby was putting their hands. The atmosphere was so carefree that nobody bothered to check their coin purses or their pockets for very long and if they did bother to check and noticed that they were a few leaves short, they’d never be able to pinpoint who did it among the countless other people milling about or when the theft had been done, granted of course that the thief didn’t leave any obvious clues that would point directly at them.

But only the complete amateurs did that. And Therion was no amateur.

Not to thievery, and certainly not to fairs.

Therion knew his place when he was a thief at a fair. He knew not to enjoy himself too much and get carried away by the atmosphere, not to get distracted by all the bright lights and the loud music and the food and drink, by all the dancing and singing and merriment that was going on around him. That was a mark’s job, and a thief’s was to take advantage of that distraction.

But as a patron to a fair, however, Therion had to admit, he was worse than an amateur.

For some reason, his hands just wouldn’t sit still.

As he walked the fair grounds somewhere not too far from Clearbrook, he found himself fidgeting with his hands, shoving them into his pockets only to bring them out again, pulling on his fingers, clenching and unclenching his fists.

Something about being here, amid all this noise and energy, not as someone who was trying to find an easy mark to lift a couple of leaves from but as an actual fair-goer, felt wrong. It was like his body was reacting to the outright refusal to steal, causing him to start fidgeting.

Which never happened.

If there was one thing Therion was proud of, it was his ability to maintain a steady hand even in the most dire of situations. A shaky or uneven grip was life or death for a thief - it could very well be the thing that would land them in jail, or worse.

So for Therion to start fidgeting nervously like this out of nowhere was freaking even him out.

And as if all of that wasn’t enough, he was still wearing the fool’s bangle on his wrist.

On the road, it was different. It was a no man’s land out there full of highwaymen and worse criminals so Therion never really bothered to hide it while they were traveling, or at the very least, he wasn’t as concerned about hiding it as much as he was whenever their group stopped at towns or inns. And even then, all Therion had to do was keep his hands close to him under his shawl. If he had to reach for something, he’d do it with the bangle-free hand and it was far too easy to distract anyone from asking questions about him when their little ragtag group of misfits altogether arouse far more pressing questions in an outsider’s mind.

They’d been to countless other towns before and had left all of them without any of the locals ever finding out exactly who Therion was and keeping the fool’s bangle hidden was practically second nature to Therion by now.

It was all so simple.

And yet, it was here, in a fair in Clearbrook, that Therion felt the full weight of the fool’s bangle as if Heathcote had only just shackled it to his wrist. On any other day, Therion could ignore the weight of it. He was accustomed to it by now, had learned to live with it only a week after he was saddled with it. Sometimes he would even forget that it was there.

And yet, his skin itched where it made contact with the cold metal and his arm felt somehow heavier where it hung. Almost like a taunt; reminding Therion about who he was and why he could never fit in among crowds like this.

None of his seven companions seemed to notice his discomfort however, being too busy getting lost amongst the food stalls and other gimmicks the fair had. Tressa in particular was flitting like a bee from one stall to another, eager to try her hand at every fair game there was and win every prize.

Open to attack, that one. Therion couldn’t help but start thinking about how he would approach Tressa as a mark. Maybe while she was busy playing a particularly immersive game that required her full concentration. He could visualize a vendor persuading her to put down her heavy pack for a moment to free her shoulders. Tressa, intent on winning, would be more than happy to and while the game has hers and everyone else’s full attention, Therion would move closer, pretending to be just another interested spectator. And maybe, when Tressa gets this close to winning, and everyone leans in to get a better look, no one will notice Therion surreptitiously slipping a hand into one of the pack’s pockets and hiding whatever it is he finds beneath his shawl. Maybe he’d even stick around long enough to give Tressa a sympathetic smile and a quick “Too bad, maybe next time!” before moving on to find his next target.

But that would only be possible if none of their six other companions were around.

Therion didn’t think he could pull it off if either Primrose, H’aanit and Cyrus were around. H’aanit had the keen eyes of a hawk that could spot even the tiniest out of place movement and Primrose was always wary of her surroundings, immediately distrustful of anyone who came too near or acted too nice. Plus, the both of them were the most likely to pull a sharp weapon on him if he was caught, not caring whether he’d get hit or not. Maybe he’d have a better chance to make a run for it if it was Cyrus, who, while he was exceptionally observant, wasn’t exactly the fastest in their group.

Now if it was any of the other three who were around...

Therion stopped himself before he could continue down that train of thought.

For once, he was at a fair to enjoy himself, not to scrounge up some loose change or an extra bit of food. And here he was, thinking about robbing his friends.

Therion’s footsteps slowed.

Friends.

Now when exactly had he started thinking of them as that?

“Therion?”

A short tap on his shoulder had Therion immediately on guard, whipping his head around to look at the person beside him.

Alfyn blinked, eyes wide. “You okay? You look a bit tense there, pal.”

Pal.

“I’m fine,” Therion replied brusquely.

“You sure?” Alfyn persisted. “‘Cause if you do feel restless, I can fix something up for you in a jiffy to help calm the nerves-”

“I said I’m fine, jeez!” Therion bristled.

“Uh-oh.” Primrose materialized at Alfyn’s side. “Is our Therion in one of his moods again?” she asked, sounding like she was talking about a toddler or a pet.

Therion scowled, not appreciating the tone.

But Primrose only laughed and brushed past them towards where the rest of their ragtag group were gathered around a stall, listening intently as the stall keeper explained the rules of the game. Therion looked to Alfyn, expecting him to go and join the others, but the apothecary remained right where he was, still looking at Therion with concern.

“You sure you don’t need that tonic?” Alfyn asked and Therion sighed, shaking his head.

“I...I’m just not used to,” Therion gestured with his hands, “all this.”

Alfyn hummed, looking out at the fair around them. “Never had anything of this sort back at Bolderfall?”

Therion shook his head. “Oh there were events like these. Just...well, these kinds of things aren’t exactly made for people like me.”

Alfyn raised a brow. “What do you mean?”

Therion looked up at him. “I’m a thief, medicine man,” he said simply. “Thieves aren’t allowed to enjoy themselves in the open like you are.”

The smile on Alfyn’s face faltered and Therion felt a pang of - Pain? Guilt? - in his chest.

The apothecary laughed, the smile no longer reaching his eyes, and scratched the back of his neck. “Well shucks Therion, if you didn’t wanna come, you could have just said so.”

They lapsed into silence after that, neither one saying another word. Therion kept his eyes facing straight ahead, intent on avoiding eye contact with Alfyn.

It wasn’t like he never wanted to come.

When Alfyn had suggested making a detour to Clearbrook on the way to Saintsbridge, Therion hadn’t minded. Neither of them were in any sort of rush to get anything done and even when the rest of their companions had missions of varying urgency, like H’aanit’s search for her master and Primrose’s hunt for the man with the crow tattoo, they had all relented and agreed that just one day at a fair wouldn’t hurt anyone.

Besides, Alfyn had looked the most eager out of all of them and no one could say no to his grinning face or his endless excited chattering about the fair. The apothecary behaved very much like a little kid on Yuletide and even Therion had to admit, his excitement was contagious. Very soon, everyone else was looking forward to the fair and Therion, finding no other reason to refuse, foolishly let himself get swept up into it.

Maybe, just this once, he had thought, it would be nice to not have to think like a thief for a day.

Except that he hadn’t thought about the very obvious fact that he had never gone to a fair just for fun. The others might be used to it, but he wasn’t.

Therion was still looking at this whole thing like a thief; looking at the sparse spacing between stalls and devising escape routes, looking at the bustle of activity around him and seeing only opportunities to slip a hand into a bag undetected, or to swipe a stick of barbeque from a display stand, slip a bracelet off some unsuspecting maiden’s delicate wrist.

And what Therion found even worse was the fact that he was fighting against it.

Maybe he was getting soft.

Maybe it was a mistake coming here after all.

Alfyn sighed heavily and walked over to join the others. Finding nothing else to do, Therion followed, maintaining a small distance between him and the main group, watching with bemusement as Tressa attempted to shoot down three moving wooden targets with a play bow and arrows.

In the end, she only succeeded in hitting one (and even then, it had nearly missed) and was awarded with a single orange as a consolation prize. It was then that H’aanit stepped up to avenge her and hit all three targets cleanly, winning the grand prize of a giant, stuffed dragon from the speechless stall keeper.

Their group did little else but wander from stall to stall after that. Tressa brought H’aanit and Olberic along with her to every game she could spot, making them promise to step in and avenge her whenever she lost. Primrose, Cyrus and Ophilia were more drawn to the merchant stalls, stopping here and there to look at glittering displays of jewelry and racks containing all manner of garments, in Prim and Ophilia’s cases, or stacks of thick heavy tomes, in Cyrus’ case.

Therion saw Prim pick up a dagger at a weapons dealer and inspect the blade with idle fascination before sheathing it and handing it back to the merchant, while Ophilia fretted over which hairpin laid out on a table before her would suit her sister Lianna more. Cyrus, as expected, was lost among the towers of books at a secondhand book dealer, the muffled sound of his humming and the occasional “Fascinating!” being the only indication that he was still there.

Alfyn gravitated toward the food and drink, finding himself a pint of mead and constantly going back and forth to refill it. After another trip to refill his pint, he returned from one stall with at least three sticks of meat kebab. He noticed the way Therion was eyeing him and smiled, offering one stick out for him, which Therion grudgingly accepted.

The two ate their kebabs in silence, content for a while to just stand there and watch people pass. Eating was a nice distraction and Therion appreciated it.

“Hey,” Alfyn said when he was done with one kebab, “there’s somethin’ I’ve been meanin’ to ask you.”

Therion ignored the way that sentence made his heart thump in his chest and said simply, “Shoot.”

“Would you-” Alfyn stopped himself, shook his head, and looked away. “I mean, uhh, if you’d like, I, um...” Perhaps it was just the glow of the fair lights, or Therion seeing things that weren’t actually there, but was Alfyn blushing?

“Shucks, um, let me start over,” Alfyn chuckled, taking a huge sip of his mead.

Ah. Must be the alcohol, Therion thought. And yet, why was a part of him disappointed at that?

Alfyn sighed as he put down his now empty pint and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.  He cleared his throat and fixed Therion with a steady gaze, face still flushed (whether really by alcohol or something else, Therion could only guess) and mouth pulled into a tight, nervous line.

“Therion,” he said and something about the way Alfyn said his name then - with much more conviction than before and with a low, almost raspy tone - made Therion shiver.

“Yes?” he squeaked, hand tightening around his kebab stick.

“Would you...that’s to say, if you want to...would you wanna dance with me later?”

Therion blinked, unsure what it was he was being asked to do.

“Dance?” he said blankly. “With you?”

It came out sounding much harsher than he had intended and whatever confidence Alfyn had was immediately lost as the apothecary drew back from Therion, face even more flushed than before.

Alfyn laughed and scratched the back of his head. “Ah, forget it!” he said quickly in between forced laughter. “Forget I said anythin’! I’ll, uh, I’m gonna go get a refill!”

And with that, Alfyn was sprinting down the street with his still full pint, completely missing the mead station, and was soon lost among the crowd.

“Well you could have handled that with a lot more grace.”

Primrose sauntered over to Therion’s side, arms crossed over her chest.

Therion frowned at her. “What do you mean?’

Primrose sighed and shook her head, still staring off to where Alfyn had disappeared. “Poor guy worked up all that courage to ask you, and for what?” She fixed Therion with a look. “You reject him before he even had time to explain.”

“Hah?” Therion drawled, scowling.

Primrose rolled her eyes. “Men,” she scoffed. “Always so dense. Let me give you a word of advice, Therion.”

She grabbed him by his sleeve and pulled him towards her till she was speaking almost directly into Therion’s ear.

“Alfyn’s a genuinely nice guy,” Primrose said. “Sure he looks a bit scruffy, but you don’t find genuinely nice guys like him often. Or ever, really.”

“So?” Therion said, earning him a sharp pinch on the arm.

“So, dumbass, I bet there’s a whole line of girls just waiting for their chance to waltz away to happily ever after with him. And if you’re even half the guy I think you are, you would take my suggestion and make your move before someone else does.”

Primrose let go of Therion’s arm and gave him a look that was both a warning and a tease. And if he was being completely honest, Therion didn’t know what to make of it.

It was ridiculous really, and he didn’t quite understand why Primrose was telling him this.

For one, it heavily suggested that he - well, that he liked Alfyn.

And he doesn’t.

Of course he doesn’t.

Does he?

“You’ve got the wrong idea,” Therion said. “I don’t-”

“Save it.” Primrose held up a hand. “I know what I see, and if one of you doesn’t make a move soon, I swear, I’m going to scream every time I catch one of you staring wistfully at the other again.”

“I don’t stare wistfully at Alfyn!” Therion protested but the words sounded weak even to his ears. “And Alfyn doesn’t - he wouldn’t stare at me like that either.”

Primrose raised her brows. “Or you’re just not as sharp as I thought you were.”

She laid a hand on Therion’s shoulder. “At least think about what I said, okay?” Then she walked off to rejoin Ophilia, who was still stuck on the hairpins and was desperately asking for her advice.

Therion kicked at a pebble on the ground, glaring down at his shoes.

He didn’t like Alfyn.

There was just no way.

And Alfyn -

Well.

Alfyn wouldn’t want someone like him anyway.

Therion looked up and caught Primrose staring at him from over her shoulder. She gave him a pointed look then turned back to talk to Ophilia. Therion scowled, pulled his scarf up higher over his face, then turned and began pushing through the throng of people, with no real destination in mind other than away.

****

Therion wandered the fair grounds for what felt like hours, letting his feet take him wherever it was they pleased. Every time he caught sight of one of his companions, or of a telltale green jacket and a scruffy blond ponytail, he’d turn and walk the opposite direction. It didn’t matter that he had probably seen the entire fair by then, or that he had been walking in circles for Aelfric knows how long. He just didn’t want to run into any of his frie- companions. Or even worse, run into Alfyn.

Therion was still trying to figure out what it was that had him so - so bothered.

Was it all just because he still wasn’t used to the environment? Or had it been something someone had told him? Was it when Primrose had insinuated that he had more than friendly feelings for Alfyn? Or before that, when Alfyn had asked if he wanted to dance?

Why was he so hung up on that question anyway?

It’s just a dance.

It wasn’t like Therion had never danced before. It did come in handy once in a while during battle, and Primrose commented more than once that Therion was a natural at it. Besides, the dances they had here were probably nothing like those formal dances they had at Atlasdam or in other similarly stuffy places. No need to worry about making a fool of himself or seeming improper. Country dances were a whole lot more forgiving when it came to missteps.

So why did it bother him so much?

Therion stopped just at the edge of the fair’s center, where a giant bonfire had been lit, various logs and picnic blankets forming a ring around it where people sat, ate and talked. In front of the bonfire, an orator was giving an impassioned speech about the history of the fair - something about the coming of spring, the reminder to be good and humble in the following year or Aelfric would smite you down, et cetera.

Therion zoned it out as he found a good patch of grass nearby and sat, not realizing how tired his legs were until he was on the ground. He sighed and pulled his legs up till his chin was resting on his knees, the lower part of his face all but obscured by his scarf.

The firelight cast long dark shadows on the ground and Therion found himself watching the orator’s shadow, seeing it gesture its vague limbs wildly around.

He didn’t know how much time had passed before the orator finished his speech and bowed deeply to the assembled crowd, who all clapped politely. Therion looked up just in time to see the orator walk off. And into the light of the bonfire, a bunch of musicians came to replace him, lugging their giant instrument cases along with them.

With the arrival of the musicians came an air of anticipation and interest that hadn’t been there when the orator was around, as people began talking loudly and getting to their feet, huge smiles on their faces. Therion kept his eyes on the musicians, watched as they took out their instruments and prepared to play.

Their fiddler played one long, drawn out note and the crowd cheered him on. The fiddler tapped his feet and looked towards the other musicians, nodding his head along with the tapping. Then all at once, they started to play.

As if they knew exactly when the music would kick in, nearly everyone who had been sitting around the bonfire jumped to their feet if they hadn’t been standing already and began to dance, grabbing the nearest partner they could get and proceeding to - well, Therion didn’t actually know what sort of dance move it was, but it was something that exuded such joy, such energy, such bright and raw exuberance.

Nothing about it was delicate or refined at all. It was all huge strides and stomps, hops and skips, arms hooked around each other as they danced around the bonfire, switching partners when the music swelled, clapping along to the music’s time when their hands were otherwise idle.

It was all so noisy and confusing, yet Therion couldn’t take his eyes off of it. Nor off of the shadows the dancing bodies made on the ground. At some points, they all seemed to merge into one giant wriggling thing that still managed somehow to keep time with the music.

And then, Therion spotted him.

A familiar mess of blond hair galavanting around with all the others, looking to all the world like he belonged there. He was laughing, grinning from ear to ear as he clapped and skipped along with everyone else. And his arm was hooked around a girl’s.

Therion felt something inside him shift the very moment his eyes fell on the unknown girl that Alfyn was dancing with. Like a deep pit had been opened at the bottom of his stomach and all feeling had gone from his limbs. Suddenly, Therion wanted very much to be away from this place.

He got to his feet but even as he did so, he didn’t know where he would go.

His eyes were still glued to the image of Alfyn happily dancing with a girl, watching as they circled each other before they linked hands and the girl began dancing around the apothecary while they were still connected by their fingers, Alfyn following her with smiling eyes.

An almost painful twist in Therion’s gut told him to move, to look away, but all Therion could do was return to Primrose’s words.

“I bet there’s a whole line of girls just waiting for their chance to waltz away to happily ever after with him.”

And she was right.

Alfyn was a genuinely nice guy. Maybe sometimes too nice.

And Therion was foolish for thinking that he had a chance with such a nice guy.

He was so transfixed that he didn’t notice somebody approaching him till she was standing right in front of him, blocking his view of the bonfire.

Therion blinked and looked up at Primrose’s smug face.

“Thought I’d find you here,” she said.

“What do you want?” Therion barked, looking away from her.

In response, Primrose simply held out her hand with a benign smile. Therion eyed it with suspicion.

“Relax, Therion, I’m not going to bite. Unless you want me to,” Primrose said flirtatiously, winking.

Therion grimaced in response, earning him a light slap on the arm.

“Just take my hand,” Primrose sighed.

Therion hesitated, clenching both his hands into fists beneath his shawl.

His eyes wandered back to the bonfire, to the dance, and he didn’t know if it was just an impulse, if deep down he had actually wanted to join in, or if it was the sight of Alfyn’s hand on a girl’s waist, but Therion took Primrose’s hand.

Primrose smiled, pleased, then started leading him towards the bonfire where all the other dancers were. As soon as they got close to the circle, Therion tugged on Primrose’s hand, making her stop to turn and shoot him a questioning look.

“I-” Therion swallowed, “I don’t-” Reflexively, he hid the wrist with the fool’s bangle on it behind his back.

Primrose noticed the movement and patiently said, “It’ll be fine. Just trust me. You can do that, right?”

The look she gave him then was so honest, so earnest, that it triggered something in Therion - something he didn’t know he still possessed. Therion gave one small nod, sincere, and Primrose smiled.

She led him into the circle and the dancers parted to give them space to join in. She hooked her arm through his and began mimicking the dance steps effortlessly, as if she had done this plenty of times before. Which, Therion reflected, was probably true.

“Loosen up,” she advised him as Therion tried to catch up. “Just have fun with it.”

“Have fun?” Therion retorted but was awarded with a sharp look. He sighed and looked around at all the other dancers, trying to discern where to start. He paid close attention to the music, waited for the right note to hit, then began to move his feet, following the rhythm of the music.

“That’s it,” Primrose said approvingly.

It didn’t take long for Therion to pick up the rest of the dance. He got lost once or twice but all it took was one quick glance at everyone else’s footwork to get him back in rhythm. Having Primrose as a partner was also a plus. Aside from being the best dancer there was, she knew exactly what to do and how to recover whenever he got lost or made a misstep. That, and she had the innate ability to make even the worst dancer look good if she was paired up as their partner.

Therion was just beginning to work up a sweat, his heart beating to the music’s tempo, when Primrose leaned in, said “Time to switch,” and moved gracefully towards the man dancing beside them.

Therion froze, not knowing what to do, before another arm was suddenly hooked through his and he found himself staring at the brightest grin in all of Orsterra.

“Hiya, Therion!” Alfyn said cheerfully.

“Alf-” Therion ended up biting his tongue before he could get his entire name out, as Alfyn pulled him back into the dance. Alfyn’s hands were clammy with sweat but they were warm and strong, managing to keep their grip on Therion’s despite it all.

Therion barely had time to get used to his new partner. Where Primrose led with a sort of patient grace, movements smooth and fluid like a cat’s, Alfyn was all big jovial energy, rough around the edges and perhaps a bit too rowdy for Therion’s liking. But there was a strange kind of optimistic energy in Alfyn that Primrose didn’t have.

Primrose knew how to make a dance look graceful and effortless. Alfyn knew how to make it look fun.

“Come on Therion, pick up your feet!” Alfyn said.

Therion remembered that he was supposed to be annoyed at Alfyn right now and scowled, though it didn’t really come off as mad as he hoped it would. “I don’t wanna hear that from you.”

Alfyn laughed and simply pulled Therion closer towards him, till they were nearly chest to chest, their palms pressed flat against each other. This close to him, there was no longer any way to avoid staring at Alfyn’s face and Therion found himself inspecting the deep golden brown of his eyes, noted the little crinkles at the corners whenever he smiled or laughed. It was – well, it was really something.

“Whatcha thinkin’ about, Therion?” Alfyn asked, pulling him along as they danced in irregular circles, their hands still connected.

Therion hummed. “You really want to know?”

Alfyn immediately looked more unsure. “Well shucks, if you say it like that…”

Therion chuckled softly. “Just wondering what the big deal is.” He paused, hesitated for a moment, before something in him made him continue, “You asking me to dance that is.”

Alfyn blinked, then laughed. “Well, I thought it was obvious.”

“What is?”

Suddenly, Therion was closer to Alfyn than he had initially thought and one of Alfyn’s hands had traveled down to his waist. His steps slowed, no longer keeping time with the music or with everyone else, but he looked like he hardly cared.

Alfyn’s face glittered with sweat and there was a flush to his cheeks. “Come on, don’t make me spell it out for you,” he said, embarrassed.

Before Therion could even speak, it was time to switch partners, and someone else grabbed Therion’s hand and pulled him away from Alfyn, who stared after him helplessly as another girl came bounding towards him.

The girl who Therion was dancing with now was much less rowdy than Alfyn, but all throughout the entire dance, Therion found his eyes wandering to the apothecary, watching him, wondering when he’d be partnered up with him again. And once or twice, or perhaps even more, he caught Alfyn glancing at him too.

Then all at once, just before they were about to be partnered up again, the music came to a stop and with it everyone else. Everyone assembled around the bonfire turned to the musicians and clapped as they bowed deeply to the crowd.

But Therion could hardly pay attention to what was happening around him anymore, because suddenly, there was Alfyn, parting the crowd to get to him, breathless and sweaty but somehow managing to look breathtaking still beneath the lights.

Alfyn stopped just in front of Therion, chest heaving, mouth hanging open but no words spilling out. Therion could feel his heart thumping in his chest, in a rhythm that seemed to match Alfyn’s breaths. The musicians started playing a newer, slower tune and the people around them started to dance again, but he and Alfyn remained motionless.

Therion was aware of how they stood in the middle of a complete circle of dancers, the only two who didn’t seem at all eager to join again. Alfyn was still trying to catch his breath but not once did his eyes leave Therion’s face, a fact that Therion was all too aware of.

Primrose’s words swam around in his head.

“Make your move before someone else does.”

Therion cleared his throat and forced himself to look up at Alfyn’s eyes, even as the intensity of his gaze made him feel like he was going to combust on the spot. “Is there something you wanted to tell me?”

Alfyn blinked, and the intensity was gone, replaced by something much softer. Something that made Therion’s insides feel like they were suddenly made of jelly.

“Yeah,” Alfyn said, still breathless somehow. “Yeah, there is.”

Therion nodded for him to go on, fists clenching and unclenching anxiously beneath his shawl. Alfyn was frozen for a moment, the orange glow of the festival lights turning his hair fiery. Therion found himself glancing at his lips, dry and chapped as they were.

Alfyn opened his mouth, leaning in ever so slightly, and Therion’s heart jumped in his chest. His fingers twitched with the familiar urge to grab, but all Therion wanted to take a hold of was Alfyn’s face so he could just pull him closer and bring his lips to his.

A second passed. Two.

Therion was getting impatient.

Without warning, he grabbed the front of Alfyn’s jacket and leaned up towards him. The apothecary’s eyes widened.

He was right there. He could do it and just be done with it all.

But a moment’s hesitation was all it took, and from the corner of his eye, Therion saw a pair of dancers careen towards them, unaware of the incoming collision.

“Watch out!” he said as he pulled Alfyn out of the couple’s trajectory and into the relative safety of outside the circle of dancers. They stood there, chest to chest, for a moment, eyes never leaving the other, before Therion quickly let go of Alfyn’s jacket and took one, two - three was a good number - steps back. He would have congratulated himself on the save had it not been for the well of disappointment that immediately followed it.

Alfyn chuckled, hand coming up to cover his mouth. He looked away, face still flushed. “Wow, uhh...For a second there, I thought you were gonna-”

“Stop,” Therion interrupted. He stared resolutely down at his shoes. “Let’s just forget it. I’m going back to the inn.”

“Oh. Already?” Alfyn said, disappointed. When Therion didn’t respond, Alfyn sighed. “At least let me walk y-”

“I know the way myself,” Therion said gruffly and without another word, turned on his heel and headed for what he guessed was the right direction to the fair grounds exit. He didn’t dare look back. He couldn’t bear to.

As soon as he was out of the fair grounds, Therion broke into a run, veering off the trodden dirt path running back to Clearbrook and down a short slope to the riverbank. There was rustling coming from some bushes nearby and the barely concealed sounds of the people who were hiding in those bushes, but he didn’t care. Whoever was in there sounded too busy to pay him any heed anyway, if they even noticed his approach at all, so he let them be.

Therion crouched at the very edge of the bank, staring down into the black water of the stream. A frog croaked somewhere nearby and across the bank, he could see the glow of fireflies flitting amongst the trees. The sound of crickets was loud here, almost able to drown out the noise of the crowd and the music from the fair grounds. He could never find wildlife as noisy or as vibrant as this back in the Cliftlands, with its freezing nighttime temperatures and lack of vegetation.

Well, near lack.

Alfyn had shown him plenty of times where he could find succulents growing out of the harsh red earth, or on the craggy cliff faces. Plants that despite the extreme environment still managed to survive.

And there, his thoughts were going back to Alfyn.

Therion groaned and buried his face in his arms. Maybe he should go back to the inn after all. Wouldn’t hurt to get some sleep on an actual bed with an actual pillow for a change. God knows how many sleepless nights he had spent on the road, being forced to sleep in their lumpy sleeping packs on even lumpier, uncomfortable ground. Though, granted, he had slept in worse conditions before, back in the Cliftlands and even before he had found his way to Bolderfall.

Just another reminder of how soft you’ve gotten.

Therion was just about to get up and start walking towards Clearbrook when he heard running footsteps on the path above and an unmistakable voice cursing with that hick accent that months on the road couldn’t get rid of. Therion spotted a boulder nearby and quickly ducked behind it, intent on letting his presence remain unseen.

The rustling in the bushes got louder and he heard Alfyn’s footsteps pause before they slowly went down the slope. It was then that Therion heard the second set of footsteps and the other, much less familiar voice that spoke in lower tones. He couldn’t tell who it was, though he was certain it wasn’t any of their six companions. Therion closed his eyes and held his breath, willing his entire self to become one with the boulder. There was a faint rustling, then the sound of a woman’s shriek, accompanied by Alfyn’s own cry of surprise.

“Ah! I’m sorry, so sorry!” Alfyn said as whoever was in the bushes made a quick escape to somewhere further down the riverbank, Therion guessed.

“Sorry!” Alfyn called after them before he sighed heavily.

The other voice laughed. “Told you we shouldn’t have checked.”

“Shut it, Zeph.”

Ah.

No footsteps. Therion dared to open his eyes and could clearly see Alfyn’s and Zeph’s shadows on the water, backlit by the distant lights of the fair.

They were standing right there at the other side of the boulder.

Therion dared not move a muscle or even breath.

Alfyn sighed again and Therion could see his shadow crouch on the ground. A stone was skipped across the surface of the water.

“I’m a real darn idiot,” Alfyn said.

Yes you are. Now please walk away.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have made a move just yet.”

That’s...debatable, Therion thought. But he found himself moving just slightly closer, suddenly wanting to hear more.

“I don’t wanna mess this up,” Alfyn continued. “But I never have any gosh darn idea what would be right.”

Silence.

“You’re really serious about this one huh?”

“Serious?” Alfyn chuckled dryly. “I’ve been serious ever since I first realized what this whole feelin’ was.”

Zeph hummed and his shadow crouched down beside Alfyn’s.

“I’m always afraid I’ll...well, that I’ll fuck it up. Therion, he...he’s got these walls that he’s built up ‘round himself, and he’s had ‘em up for so long, I don’t think he’s even had any friends before us. But if he did, well, he’s never told me.”

“If that’s the case, why do you still bother?”

“Well shucks Zeph. You don’t know Therion as much as I do. I know I can get him to open up to me. I want him to. Because...I really, actually, pretty darn like the person beneath.”

Therion was afraid they could hear his heartbeat.

There was a pause then Zeph began to laugh. “Wow I never thought I’d see the day. My best friend, Alfyn Greengrass, in love.”

Alfyn made an embarrassed noise and shushed Zeph. “Shut up! I don’t want the whole damn town knowin’!”

Zeph chuckled. “Fine. But promise me this. Even if he tries pushing you away, promise that you won’t hesitate next time. If he rejects you still, then there’s nothin’ you can do about it. But at least you can say that you tried.”

“Gee thanks.”

Zeph’s shadow stood and stretched. “I better be gettin’ back home. Nina’s probably waitin’ up for me.”

“I’ll go back with you,” Alfyn said as Therion watched his shadow rise and follow Zeph’s till their shadows were no longer visible on the water. Their faint chatter eventually faded until all Therion could hear were the crickets around him. Finally, Therion allowed himself to breathe and stood, appearing from behind the boulder and making his way up the slope towards Clearbrook.

The next day, as Alfyn sat nursing a hangover at the breakfast table, Therion did his best to act normally, the way he always did before this whole thing about liking Alfyn became apparent.

It wasn't hard. He could sense that Alfyn was trying to dodge the topic too, Zeph’s advice from the night before suddenly seeming like it had never been said at all, and that was fine for Therion.

It helped that the others were completely oblivious to what had transpired between Alfyn and Therion. Tressa, while she had been over the moon the night before after all the prizes she (with the help of H'aanit and Olberic) had won, now sat pondering aloud what she was going to do with all the extra cargo. Ophilia, ever the optimist, was suggesting ways Tressa could store the extra prizes in her pack, whilst Cyrus, ever the pragmatist, was suggesting that she sell some of the prizes in town.

Olberic was as silent as ever, though the stony look on his face suggested that he was probably as hungover as Alfyn. Ophilia was flitting between tending to both Olberic and Alfyn's hangovers and talking to Tressa while H'aanit went about her usual business tending to Linde and stringing her bow.

On the outside, Primrose appeared normal. But every once in a while, Therion would catch her glance over in his direction, a silent question in her eyes, before she looked back towards H'aanit, Ophilia or Tressa and spoke to them with her usual smooth, teasing tones.

Alfyn's own gaze would wander to Therion more than once, much less subtle than Primrose, but he would look away the moment Therion would meet his gaze.

The group set out for Saintsbridge later that same day, once Alfyn and Olberic were sure that they could stand upright without getting a headache, and still nothing about what had happened at the fair was discussed.

An hour‘s walk away from Clearbrook, Therion turned to inspect a small, crumbling house overrun by vines and moss by the side of the road, only to meet Alfyn's stare. Therion raised his brows, daring him to ask the question they both knew was coming, but Alfyn never did. Alfyn looked away from Therion, and not a word about what happened at the fair was ever spoken.

Chapter Text

They stumbled upon another fair a day away from Saintsbridge, on their way out to Orewell.

It was apparently a big time for festivals in the Riverlands and this one looked to be the biggest yet, with colorful tents and banners occupying a space at least triple the size of the one in Clearbrook what felt like many many months ago.

This time around, Therion knew he could behave himself. If he resorted to his old habits now, he knew it would be too soon. Not after what happened to them - to Alfyn - back in Saintsbridge.

The apothecary lagged behind their group, dragging his feet along without any of the usual zest that came with his steps. He kept to himself throughout their walk away from Saintsbridge, as quiet as if he was never even there, and there was a heaviness in his shoulders, a telltale hint to the mental burden he now had to carry with him.

Therion elected to walk closely to him, taking up the rear of the group, while H'aanit insisted that Linde walk alongside them as well. The leopard padded along right behind Alfyn, occasionally nudging his leg with her head. But apart from a wan smile and a slight brush of fingers over the top of her head, she elicited no other response from the usually affectionate apothecary.

Many times as they walked, Tressa and Ophilia attempted to make light conversation with Alfyn, pointing out an unusually shaped cloud in the sky, or asking about herbs and flowers they spotted on the side of the road that they already knew the names of. Alfyn's responses were short and clipped and it soon became clear that he was in no mood to entertain their attempts at lightening up the atmosphere. Eventually, they gave up at the silent urging of Primrose and everyone became intent on getting as far away from Saintsbridge as they could.

Therion should have been glad.

He knew he should be.

The Therion of many weeks ago would have been nothing short of relieved for the respite from Alfyn's ceaseless chatter, glad for the peaceful walk free of any unnecessary small talk.

But the Therion of now could hardly stand the silence.

He wouldn't have minded if Alfyn had been mad. He could have taken it if he fumed and ranted all the way to Orewell. He wouldn't have minded either if Alfyn sobbed and wailed along the way either. But instead, he was completely silent. He trailed behind the group like a ghost, never saying a word, and Therion couldn't stand it.

Maybe that was why he suggested that they drop by the fair in the first place. Maybe he was just desperate to elicit any sort of reaction from Alfyn, anything at all. Even if Alfyn didn't want to be at the festival, even a negative reaction was good enough for Therion.

Which was how their tiny group found themselves at another fair, this time at the suggestion of the least likely member of their party.

Their group became significantly cheerier as they walked amongst the stalls, full of games and food that the fair at Clearbrook didn't have. There was jousting between squires and would-be knights, wrestling, soccer and other sports of the like. There were roasted meats, mountains of sweets, and mead and ale by the barrel. The atmosphere was more festive than the one in Clearbrook, the music more melodious, the singing much louder, and the laughter just a bit more infectious.

Very soon, conversation became lighter between the travelers. Smiling became much easier and laughter not as foreign. As each of them wandered off to one event after another, Therion stayed by Alfyn's side.

Since leaving Saintsbridge, Therion had made sure not to stray too far from Alfyn. Even after everything that had happened, when Therion was sure that he was probably the last person Alfyn wanted to see, (just a reminder of his greatest mistake,) he stayed the closest to him, never once letting him out of his sight.

The Therion of weeks ago would have known to keep his distance. The Therion of weeks ago would probably have left by now.

But the Therion of now was soft.

The Therion of now was just a hapless planet drawn toward Alfyn's orbit.

"You hungry?" he asked the apothecary as they walked.

Alfyn looked up, eyes darting between the food stalls, and forced a smile that never reached his eyes.

"I'm fine."

The gravel in Alfyn's voice told Therion not to push it. So he didn't. And if Alfyn found his presence annoying or disturbing, he didn't say it aloud. The two of them walked, letting the noise and the chatter surround them.

Therion found his gaze glued to the back of Alfyn's head, noticing the unusually messy tuft of blond hair that passed for a ponytail. The tie was too loose. The merest tug could let it all fall. Beneath it, the barest stretch of pale neck. Therion wanted to reach out and touch it. He wanted to pull on Alfyn's ponytail till it came loose, then run his fingers through the thick strands.

But Therion was all too aware of the walls that stood between them. Whatever walls Therion had put up already, Alfyn had only reinforced. And Therion was still figuring out how to build a ladder.

After what felt like an eternity, Alfyn stopped and turned back to Therion.

"Are-Are you hungry?" Alfyn asked, awkward. Therion almost wanted to laugh.

He shook his head and Alfyn nodded before he started moving again.

Therion followed.

Their feet brought them through the merchant stalls and Alfyn spotted an apothecarial stall filled with herbs in glass jars and liquids in tiny tincture bottles. He stopped in front of it to inspect their wares, Therion lingering behind. The thief watched as Alfyn picked up a bottle filled with a greenish liquid and turned it over in his fingers. For just a moment, the apothecary's shoulders lightened and something in his expression shifted as he inspected the bottle's contents. Then it all came to a jarring stop. Alfyn froze then quickly dropped the bottle, nearly breaking the glass when he brought it back down to the table. He turned his back on the stall and moved away with a sudden quickness in his step.

Therion followed.

Alfyn's steps slowed a fair distance away from the stall and Therion was able to catch up. Alfyn kept walking, and walking, and walking, and Therion trailed behind him, never too far. Finally, the apothecary stopped at the foot of a small slope. It was a secluded spot that was a fair distance away from the booths, but which remained close enough to still be a part of the fair.

The sky was just beginning to turn from the red and orange glow of sunset to the deeper blue and purple of twilight. One by one, the lanterns that were strung up from post to post all over the grounds were getting lit, hanging above everyone's heads.

Alfyn let out a breath of a laugh, so soft and faint that Therion almost missed it.

"I'm sorry," Alfyn said as he turned back to look at him. His eyes remained on the ground, his hand coming up to scratch at the back of his neck. There was no telltale flush on his cheeks, only a smile that failed to truly spread across his face the way it always did.

"You must be tired, havin’ to look after me like this."

Therion shook his head. "I don't mind."

Alfyn looked up at him in surprise. "You don't?"

Therion shook his head once more. "Unless you want to be alone?"

"No." Therion could tell that the word came out instinctively, tumbling out of Alfyn's mouth before he even knew it was there.

A pause.

"No."

Therion nodded. "All right then."

A few more seconds of agonizing silence.

Alfyn sighed and sat down on the grass. He looked up at Therion and patted the ground beside him. Therion obliged, tucking his shawl more comfortably around him as he squatted.

He kept his eyes on the distant jousting field, just visible from where they sat. He watched the knights in their makeshift armor heft their lances and charge towards each other. Just before the two lances met in the center, Therion turned his head to look at Alfyn only to find the apothecary already staring at him.

Alfyn didn't look away.

"What are you thinking about?" Therion asked.

"I don't know how you put up with it."

"Put up with what?"

"Put up with me."

Therion exhaled through his nose. "Same way you've always put up with me this whole time."

Alfyn chuckled, and although it was half-hearted, Therion knew it was already an improvement.

"I still don't know how you do it."

Alfyn shrugged. "Well, has it worked?"

"Would I still be here if it didn't?"

Alfyn chuckled, and this one sounded more sincere. "You're really somethin', aren't ya, Therion."

From above them came the caws of birds heralding the evening, and below the triumphant cheers from the crowd at the jousting grounds.

"Have you figured out what you're going to do?" Therion asked.

"I heard there's somethin' pretty bad spreadin' in Orewell. And poor folks who can't afford proper remedies."

"Do you think you can help them?"

The question wasn't accusatory, only matter-of-factly.

Alfyn exhaled heavily. "I sure hope so."

The conversation lulled into silence, neither one of them saying another word. Therion didn't need to give voice to the question that hung heavy in the air between them. What if there was another Miguel waiting for them in Orewell? Another dirty criminal who would turn on them the moment they got what they wanted from Alfyn?

And how much longer until Alfyn realized that Therion was just like them?

People were slowly beginning to leave the jousting grounds below them, horses taken back to their stables, competitors stripping themselves of their heavy armor, the field being cleared to make way for a giant bonfire being carried out on the shoulders of four people.

“I’m not…making a mistake again, am I?”

Alfyn had hung his head, his eyes trained on the grass below. Therion hummed, “What do you mean?”

“Maybe Ogen’s right,” Alfyn said. “Maybe I should be more careful with who I help. I can’t help everyone, and not everyone I help deserves it. But the apothecary who saved me, that’s not what he would do, is it? And now I’m askin’ myself if I deserved to be helped back then, if maybe that apothecary was makin’ a mistake too.”

Alfyn’s voice trailed off and he sighed. “What I’m plannin’ to do, goin’ to Orewell to help random strangers, keepin’ on this path I’ve made for myself.” A heavy pause. “It’s not a mistake, right?”

There was a desperate edge to Alfyn’s voice and Therion could feel his heart sink with an unexpected weight when he realized that he had no true answer to Alfyn’s question. Who could say for sure whether this was going to be a mistake or not? None of them could have ever predicted what would happen at Saintsbridge, just as none of them had even predicted that they’d ever end up travelling together; just as Therion had never predicted that he’d ever meet someone who could break down his walls and make him learn to trust people again.

Therion let out a heavy sigh. “I don’t know,” he said simply. “There’s just no way of knowing.”

Alfyn chuckled mirthlessly. “I figured as much.”

“There’s also no way of knowing that it won’t be a mistake.”

Alfyn looked up at him and Therion met his gaze firmly and said, “But I do know this. For every person like Miguel that you’ve saved, every undeserving asshole who took advantage of you, there’s tens of people who do deserve the kindness you give to them. To keep giving and giving and not expect anything in return; that’s a desire that shouldn’t be stifled. To give it all up and call yourself a failure just because one person didn’t appreciate the second chance he was given – isn’t that a bit unfair to the people you’ve helped and the tons of people still waiting for you to help them?”

As Alfyn continued to stare silently back at him, Therion felt his throat begin to clog up, suddenly feeling like he had said too much yet not enough at the same time. There were so many things he wished he had the courage to say.  They piled up behind his lips like a dam full to bursting, a frenzy of words trying to fight their way out.

You’re too good to be living in a world like this.

No one deserves to be happy more than you do.

You’re already a hundred times the man Miguel was just by continuing to help people who don’t even deserve it.

You remind me that this world isn’t full of just bad things. That there’s something worth fighting and saving it for.

I don’t want you to regret saving the people you’ve saved.

I don’t want you to regret saving me.

I don’t want you to think that this was a mistake.

“Make your move before someone else does.”

Without any more hesitation or overthinking, Therion said the words he had always meant to tell Alfyn.

“The world is so much brighter because you’re in it and I can’t bear to go back to when you weren’t there.”

Alfyn’s eyes widened and his lips parted. As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Therion turned away and pulled his scarf high up on his face. He could feel the heat in his cheeks and hear his pulse pounding in his ears.  But he had no time to regret it. He had made his move and it just had to be good enough for now. Or at least, he hoped that it would be good enough.

Suddenly, Alfyn began to giggle, which was something Therion hadn’t been expecting. He risked a glance at Alfyn and found him smiling at him. It was the first genuine smile in a while. There was a light dusting of pink across Alfyn’s cheeks and when he leaned forward just a little bit, Therion didn’t lean away.

“Therion,” Alfyn said, soft and tender, sending a jolt through Therion’s spine, “when did ya get so sappy?”

Therion blushed to his ears and looked away, scowling. “A-Anyways, that’s what I think. Take it or leave it.”

Alfyn was laughing, sounding almost like his usual self. “You’ve given me a lot to think about.”

Therion felt something brush, almost ghost-like, against his hand and looked down just in time to see Alfyn move his hand away and surreptitiously close his fingers around a clump of grass.

“Thank you,” Alfyn said and smiled a smile that could rival the sun.

Then they lapsed into a comfortable silence, content for now to watch as the dark of evening set in, the golden lights of the fair below glowing like a beacon, the faint murmur of the fair-goers a comforting white noise that filled the otherwise dead silence. Therion caught sight of the jousting grounds, now filled with people assembled around the lit bonfire. A group of musicians with their instruments were making their way through the crowd towards the center.

"You never let me answer your question,” Therion said.

Alfyn frowned. "Which one?"

"I would have danced with you if you had only stayed longer to hear me out."

Alfyn blinked - and there it was, a faint pink blush erupting across his face. “That so?” The apothecary looked away, embarrassed, hand coming up to scratch at his cheek. “Well, I must have looked pretty ridiculous just runnin’ off like that huh.”

Therion couldn’t help it. He let out a huff of laughter that could almost be mistaken for an exhalation of breath if not for the small smile on his face. Instinctively, Therion reached up a hand to hide it but it was too late. Alfyn was staring at him transfixed, his eyes practically sparkling.

Therion cleared his throat. “What?”

The apothecary chuckled. “So you can laugh.”

Therion scowled. “Of course I can, medicine man. I’m only human.”

“Yeah, but you never used to laugh that easily in front of people before.” Alfyn smiled softly. “It’s nice, you know.”

A flush was slowly creeping across Therion’s face and he quickly pulled his scarf up over his nose in a weak attempt to hide it. Suddenly, Alfyn had his hand over Therion’s, pulling his hand down to expose his face.

“You don’t have to hide it ‘round me,” Alfyn said, smile and voice reassuring. After a light pause, Therion cleared his throat and gently pulled his hand away, averting his gaze to the ground. Alfyn followed suit, though the thief could tell that he was still stealing glances in his direction.

Therion’s gaze fell once again on his and Alfyn’s hands on the grass between them. If either of them moved their hands even half an inch, their fingertips would brush against the other’s. All at once, Therion remembered the feeling of his hand clutched tightly in Alfyn’s as they danced, how Alfyn’s sweat slicked palm felt against his, the warmth that passed between their connected fingers and sent bolts of lightning straight into Therion’s veins. And he remembered Primrose’s low voice in his ears among the stalls a thousand years ago.

Therion’s fingers twitched on the grass, almost like he could feel the invisible gravity pulling him towards Alfyn’s hand, but just as he was about to get there, Alfyn spoke up.

“Hey.” Alfyn looked over at Therion and the thief met his eyes, retracting his hand back to his side. “Hm?” Therion said.

Alfyn swallowed then said, “If I asked you again, right now, would you still wanna dance with me?”

Therion blinked. “Yes.”

The word was out of his mouth before he could stop it. Heat was flooding his cheeks once more but Therion refused to look away from Alfyn’s eyes this time.

Alfyn smiled and got to his feet, extending a hand out for Therion. “This time, I won’t let you leave early.”

Therion snorted and took Alfyn’s hand, allowing himself to be pulled up to his feet. “So long as you promise to tell me what you were going to back then.”

Alfyn chuckled. “Don’t worry. I won’t hesitate anymore.”

“Good.” Therion nodded and led the way down the slope back to the fair, their hands still intertwined.

****

By the time Alfyn and Therion made it to the bonfire, the musicians had started playing and the party was in full swing. A colorful mess of swishing skirts and stomping feet greeted them past the merchant stalls, and it was all too bright and noisy to keep up with.

It was a lot different from the dance in Clearbrook.

For one thing, the dancers far outnumbered how many there had been then, and if anything, the dancing was flashier and more exuberant.  It was giving Therion a headache just to watch. But he caught sight of the telltale gleam in Alfyn’s eyes when he saw the dancers, the way his shoulders lightened somewhat, and the way the corners of his lips perked up a bit, and Therion knew he could put up with it for just one night.

“Let’s get this over with,” he said, tugging on Alfyn’s hand as he led him forward, in amongst the dancers. He turned to face him before grabbing on to his other hand and looking up at him expectantly.

Alfyn blinked. “I thought you’d want to lead.”

Therion looked at the chaos around him and grimaced. “Maybe you should.”

Alfyn snorted but nodded his head, glancing at a nearby pair’s movements before beginning to move himself. He clutched Therion’s hands tightly and led him into the hops, steps and jumps. There wasn’t a vast difference between this dance and the one in Clearbrook, and Therion knew that Alfyn knew that. But the way the apothecary led had none of the infectious energy that he had before. It was more subdued, cautious and careful, with none of the reckless abandon that made the dance so enjoyable.

Therion could tell that he was still self-conscious. His eyes were practically glued to his feet and his hands, while warm, were clammy in the most unpleasant way. He caught Therion’s toe harshly with the heel of his boot and Therion hissed through gritted teeth.

“Sorry,” Alfyn murmured. Therion sighed and shook his head before he gripped both of Alfyn’s hands with renewed strength.

“Fine, I’ll lead,” he said.

Alfyn’s eyes widened and he opened his mouth but before a single word could be said, Therion was pulling him into the next steps with a vigor that surprised even him. It took Therion only a second to become accustomed to the dance and as he led Alfyn along, he felt the apothecary relinquish control to him. What little resistance Alfyn had put up gradually melted away as Therion kept them both in time to the music. He could tell by the look of mild surprise on Alfyn’s face that he hadn’t been expecting Therion to take as much active initiative as he was taking now but the thief secretly relished it. He placed a hand on Alfyn’s waist and smirked at the blush that bloomed on the apothecary’s face.

Therion leaned in, savored the tension that coursed through Alfyn’s body as their cheeks brushed against each other, and said in a low voice into Alfyn’s ear, “So much for not hesitating anymore.”

Alfyn growled low in his throat. “Shut it.”

His lips still close to Alfyn’s ear, Therion chuckled, and he could feel Alfyn shiver. When he pulled away, the apothecary’s face was bright red and he was deliberately trying not to look straight at Therion. Which, of course, failed after he couldn’t stop himself from glancing at him only a few seconds later.

Their feet bumped against each other then, both nearly losing their balance, before Therion quickly righted himself and pulled Alfyn up with him. “Sorry,” Alfyn muttered and Therion sighed once more.

“Come on, pick up your feet.” Therion smirked.

The tone was not lost on Alfyn who grimaced in response. But, to Therion’s great relief, he did pick up the pace after that, matching Therion’s strides and skips with a newfound energy. Or perhaps the energy had always been there. It just needed to be brought out.

In the midst of all the heat and the noise, Therion hardly had the time to worry whether or not the fool’s bangle on his wrist was visible, or whether anyone would believe that it was just a bracelet and not a literal shackle marking his identity. When he brought his wrists up between him and Alfyn, he gave no thought to the way the metal glinted in the firelight, or how it looked pressed up against Alfyn’s bare wrist. His eyes remained entirely on Alfyn’s face, watching the most minuscule changes, discerning the barest of emotions on his features.

Sweat was forming on Alfyn’s brow, nearly dripping down his face, and his eyebrows were furrowed in concentration. But the edges of his lips were pulled up into a breathless smile and when he looked up, the firelight danced in his eyes, turning the brown of his irises rich and golden. Alfyn’s grip tightened, his steps became more assured, and when Therion felt him pull against him, resist his leading just slightly, Therion knew that Alfyn was starting to return to himself.

But what really cemented it was the little bouts of laughter that came out of Alfyn every now and again. There was no more apologizing every time he stepped on Therion’s toes or when they bumped against each other uncomfortably. There was only gasping laughter and the reassuring squeeze of his hands.

Very soon, almost too soon, the music reached a crescendo, signaling that the song was almost over, and Alfyn pulled Therion against him. They were closer than ever before now, breathing the same air space, physically unable to look away from each other, and Therion could feel it – feel the gravity of Alfyn’s presence pulling him in, till there would no longer be a distinction between where Therion ended and Alfyn began.

When the music finally came to a stop, Therion almost collapsed against Alfyn, a wave of exhaustion that had been masked by pure adrenaline suddenly weighing him down. Beside him, Alfyn was grinning broadly, a sight that he hadn’t seen in what had felt like such a long time. The two of them stood there for a moment, catching their breath as everyone around them clapped for the musicians.

Alfyn’s chest was still heaving, mouth hanging open as he gasped for air, when he grabbed Therion’s hand. It wasn’t like Therion was any better. He was still out of breath and he felt hot and sweaty under his shawl. His throat felt dry and he wanted nothing more than to chug a glass of ice-cold water, but he closed his fingers around Alfyn’s hand, not once breaking eye contact with the apothecary.

Then Alfyn spoke in a mad rush of words, not stopping once for breath. “I know you said all that stuff about me brightenin’ up your world or somethin’, but you know I feel the same way about you, right?”

Therion couldn’t move for a few long seconds. Only then did he notice that the hand Alfyn had grabbed on to was the one with the fool’s bangle on it and though he was loathe to let go, Therion pulled his hand away and returned it to his side. “Was that a confession, medicine man?” he said, tone joking and wry.

Alfyn’s face was unreadable, his hand still up in the air between them. Then he chuckled, bringing his hand down. His eyes were suddenly filled with an odd warmth, crinkling up at the edges as he gazed at Therion.

“Yeah,” Alfyn said. “Maybe it was.”

Therion’s breath hitched and it was suddenly taking all of his strength to just remain upright. Alfyn reached out and brushed Therion’s fringe away from his face and Therion let him. He let him see the scar that lay hidden beneath, let him brush his thumb tenderly over the puckered flesh. Therion leaned into Alfyn’s touch, closing his eyes as he laid his own hand over Alfyn’s.

Alfyn swallowed, all hesitation gone. “Therion, I-“

“Me too.”

Alfyn blinked and Therion only smiled up at him. “I love you too, Alfyn.”

Alfyn was stunned into silence for a moment before he frowned and protested, “You didn’t even let me finish!”

Therion scoffed, the tender moment between them gone. “What else were you going to say?”

Alfyn balked. “You don’t even know what I was ‘bout to say!”

“Well then what were you about to say?” Therion said with a roll of his eyes.

The apothecary grabbed Therion by the shoulders and leaned in till their faces were right in front of each other. “That I’ve spent so many nights lyin’ awake and wonderin’ if you want me like how I want you and that hearin’ you say what you said ‘bout me has made me literally the happiest darn idiot alive, Miguel and everyone else be damned!”

Therion raised a brow. “So, you love me?”

“Shucks, Therion!” Alfyn laid his head on Therion’s shoulder, sighing exasperatedly. Then he looked up and faced Therion squarely. “Of course I love you!”

At that exact moment, there was a resounding wolf whistle from the crowd and both Alfyn and Therion gave a start as the dawning realization that they were still in public started to settle in. Alfyn quickly let go of Therion and took a step back, both their faces beet red, as the people around them cheered and whooped.

“Get a room!” Therion recognized Primrose’s distinct voice, hollering from somewhere nearby, and he sent a glare in her direction, though he was only met with a smug smirk and a thumbs up.

Well, I guess I do owe her, Therion thought begrudgingly, reminding himself to get her a present later.

Suddenly, Alfyn’s hand closed firmly around his and Therion heard his laughter carry over all the other voices as he led him straight through the crowd and away from the bonfire. Ignoring everyone else, they ran and ran, their feet taking them back to the secluded slope, still thankfully devoid of people.

Only then did Alfyn turn to him and say, “Kinda stupid to ask now but can I kiss you?”

Therion didn’t even give him a verbal response before he was taking Alfyn’s face in both hands and bringing their lips together in a fervent, desperate kiss. Alfyn chuckled as he melted into the kiss, moving one hand to the nape of Therion’s neck while the other cupped his cheek. It lasted only for a couple of seconds but when they broke apart, they gasped like it had lasted for longer.

And then Alfyn was giggling against Therion’s lips, making circles over his cheek with his thumb, and Therion brought their foreheads together, a small smile on his face.

“Hey, Therion?”

“Yeah?”

Alfyn’s expression turned serious for a moment and he reached up to take the hand still holding his face. “Promise me that this won’t be mistake,” he said softly.

Therion was silent. There was no way of telling whether something was going to end up being a mistake or not. He had meant it when he told Alfyn that earlier and he knew that it was the same now. Even if they felt this strongly about each other now, there were no guarantees. They had both been wrong about people before and they had the scars to prove it, though some scars were a lot less obvious than others.  

But just as there was no guarantee that things would turn out all right, there was also no guarantee that things would end in disaster. After all, Therion’s greatest mistake as a thief had led him to this loud, bright, wonderful apothecary. And he had meant it especially when he said that he could no longer go back to when he had never known anyone like Alfyn.

“You will never be a mistake,” Therion said. “Not to me.”

It had taken Therion a long time to feel certain of the words, but the moment he said them now, suddenly it felt like he had always known it was the truth. And there was no lie in the way Alfyn’s expression softened, in the way his eyes glistened, nor in the way he kissed him then, so earnest and sincere and full of the unspoken truth that Therion would never be a mistake to Alfyn either.

The road to Orewell and Northreach and beyond stretched long and endless before them, full of so many mistakes they were just waiting to make. But, as Alfyn laughed into their kiss once more, a breathless sort of thing that left Therion without air himself, he thought that maybe the mistakes they had made in the past and the mistakes they were inevitably going to make in the future would all be worth it in the end if it meant that they could keep holding each other like this for how ever long it would last.