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There was a note wedged in the door to his warehouse, a thin folded paper that Grief plucked out from the seam in the metal before strolling in, not bothering to slow down as he held the note aloft in the direction of Quetzal who sat near the door.
“Addressed to you.” Came the man’s low voice after he squinted at it for a moment.
Grief let out a cackle of a laugh before throwing himself on his makeshift throne. “How many people in this town really think I can read? I mean, honestly! I should’ve been a showman at this rate!”
Opening the note and holding it close to his face, Grief studied it for a long while, eyes going over the shapes of letters and words, only stopping to shake his head at the offer of help. The heavy-handed slope of writing was familiar to him, and it only took a few moments of seeing and tracing at the signed name to confirm that it was from Artemy.
“Not you too, Cub! It’s like you hardly even know me, thinking I went and got learned while you were gone.”
“Are you sure you don’t want one of us to read it to you?” This time another man asked from where he leaned against the wall. “What if it’s something important, or it’s got a question in it?”
“Well,” Grief said with a shrug, “joke’s on him for thinking I can read.”
---
Grief was headed to the nearby pub, hoping to see if he could manage to get anything for cheap.
Following the tracks across the river, he looked across to the unused factory building now turned lair, a large bull grazing outside of it.
Artemy had been making himself scarce, Grief noticed. Only once or twice had he seen the other man in the distance, but he always seemed to hurry off before Grief could approach him. In the days that had passed, another note had found its way atop his throne, still from Artemy but this time had doodles of animals and plants Grief had never seen before adorning the margins.
He still refused to let anyone read them for him, as the messages didn’t seem to be of any major importance, otherwise Artemy would have just come to him in the first place. That, and it was funny to keep the charade going. Descending down into the pub, he hopped down from the bottom step, spinning around the turn more than required, if only to watch his coat billow around him. At the apex of the spin, Grief caught sight of Artemy hunched over a table with two of the towns many kids, a Teensy and a Finch, all three focused intently on something. Strolling closer, the object of their focus seemed to be a piece of paper that Artemy was studiously folding on the table. Finch sighted him first, nudging Artemy none too discreetly and the man’s head swung around, eyes wide, before slamming his hands over top of his paper with a loud thud, effectively covering it from view.
“Slick, Cub. What’re you making over here?”
Artemy looked back and forth between Grief and the kids for a moment before answering, a sheepish look on his face. “Maps. We’re making some maps. You know how it is.”
“Aww,” Grief cooed as he ruffled Artemy’s hair, “I could’ve sworn you were a better liar than that. I’ll let you get back to your important work, anyways. That bartender ain’t gonna haggle himself.”
With that, Grief spun on his heel, almost so fast he lost his balance, before wandering to the bar. He could hear a light, scoffing laugh from Artemy and grinned to himself.
“That one?” Finch’s voice broke from the table.
---
Only after returning to his warehouse later that night did Grief find the note stuffed in his coat’s pocket, and he could briefly remember Artemy having approached him to bid him good night, clapping a heavy hand on his shoulder. The note must have been slipped in during that time, though Grief hadn’t noticed it happen.
Feeling a sense of pride for the other man, he studied the folded paper, hunched near a lantern, eyes going carefully over the letters that must make up his name and trying to sound it out to himself in the empty warehouse. He flipped it open, upon which something slid out and landed softly on the ground. Crouching to examine it, Grief saw that it was a rather messily folded paper crane, one that the kids in town often made. Those ones were usually better made, neater and more orderly compared to this misshapen, crinkled version.
“Huh.” Grief pulled his gloves off and held it, cradled gently in his rough hands before tucking it into a pocket high on his vest. Sleep came easier that night than it had in years.
---
Once morning came, Grief set out, making a beeline for the lair that he knew Artemy often worked out of still. Halfway through overthinking on how to go about knocking, he realized that there wouldn’t be any need, as Artemy was outside of the rundown factory, moving around barrels and crates that were usually stacked in front of the doors, his bull grazing nearby.
Pushing down a swell of anxiety, Grief strolled forward in what he hoped was a casual manner, making sure to approach the man within his line of sight. Luckily, Artemy stayed his ground and watched him come nearer, an apprehensive yet excited air about him.
Keeping a few feet of distance, stuffing his hands in his pockets, Grief drew in a breath.
“Okay, I’ll bite. What’s with the notes.”
Artemy winced. “Were they too much? I didn’t really know how to go about it, I’m sorry if I made things uncomfortable for you.”
“What?” Grief tried not to spiral at the other’s sudden dismay. “No. They weren’t too much at all, I appreciate them, trust me.”
Before he could ask just what it was that Artemy had written on those notes, the other interjected suddenly, almost buzzing with renewed energy.
“So?” Artemy asked with a huff, nervous smile gracing his features as he wiped his hands on the towel. “What do you think? I won’t make you give me an answer right away, I want you to be comfortable and everything.”
“Huh?”
“I mean,” Artemy continued, “it’s not very often that I write, so I know it might not have been the greatest or most smooth reading possible.”
“My answer?” Grief asked, heart jumping. He was thankful for his gloves as his hands suddenly felt clammy. “How about first you explain your question to me. Just so… just so I know.”
“Yeah!” Artemy had an ecstatic look on his face, wide grin and bright eyes as he grabbed Grief’s hand and pulled him over to the side where a few crates sat, perching on one and motioning for Grief to do the same.
“Okay, uh,” the man began nervously, “I know I’d been gone a while, and everyone’s continued on with their lives- which is great! I was so excited to see everyone, especially you, and the level of relief and… just everything I think helped me realize, that honestly?” His fingers tapped a rhythm against his knee. “I really do care about you. I know we’ve always cared for one another but it’s different now, you know? Not just as friends.”
Grief grew still, breath catching. Artemy carried on swiftly.
“Don’t make fun of me for this, I’m being serious but… I feel at home with you, and I’ve never really felt that before. Being around you reminds me that I’m allowed to exist outside of duties and expectations. It’s comforting, knowing that you’re allowed to make mistakes and not be this perfect being that always does everything right. It’s like around you I can just exist.”
“So, I remind you of the flaws of humanity?” Grief joked, as it was all he was familiar with.
Artemy gave him a soft, chiding look. “You remind me of happiness and that positive feelings and emotions can come unconditionally. I think... I want a chance to be with you.”
Grief had to sit back and close his eyes, opening them after a moment to fix Artemy with a serious look. While this was far more than he had expected when he set out this morning, it was still even more than he could have hoped.
“Okay. You know, I was scared for you to come back here. Don’t think I’d have known what to do if you hadn’t, though, but still. Shit’s been rough, and we’re not all the same types we once seemed to be. You know that, right?”
Artemy nodded but didn’t speak, fidgeting slightly as he waited.
“Well… I mean, shit, I’d be even more of a lying bastard than usual if I didn’t say I’ve wanted that chance for a while now too. What’s the harm in trying, anyways?” Grief reached a hand out, relieved when Artemy took it in his, a sickeningly sweet look plastered on his face. “Who knows how long any of us even got these days, huh?”
Artemy frowned slightly at that, so Grief reached forward with his free hand to smooth at the worry lines between his brows.
“Quit giving yourself wrinkles or I’ll take everything back.” Thinking for a moment, Grief scooted closer to the other. “I’ve half a mind to try and get you to reconsider, you deserve a whole lot more. But I do tend to be selfish.”
“You should allow yourself nice things more often.”
The only response Grief gave was a light hum before Artemy leaned in even further, hovering as he waited for Grief’s permission which came in the form of meeting the other halfway in a warm kiss.
Neither one knew how tense they had been until they were finally able to relax in the moment. After a peaceful amount of time, they pulled back, Grief unable to help laughing.
“I think it’s awful cute, you writing me love letters. Especially since I’m as good at reading now as I was before you left.”
Artemy froze, a look of dawning realization spread across his face.
“Wait, you’re still illiterate? You let me write you letters for over a week without saying anything? What happened to learning? I always used to read to you, helped you go over sentences and Lara was supposed to start after I left. Did she forget?”
“You really think that me making you read to little ol’ me had anything to do with wanting to learn? Plus, like I said, I appreciated the thought. Honest.”
Studying him for a moment before shaking his head, Artemy fixed a look so warm and kind on Grief that he felt lightheaded. “Guess I’ll have to start reading to you again then, huh? Provided my voice isn’t too rough nowadays.”
“Please, you know I’m fond of that voice of yours. Maybe you could read me some of those notes to start off, huh? When you’ve got time?”
Looking happier than he had in a long time, Artemy leaned in again to lightly rest their foreheads together.
“I’ll make time.”