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Around the corner to the manor’s grand library, and unbeknownst to the guards flanked on either side mere paces away, the two figures lingered in the shadows. The one standing watched down each length of the hallway, a hand reached below his dark cloak to grip his sword’s hilt. The other knelt behind him. Hidden behind the hood and scarf that obscured all but his closed eyes, he silently mouthed together a series of spells.
Nothing changed as the moments passed – at least, nothing to any external witness. Between them, however, Mikhail felt a presence enter his mind, consolidating into a message – “I’m ready to go in. Watch for my signal.”
He turned around as Kiran got to his feet. Their eyes caught for a moment. Then they nodded to each other, and Kiran faded out of sight.
The light spilling from down the hall began to waver in and out. "Damn it," Mikhail heard a voice grumble around the corner. "First the regular lights go out, now even the emergency lamp doesn’t want to work. Heavens forbid we have some light down here."
"Nestor went to check on the catalyst. I’m sure it’ll be fine."
"But it’s been a while. You sure he didn't just say that so he could slack off?"
With a bit of jostling, the guards soon managed to get the flickering light to shine its weary yellow at a more constant pace, but it was enough of a distraction. From where Mikhail waited, he couldn't see anything, but even then, he could feel the mage’s distant presence, deep in the edge of his soul, as he slipped into the library.
For a bit, everything returned to what they had been, the guards milling about and occasionally muttering among themselves, Mikhail watching and listening and feeling . Then he felt another minute shift – an invisible tug that he instinctively recognized. He took a breath and rounded the corner, and just as the spell dampening his noises dissipated, struck his boot’s heel against the ground.
The two guards shouted and jerked up their weapons at his sudden intrusion, their awarenesses pushing through the other spells that deflected attention away from the warrior. Then there was a crash of something shattering beyond the library door, and again they jerked about as they made to respond to the noise, but their attention was quickly drawn to the much more immediate threat of Mikhail brandishing his blade and rushing at them.
It was clear they were used to taking for granted certain luxuries; once Mikhail swiped the lamp and flung it hard against the wall so it flickered out, he could easily deflect and sidestep their hesitant attacks. His own vision augmented by Kiran's assistance, he returned their blows with carefully-placed cuts that he knew would need a very extended recovery under the hands of their lord’s mage healers.
Both the guards knew their disadvantage, but neither were willing to abandon their companion to seek help or to check on the situation in the library. Their reluctance was exactly what Mikhail had hoped for. Behind the three combatants, the heavy wood creaked on its own weight. One of the guards, who’d stepped back to steady himself, only had enough time to lift his head before a shadow extended behind him and something smacked him in the back. He threw out a groan and collapsed to the stone ground.
At the fall of his companion, the remaining guard panicked. He threw a reckless slash at Mikhail’s head, and as he deflected the sword, took the opportunity to sprint past him, down the hallway.
They didn’t make it far, nor did they even have the opportunity to shout. Still wrapped in shadow, Kiran was practically invisible; had Mikhail not had another connection to him, that small mental thread unmaskable by any spell, he would have lost him entirely. As it was, though, he derived his companion’s shape as Kiran rushed the fleeing guard, feet carried by a spell he’d spun on impulse, lifting his staff and striking its head into his shoulder.
Mikhail could practically see the muscles in the guard’s body lose all their strength, rippling out from their point of contact, until with a stagger he collapsed unconscious against the wall.
Kiran had loosened the scarf muffling the lower half of his face as Mikhail joined him. He had a smug smile on his expression. “So? What do you think?”
Mikhail wouldn’t deny that he had found some amount of sadistic glee whenever he watched his partner struggle through commissions that made him hold back the magic he was most proud to wield, all bravado and flourish and loud noises. Unfortunately, the spells he usually delegated to Mikhail, those that muffled his footsteps and warped the light to blend their cloaks into darkness and hastened his steps, were easily applicable to himself.
He settled for a sigh as he patted Kiran’s shoulders. “Yes, fine, I admit you can pull off stealth when you want to instead of blazing in and stealing all the thunder.” Kiran snorted, though Mikhail rolled his eyes. “Don’t think I didn’t hear that crash, though. Someone saw you?”
Kiran nodded, smile melting into more serious tones. “The son, I think. If I really wanted, I might have been able to sneak past him, but…” He shrugged. “As much as I can spell myself invisible or slip through doors, I hadn’t prepped to do that with an object. He’ll wake up with a nasty headache.”
“But you did get the book, right?"
Kiran's grin returned as he peeked a worn tome out from his cloak. "I did get the book. Just for the record."
Mikhail nodded, satisfied, and turned his focus back towards their current situation and how they’d make it out – the broken catalyst that powered the manor’s spells would only last them so long. He was so caught in his thoughts he didn’t register Kiran’s voice until he felt another prod at his mind, just as a hand closed around his left forearm. The touch sent a jolt of pain through his body and made him grimace.
“Miks, wait,” Kiran spoke. “You’re bleeding.”
So he was. A dark liquid was pooling from hidden somewhere just above his leather armbrace – if there was anything Mikhail cursed whenever he chose these kinds of stealthier missions, it was how easily he injured without proper armor – and beginning to drip onto the floor.
It took only a moment for Kiran to work his, well, magic. They didn’t even need to strip him of anything; the mage simply removed one glove, touched his fingers to the leather above where the wound would have been, and closing his eyes, whispered a phrase that made him itch for an instant before it, and the dull stinging, disappeared. It wasn’t enough to fully heal the wound or prevent any scarring, of course – actual contact was required in that case, and they weren’t exactly bereft of danger – but it was enough to stop the bleeding, which was all that was necessary at the moment. Mikhail flexed his arm tentatively, testing Kiran’s work even though he knew it was as good as it could be, given the circumstances.
“Take care not to die before I can heal you, hmm?” Kiran’s voice hummed in Mikhail’s mind, even as the mage fixed his scarf. “I can only do so much if you get yourself hacked to pieces.” Even with his face mostly obscured now, Mikhail could feel the smile and fuzzy amusement through their bond.
With a wave of a finger and words Mikhail could not hear, Kiran refreshed the spells back onto both of them. They nodded at each other and slipped as one into the long shadows of the corridors to make their escape. After all, retrieving the tome was only the first step; getting out alive was another.
Mikhail practically collapsed the moment he stepped into the cramped room he rented with Kiran. As it was, he only really made it to the edge of his bed before he toppled over and landed with only half his body on the mattress.
The two had returned earlier in the day, drained during their escape from the manor, but between turning the back over to their employer – its actual owner – and running various errands, only now could Mikhail actually relax.
Kiran, meanwhile, had yet to return, though Mikhail suspected he was in the pub downstairs. He wasn't inclined to focus further in the likely case that Kiran was drunk – he wasn’t particularly fond of the sensations it sent over the bond unless he was drinking himself, and he'd personally had enough raucousness for one day.
Eventually, after letting himself doze for a bit, Mikhail reluctantly pulled himself off and stripped himself of his vest and tunic. As he stretched, he spotted the reddish mark that marred his forearm – the wound he’d taken underground the previous night. Though Kiran had healed it enough so it wouldn’t bleed, and they had cleaned out the blood when they’d returned, it still needed another round of spellcasting to fully repair the flesh.
A flight of fancy followed him as he settled on the floorboards with their weapons and cleaning tools. He glanced at the door, still solidly shut, then back at his arm, set the rag in his hands on a knee to prod at the not-quite-healed flesh. He inhaled slowly, then began to imitate the spell he recalled Kiran using whenever he healed him.
Mikhail recited the words quietly, with the same cadence. They were utterly unintelligible to him, but Mikhail had heard them so many times over their years that he knew the power the mage could draw from them. As he closed his eyes, he imagined the flesh knitting over itself, the wound shrinking and vanishing into smooth skin, the same way it would under Kiran’s guidance.
The uneven, reddened flesh was exactly the same as before when he opened his eyes again.
He sighed. Not that he’d expected much – Kiran was the one born with an innate catalyst, after all, not him. As much as he’d like to do the things Kiran was capable of, even just mending wounds with just some words and arcane will, he could only use his blade to support the partner on the other side of their bond. He took the cleaning rag back in his hands.
Mikhail had finished easing the grime off his sword and checking it for any damage and was in the middle of cleaning Kiran’s staff when the door creaked and unsteady footsteps approached where he sat.
“Miiiiks,” Kiran purred as he plopped down next to the warrior. He pushed his way against his partner’s side until Mikhail had no choice but to let him hang off his shoulder, a grin on the mage’s face. His breath reeked of alcohol. “We’re gonna be famous, aren’t we? We’re gonna be the best mercs out there, and everyone’s gonna know our names.”
Mikhail tousled Kiran’s rich brown locks as he shifted his position to continue cleaning the mage’s staff. “Of course we are. That’s what you wanted, right? And we’re plenty known already.” Mages weren’t exactly a common sight lingering among mercenary troupes.
Kiran pouted. “But I don’t want just that. I want people to sing about how cool we are, not just notice the mage running around with a fighter.”
“They do more than that, surely. What’s got you thinking?” He worked his rag through a more delicate rune etched up the wood. “You met a colleague from the academy?”
“Yeah. Andreas.” He grumbled, and Mikhail understood immediately. “He invited me into the Wardens again, bragged about how he joined the Wardens and got to be praised and fawned over and all that for protecting people from the wildlands. Anyway, when he saw me downstairs, we started arguing about me leaving the academy again. I told him to shove it, and then…”
Mikhail continued to work on cleaning and polishing Kiran’s staff, mostly enjoying Kiran’s company as he vented about his time at the academy, as he typically did, and praised the tales of monsterslaying that they had marveled over as youth. He hadn’t realized Kiran’s voice had trailed off until he went to grab the cloth Kiran used as his staff’s grip. As he turned his body, he felt the weight leaning into him displace itself and drop. He mumbled an apology as he caught Kiran in one arm, only to find he had fallen asleep.
It was a sight not even Mikhail was often privy to, more used to falling asleep to the mage’s murmurings as he went through his evening spell-practice. Like this, he seemed so serene, with all the intensity in his gaze dissipated and a small smile gracing his lips, and while Mikhail of course didn't mind any of Kiran's expressions, it was this one that clutched his heart with a borderline intolerable tightness. Almost in a trance, he stroked one hand through Kiran’s loose locks down to his cheek and was rewarded with a soft sigh from his companion. It traveled fiercely through his gut and tempted him to do more, to press his lips against Kiran’s-
Mikhail forced back the urge before he did anything rash and, laying his partner in his lap, brushed a dusty lock that had strayed onto Kiran's face before returning to his work.
The mage was still asleep once Mikhail had slowly rewrapped the cloth around the staff’s handgrip and double-checked his work, but inevitably he was left with nothing else to do. For a moment, he simply sat there, watching Kiran deep in sleep. Then, as carefully as he could, he hooked his arms under the mage and, picking up his lithe form, carried him up and lay him in his own bed opposite Mikhail’s.
Again Mikhail watched his companion as he curled on his side, contentment in his face. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out and carefully unwrapped the cloth protecting the delicate metal that curled around a deep amber gem – one that, he felt, perfectly suited Kiran’s eyes in the light and hair in the shadows. He’d commissioned it secretly some time ago, intending it as a gift to his companion.
Mikhail knew that he should have given it to him normally. But Kiran would surely tease him for weeks about how he’d proposed to him, would perhaps crack a joke about getting matching rings, maybe even follow up on it, and… Mikhail couldn’t deal with that. His heart wouldn’t be able to take it.
Perhaps that was why, rolling his fingers over the metal band between his fingers, he took up Kiran’s left hand, careful not to wake the mage, and slipped the ring onto his middle finger for him to discover himself.
As he started to lower Kiran's arm back to its previous place, he heard the mage made a small noise. He quickly let go as he tucked in his arm. "Miks…" Kiran murmured.
Mikhail froze, but Kiran was still asleep, mumbling something from his dreams. “I'm gonna prove… we'll have a pair-bond better than…"
He backed away before he could hear anything else. Kiran was always reluctant to talk much about the pair-bond, that magic he had used that, according to him, let him cast better spells for Mikhail, let him feel how far apart they were, and, as of late, let him share thoughts without speaking. There was more to it, surely – there was a certain pride he kept feeling across the connection, when Kiran had never mentioned emotions – but Mikhail wouldn’t press the issue.
Besides, if he spoke about it, he risked losing that strange intimacy, and he treasured everything he had now. He knew plenty much of hubris, of people daring to fly too close to the sun, and Kiran was ever so radiant. The two of them were inseparable as they were; he didn’t dare risk it all. He left Kiran to sleep soundly by himself.
“I was thinking,” Kiran hummed, breaking the rustling silence between them. He had his arm stretched up and was staring at the ring under the light filtering through the trees. “The vessel is so lovely when it catches in the light. It matches my eyes, I think. Did you choose it thinking about that?”
Mikhail was extremely grateful that he had an excuse to keep himself half a step ahead of his companion; he turned his head to hide his blush, muttered a non-answer, and tugged Kiran's arm before he could trip over a tree root and make an untimely encounter with the ground.
He refocused on the trees behind him. Even if Kiran hadn’t placed a tracking spell over him, and even if a lifetime of hunting and trapping regular animals hadn’t instilled an instinct on him, it was more obvious than anything that the two of them were being watched; the very trees themselves seemed to leer over them.
It was surely the beast that the Wardens had lately warned travelers about – and that Kiran had apparently dared to take down when he’d met his old colleague the other day.
The deeper they went into the forest, the worse the feeling got, until he had his hand gripped deathly tight on the hilt of his blade. Even Kiran had ceased his marveling and was looking around him, gripping his staff in both hands.
Deep in the woods, Kiran stopped, tugging at Mikhail’s arm, trepidation in his thoughts. "It's close, and watching us, probably. It might be targeting me."
Unlike Kiran, Mikhail had no ability to send his thoughts over. He sidled close to his companion’s ear. “Do you think you can lure it out?” he whispered.
"I think so. Protect me?"
Mikhail was ready even before he’d asked. Drawing his sword, he took up a stance near the mage, who had pressed the tip of his staff into the ground and began to quietly channel his magic.
Without their footsteps to fill the air, the forest settled into silence – too silent, without even the rustle of leaves or the call of birds. All that disturbed the silence was the whisper of Kiran’s voice as they both watched for their unknown opponent.
Then an overloud rustling filled Mikhail’s ears. He whipped around just as Kiran let out a shout and Mikhail was filled by a surge of energy, like he was simultaneously shoving him forward and dousing him with freezing water; Mikhail raised his sword as his feet lunged him forward and intercepted a pitch-black beast erupting from the underbrush.
The beast let out a ragged growl as it ripped its shoulder from Mikhail’s blade and leapt back. It shook its sharp, spindly coat of fur, sending a cloud of shadowy liquid splattering across the grass.
For a moment, all seemed to be going as well as it could have. Aided by the surge of power Kiran had granted him, Mikhail deflected and dodged each swipe of the creature’s sharp claws, countering with his own strikes that, when they dug through to its flesh, sent shadowed blood and needle-like barbs scattering to the ground and made it snarl in pain. Behind him and through the other side of their connection, he felt the pulse of Kiran’s magic as he established a shield over both of them, then continued to chant his way into another spell.
But as Mikhail was forcing back the beast, pushing it back as it seemed to lose its original vigor, he felt something around them shift. The determined hope that had been building in him wavered as he felt a new presence join them, and he turned suddenly as four more figures leapt out of the brush, directly towards the mage.
“Kiran! Behind you!” Mikhail shouted as loud as he could.
Kiran snapped his head up, eyes wide, and with two words, redirected and released the mana he’d been weaving together into his surroundings. The wave slammed into the newly arrived beasts in a sharp beam of light, knocking them off their trajectory, but he was given only a moment before they staggered to their four limbs and growled at him.
Mikhail was too far away, he realized, too distracted by a beast that, he suspected, had intentionally drawn him away. But even as he slashed at it again and made to rejoin with Kiran, he was intercepted by two of the beasts, snarling at him and baring sharp teeth that only distinguished themselves by the lurid glint of the sun. One of them managed to bite down on his arm as he attacked the other, and Mikhail grimaced – not out of pain, for the shield made it so he only felt a harmless pressure on it, but because of the toll he knew it would have on Kiran.
No matter how hard he fought, however, Mikhail simply could not join with Kiran and fight knowing he was safely beside him; he felt the tide of the battle turn harshly against them with every slash into his armor and harsh shove that made him stumble, and he cursed the Wardens for claiming that the beasts had been only a single being, even if he knew they likely didn’t know either.
He could only get the slightest glimpse of him between his three snarling opponents, and what he saw struck him with terror – Kiran, arms shaking and unbalanced on his feet; Kiran swiping his staff as he stumbled backwards, throwing bolts at his own assailants; Kiran, pushing desperately against one beast, separated only by his staff.
Then, as he saw the other beast rush at Kiran with a claw outstretched, his vision was once more obscured by barbed fur as a large weight slammed into his side.
For an instant, he felt the bond linking them flicker, somehow, leaving behind only a hollow void he’d never realized he could possess. Then the bond returned, thin and steady as it always had been, but still lacking a certain presence. An augmentation, not nearly as constant as the bond but one he was plenty accustomed to nonetheless – The shield, Mikhail realized with horror as he stumbled on his own feet and barely escaped a much more fatal swipe.
The source of that shield was doing little better. Kiran had freed himself from the tussle with the beasts, but he looked utterly haggard, barely able to remain standing. He didn’t even have the chance to prop himself up with his staff, much less cast a spell, before one of the beasts rushed him again. Its claws tore through the mage’s clothes and dug deep into flesh, as easily as drawing a hand below the water’s surface.
Kiran gave a choked cry as he stumbled back and hit his back on a tree, dropping his staff and snapping whatever spell he’d been conjuring before that moment. That second cry, laced equally with terror and pain, sent chills up the warrior's spine.
Even without the luxury of any shield, Mikhail completely ignored the three beasts he’d been fighting and began to dash towards the mage. “Ki-” he began to shout out, when Kiran snapped his head up at his voice.
Mikhail stopped dead in his tracks at the wild look in his eyes.
It was a sight he’d not seen in many years, from practically a lifetime ago – before Kiran had slammed his way back into Mikhail’s life and home with dreams and worldly traveling and opportunity on his tongue; before he’d been taken to the mage academy in the capitol at all; back during those first few weeks, when Kiran's life had suddenly upended, with magic sparking from his very core and too unstable for anyone else to dare approach. It was a gaze that did not see him at all.
That old instinct still remained with Mikhail; despite the beasts that he knew were probably about to sink their claws into him, as he felt a pressure suddenly vanish within him, he discarded his blade, clapped his hands over his ears, closed his eyes, and dropped.
The forest came alight with a blinding whiteness that still seared through Mikhail’s eyelids. Then came the thunder, shuddering through Mikhail’s body and vibrating down to his bones; then the heat, and finally, the stench of scorching. Mikhail blinked his surroundings back into focus, ears still ringing, to see several trails of smoke clamor their way into the wild with varying degrees of haste. The mage himself, looking even more frazzled and exhausted, but marginally more aware, slumped to the ground and onto his side.
Mikhail made his way through the hall-charred underbrush, though he stumbled the second half of the way there, head weightless and spinning – even though Kiran had once claimed he could draw from Mikhail’s own energy to cast magic, he’d never actually experienced it until now. He pushed aside the guilt threatening to fill his mind to focus on the most important task – keeping Kiran alive.
It was a bad wound, its toll only exacerbated by the amount of mana Kiran had ignited between the both of them. Mikhail couldn't see it directly, but from the tatters of the layers of cloth, it seemed the beast had slashed through much of his side; blood gushed out and pooled into the grass at a rather alarming rate. Kiran weakly clutched the wound, chest heaving with his shallow breaths and jaw trembling.
“Kiran,” Mikhail finally managed to speak.
“Stasis,” Kiran croaked in response.
Mikhail had slipped a glove into a fold of his overcloak to pull out the stasis charm – a small disc of polished wood, engraved with tiny runes aligned in rings along its surface – before his mind caught up with its anxieties that made him hesitate.
It was… going to be fine, he tried to reassure himself as he willed himself to kneel. They’d messed up here – he’d messed up – but he’d place Kiran into stasis, and that would stop the bleeding and his condition from worsening. Then he’d make the journey back to the village with Kiran’s body in his arms, and hope he'd find a specialized healer on short notice, or alternatively someone to barter a second stasis charm from for the journey to town. They’d needed to do this once before, and sure, this was further away than an alleyway on the edge of town, but it was going to be fine, he repeated.
Still, the terror roiling in his gut refused to quell itself as he fumbled off his gloves. His thoughts pestered at him relentlessly – the fear that the presence of Kiran in the back of his mind would disappear; the helplessness; Kiran's catalyst, fragilely pulsing from the other side of the bond; the healing spell that he liked to dance on his tongue. A tiny, futile hope, and a wish to be more than he was.
When he placed his hand upon Kiran’s form, where tattered cloth melded into red, rather than utter the phrase that would activate the multi-layered spell carved into a charm, he mentally grasped the wavering bond between them, slippery and vague as it was, with all he could muster. He began to speak once more the words belonging to Kiran’s spells of healing. It was utter gibberish to him, but it meant something, he knew – and he could only desperately wish its hidden powers to take root.
Perhaps it was only that he was repeating those phrases, over and over and over, his mind a mess of fear and worry, that an unnatural fatigue began to overtake him, and pain creeped into his head. Still he pushed through. He didn’t notice that anything had changed until he felt a hand loosely grasp his wrist, a bit sticky and leaving red behind. The flow of blood seemed to have reduced.
Kiran was looking at him in a grimace, one eye half-opened. His brows were knitted into a puzzled, pained, strangely unreadable expression.
“Focus. Don't think about anything but me,” his thoughts whispered into Mikhail’s mind.
Though Mikhail could feel nothing but conceptual pain emanating from the mage, he seemed more steady, even if just by a shred; even that was enough to flood Mikhail with relief and let him recompose himself. He focused on that place in his mind where he felt Kiran’s presence and began to chant again.
It was admittedly easier than what he'd expected. The worst part was getting the magic to catch on his tongue again – though he felt the spark notably quicker than before, now that he had a marginally better grasp of their bond. He could feel the magic flowing from himself, a small pressure stemming through where they were connected, mentally and physically. The mage had explained it to him once, when he’d been half-delirious after taking a particularly nasty crossbow bolt – something about how the body remembered its original state of being, so long as they didn’t neglect it for too long.
He watched, then, as it rippled and swelled in thins streams over the gash. At Kiran's mental guidance, he unsheathed his knife to cut away the traveling robe and place his hands directly on the bloodied flesh, grimacing and thinking an apology as the mage hissed. Still, he did not stop, if only for the fear that he’d lose this miraculous feat.
At some point, after knitting and restoring the worst of it, he felt warm metal slide and encircle a finger, and through his mind’s eye he felt it, pulsing warmly like a star. He clutched onto it desperately, trying to bask in its invisible light as he continued to chant, as hands grasped his own and guided him to press against his own flesh.
That light had dulled into a faded pulse by the time Kiran drew his hand away. A moment later, Mikhail realized how and where he was, with the mage’s hands over his own and gently gazing at him with a tired, but very much alive and aware look.
Mikhail, fumbling about, found his water flask. He drank from it, noting the gem glinting on his finger, then tipped it to Kiran’s lips to let him drink. “I’m… sorry. I got carried away. I should have been there when you needed me,” he mumbled as he pulled away the flask.
Kiran frowned at him. “You say that after you save my life? C’mon, Miks.” He cracked a weak smile, and though he looked deeply fatigued, he seemed more like his old self.
"But you would’ve died if I didn't do something."
“You don’t know that. We used stasis a lot during academy field assignments, and most of us survived.” The color had returned a bit more to the mage’s face, though he grimaced when he attempted to chuckle. “I'm more amazed you used magic. I didn't think you'd manage to do it on your own."
“That's exactly it," Mikhail muttered. "You deserve someone who’s better at keeping up with you."
"What are you talking about?" The brevity had slipped from Kiran's face as he took in the furrowed brow in Mikhail's.
“I was thinking… You're amazing, Kiran. You don't need to keep putting up with me. Someone else would have been able to protect you when you were attacked. Someone else would have learned how to cast magic from you, without having to risk your life. Without needing to be guided through it."
It hurt to admit, and Mikhail couldn't imagine what he'd do without Kiran, besides slink back home. But surely Kiran was only being held back by him – like their mental sharing of thoughts, which he’d assured Mikhail only needed to go one way. There were people much more capable than him, people who clamored for the opportunity to bind with a mage, people who knew how to use that pair-bond.
“Miks. Miks. Look at me.”
Mikhail didn’t want to, didn’t want to face that thundering-bright force that he trailed behind like a mediocre shadow. But he forced himself to raise his head, and saw himself in those hazelnut eyes, his own hair a tousled mess.
Then Kiran cupped his hand against the side of Mikhail's cheek, and all he saw was his companion’s eyes, gazing into his, with a softness that was so unlike him.
"What makes you think that you’re not good enough? Most people never manage to cast magic through the bond, and you did it without me ever teaching you. Besides, I never asked you to be my perfect, flawless partner. If I wanted that, I would’ve stayed with the academy, but I’m happier being with you."
As Kiran talked, he leaned in, so close that he filled Mikhail’s eyes. Yearning gripped Mikhail’s heart – he wanted more than anything to lean in and kiss him. It took everything in him not to.
Thus, it came as a shock when Kiran was the one to close the distance. it was a feather-light press, barely more than a brush of warmth against Mikhail's lips, but still unmistakably a kiss.
Mikhail was still remembering how to move when Kiran shifted back, just a bit. "There's no one I'd rather pair-bond with," he whispered, words tickling against Mikhail's lips, "so don't talk about how I deserve better, or whatever. I just hope I'm good enough to deserve you."
The words were just another layer on top of everything else that had just happened. Mikhail blinked, dazed, and raised his fingers to his lips, trying to preserve the tingling in them. For all the physicality Kiran had directed towards Mikhail over the years, kissing had never been a part of it, not even when he was drunk.
“How long… have you wanted to do that?” he tried, slowly.
“Oh, several years. Before I left.” He almost managed a laugh in a half-forced exhale. "I'm not sure if I should be surprised it took this long for you to say anything, but you didn't seem to mind, so…" he trailed off, as though beginning to second guess himself. "As I said, just being with you is enough for me. Don’t feel any pressure, or anything like-”
Mikhail answered him with another kiss, catching the back of Kiran’s head so he didn’t get shoved to the ground as he pressed in. Kiran’s eyes when he leaned back were bright and shining and full of longing. Denser than a rock half the time, Mikhail thought to himself, indulging themselves in one quicker kiss before pulling away. Unfortunately for him – and for Mikhail, too – there were still more urgent matters to attend to.
"We should get back to town and find a proper healer," he said to Kiran’s wondrous expression. "Unless you can focus enough to cast a spell on your own?"
"Not after that, no," the mage breathed. He cleared his throat. “As much as I appreciate you and your magic, I need a proper look from a medic.”
"Can you walk? Or should I carry you back?"
"Oh Miks, it hurts so much I don't think I could stand, much less walk," he pouted, dramatically draping a forearm across his face. Then he shifted his arm so he could peer at Mikhail rolling his eyes at him fondly and picking their belongings up before looping around to scoop Kiran into his arms as well. Kiran leaned in to kiss him on the cheek again.
Mikhail walked a bit, Kiran in his arms and gazing up at him fondly, before he voiced the thought going through his head. “I didn’t know I could do more than just receive thoughts. Were you testing if I could cast spells through the bond?”
“Not necessarily. But you picked up on it quicker than I’d ever hoped. I would’ve tried it eventually. And to do it on your own? Most never bother unless they’re taught how to cast the spells directly.”
“Again, you might've died if I hadn’t tried something.”
“And my point still stands. Most can’t cast magic, even if they’re taught, Miks. And you’re so wonderful and amazing and there for me.” He giggled lightly, as discreet as a town crier. “I’ll teach you every spell I know and we’ll become the best merc duo ever. The Wardens and academy sages can go sulk about proper pair-bondings while we chase off every monster that scares them.”
Mikhail tilted his head to accept the kiss, letting a laugh bubble from his own lips against Kiran’s. He wouldn’t mind that at all.