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It's cold.
Well, the weather in itself isn't a big surprise; they're in the middle of winter after all, and differently from Bilgewater, it's supposed to be freezing here in Ionia, so it isn't a big surprise that the outlaw is freezing his ass out at the moment.
No, what Malcolm Graves had been finding hard to believe is the mere fact that his partner isn't complaining about it.
For all his exaggerated pomposity, Tobias - Twisted Fate for anyone other than Graves - for once left his expensive shiny coat back at the inn, shrugging at Graves's surprised gaze.
It's a shame, truly, that the dumbass decided to accept his peasant nature during a twenty-five degrees fahrenheit night.
Graves isn't an imbecile, despite what people may think (a fact he happily uses to his advantage, especially in the good old days with dirty cards in hand), and he isn't not even remotely convinced by T.F’s attempts of disguising the cold.
Being taller is only an advantage when you have meat to compensate for it, and only The Bearded Lady (and him) knows how much meat that river's snake needed to get in his bones. Unfortunately for everyone, said man continues to ignore Graves's grumbled remarks to eat more, and as a result he has to bear with the scrawny man in front of him trembling from time to time.
Graves is so busy wondering if he should give his poncho to the man, and if so, if he should just drop it over him from behind or put it himself on Fate's shoulders, maybe take his time to adjust the edges (TF's central priorities in the universe are all about his damn clothes, the fancy bastard), use the moment to fulfill some dumb romantic scenarios he doesn't quite have the courage to act on yet- that he doesn't notice the man of his thoughts finally stopping, until he crashes into his back and almost sends them both to the snowed ground.
“What the hell, Malcolm?” TF spits, hand holding a low tree's branch to stop his fall.
Graves wants to feel angry by his unnecessary anger, but considering his lack of proper winter clothes, the outlaw can understand how unsettling the prospect of falling on his ass over snow may be a bit upsetting.
“S’rry, was thinkin’ things” he mumbles instead, propping himself up with a hand on the knee.
“Oh, there's a first time for everythin’, I reckon” TF japes, rolling his eyes. Graves is almost sure he sees some of the familiar blue hue, but it's gone in the next second.
“Yeah, yeah, shut your mouth, would ya? I ain't the one freezing my balls out here without a coat” Graves snarks back, only a tinge of regret at the lost opportunity to make some fancy show of giving TF his poncho. “Anyway, why are we here for again?”
He's pretty sure TF didn't explain it, so he doesn't really care about the annoyance in the mage's face.
Mostly because he's more focused on the way his cheeks are slightly pink with the cold
“I told ya, it's a surprise, now can you stop askin’ for ten damn seconds?” TF says, rolling his eyes again like the damned pretentious he is and starting to walk without waiting for answers.
Graves muses about throwing some snow on the man's fancy hat, encouraged by the memory of cruel satisfaction from when he splashed sea water all over him, but a sudden biting cold wind makes him go back to his previous thoughts.
“Why did ya stop now anyway?” Graves asks after ten seconds, shrugging off his poncho and speeding up a bit to catch up with mister strider.
Mister long legs with his damn lady boots.
“Thought I saw somethin’ familiar” TF says, and Graves can practically hear the poker face he has on.
“I know ya up to somethin’, Tobias, don't go lookin’ all mysterious on me now, yer wastin’ yer time.” He bites back, but keeps his voice low. He isn't looking to start a fight now, the sun is going down and TF will soon have his magic bullshit advantage.
“Uhum” TF hums, definitely to himself. Graves can now see the weak blue hue lightening the tiniest bits of his surroundings, enough for him to know that there's no danger around. The mage would never let his eyes shine in open darkness if there was even a remote chance of danger near to notice.
They walk a good two or three miles in silence after that, Graves with his failed attempts of fighting off yawns and TF with his continued silence.
Graves is in the middle of an yawn when he remembers about his personal mission, the poncho forgotten in his hands.
“To hell with it” the outlaw grumbles, walking ahead and surprising TF enough for him to stop, his totally blue, shining eyes slightly widened.
As expected, TF protests when Graves takes his fancy hat off, but he muffles his complaints with the collar of the poncho, the worn red cape loosely covering his torso.
Graves is busy tightening the collar loop to the size of TF’s thin throat when the walking annoyance decides to speak again, stealing Graves's capacity to growl by putting both hands over his shoulder.
“Things would be much easier if you worked on your ability to communicate your intentions” TF says, only a bit of the usual snarkiness in his voice, and in one fluid movement snatches his hat, putting it on his head before resting his hand on Graves's shoulder again.
Graves decides to ignore the warmness in his cheek, as well as the soft, fuzzy feeling in his chest, head lowered and squinted eyes to see the collar of the poncho in the dark of night (he also ignores how the now stronger blue light makes said quest much easier).
“Funny to hear that from mister ‘it’s a surprise, stop askin’” Graves scolds, now just fidgeting with the edges of TF’s inner white shirt and enjoying the soft caresses of the mage's breathes over his forehead.
Thankfully, all Tobias is able to see is the top of his hair.
“Hmmm?” TF starts to formulate some of his quick wit phrases, but probably gives up on that, huffing a small laugh. Graves's mind hyperfocuses on TF’s thin, elongated fingers now gently caressing his shoulders.
“What?”
“Malcolm, look at me?” The soft, tender tone he uses almost catches the outlaw by surprise.
“Can't. I'mma busy” he murmurs, voice almost as soft as TF, as if both of them were afraid of breaking… whatever it is happening right now.
“I know you ain't, hotshot”
Fuck Tobias and his weird magic vision.
Fuck magic and its weirdness in general.
And fuck the mesmerizing glowing eyes that Graves sees the instant he raises his head.
A hand gently brushes against his cheek, followed shortly by the other and in the next second Tobias is cupping his head, fingers slowly caressing some of his hair, but Graves isn't all that focused on them.
No, he is focused on Tobias, the way his empty blue eyes seem so expressive, the oh so tender something in his face making his stomach twist with butterflies and his chest warm with a homely feeling.
Graves lets go of TF’s shirt and closes his hands around his forearms, mimicking the mage's slow motions over the fabric and leaning his head a bit in one of TF’s palms.
Fate smiles, a true, small but honest smile that Graves doubts anyone other than him has ever seen in his face (a fact that makes him feel much more proud than he would ever admit to Tobias), and tilts his head as well, leaning closer.
Graves is already expecting it, so he meets TF in the midway; it's a quick sweet thing, his lips only touching the other for some mere seconds, before it's done.
Tobias doesn't move away, though, so Graves pulls him closer again for another kiss, now a bit more tender, but TF interrupts it before it turns into something more intense, instead resting his forehead against Graves's.
“It's cold” TF says, after some moments.
The complaint is so sudden that Graves doesn't have any option other than bark a laugh “I knew ya’d complain sooner or later”
“Hmmm?”
“You do complain a lot, don't even try to fight me here” Graves states, moving so he can stare at TF’s shining eyes, still so tender, still so loving. “Why ya dragged me here again?”
“I see you can't quite understand the meanin’ of surprise… a shame, truly” TF mourns, dramatically.
Graves raises one brow, waiting for his answer.
“It’s just some old river folk’s tradition. Spend the beginning of the year’s first day with your lo- well, with your people”
“Oh”
Graves doesn't really know what he's feeling right now.
That's a big damned lie. He very much knows exactly what he's feeling right now.
“… and you're my people, you know”
“yeah… I reckon I am”
They stare at each other for one or two minutes, TF searching, printing the image in front of his eyes, and Graves admiring the man before him.
“We should continue-”
“Hm?”
“The day. I mean, we hafta go before the day starts, right? That's what your fo- culture says, ain't it?”
“Oh, yeah. I reckon yer right” TF says, moving away and looking around, probably to find his bearings. “Guess we oughta’ keep movin’”
“Okay”.
Graves strides towards TF before the mage can get very far, intertwining his fingers in the magician's hand.
“And just so we're clear here-”
“ ‘Bout wha-”
“-I love you”
“...love you too”