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Despite being safely back at the inn, with its plush sofas and fine china and gilded décor that was too fancy by half, despite the roaring fire in the marbled fireplace and the steaming mug of tea in his hand, Partitio couldn’t stop shaking.
He was relieved that Throné had finally found the keys to her collar, and even more thankful that their group of travelers had sustained no serious injury during the fight. But the short time they spent in Lostseed had shaken him to his core. The vacant stares and incoherent ramblings of those poor people, forgotten and wasting away before their very eyes, was a sight he would never forget.
Not wanting Throné to know how upset he was, he’d faked smiles and laughter all evening, doing his best to celebrate her now-found freedom. He’d thought he’d done a decent job of hiding his inner turmoil, but when he met Osvald’s discerning gaze, he realized he’d been unsuccessful.
Peering over the top of his glasses at Partitio, the scholar set down his own mug of coffee and took the seat beside him, placing one of his large hands on Partitio’s shoulder.
“You’re trembling.”
There was no point in denying it. “Don’t tell the others,” he pled instead.
Osvald nodded. With the slightest squeeze of Partitio’s shoulder, he got up and quietly made his way towards the front desk. It had always amazed Partitio how Osvald, with his imposing, bear-like figure, could so easily slip into the shadows. The others seemingly hadn’t even noticed he was gone.
He watched as Osvald had a quick, hushed conversation with the innkeeper, followed by an exchange of coin, and soon, he was back at Partitio’s side.
“Come with me,” Osvald directed gruffly, gesturing for Partitio to stand. Mechanically, he followed Osvald down a hallway and into the inn’s kitchen, where Osvald directed him to sit by the hearth while he began pulling ingredients out of the well-stocked pantry.
“Osvald…” Partitio began tentatively, slumping into the chair as his false cheerfulness melted away. “What’re ya doin’?”
“Cooking,” he replied as he placed a cast-iron pot on the stove and set up a cutting board. Partitio could see the concern in his eyes as he took in his poor posture, even if his face remained passive. “You know that I’m no good with words of comfort. But I can listen, if you wish.”
Still, Partitio hesitated. “I know you hate small talk…”
“This isn’t small talk,” Osvald interrupted before he could continue. With a small sigh, he said, “I’ve never seen you in this state before. If it’s affecting you this strongly, it’s worth discussing. So, speak.”
His mouth dropped slightly as Osvald began chopping an onion, and he gave himself a small shake as the scholar looked up at him expectantly.
And so, Partitio spoke.
He talked about the lean times in Oresrush, about the vacant look he saw in the eyes of his friends as they hovered just on the edge of starvation. He talked about the guilt he felt when he saw children fighting over a crust of bread. About the nights he would anxiously watch his father’s shallow breaths for hours until he fell asleep in the chair by his bed. About how the first feeling he had when waking was fear – fear that his Pops would breathe no more and that Partitio would be truly and properly alone.
All the while, Osvald listened as he cooked. First, he caramelized the onion. Then, he added some chopped root vegetables to the pot. Next came the peppers, perfectly diced. Finally, he pulled a fine cut of beef from the ice box and began cubing it into bite-sized piece.
“There was a time or two when I nearly gave up,” Partitio admitted. “I got angry instead, but it could’a gone the other way.” He paused, rubbing a hand across his face and noticing the moisture. He hadn’t realized he’d been crying. “I s’pose seeing those folks in Lostseed today jus’ reminded me that no matter how hard I try, some people are beyond savin’. Sometimes there’s just nothin’ you can do.”
For a long moment, the room fell silent save for the crackling of the fire and the bubbling of the dish on the stove.
“I’m sorry, Osvald. I just talked yer ear off,” Partitio began to ramble. “You’ve been through so much worse’n me and here I am ramblin’ on about…”
“Stop,” Osvald said firmly, turning to look at Partitio fully. “Hardship is not a competition, Paritito. Your suffering is just as valid as mine or anyone else’s.”
Turning to stir whatever was boiling in the pot, Osvald continued in a quiet voice. “I used to think I was beyond saving. Some days, I still do. But you and the others… you showed me I still had worth.”
Momentarily stunned, Paritito just nodded.
Over the course of their journey, Partitio had watched as Osvald began to find himself again. A slight, melancholy smile, but a smile nonetheless, when Ochette called him “Pops” for the first time. How his eyes lit up when he helped Castti learn to strengthen her ice magic. The night he relented and let Agnea brush the tangles out of his hair. He started asking questions about their families, and speaking more in general. He bought a new shirt. He began to enjoy his meals rather than merely eating out of necessity. And finally, after they’d discovered Elena was alive, he’d allowed Throné to pick the lock on the heavy chain around his neck.
They were a series of small moments, but they added up to shape the man who stood in the kitchen with him today. A man he couldn’t imagine his life without.
Osvald’s words were still gruff sometimes, but he’d come a long way from the brash, revenge-fueled man he was when they pulled him from the snowdrifts of Cape Cold. He was someone they all admired and relied on. Someone they considered family. And Partitio would go to the ends of the earth if it meant seeing him truly happy once again.
“Here you go.” Osvald handed him a bowl and a spoon, and Partitio curiously peered inside. The aromatic steam from the stew hit his face, and his heart twinged as he realized what Osvald had done.
“This is goulash, ain’t it?” he asked quietly, with a hint of reverence. “Like Rita used ta make for you.”
“Yes,” Osvald confirmed, taking a seat beside Partitio with his own bowl. “I always found it to be a comforting dish.”
A new set of tears sprang to Partitio’s eyes as he looked from the bowl to Osvald’s face. He looked fond and nostalgic and soft in a way Partitio wasn’t used to seeing, and he felt a wave of affection grip him.
“Osvald…” Partitio began, but Osvald held up a finger, seemingly having something else to say.
“You are right, Partitio. You can’t save everyone. But if there’s anyone in this world that can come close… it’s you.” He swallowed hard as Paritito continued to stare at him. “I…”
Partitio cut off the rest of Osvald’s words as he impulsively leaned forward and brushed his lips against his.
The kiss was brief, and a little clumsy, with Partitio’s nose knocking against Osvald’s glasses. Osvald was stiff initially, and although he seemed to relax after a moment, he didn’t return the kiss. But when Partitio pulled away, his cheeks burning in embarrassment, Osvald caught his jacket between his fingers to keep him close.
They spoke at the same time.
“I’m sorry, I shoudn’t a’…”
“Partitio, I think…”
Partitio blushed again, and Osvald actually chuckled, the sound as warm as the bowl of goulash in his hands.
“If you would like to forget that happened, I will never speak of it again,” Osvald began, and Partitio’s heart dropped despite the kindness behind the words. But he wasn’t done. “However, if you are amenable, I’d welcome the chance to try again. I think I can do better.”
After picking his jaw up off the ground, Partitio curled his own fingers into Osvald’s shirt and tugged him back in for another kiss.