Archive of Our Own

Gragas hulled a giant barrel of wine over his shoulder, heaving into a door from outside the pub. Humans, halflings, elves, and others shouted kind greetings as he passed through the space they had formed for him, and he dropped the barrels on the floor as he breached behind the bar, making the floor beneath him shiver. A stout man slid an empty jug forward and tapped down on the mahogany with his index, and Gragas smiled while he grabbed the jug and held it against the barrel. He pulled off the plug and let it slowly fill with the red liquid. Another man who was much taller and leaner—and presumably party to the first—knocked on the wood above the barrel which sat in a large cupboard. Gragas perked his head up.

“Another, please,” the thin man requested, putting his arm on the small man’s shoulder. Gragas nodded as he placed a full cup on the table and pulled his body up to get another.

The doors swung open and a wizard with a tall, pointed, leather hat and a brown robe bursted through. It had begun raining, so he was soaked and dripping with water. The darkness that cast over him and the rain highlighted his eyes, shining in the darkness at an almost scary degree. He had pushed the doors open quite forcefully, but luckily no one was standing in the way. A few people turned to look at him, then turned back to return to their conversations.

I can make this quick, he thought. Give it a few tries, and there’ll always be at least one person who’ll take the offer, he thought. He hastily pushed his body through the perimeter of the crowd, walking up to anyone he could see.

“Sir, do you have a moment?” he asked to a tall figure. His voice was gently guttural and to the point, making him seem a bit perturbed or annoyed. The figure turned its head to reveal itself as an orc and looked at him with an odd annoyed face before immediately turning away. The wizard let out a defeated sigh before moving on to another person and asking them.

“Uhm, hello? Are you looking for a party?” The figure turned their whole body to face him rather than giving him an uninterested glance.

“Huh?” The elf stared at Ryze with glazed eyes.
“Yes, hello. I am Ryze Whitebeard. Are you interested in forming a party with me?” the wizard asked with his hands locked together at his chest.

“Can you- can you order me a refill? …Uhh, and tell the boss to tab it for Machiko.” The elf shoved an almost empty tankard of a yellow drink. Before Ryze could look back up, they had already turned their back.

He continued this process repeatedly, pushing through the sweaty crowd to beg for work from people who couldn’t care any less. He gave up at the twelfth person, decided he was too far in the pub, and slowly walked to the high tops. He hulled his body onto one of the empty seats which was warm with the body heat of a hundred previous customers and a slightly moist feeling that he wasn’t sure was rain, sweat, or some other substance. In his silent revolt, he realized he was still holding onto the elf’s drink and quietly placed it beneath the table before the man beyond the table turned to look at him.

“Well, well! Not every day ye see Ryze Whitebeard enter the pub,” the bartender said with conviction, his gruff voice almost vibrating the floor. “Ye mages hardly ever wint to lave their mentors or professors to fancy a little swally(drink). Suppose like yer making history, eh?” He chuckled wheezily. “Ah like to joke, here.” He extended a large hand out to Ryze, and he took the offer and shook with a dry laugh and nothing else.

“Alright,” the wizard responded. He let go and stared at his hands, now placed flat on the table, unsure what to say and still frustrated at his failure to form a party. “A pint of lager. That’s all.” After ordering, he quickly removed his hat and placed it comfortably on his lap. The rain had drenched through the surface and inwards, dripping onto his noggin. It was no big deal because he’d already started balding years ago, so all he had to do was brush the water off. It only felt right for him to dress down; that was what he thought was expected at a festive area. Be casual, don’t dress like you’re going to a lecture—dress like you’re comfortable! He wanted to be comfortable, and maybe taking the cap off would fix that need.

“Haw, dafty(dummy). Got yer pint.” A familiar voice and a tap on the shoulder made him look up in intrigue.

“Wh- huh?” Ryze saw the bartender holding a tankard to his chest and grinning widely.

Oh.

He was a terrible overreactor. Don’t make it seem like you don’t want to be here, he urged himself. He’s looking. He’s smiling, he might be smiling for a while. Smile back and say something. Say something.

“Yeah, alright.” Two dry words fell out of Ryze’s mouth. The bartender coughed a weak laugh before dropping the jug and walking over to a waving customer. Ryze tapped his foot against the table as he watched the bartender avert his eyes from him and walk away. He was totally inept in social settings. He vowed to keep his mouth shut for the remainder of the night as he sipped the foam off his beer.

A couple sat next to him, publicly displaying affection in gross amounts, tongues in and out of mouths, biting lips and leaving a coat of saliva all around their mouths. Ryze looked at them for what could’ve only been a second before darting his eyes back down, feeling a little uncomfortable. No such affection was deemed acceptable by him in a populated setting, nor could he imagine it happening in private. Maybe it was because he was imagining himself in the situation, dreaming a world where he’s unabashedly lovey-dovey with a significant other. He was well over the age for that, and it certainly wouldn’t go unquestioned amongst his colleagues. There didn’t seem to be any situation where his relationships would exceed a professional ‘colleague acquaintance’, which shouldn’t bother him. He’s a hard-working laborer, not a young adult. If someone finds a guy like him—who was in his eighties—making love with someone then he’d look like a lunatic, and he wasn’t submitting himself to that stigma. Besides, there was no reason for anyone to seek a relationship with a guy like him; at most, he was bitter, non-committal, and utterly devoid of anything worthy of interest, and he had already buried himself so deep in wizardry that without that skill he was vacant of any substance. No one ever said that though; he was often alone. Was there anyone who knew him enough to claim that? Or had he been alone with his thoughts for so long that he began thinking they were cold, hard truths? Maybe that was why he was so avoidant of relationships. Maybe that’s why he looked away from the couple’s kiss.

Ryze stared at the back of the bartender’s head as he walked down the strip, stopping to consult each person sitting down the line. Eventually, he turned around and walked to the other end, where he was sitting. Ryze never took his eyes off of him, watching him answer every call that screamed above the crowd. He talked a lot. That wasn’t necessarily a negative thing, just something that interested him. He seemed so capable of answering everything and juggling conversations, something Ryze couldn’t. Did that make the bartender weird? Did that make him weird? He shouldn’t ask that.

Gragas’ eyes, then head, turned to look at Ryze, who was following his every move like an owl. The bartender’s face turned from amiable, to confused, to worried, as Ryze continued to stare at him with the same blank face. Only when he stood in front of Ryze did the wizard stop staring and go back to slowly drinking his lager, this time avoiding any visual contact.

“Do ye… need somethin’?” the man behind the table asked. Ryze sipped his drink before dropping it behind the table, in his lap, and turning his head upwards.

“No, thank you. This is okay.”

“Awright…” The bartender pulled a small notepad out of his back pocket alongside a dull wooden pencil. “Name?”

“Oh!” Ryze froze up and put his hat back on, trying to seem more composed. “Ryze Whitebeard?”

“Was fur yer tab, not yer resume.” He wrote ‘RISE - 1 PINT LAGER’ before stuffing it in his pocket. “Nawt like ah need to ken yer name now, awready know ye well enough, haha!”

Gragas was distant friends with Ryze Whitebeard a couple decades ago. It was a peculiar friendship as Gragas was in his twenties and Ryze was maybe sixty, but it was only surface-level. They met each other at a town festival, and they both represented their separate colleges’ recruitment team leaders. Ryze, leader of Swiftage Private Magic University, stood next to Gragas of Aidforces Community College inside dinky cloth tents. They had only each other to talk to at the festival, so their friendship was sort of forced. However, Ryze did not care much about relationships; he was too studious, so they drifted without a true connection. After that point, Gragas and Ryze would only see each other occasionally, or if Ryze visited the bar for a small drink.

Ryze was resting his head on the table with his arms crossed over. “Ye look proper radge(angry). Nae, that isnae it… ye just seem off.”

“Sorry, sir.” Ryze quickly sat up and put his hands on his lap.

“Deh(don’t) call me that, Ah’m urny(not) your mentor,” Gragas chuckled with slight uncertainty. “I’m being honest, though, ye do not seem well. Ye got something bothering ye?” Ryze, trying not to interact with him, looked back to his tankard and took his third sip. Gragas stared at the wizard as he did to him, waiting for an answer.

“...” He slowly looked down.

“Ryze Whitebeard,” Gragas said in an effort to shock him.

The wizard dropped the cup and gripped the table’s edge, looking up at Gragas with slight nervousness.

“‘Can tell somethin’s bothering ye.” Gragas pulled a seat out from under his side of the table and sat down with his arms crossed and lying on the wood. “Look. Ah want ye ti understand that this is a fine old establishment where ye shouldnae(should not) feel bothered. If ah’m ur to leave ye here, getting absolutely slaister(filthy drunk), Ah’ve failed at ma job.”

“Grag, my ale!” a voice shouted from across the pub.

“Moment, please!” He turned back to Ryze. “Ah want ye to be able to talk with me. Like them, for example; it only took a few words to communicate whit we needed to. If ah’m ur able ti do that with some lad else, ah can do that wit’ye, even. All it takes is for ye to respond—fer once.”

Ryze’s face scrunched up with discomfort, but he still didn’t bring himself to look Gragas in the eyes. Gragas was getting a little frustrated, but he was determined to find a way to communicate with the wizard.

“Mnn…” Ryze let out a low groaning noise that sounded his uncomfortable expression. Then, as though out of nowhere, he felt a warm feeling grip his shoulder. He jumped from the sudden heat and his head darted back up to look at Gragas with his arm out to touch his shoulder. Ryze could explain to himself what was going on if he could think straight at that moment. Instead, his ears turned red and his hands wandered, not knowing if he should be returning the motion, or crossing his arms, or putting his hands in his lap, or whatever other response.

“Ah, sorry, laddie.” The bartender quickly lifted his hand in reaction to Ryze’s reddening face. “Just trying to get yer attention, now.” Gragas reached under his metal collar to scratch his neck. “Anyhow… do ye fancy a talk?” Ryze straightened the brim of his hat and swallowed the spit in the back of his throat. 

“...” Ryze spent a few seconds recollecting himself. “I was here to, y’know, look for some people to form a party with—as in an adventuring party, I feel like I've practiced magic long enough to be worthy for one—but I guess people love to ignore me.” He rubbed his temple with his long, thin fingers. “It shouldn’t be a surprise, but I always manage myself into a rut when I feel like I’m at my highest.” Gragas leaned back in his chair as he held onto the table’s edge.

“Ah ken(know) that,” Gragas responded casually. “Ken it well ‘nough(enough) from ye, and but. Well,” he huffed as he leaned forward. “Deh take it personally, Ryze. Thay aren’t ignoring ye ‘cause thay hate you, rather thay aren’t here fir that conversation in the first place.”

“But they’re so quick to ignore me,” he rambled. “A-at a certain point, it feels less like they’re not interested in a job and more that they aren’t interested in me. I hardly say a thing, and they’re already gone.” Ryze took another small sip.

“Wuh,” Gragas said in a low voice out of surprise. “Dinnae reckon ye cared so much ‘bout what other folk think o’ ye.” Gragas let out a short breath from his nose to indicate he was moving on. “Think it like this,” Gragas offered. “D’ye reckon a lad goes t’a pub expecting someone gantin’(loudly demanding) ‘em ti be their employer? Maybe witevar pubs ye usually get blootered(drunk) at are bursting with goons offering jobs all aboot, but here—here is a place ti forget aboot all that haverin’(nonsense).” Gragas grabbed a tankard behind him and poured something from under the table into his cup.

“Isn’t that just… drinking your problems away?” Ryze asked quizzically. “That sounds like an excuse to justify alcoholism.”

“‘Suppose that mak’s sense. Ah’m ur an alcohol manufacturer who drinks himself, after all. Part ‘f who ah am, th’ way ah act, comes fae wit a’m tanning(from what I’m drinking), ‘nd fae ma experience… well, experiences , ah guess…” He chuckled deeply. “Ah’ve lerned that being proper rat-arsed ain’t always a bad thing.” Gragas lifted his tankard from under the table. “Them customers ain’t bowfin’ diddys(speaking nonsense) on purpose; at least, that’s wit ah’ve experienced. Thay seem so, then mibbe(maybe) they’re just right fu’(full of alcohol) an’ just ain’t sure how to han’le it. Wouldn’t know, though, fur ah’ve aye got some sort of swally(alcohol) in ma system, and ah think a’m proper runnin’ clean(sober)!” Gragas chuckled at his quip and slammed his cup on the table, spilling a deep-brown drink from the side. “A toast, lad.” He held his tankard out to Ryze, who was holding his with both hands. Ryze gripped the handle and lifted his drink to Gragas’, letting a little bit of his splash into Gragas’ cup. Gragas lifted his mug to the sky and hollered, prompting others to cheer with him, and he quickly chugged down what looked like whiskey without caring about the spillage from his mouth. Ryze watched as a drop trickled down Gragas’ ginger mustache and onto his collar. It was oddly captivating. Gragas placed the now half-empty tankard back on the table. Ryze let out an involuntary chuckle as Gragas wiped the whiskey from his lip. He inhaled and shut his mouth as he heard the sound escape his throat. Gragas, with his head down, looked up as he heard Ryze’s laugh. “Gan(go on), lad! Have a drink!”

“Ah. Yes, yes.” Ryze stared into his lager and back up to the bartender, making sure he knew if he was still looking at him. He quickly tilted the tankard and poured the beer into his mouth, swallowing big gulps repeatedly. He belched then slammed the container down when he was finished, revealing an empty interior. Ryze didn’t know if he was ‘doing it right’ as he stared blankly at Gragas to see some kind of approval. He smiled, and Ryze felt accomplished.

“Guid oan ye(good on you). Want another?”

“Sure.” He pushed his cup into Gragas’ hands and watched him walk to a designated cask.

There must’ve been something wrong with him. What a stupid decision to chug that entire pint in a single attempt, especially for someone like him. He knew from the maybe three other times he had alcohol that his tolerance was close to none and he easily got drunk off of around one or two drinks. The next thing he expected was waking up stuffed in a barrel with his scrolls and scriptures stolen from him. Why would that happen? That doesn’t matter, he shouldn’t risk it anyway. He thought himself stupid for ordering another pint. He should’ve never come to this pub. He shouldn't have been so impulsive. Put your head on straight, Ryze. Pay your tab, leave the establishment, don’t speak, go home, and get to sleep early.

Gragas returned to Ryze with a full tankard of lager and another tankard with his whiskey, and he set them between them. “Here y’are, laddie. Ah should probably get to charging that bampot(foolish) elf’s tab…” Before Gragas could turn to walk away, Ryze grabbed him by his wrist—with both hands, just to reach all the way around the perimeter of it.

“Wait,” Ryze begged. “Ehh… I want to talk a bit longer.” Gragas looked to Ryze and then back to where he was walking a few times.

“Ah wasnae(was not) leaving ye… but, sure.” Gragas slid out the chair he placed and sat with his legs spread and his tankard held to his lips.

Fuck it, Ryze told himself. He was too far off the deep end. 

“I can complain to you, right? Friend to friend?” Ryze asked before sipping. 'Friend' was a big claim to Gragas. At most acquaintances, maybe, but he brushed it off anyways.

“Sure, laddie. Anything.”

“OK.” Ryze took his hat off again and placed it in his lap. “I think there’s a lot that plays into the humiliation I felt when getting rejected. I hate to say this, but I know myself too well to not: I feel inferior.”

“Mibbe ye are.” Gragas stifled a short chuckle. “A’m sorry! Just havin’ fun.” Ryze stared him down with slightly furrowed brows and exhaled as he closed his eyes.

“It’s fine.” He tapped his fingers on the side of his cup. “But it’s not because I’ve always been so; I’ve persevered and excelled far more than the mages I studied beside. My drive is well beyond average. That’s what makes it hurt so much more. All those years cooped up in a tiny room, going to lectures, all to get my master’s degree in wizardry and just… be ignored. I know, taking it personally is only making it worse, but don't you feel miserable sometimes too? You've worked just as hard as me to be a great cleric. Doesn't it ever feel terrible to only be known for... this?”

“Hm…” Gragas swallowed a fair amount of his whiskey. “Uh uh.”

“Really?” Ryze’s voice was laced with a bit of frustration and intrigue.

“Well, sure, Ah'm ur(I'm actually) a proper mage, boot naebidy(but nobody) knows that ae(about) me, ah cannae coorse(treat roughly) ye oer that.”

"Wait, why don't you tell people that?”

“Dinnae(don’t know) why ah should.”

“I don’t know, maybe that’d make it easier to talk to you.” He brushed his hands over his head and pushed back his nonexistent hair.

“Why should tha’ matter, huh? 'Ese eejits(these idiots) seem right eager to talk to me regardless, so ah deh(don't) see how magic would change tha’. At all.”

Ryze bit his lower lip in annoyance and exhaled in defeat. “You’re right.” He idly squeezed his fist. “At the very least, I think our mageness is making this conversation progress much smoother.”

“Tha’s how ye lookit a conversation? Just… something tha’ progresses, eh?” Gragas questioned in an interrogative tone, though not an accusatory one. “Witte’er(whatever). …ah get it.” Gragas rested his chin on the back of his hand. “However, ah havnae(have not) been a cleric—or at least called myssel(myself) one—in some years. Sure, being identified as a proper cleric is good fir yer resume, but ah didnae want ti spend my life being whit was considered at most a nurse. So I started this, my own pub.”

“Any reason you chose a pub?” Ryze supped a bit and swallowed. “Are you some kind of ‘alcohol enthusiast’?” he bantered.

“ Fuck uuup! Deh make me oot to be some ill-headed dipsomaniac(a person with a craving for alcohol)!” Gragas chortled. “Yer not wrong, though. Guess ye ken me too well! Haha!” He kicked his feet and held his stomach as he tittered uncontrollably. Ryze couldn’t help but laugh at his erratic movements, watching his mouth choke saliva from the laughter and his eyes water a bit. Huh. He realized just how much he liked to stare. As Gragas calmed down, he wiped his eyes and mouth and sat normally in his chair. “Ah’ll be honest, though, my bloodline has always been big in the wine industry, so committing tae this made sense. That, an’ ah just wan’ed a simpler life, because being a mage—at least ti me, is a right pain in the dowp(ass). Mibbe ye can relate. Some bastard swicks(opportunists) start asking fer favors, an’ thay assume yer gonna look a certain way, act a certain way, an’ become this hardened and, ah think, devoid o’ any free-time… golem. Ye git shoved into this tiny little box wit’ which ye can only grow oot into potential job positions or further chances to learn—o’ which ah think’re absolutely superfluous—an’ cuts oot everything else that makes life bearable, and but. (‘and but’ is a phrase with no specific meaning that’s used to make a sentence sound more casual)”

“I mean…” Ryze scratched the side of his neck. “Aren’t you doing just that? All work, and not much else?”

“Ah deh(don't) quite see this as a job. Ye, it pays me, but ah see this place moor as a way ti talk ti people. Travelers frim all bout the continent an beyond come here, an I git ti chat with’em an hear all’ere stories. ‘T’s a well lax(very lax) job ti have rather than wan where yer expected ti only work.” He finished off the remainder of his drink.

“Ah. M’kay,” Ryze muttered as he nipped from at most the surface of his beer while keeping eye contact.

“Come aun now haud, laddie, deh act all scunnered(sulky).” He put the empty mug under the table. “‘Fit(if it) makes ye feel any better, ah doubt ah’m ur ever forgettin’ how ti perform magic. Ah have all the tools ti perform it, ah just choose ti not.” His hand returned from under the table with another full cup of whiskey. It was absurd to Ryze how much that man could stomach without passing out. “Don’t go turning into one’f them stoic stereotypes ah was describing just now, ye hear me!”

“Yeah, I’m sorry.” He placed a hand on his forehead to feel his temperature. It felt a bit cold to the touch. “Heh. Guess the beer’s talking.”

“Really? ‘Ve only counted,” He pulled the notepad from his pocket and flipped through to look at Ryze’s tab. “Two pints, and but.”

“Two?” He leaned back in his seat and put his hand on the back of his neck. “Two is a lot.”

“Na, it isnae(isn’t).”

“Maybe for you. You could down an entire cask of whiskey if you wanted to, probably,” Ryze giggled. “I can hardly have even a single pint without feeling lightheaded.”

“Wit d’ye think happens ti a jakey(drunkard) like me who doons(downs) the shit proper mad like it’s water?” He took another large sip that left his cup half-empty. “He can’t git all drunk and bammy(reckless) like he used ti. Me, that is.” He patted Ryze on the shoulder with a silly demeanor. “Yer gonna be fine, Ryze. Ah assure ye.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right…” he muttered beneath his hands as they brushed down to the underside of his chin. His glowing eyes looked up to the ceiling and he mindlessly traced the edges of the wood. “Now I’m just thinking about magic. Why did I bring my tome…”

“Ye did now, huh?” He laid his head down and looked at the wizard’s back where there hung a satchel with a large book and a blue-tipped staff sticking out the top. “Ye did say yer better than all yer colleagues, dinnae ye?”

“Yeah, something like that.” Ryze groaned as he looked back forward to Gragas. “Why?”

“Show yer skills tae me. Ah’m ur interested, now.” He gazed down at Ryze with a somewhat placid and infatuated stare, smiling gently. Ryze’s eyes widened for a moment at the demand, quickly looking to his satchel and back to Gragas.

“I-...” His voice was choked by surprise. The musk and noise of the room slowly crept up on him as he broke away from the warm connection between him and Gragas. “There’s too many people, I think it’s a hazard.”

“Ah, yer fine, laddie. ‘Ese eejits(these idiots)—also, don’t tell ‘em I called them that—they've too much in their stomachs ti notice ye, ah reckon.” He patted and squeezed Ryze’s forearm, making his face turn a bit red. “‘Sides, ‘ey couldn’t care less,” he murmured with a wink.

“Are you sure? What if, I dunno, I get nervous and lose control...” Ryze asked timidly yet sternly to hide his unsureness.

“‘Ts ma own pub,” he responded while grinning. “Ah’m sure their focus isn’t oon enything boot(but) a foamy tainkerd o bez(beer). Ah'll keep ye in check.” Ryze exhaled with shut eyes as though relieved by Gragas’ assurance.

“Okay…” he muttered, making him seem like he feels forced. As he turned to look at his satchel bag and hull it over his pointed hat, he broke a small smile that made his eyes squint. He placed the bag in his lap and shoved a long arm down its opening to strenuously pull out a big, grey-covered book with a sigil etched upon the front. A cloud of dust billowed from beneath it as he dropped it onto the table. He quickly picked at the side with his thumb to open ahead to a page before putting his thumb to his tongue and flipping ahead, dust noticeably flying between each page as it illuminated against the warm, focused torchlight of the pub. “Here, I’ll just perform a simple light spell,” he spoke with a much more comforted tone.

“Hmm. Ah havnae seen one’f those massive tomes in, wit, 20 years? Mages love ‘eir new fancy ‘textless magic’... feels like e’erything turns moor diteit(more stupid) with e’ery passing day.” He idly crossed his arms and tapped his forearm with his index finger.

“Eh, I see it more like… evolution, y’know?” he said has he held his hand to his side. “It was bound to happen someday. Humans—sorry. Just, everyone in general, we’re all pretty clever people if we put our minds to it, or something like that. Textless magic was just a destined future, and it’ll only change even more. How about this? I see every evolution of magic summoning as just… more techniques, and I choose this one,” he said as he pointed to a page filled with runic scriptures, “because I like it the most.”

“Ye dinnae(did not) need ti clarify all races. Sure, ah’m half dwarf, but tha half deh care. Ah’m urny(not very) particular.”

“Whatever. Just ignore that, alright? I don’t want to start another conversation,” Ryze bickered as he looked down at his tome. Gragas squinted his eyes at Ryze’s sudden irritation, but brushed it off. “I haven’t done this while intoxicated, so, if I do something stupid…” He chuckled lightly. “I don’t know. Do anything to distract me.”

Ryze’s fingertips touched the dry paper and he closed his eyes, feeling the dust that he brushed against as he pushed his hands down to spread his fingers out. His palms then touched the tome and he furrowed his brows as he felt the rush of mana pour in his toes and trickle up his legs, his waist, his chest, his head, his arms, and his hands. The pages fluttered from the bottom to the top with a sudden surge of magic, and the writing pressed into the cream-colored paper shot up with a blue light that illuminated the entire pub with a haunting blue tone. Slowly, Ryze moved his hands closer to each other until a speck of light formed between them, reaching in and out and pulsing like a heart. As his hands slowly rose from the paper—first his thumbs, then, slowly, his palm and each following finger—the light followed his hands and pulsed bigger and bigger pulses. An arc-like trail of blue tailed the white-hot center of light and slowly orbited around it like a flying ribbon in slow motion, emitting thin waves of white from its perimeters. The pulsing of the light slowly came to a halt as the last bit of the ribbon of light flew off the page and entered the orbit of the light, and Ryze opened his eyes to see his new creation. It felt warm to his palms and rotated with the movement of his hands. He smiled pleasingly at his creation, happy to know that he had it in him.

 He looked away from the light and to Gragas, who had his eyes wide open, staring at the magic summoned by Ryze. It made Ryze jump back in shock as he wasn’t familiar with such a bewildered face from Gragas. At most, his eyebrows would shoot up in intrigue, but his eyes were always this gentle half-open gaze that made him look lethargic, but amiable and kind, reflected in how he acted. His touch was warm, warmer than Ryze's own skin. It felt like the nice heat of summer’s sun on his body, filling him with a warmth that could put you into a gentle sleep.

Gragas could only think about magic now. The beautiful forms it naturally takes on, its ebb and flow, it’s spectrum of shining colors that envelop the room in an unimaginable hue, and Ryze’s was… nothing like he imagined it. Magic was always almost liquid-like, never exactly taking a shape that stayed the same at any point. It moved freely, and the user could just make it appear at most. Ryze’s use of magic, however, is so unnatural—at least when comparing to how it usually looks. His found form in strips and soft arcs, forming neat thin lines of runes that pulsated with sweeping arcs and always found a place to emit from like a supernova. It was a beautiful bending of the magic’s shape, one that could only be done by the hands of a masterful wizard. Ryze was unlike anything he’d seen, like anyone he’d seen. He knew everyone, he’d say, because a new person never came up to him and talked to him any day. They all blended into the same person in his eyes, a conglomerate of a person with every hair color, every skin color, every height, and age, and every version of them looked for one thing and one thing only: to drink. It was a fun community he had fostered and expected for himself that could give him a perspective on the kind of people that populate the world, but when Ryze returned from a long period of coldness, he felt there was something about him that was different. He was still timid and unsure, silent and bitter, but he was open to talking like the others. He formed poetic sentences and spoke in a rasp that was subtle, and it made every word he said have more weight. His appearance only came to him as a nice nostalgic memory of a mentor he once met who complimented his work as a cleric before silently exiting his life, but it soon came to him the appearance of the little wrinkles on his face, the lines under his eyes, his long, mature mustache and beard, his soft-looking lips, his thick eyebrows, the way his nose ran down the middle of his face, his long fingers, his thin wrists. Just as Gragas wanted to pass his fingers through the magic he held between his palms, he wanted to pass through Ryze, imagining as if he were light too, feeling his warmth.

Gragas extended his hand slowly and let it creep toward the light, feeling it burn near his palm as it let off a pure heat. As his fingertip gingerly passed through the blue ribbon of magic, the strip snapped and retracted, seeping back into the pages and disturbing the light’s stillness, causing it to expand until it burst into a cloud of light that slowly filled the room like gas. It cast a soft light across Ryze’s body, but its strength wasn’t as strong as the white glow of his eyes, like two stars shining amongst a world of exploding constellations, intact and gently through the gaps of a celestial body. His intrigued stare made Ryze’s hands slowly float down and rest on the smooth paper, cutting him from the silent room that turned its focus to center on him like metal to a magnet.

His face read an unsure expression that fought between nervousness, stillness, peace, solemness, warmth, and a hundred other feelings that seemed to push each other and mix together into one ugly feeling. No matter what emotion, they all ended in an indescribable kind of pain that didn’t feel physical, in the sense that it stabbed or pulsed in your body. It cut your breaths, it shrunk your gut, it held your spine still, and you couldn’t shake it. He could at least see the stillness of Ryze, letting him know that some pain came with his nervousness from the crowd and Gragas’ unmoving stare. His eyes moved away from Ryze’s face to instead look down at the fading light of the tome that peeked from under his slender hands. They were devoid of movement, almost corpse-like fingers laid resting upon a pale blanket. He noticed his own hand was so much bigger than Ryze’s as he watched it lower, with thick, strong fingers contrasted against the wizard’s long, bony fingers. The difference enamored him and his hand rested, making his index finger softly rest on Ryze’s middle finger. Ryze felt the subtle heat press against his cold skin, making him flinch in his head and sending a chill up his back. He instinctively raised his finger from beneath Gragas’, but the warmth that rushed through his blood had left him cold. Slowly, he placed his finger back atop Gragas’ hand, before sluggishly inching his palm up the length until his whole hand entirely covered the skin upon the back of Gragas’. Gragas enjoyed the cool touch of Ryze’s palm that rooted him in this unusual feeling which he couldn’t let go of. His eyelids found a calm resting spot, hiding his eyes halfway and expressing a quiet comfort. Ryze continued to move his hand up Gragas’ body, brushing against the rough texture of his skin as he traced up his wrist, to his forearm, grazing against his elbowpit, and beneath the loose layered armor on his upper arm to feel the thick bicep. He wasn’t particularly strong-looking from merely a glance, but as Ryze rested at his upper arm, he could feel it was clearly firmer as he gently pressed down. Ryze stopping to feel at his bicep made Gragas’ stomach flutter and he unknowingly flashed a subtle smile that, to Ryze, was unattainably frank and perfect and sort of comforting. He let out a hefty breath with which carried his tension. He lifted his hand and leaned forward slightly to place under Gragas’ collar armor and hang on his neck. His neck was handsomely thick, and strong, and thinly covered in short-cut hair. His other hand reached forward and intertwined its fingers with Gragas, to which Gragas absentmindedly accepted. The gaps between his fingers were small, so Ryze felt a light grip on his digits. It made him imagine Gragas’ strength. He didn’t want to let go, he wanted to keep this feeling forever. Gragas couldn’t help but lean forward and grow even closer, yearning for something more than a simple holding of hands and a cold palm cooling his neck. As Gragas’ eyes closed and he inched closer and closer to Ryze’s mouth, Ryze felt a sudden rush of fear that made him let go and lean back, balling his hands at his chest. He, embarrassed to no end, hid his red face as he pressed his palms against his eyes and rested with his elbows touching the table. His right hand was still warm with Gragas’ body heat.

“Er. Ryze, ah…” Gragas was completely without words. Ryze was so intensely upset by the sudden advance and Gragas could only feel an intense disappointment in himself for being so needlessly impulsive. He looked around the room as people stared at Gragas in confusion, either because they didn’t know what was happening or they were questioning Gragas’ motives. “Ryze,” he whispered as he leaned toward Ryze, just close enough for him to hear his voice. “Ah’ll meet ye ootside the pub, et the entrance, aye? Just lookin’ ti blether withoot the crowd.” Ryze perked his head up and sighed. “Awright, lads, quit yer starin’, ‘s nae yer concern.” Ryze lifted himself out his chair—nearly falling over in a slightly woozy step—before letting Gragas walk out the high tops and following him out.

It was still pouring when they pushed the doors open, now even harder than before. Ryze was immediately covered in water the moment they breached the doorframe, but Gragas quickly walked in front of Ryze to form a wall that hid him from the diagonal fall of the rain.

“Thank you, Gragas.” He crossed his arms and looked to his left, feeling a little guilty about his quick response to Gragas’ movement. Still, he possessed some anger that urged to leave him as quick as possible. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Ye, ah am. Ah’m awfully sorry, it was a stupid choice. Ah’m(i’m) ur an absolute bawheid(fool).” He covered his mouth as his head turned. Ryze spat a tired breath through closed lips and slightly frowned, but not one directed towards Gragas—mostly, at least.

“It’s been, maybe, two hours at most. Try to control yourself,” He scowled with a breathy tone.

“...Awright, lad, can ah be absolutely honest?”

Ryze looked up at Gragas with listening eyes. Gragas brushed back his wet hair before speaking.

“Ah couldnae help bit think aboot you, and, ye ken(y’know), things ye and ah(you and I) would do.” Gragas awaited a response from Ryze, who spoke nothing but silence and an unchanging face. “Ah’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Ryze responded, his eyebrows unfurrowing as he brushed his fingers through his beard to separate the strands. “I shouldn’t get mad anymore. I just end up wanting to bury myself and lay in a coffin forever.” He laughed at his weird statement. “I figured it earlier.” He suddenly turned silent, then his brows raised slightly. He remembered their… contact. “Oh, shit… why did I do that…? Why did we do that?”

“Ah dinnae ken(don’t know), wit… for how(why are) yer askin’ me?” Gragas sputtered as his hands moved in unsure directions. “Ah cannae(cannot) undo it, can ah? It’s…” He stopped talking.

Ryze exhaled, not sure of how to respond.

“Let’s…” Gragas muttered. “It happened. We cannae do a’thing aboot that.” 

“You’re right. I mean, I guess I… I guess we did it for a reason.”

Gragas chuckled. “Suppose there was a reason, aye?”

“...I don’t want to say it,” Ryze faltered with a laugh. It was a humble laugh that made him so much more trustworthy. Gragas laughed alongside him.

“Well, er, there’s a’other(another) thing ah was wond’ring aboot. Ken the reason ye came ‘ere, aye?”

“Yeah.”

“So, aboot adventuring… Ah havnae been part ‘f a party since mibbe 20 years, ah reckon? And ah was thinking—when ye were performing that light spell—ah should take yer offer, and but.”

Ryze’s eyes lit up, if they could glow any brighter than they already did. “Wait, really?”

“Yer magic is absolutely belter(amazing), nothin ah’ve seen in mah life. How long’ve ye been studying magic now, White?”

“Damn, hold on… it’s been so long since I enrolled, heh…” He brushed the back of his neck as he tried to remember. “Maybe… 60 years, now? I’m 83 and I think I entered magic school in my twenties…”

“Oh my God, yer how old, now?” He placed a splayed hand on his head. “Do ah just look aged?”

“No, no! You don’t look older than me at all. Besides, wizards live longer than you think. How old are you, 50?”

“Eh… Believe ah’m in me 47th year.”

“Hey, I was pretty close.” He grinned up to him. “You know, even though your late 40s is when you kind of start deteriorating… I think you’re still quite handsome.” Gragas grinned stupidly at Ryze’s compliment, hiding his right ear with the hand already on his head before they flushed red.

“Thank ye, lad,” he chuckled. “Ah get ‘at(that) a plenty, bit it never makes me feel much. T’hear ye say it t’me, though…” He lightly placed his right hand on Ryze’s arm. “Makes me feel sumthin’. Ah can’t say wit, bit ah didn’t think ye’d say it. Mibbe yer just as impulsive as ah am.” He laughed through grinning teeth. 

Ryze couldn’t muster a response that took the form of words, as he often did that night. There was something so oddly silencing about Gragas’ hands, engulfing them both in gentle peace that no words could escape within. Only a feeling, a grasp, a tender caressing of the body, could there be communication, and it was okay. The dripping down the hair on the sides of Gragas' head, pouring to the crease of his ear and running down his neck, it made Ryze imagine his own hand tracing lines down Gragas’ side. He reached his hand to Gragas’ waist, brushing off the slick water from his armor. Suddenly, Ryze wished that he hadn’t shied away from Gragas’ earlier embrace. Maybe it was just the alcohol that made him want that again, or maybe just his desire for someone’s affection, something he didn’t have but should’ve, but he didn’t mind either way. He cut himself off from all relationships so violently that he had grown a yearning feeling for something, anything, that could tie him to another and grow him closer with them. The voice that spoke “yes” or “no” in his head, maybe even screaming it in a fit of anger, was silenced by an overwhelming wave of peacefulness and adoration. For once, he leaned in without speaking, without hesitating, without quitting, and Gragas embraced it. Besides, he couldn’t pass this opportunity.

His head arced down as Ryze lifted off his heels and he felt a hot smoke of air against his lips. 

He shut his eyes and he felt himself press against Gragas’ stomach as his mouth fell into place. He could feel cold rain seep through to his stomach, but the freezing sensation was overwhelmed by a sudden surge of heat that came like a rush through the feeling of Gragas as he parted his lips and let Ryze lean in to kiss him gently. His lips were pillowy but slightly coarse from being cracked, and Ryze tried to feel the crevices of his lips as he turned his head slightly, falling into the passion. He felt Gragas let a slight gasp down his throat, leaving a lingering, smokey taste of the whiskey he had downed. He wanted to take in every one of his gasps just to keep that smoke in his mind and never let go of the feeling. Gragas initially let Ryze take hold of every kiss, but he couldn’t help but kiss him back as he adopted the intense hankering for Ryze’s tender embrace and tried to gauge Ryze’s energy, leaning in with the same gentleness as him. Their bodies pushed against each other as they slowly embraced, and Ryze’s arms slowly brushed up Gragas’ back and wrapped around his neck. Gragas shivered from Ryze’s hands, but he enjoyed it and in response held Ryze by his hips. Their shared kiss was a bit hectic, but also tranquilly warm and tender, happening slowly and with a gentle touch. It felt like every second lasted longer than the last, slowing down time and making them the only people in the world. Ryze’s chest beat faster the longer he held onto Gragas’ lips, only pushing him to kiss him for just a little longer. In the moment of their kiss, it came to Ryze that this was in a way first loss of tension as though for the last few decades of his life he was encased in ice, and summer had come to thaw him, and bring him back to life—an unfamiliar one, but one he invited with open arms. Ryze never had many kisses to compare to this, let alone any relationships to compare to, because the few kisses he had were never ones that he really wanted. He accepted a kiss, of course, but that feeling that was brought upon him now was completely gone. They weren’t passion, they weren’t love, they were all just kissing. A kiss in itself wasn’t the initial reason for the ultimate feeling of love through Ryze’s eyes, but rather the slowly hiking, overwhelming feeling of a rising heartbeat, the slow building up of physical affection, the sweet nothings spoken or mumbled, the isolation from outside forces, and that is what leads to a kiss that comes with love. There was something about the gentle noises that Gragas made, his body heat, his considerate gentleness, but also everything about him before Ryze even felt anything strong towards him; he was clearly very concerned with Ryze’s feelings, something that someone like himself shouldn’t be quizzed on.

Gragas was right; mages—especially wizards—were shunned from emotional expression and any sort of mental therapy because they were just people who did magic. They study feverously, perform spells for the benefit of others, be wise, and that’s about it. No mage has ever been vocal about their emotional state, lest they be humiliated by their peers. Gragas knew from the beginning that Ryze was a wizard, but that never stopped him from offering kindness. He saw him as a person, as a friend, as… maybe as something more.

Hell, of course he wanted something more. He couldn’t keep himself from holding onto him like an anchor and feeling him with his mouth. That’d be something he’d ridicule himself for if he were sober—both from alcohol and from his extreme, ardoring, maybe the short-lived obsession with Gragas (that was something he internally feared)—but he isn’t sober. He wanted it. He wanted the disconnect from his fearful self for once, just to let himself feel something better than unsureness. Gragas understood this mentally through his shared yearning for love, and it was even more than just lust to Ryze; it was comfort, it was tenderness, it was compassion, it was tranquility… it was better than just a kiss.

Ryze stepped down and pulled away from Gragas’ lips, leaving a trail of spit that connected to Gragas’ lower lip. The strand split as Ryze hit his heels back on the floor, making it fall onto his chest unbeknownst to Ryze due to the unending pouring from the sky. He stared at the bit of thick drool that dripped down Gragas’ lip and bridged onto his beard. Oddly enough, Ryze had a weird urge to touch it, or even lick it from his face. Ryze felt no reason to question this urge, accepting that would just come with his current mental state. The bartender’s face was a mess when compared to their first interaction. It was actually kind of surprising how professional and put together he seemed when he wasn’t all over him and drenched in rain and probably sweat; maybe Ryze just had a grossly oversimplified stereotype of bartenders. The Gragas he knew in the present was closer to how he remembered him before, but that didn’t make him seem “natural” per se, more so it just made him look more unkempt. Ryze wasn’t any better looking then, so his apparent uncleanliness was only natural. It was kind of amusing, really, to see Gragas just as lost in the moment as he was. It felt like they’d truly been isolated from the outside world and connected to each other through their shared desperation for love. Ryze’s was motivated by a yearning for what he never let himself have; Gragas’ motive, by a yearning for what he lost. Atop that joyous feeling was an overwhelming heat that drove him to impulsive behaviors. His improper love-drunkenness gave him feelings that kept him alive in this superior, concentrated high, which he didn’t want to fall from. Every tender touch, every hasty breath, every blink, every caress, every word, and every attempt at a word, everything was heightened. He wanted to just extend his arm out and grab the feeling with a tightened fist and pull himself into it, submerging himself in it, becoming part of it. Anything he could do to feel it for as long as he could, he’d do it. He needed it. He wanted it. He wanted Gragas.

He frantically pulled Gragas down to his level to kiss him again, desperately clasping him with a hot breath. Gragas stared wide-eyed as Ryze pressed against his lips, but he quickly fell back into Ryze’s mood as he shut his eyes and held onto Ryze from beneath his armpits. He felt Ryze’s tongue touch the corner of his mouth, and he let his lips open for it to fall in. He could feel it drag against his teeth, reaching through his jaw and touching his own tongue, prompting Gragas to move his tongue forward too, lapping over Ryze’s and falling to the side. Ryze’s arms folded in front of Gragas’ torso as they slowly turned and rocked in place, making Ryze face his back against the lashing winds. Gragas’ feet stumbled back as Ryze moved closer to him and tried to hold onto him by the shoulders until his back hit the wall. Ryze’s hands brushed up to the sides of Gragas’ neck and he pulled himself up, using Gragas’ leaning body as a step to get his head to reach his. He could hear Gragas’ hiking exhales through his own throat, and he brushed a hand up the side of the bartender’s head to run through his hair; his other hand gripped against his ginger beard. The feeling of Ryze’s thin hand smoothly running over the bald top of his head made him chuckle, which was quickly silenced by Ryze’s tongue and his own guttural purring. Everything that happened in the moment piled on top of each other and melted into a single, indescribable heat that filled his body as much as the whiskey he ingurgitated with both hands. It never seemed to end, every moment they let go of each other, they opened their mouths to go back in and kiss again, and they didn’t want it to end. They held onto each other’s bodies like lifelines, or like a cocoon to a branch, not caring how the other held on. Ryze had his foot tipping on Gragas’, while the other wrapped around the man’s left leg, pushing down on his ankle. Gragas held Ryze like an animal with his hands cupped under his arms, lifting him off the ground and holding him against his belly. Ryze played his vision of their current situation over and over in his head as though missing it as it happened before him. Every time he played it over, it’d last longer, and longer, until it seemed to last on a never-ending, rolling array of pictures that fed into his vision forever; every feeling in the right order, every noise echoing into eternity.

***

Ryze rested his head in his cupped hands as he sat in his previous seat, staring forward into nothing. He tried to fight the urge to close his eyes and fall asleep while Gragas sat next to him, still seeming as lively as ever with another tankard full of milk stout instead. The pub was completely empty in the night, aside from a duo of a short man and a tall man, rocking back and forth and blabbering as they almost passed out over and over.

“Ah gotta git those two oot of here.” Gragas couldn’t bother to get out of his seat, so he left the two to their own devices. “Ye okay, Ryze? Hardly touched yer whiskey.” He reached over and gently pushed the tankard filled about a quarter way towards Ryze. “Ah ken you wanted ti try it fer once.” Ryze gasped in confusion as his head suddenly jerked up to look at Gragas with jaded eyes.

“Mmm... Yeah, I was.” He grabbed the cup with both hands and slowly tilted it down his throat. As it hit his tongue and trickled to the back of his throat, he dropped the cup to the table and started coughing. Gragas choked out an uncontrollable laugh as Ryze struggled in his seat to fight against the cough.

“Oh, God! Ryze, hold- Haha, hold on now!” He lifted himself out the seat and patted Ryze’s back, bringing him back to normal. He chuckled again as Ryze turned to look at him. “Tha’s why the hauf(drink) ain’t made fer everybodyd!”

“God, dammit… it’s still in my throat… people drink this neat?”

“‘Ts an acquired taste, lad.” He walked back to his seat. “Ah’ll say it agane: Not fer everybodyd.”

“Shouldn’t be for anyone. Put me in a torture chamber and tell me to drink this, and I’ll confess to anything.”

“Awright, ah git it already,” Gragas said as he shooed him. “Ah can dilute it fer ye if that’ll make ye fair chuffed(pleased).”

“No, it’s fine. I’m sworn to beers, anyway.” He swiped a palm up his cheek to wipe some saliva from the corner of his mouth. “‘Sides, I shouldn’t drink anymore.”

“Ahh, awright. Fair’f you.” He turned forward and took another drink of his stout. Ryze had his hands intertwined as one of his fingers tapped repeatedly. He quickly turned his head.

“I’ve never done that before.”

“Whit, drink whiskey, eh?”

“No, I mean… before that.”

“Oh. Well, dinnae be embarrassed aboot that. Plenty’f folks havnae kissed a single soul yet. If a’thing, ye should be proud ye got to. Ah dinnae if proud’s how ah’d describe me, bit, whitever works fer whoever.”

“You didn’t like it, or something?”

“D’ye think ah wouldnae like it if ah were holding ye like a hound?”

“...” Ryze responded with silence.

“Ye dinnae seem to ken how ti talk wit onybody.”

Ryze groaned to himself and put his face in his hands. “I know, I’m sorry.”

“Dinnae be sorry.”

“Ah, God!” He leaned back in his seat and hung his arms. “It’s just a habit right now, I don’t know. I’ve never done this, I haven’t been in a pub in who knows how long, I’ve never had a party, I’ve never kissed someone… well… I have, but-… never mind.” Gragas looked at Ryze with intrigue.

“When’d ye have yer last relationship?”

“If we’re talking romantic ones… I don’t know. It must’ve been way back when I was maybe 25. I met this mage who was quite young for one—I guess I was young for a wizard, too, heh… and he confessed pretty early in our interactions. I said, well, yes, because it just seemed right. I don’t know. I just wished I liked it as much as he did. You know, before we ever attempted to kiss.” He rubbed his temple. “I’ve never had that many relationships. Not even when I was in my late teens.”

“Ye started college in yer twenties, aye?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“Wit’ve ye been doin’ outside of that?”

“Heh, man… I honestly don’t know. It’s absurd how lonely that place made me feel. Maybe it’s all my fault. I saw some people in relationships, and they all seemed pretty happy and without shame. I don’t know why I wasn’t in one.” He rested his chin on his hand. “I guess I just really didn’t like anyone. No one liked me, either, so I guess it all checks out. It is my fault, then.” He chuckled at his self-deprecating comment, but Gragas didn’t.

“Ah dinnae ken, lad. Ye shouldnae say that aboot yerself.”

“It… it does feel kind of true, though. Isn’t it all about how whatever bad that happens to you is fully reliant on your choices? I made the wrong choices, I suffer for it. I shouldn’t say suffer.” He frowned at himself.

“Ah’ve never heard a’body say that.” Gragas leaned towards Ryze and placed a hand on his. “Yer good, Ryze. At least from whit ah’ve seen. Yer smart, yer handsome, yer blunt, but that doesnae make ye mean. Ah just reckon it makes ye honest.” He slowly bent his fingers and Ryze gave room for his fingers to pass through the gaps of his hand. “Dinnae let a’body say things like that aboot ye. Yer own doubt is how ye fall.” Ryze faintly smiled at Gragas’ words, prompting him to smile too. His smile wasn’t as wide because of the night, but it still gave Ryze an odd feeling in his stomach. Not one that made him feel bad, though. He leaned forward and gave Gragas a soft kiss on the lips. As he leaned back, his smile faltered a bit.

“It feels weird how willing you are to me doing that.”

“Ah ken ah’ve made it right obvious ah wint it.” He smiled wider. “Come ‘ere, lad!” Gragas leaned in this time, resting his hand on Ryze’s shoulder and giving him a quick peck on the lips. Ryze felt his face turn red (from alcohol or from the kiss? likely both) and he stared with wide eyes.

“Ah. I…” He quickly looked away to his tankard, still wide-eyed. “I don’t know, I didn’t think about that.” He chuckled silently. “...Do you- …no.”

Gragas looked confused. “Wussat, lad?”

”Nothing. Just almost said something too soon.” He had spilled enough for it to no longer be nothing. Ryze sighed, and confessed, “I was going to ask if you wanted to be together.”

Gragas laughed, making Ryze feel taunted, but he still wore that warm smile that grounded Ryze in his happiness. “A few months too early, y’reckon, lad? Heh, ah ken what ye mean, but nae yet. Few months, give take, and but.”

”Yeah, yeah. Let’s be friends still!” The kiss flashed in his head. “Well… yeah, let’s be friends.”

“Yer a mess, lad.”

“I’ve known that a while, now!” He laughed again, his chest vibrating with every gasp. Gragas took a moment just to look at him. Gragas only knew him for so long that night, but he knew that his laughter was rare. He was always pretty straight-faced, even when he was apparently happy. It seemed off, but he just accepted that Ryze was just like that. Now that he’s seeing him overcome with joy, he looks even more beautiful. There’s something so amazing about joy to Gragas, this overpowering feeling of happiness that can bring you out of a wave of depression, a representation of a being’s rebellion against struggle. He felt joy almost every day he worked, getting to talk to his customers and form a community of like-minded people who could find joy in each other. It was only until Ryze came that his perspective of his community faltered. He seemed so reluctant towards everything and everyone, bothered by this inescapable feeling of loneliness. All Gragas wanted to do was give him someone who would talk to him, someone who saw him as something more than his description, more than however much power he had; he wanted to be someone who cared for him. Now, seeing him laugh, seeing him find the light in a vast sea of darkness… it felt great. It’s wonderful to Gragas how people manage to find happiness in any situation, whether in a moment of carefreeness and innocent conversation or in complete isolation within a person’s silent psyche; at any point, one can find joy. That is what Gragas knew from the uncountable amount of people he had the chance to meet. He wanted that for Ryze, the one he couldn’t seem to find it in that night; Gragas just wanted to see him happy, and there it was in front of him. Ryze wiped his eyes and pulled his wet hat from his head. 

“So… when do you want to find more people?”

“Ah reckon we should give it time.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Ryze said as he used his sleeves to brush his head dry. “I heard there’s actually a good recruitment centre just North. I probably could've just gone there instead... Uh, anyway, plenty of partygoers look for teams there. Who do we need, anyway?”

“Ah reckon a ranger’s always good ti have.”

“Yeah, yeah. Fighters are pretty invaluable, too.”

“How aboot we talk this later, aye?” Ryze nodded once in response and took another small drink of whiskey. He still coughed, but it felt a bit easier to take down its overwhelming smokey taste.

“Eh… actually, it isn’t that bad of a taste. It gets a lot better after it’s all down.”

“Aye, lad! That’s the spirit.” He chuckled. “Ah, that’s funny… spirits…” Ryze chuckled alongside Gragas.

“...Thank you, Gragas.”

“Eh? Fer whit?”

“Well, I don’t know. I don’t think I’d even consider trying whiskey unless I saw you belt maybe three full mugs of it. You must be pretty accustomed to it now, huh?”

“Aye, ah’m ur. My tolerance is proper unnatural, that’s whit people tell me. Ah cannae even remember ho many ah’ve had tonight… Ye must be right glad ah can still keep my yaks(eyes) open.”

“It doesn’t really matter to me.” Ryze’s eyelids fell halfway and he smiled. “I’m just happy I can talk to you, you know? I mean, I’ve been talking to you all day, heh… but, you know what I mean, right? I think I’ve hardly been able to talk to people because I never found the right person, I guess. It gets quite lonely in a school full of people who see themselves as better than you, huh? The proposition that I’m worse than them wasn’t my problem, though. I think it was just… the thought of being ignored by everyone. I-I would’ve probably been able to actually find a partner, or even just a friend to talk to at most if I didn’t accept being lonely so quickly. God, I can be so dense sometimes.” He laughed to himself. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t say that about myself. I’m being at least a little bit honest, though. I was so ignorant to other people, so much so that I pretty much lost the concept of being social altogether, I guess. And- and it’s kind of depressing to think… how much better I’d feel now if I could've just talked to you then. So, I’m really glad that I could have you here again. Really, it’s… it feels great. Thank you.”

Gragas felt his eyes water a bit, but all he let out was a smile. He thumbed at his tear ducts and looked back to Ryze. “Thank ye,” and he looked at Ryze warmly, like a star radiating its light and heat. It made Gragas want to play it all back.