Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

If there’s one thing Crow hates, it’s the cold. Wait—no, on second thought, if he’s limited just one thing, it would have to be those ASPCA commercials with the sad, shivering animals and that hauntingly tragic instrumental music (which changes to an equally devastating version of “Silent Night” just in time for the holiday season) playing in the background.

But if there are two things Crow hates, the second one would be the cold.

Then again, he wouldn’t even be here, shivering his ass off in this god-forsaken little town in the middle of the Eisengard Range, if Cayenne hadn’t shoved him on a train without so much as time to grab a toothbrush, so maybe that should be second place.

It doesn’t really matter where exactly it ranks on his personal list of loathing. What matters is that he’s fucking cold right now and he hates it.

He pulls his arms tighter around his body like it’s going to help make his sweater magically suffice as a winter coat while he lingers in the middle of town trying to find the cheapest lodging in walking distance. He clamps his jaw shut, half to keep his teeth from chattering and half in irritation as somehow every single fucking inn is woefully out of his price range.

Cayenne is supposed to put money in his expense account for trips like these, but of course, His Grace hasn’t gotten around to it yet. He could have just given Crow a company card, but no , there’s nothing that man loves more than pinching every penny he can—except maybe his own reflection. The guy is richer than God and, if things go to plan, about to crush his competition out of business (in no small part thanks to Crow’s efforts). He wishes he could say it’s his work ethic, but it boils down to pure spite in the end. 

The money will come through eventually. It always does—unless Cayenne has decided to punish him for some unknown slight. Shit. Crow should have learned to keep his mouth shut by now. Whatever. It’s just more incentive for him to get this deal done fast enough to escape this frozen hellscape of holiday cheer as soon as possible. After all, Crow is a resourceful guy. And tourist traps like this mean people are more likely to carry cash, which gives him some options if Cayenne really has decided to stiff him this time. Hell, if he can sneak his way into that fancy-looking hot-springs resort, he’ll be golden. He’s never met a lock he couldn’t pick, and convenience lockers like the ones he’s betting that place has are an absolute joke. He’ll scrape together whatever cash he can and nab a few credit cards. 

It’ll be easy. Smooth. Absolutely not an issue, he tells himself.

He curses.

If there’s another thing he really, really hates, it’s his fucking conscience.

Or what’s left of it.

He may live his life in a morally gray area, but he still can’t kill the little voice that tells him he’s an absolute piece of shit for stealing from innocent families during the fucking holidays. 

Ugh. Fine, he’ll wait until he finds some rich assholes who deserve it.

“Excuse me,” says a voice far too friendly and concerned for Crow’s liking. 

He turns his eyes (his entire body is too frozen to think about moving) and… wow. 

Crow’s either hallucinating from hypothermia or the dark-haired man bundled up in a coat, hat, and scarf is unreasonably attractive.

“It’s way too cold to be sitting out here in just a sweater… is this your first time in Ymir?”

Crow bites his tongue. This guy is clearly too caring for his own good. He just nods.

The guy proceeds to take his own jacket off and holds it out to Crow for some inexplicable reason. 

“Here, take mine. I have another one at my parents’ house. Might be a little tight around the shoulders, but it should get you through your trip.”

Crow blinks. He actually wants Crow to… take his coat? 

What the fuck is wrong with this guy?

“Please, take it.”

“Thanks but no thanks,” Crow manages through chattering teeth. “Was just about to go buy one for myself.”

The man tilts his head and gives him a knowing expression laced with sympathy. “If it was in your budget, you’d have done that already. Ever since the town got more popular, the shops around here started inflating their prices around the holidays—I get it, we don’t have much of a tourist season in the spring and summer, so they’ve got to make up the difference, but it doesn’t sit right with me.”

Crow doesn’t like how easily he’s been made. But this guy is clearly a local, so it stands to reason that he’s seen other idiots in the same condition as Crow before. At least he feels a little less moronic. 

Crow hesitates but can’t stop himself from taking the coat. Yeah, it’s tight around the shoulders and chest, but it closes and it’s warm and that’s all that matters. “Thanks, I guess.”

The dark-haired man smiles, but doesn’t leave. He lingers awkwardly and bites his lip. “You know, if you want to get out of the cold, I know a quiet little place that makes a great cup of tea. Or coffee, if that’s more your thing.”

“Yes,” Crow answers before he can even process that he’s just agreed to what is almost certainly some kind of date with a random stranger. The prospect of a warm beverage right now is too enticing to refuse. This guy could be luring him into some murder room and Crow would still probably follow if the place had heat. 

The coat definitely helps with the cold, but apparently, his brain is encased in a brick of ice. He can’t be held responsible for his actions in this condition.

The guy smiles, really smiles, this big, bright thing that actually makes Crow feel kind of warm for a second and leaves him embarrassingly starstruck. Crow blames the cold.

“Great! I’m Rean by the way.”

An inelegant stammer spills out of Crow’s mouth and he watches it like a car crash before snapping his jaw shut. “Crow. My name is Crow.”

He follows Rean, putting more effort into making sure he doesn’t stumble than really should be  necessary. But he’s already made an ass of himself in front of this guy; the last thing he needs to do is faceplant or something.  

The wind is cold and bitter and biting as they walk, and Rean is somehow completely unbothered by the arctic chill that threatens to freeze Crow’s eyeballs in their sockets. 

He can’t be human. It’s the only logical conclusion Crow can draw. 

“Okay, how are you not cold?” Crow asks through chattering teeth.

Rean chuckles. “I grew up here. I’m used to it.”

“Nobody gets used to this,” Crow insists. 

“I take it you’re from somewhere warmer?” Rean asks.

Crow promptly shoves his foot in his mouth. 

Luckily, Rean stops in front of a shop and pulls the door open, then gestures for Crow to go ahead. Oh God, is he really—yep, he’s really holding the door.

Crow is too cold to argue and shuffles into the blessedly warm building. The air smells of coffee and spice, fragrant and relaxing. It’s small and far from trendy, but it’s clearly outlasted the fancy boutiques that come and go, and thrived despite the corporate behemoths eager to snatch up space on main streets.

Crow wonders if it will outlast Cayenne, too.

Rean leads him toward a table flanked by two comfy-looking chairs, which, much to Crow’s delight, feel even more luxurious than they appear.

Rean divests himself of his scarf and hat and makes himself comfortable. “So, how’d you end up here? I have a hunch you’re not the cold weather type.”

“It’s not my favorite, that’s for sure,” Crow answers, looking over the menu.

“The coffee here is the best around,” Rean says with a note of pride in his voice. “They roast the beans on-site. You really don’t even need cream.”

A staff member interrupts and Rean orders a medium roast and a quiche. Crow opts for a dark roast and a chicken sandwich. 

“It ain’t good coffee if you have to put cream in it,” Crow replies to Rean’s earlier remark. 

Rean smiles in understanding. “Right? My friend ruined normal coffee for me.”

“You one of those fancy, French press guys now?” Crow asks teasingly. 

Rean laughs. “I don’t have the time for that. Plus, I can’t exactly drink a pot of coffee by myself—I’m not in college anymore, you know?”

Crow knows the stereotype well enough to grin and nod along. He was lucky Cayenne even bothered to front the cost of Crow’s real estate license. But what Crow is focusing on is the implication that somehow, this ridiculously gorgeous man might be single. 

“Nobody at home to share your coffee with?” Crow asks casually.

Of course, they’re interrupted by staff who set their mugs in front of them. 

Crow has to admit, it smells amazing. Somehow, it tastes even better.

“Too busy for any of that,” Rean answers with an easy shrug and a small sip of his coffee.

“I get you,” Crow replies with a nod. 

Rean sets his mug down. “Oh, I never caught what you were in town for.”

“Business,” Crow says. If this guy’s a local, it’s best to keep things vague. 

Rean frowns. “This close to Christmas?”

“Boss said ‘go’. Not much I could do after that,” Crow answers. He needs to steer this conversation away from work. “I don’t mind. The holidays aren’t really my thing anyway.”

“They weren’t really mine, either. I suppose I don’t have much room to criticize when I worked through more than a few Christmases,” Rean answers, his expression easy and open in a way that makes Crow wonder how he hasn’t been taken for everything he has yet. “I’d probably be grading papers right now if it wasn’t for Altina.”

There goes any hope of a one-night stand. “Girlfriend?” Crow asks.

Well, apparently all hope is not yet lost, because Rean looks visibly repulsed by the suggestion. “She’s my daughter—well, foster daughter if you want to be specific.”

“Ain’t you a bit too young to be adopting kids?” It slips out before Crow can think about it. 

“Well, it certainly wasn’t part of my plan,” Rean replies with an easy chuckle. “It just kind of happened. Her placement with a foster family was expiring, and being adopted myself, I guess I just couldn’t sit back and watch, you know?”

Crow honestly can’t imagine a stranger upending their entire life for some snot-nosed kid. Crow himself was never anything more than a paycheck at best. 

“Anyway, I talked with her caseworker and she helped me go through the process to get certified to foster, and luckily, I finished right when Altina’s placement ended. She never had any bad placements—but she’s missed out on a lot. I know there’s no making up for it, but I thought that bringing her here for Christmas might help her feel like a kid for a while.”

No wonder he gave Crow his coat. This guy has a terminal case of bleeding-heart disease.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re way too nice.”

Rean laughs and shrugs in acknowledgement. “So I’m told. But I think people deserve the benefit of the doubt.” 

“Attitudes like that will get you into trouble,” Crow replies. 

“It’s a good thing I can handle trouble,” he says with a smile and a look in his eyes that hints he might also be referring to a specific kind of trouble sitting directly across from him. 

God, this guy is devastatingly handsome. Those long, dark eyelashes should be illegal, especially paired with those bright, expressive eyes. His face is delicate without being feminine, and there’s still a sharpness to him. He’s just the right mix of curves and angles under his sweater to make Crow’s hands twitch. 

“What kind of trouble are we talking?” Crow asks with flirtatious curiosity. What? He can’t help himself, okay? He’s never gonna see this guy again; he’s allowed to live a little. “Big trouble?”

Rean’s smile turns sly. “The biggest,” he answers, much to Crow’s surprise. “Try 20 teenagers in a classroom on a Friday afternoon—without even raising my voice.”

Crow laughs. “Well, I’ve got nothing on that,” Crow concedes. 

Rean brings his mug to his lips and his eyes glimmer from behind his cup. 

Conversation comes easy. Crow has mastered the sacred arts of small talk and bullshit, but this… this is different. Rean doesn’t have an angle, not one that Crow can see, anyway. He’s not flustered by Crow’s flirtations and always rises to Crow’s challenges, but he’s obviously not trying to get in Crow’s pants… which is kind of disappointing to be honest, but then again, the single dad life probably doesn’t lend itself to many opportunities for casual sex. He’s not sure why Rean is engaging with him at all when they’re never going to see each other again.

But this is the guy who gave his coat to a stranger and adopted a kid he had no relation to, simply out of the goodness of his heart.

Crow feels bad about sticking him with the bill, but it’s not like he has another choice. And maybe it’ll teach Rean a lesson about the real world.

He excuses himself to take a call, then slips out the back and loses himself amid the bustling throngs of the main thoroughfare. He pops into random shops, pretending he’s browsing just to warm up, until he gets a message from Cayenne. 

As always, it’s terse and patronizing.

Funds have been added to your expense account. See that you don’t disappoint me. 

Crow grits his teeth and reminds himself that it’ll all be worth it when the Osborne Group collapses. It shouldn’t be too long now; ILF Realty has definitely gotten under the head honcho’s skin. Osborne lost out on eight properties this year alone thanks to Crow, and Crow knows that their plans for a big Ymir mountain resort are in the works. If the deal goes through, it could single-handedly save the company, and Crow can’t allow that.

For some reason, this place reminds him of Jurai, despite their vastly different climates. There’s a relaxed, homey feel to the town: what interior designers like to call “character”. Maybe it comes from the small, independent shops that outnumber the big-name franchises, or how everyone seems to know everyone else. 

No matter who wins, all that will change with the arrival of the resort. Sure, it will bring in jobs, but they won’t pay much. Property taxes will go up and the locals won’t be able to afford their homes or businesses. That’s when the millionaires and franchises sweep in and snatch up whatever they can. Increased traffic means road congestion and higher taxes to pay for construction. The school system will tank, the community will languish, and it’ll become another soulless imitation of a once-thriving town. 

It’s a tale as old as time. 

Crow does his best not to think about it. 

Now that he has cash to spare, thanks to Cayenne’s benevolence, it’s not too hard to find a hotel. He’ll have to subsist on protein bars and ramen for the rest of his trip to afford it, but he’s survived on way less.

He steps out onto the sidewalk and starts toward the inn. The street is still packed with tourists bundled up in hats and coats, their breath steaming in the cold air. He notices an overlook with a sprawling mountain view outside the train station and stops in his tracks. He was too cold to notice it before, but it’s hard to ignore now. The huge, snow capped jags against the bright blue sky make for a breathtaking image. It feels wild, almost pulsing with life, even as it exudes stillness. The raw power of nature like an animal in its proper habitat, unrestrained and untamed, utterly untranslatable. It fills his chest with the urge to, in the words of a man much smarter than Crow, sound a barbaric yawp over the roofs of the world.

He imagines how it might look with a resort carved into the cliff face. Pictures the ultra-rich lounging on heated balconies, clinking glasses of eye-wateringly expensive champagne in jacuzzis, or staring out through floor-to-ceiling windows.

“Sorry, Walt Whitman,” Crow thinks, toeing the dirt apologetically. 

Whatever. What the fuck does Crow care about some dead American poet? He scoffs at the crowd taking pictures with the mountains in the background, all of them probably just looking for their five minutes of fame.

There are some families, though. People taking pictures of their kids. There’s a group of three women: two clearly related (Crow guesses a mother and her adult daughter who looks a few years younger than Crow), accompanied by a little girl who can’t be more than ten. Crow guesses she’s a stepdaughter or half-sister since she doesn’t resemble the other two at all with her silver-white hair a contrast to their ebon. She poses awkwardly, like she’s not sure what to do, but her smile is authentic.

Then someone brushes by, bumping into the girl hard as they grab the small purse off her shoulder.

Crow and others call out in protest and advance toward him, and two things happen simultaneously: the little girl grabs the would-be mugger’s wrist and flips him over her small shoulder to the astonishment of everyone present, while a second stranger snatches the purse off the woman who’d been taking the picture. 

Crow rolls his eyes at the amateur snatch and grab and chases after the assailant. 

It doesn’t take him long to close the distance. Crow grabs the back of the offender’s coat and easily maneuvers him into a hold. 

“Give it up, man. I know the holidays are hard, but don’t fuck with kids. That shit can be traumatic.”

The man stops struggling, and Crow can almost hear his confusion. 

“You get one chance,” Crow says, because despite all his cynical bullshit, he was basically contemplating the same thing earlier—minus getting an innocent kid involved. “Do it right or don’t do it at all. You get me?”

“… You’re not gonna turn me in?”

“You either got demons you can’t afford or you’re down on your luck. Either way, prison won’t help. Just give me the bag and hope you never see me again.”

He drops the purse to the ground. Crow shoves him away and grabs the handbag. The would-be thief sprints off without looking back. 

He jogs back to the group, where the guy who got throttled by a ten-year-old is trying to convince everyone it was an accident; he was in a rush and his arm got caught on the purse strap and now his shoulder is probably injured and he’ll sue her for compensation—

“You used her as a distraction while your buddy swiped this,” Crow interrupts, holding the purse in the air for dramatic effect. 

The crowd parts for him almost comically, and he hands the woman her bag. “Wasn’t able to nab the culprit, but everything should be there, M’am.”

“Thank you so much!” she gushes in relief, throwing her arms around him like she’s known him all her life. Crow stiffens awkwardly because what the fuck?! He doesn’t even remember the last person who hugged him and it’s so weird but it also feels kind of safe? 

Must be this lady’s mom energy. 

“I’m so glad you weren’t hurt!” she says after releasing Crow. “I don’t know how to thank you.”

A couple of bucks wouldn’t hurt. Not with how much the hotel costs. 

But this lady’s had one hell of a day already and she’s clearly got a kid.

He puts his hands up and tells her, “It’s fine. Got my cardio in, so we’re square. Is the little one gonna be okay?” Crow asks, glancing toward the white-haired girl who is opening up her little purse.

He watches as she approaches the guy who tried to mug her. “If you needed money, you should have just asked. I do not have much, but I can spare a few dollars.”

His face crumples in shame. Man, there’s nothing like getting lectured by a grade schooler to make you rethink your life choices.

He refuses the money and apologizes, then admits defeat and tells the older woman that he understands if she wants him arrested.

Apparently, they just want him to make better choices and ask if he or his family needs help.

What the fuck is up with this town? Are they all like Rean? Maybe it’s something in the water. 

He takes that as his cue to slink away, resuming his place in the shuffling crowd until he manages to find his hotel. 

The Phoenix Wings isn’t as swanky as he thought; it’s got a much more rustic, Eastern vibe. It’s still nice, though, and apparently, it’s got amazing hot springs. Crow can’t imagine why anyone wants to take a bath outdoors in weather like this. No matter how hot the water is, it sounds like it makes for a miserable time.

He flops down on the bed and exhales. 

He really could’ve done without that group of women. He doesn’t even know why he bothered to get that lady’s bag back. Must be Rean’s do-gooder vibe rubbing off. 

He wishes they had never met. 

Crow makes it a point not to get involved with the locals; it’s easier when he doesn’t know the names and faces of the people he’s screwing over. 

He reminds himself that Ymir was doomed the moment it started trending on social media. Someone is going to make a deal here, either with Mayor Schwarzer’s blessing or without—a fact Crow knows that all too well. 

And if these people are going to ignore the facts set before them, if they’re going to be stupid enough to actively vote against their own interests, then they’ll get what they deserve. 

He rubs his eyes and inhales, letting the bitterness settle heavy in his chest for a moment before he releases it along with his breath.

Crow awakens with a start as his phone vibrates loudly on the bedside table. He grabs it and sees it’s exactly who he’s been waiting for.

He adopts his most professional voice and answers. “Hello, Mayor Schwarzer! Thanks so much for returning my call. I’m in town on behalf of Cayenne Estates and I was wondering if you’d be available for a quick meeting.”

“I’ll tell you what I told Arundel: I’m not interested in any redevelopment projects.”

“I respect your position. Let me guess: the Osborne group wants to build in the Ymir Valley,” Crow replies. 

“It’s not for sale.”

“Cayenne isn’t interested in the valley. We’re looking for something further up in the mountains. Something that won’t disrupt the wildlife or the valley. And we don’t want to build a road through town like I’m guessing Osborne does,” Crow replies. 

“Why are you interested in building up there?” He sounds both curious and suspicious, and Crow knows he’s got a hook in.

“If the area is right, it’d be ideal for skiing and snowboarding. Not to mention, it’d make for one hell of a view. Cayenne is willing to offer exclusive contracts with local businesses, too.”

“Sounds too good to be true.”

That’s because it is, Crow thinks.

“I’m not saying things won’t change. But you and I both know change is inevitable. And we both know the Osborne group by now. If they can’t get you to sell willingly, they’ll take the decision out of your hands. I’ve seen it happen.”

Teo Schwarzer is silent.

“I’ll hear you out. You have twenty minutes, understand?”

“I only need ten,” Crow replies.

Teo picks a little tavern in the center of town. It’s packed, but Crow knows there’s always a seat for the mayor in places like this. 

Until that mayor falls out of favor, of course.

“I really appreciate you taking the time to meet me, sir,” Crow says, extending a hand.

“You can call me Teo,” he says, offering a firm shake. He eyes Crow curiously. “You know, I think my son has the exact same coat.”

Crow has no idea what brand this thing is, so he just chuckles. God, he hopes that idiot didn’t give him something expensive. “Well, your son must have good taste.”

He shrugs off the coat and sits opposite the mayor. 

He goes through the proposal: plans, cost and profit projections, very carefully phrased descriptions of potential environmental impacts, and all that jazz, all of it dressed up so pretty it might as well be a diamond gleaming under a jewelry store’s glass.

The problem is that anyone who’s bought a ring (or tried to rob the store) knows the stones in the display rings are fakes. 

Still valuable, but not worth the risk of stealing. And Teo has played this game.

“Between you and me, there are some things to consider that aren’t in the proposal,” he explains. “If the locals take a job at the resort, they’ll need transportation. That’ll be on them to sort out. Alternatively, if people opt to move here to work at the resort, they’ll need housing.”

“Which means condos,” Teo concludes.

“That’s a possibility down the line. But that’s also more tax revenue. The town will get more tourists, maybe more than it can handle, which usually brings in more businesses. This can drive competition—”

“Or kill it,” Teo finishes.

Crow nods again. “Now, you don’t have to sell to those outsiders, but you can’t stop a business owner from selling their space or leasing it out.”

He leaves out the worst of it. He feels like shit doing it, but if your enemy stoops low, sometimes the only choice is to go lower. He needs this deal to go through.

Teo draws in a breath. “I’ve lived here my whole life. I raised my children here. I’ve watched it change and grow, and sometimes struggle, but it’s always been a place where everyone looks out for each other. A community. I won’t be the one to break that.”

“I understand,” Crow replies. “But with Osborne involved, it’s not just your decision, which is something to keep in mind.”

Teo rests his chin on his fist pensively. “… I’ll give it some thought.” 

“That’s all I can ask,” Crow says. Pushing any further right now will agitate Teo and Crow will lose the goodwill he’s cultivated. “I’ll be in town a while longer, so feel free to reach out.”

“I assume you’ll want to have a look at these locations?” Teo asks, waving the sheet of paper.

“Only if it’s not an inconvenience,” Crow answers. 

“My son will be a better guide up there than I would. I’ll have him give you a call this evening.”

Crow was hoping for an opportunity to schmooze with Teo instead of some brat, but whatever. If Crow takes good care of the kid, maybe it’ll earn him some brownie points. 

“That’s fine with me,” he offers his hand again and Teo shakes it. “Thanks again, Teo.”

Teo nods. His smile is strained but Crow wasn’t expecting a Christmas miracle. All he needed to do was lay the foundation and establish himself as a trustworthy “lesser evil” to Osborne. He’s got a foot in the door and an opportunity to further ingratiate himself. 

That’s all he needs. 

He heads back to his hotel. After a protein bar and a long, hot shower, he scrolls around on his phone, waiting for the promised call. 

When an unknown number comes through, he answers.

“Hello,” he answers.

“Hi… is this Crow Armbrust?” asks a weirdly familiar voice. 

“At your service. To whom do I owe the pleasure?” 

Much to Crow’s abject horror, the voice says, “Rean,” with incredible relish. “Rean Schwarzer.”

Chapter Text

Crow is hallucinating. He froze to death on that bench earlier, and everything since has been a bizarre sequence of events generated by the last pitiful synapses of his brain desperately trying to—

“You owe me money, Mr. Fancypants Real Estate Man.”

Fuck. It’s real. The hot guy he stood up is the son of the man he’s here to coax into a deal because of course he is. Why wouldn’t he be?

“Um, t-that would be my boss,” Crow sputters inelegantly, grasping at the last threads of his composure. “You know, the guy who sent me into this frozen hellscape without a coat or a cent to my name.”

“Hmmm… not sure Dad should be doing business with someone like that,” Rean answers, and fuck, he’s enjoying the shit out of this.

“Yeah, he’s a douchebag, but at least he won’t run a smear campaign to drive your dad out of office and get what he wants,” Crow replies.

Rean goes silent.

Hah. Gotcha. How does that cold, hard dose of reality taste, Rean?

“... I’ve heard stories about the Osborne Group, but… I guess I never thought something like that could happen here,” Rean admits, and Crow feels like he’s just kicked a puppy. Rean takes a breath in. “Anyway. Dad said you needed someone to show you around the Eisengard range tomorrow?”

“Well, yeah, but… I don’t wanna take you away from your kid or anything.”

“Oh, Altina can handle herself,” Rean says with pride. “She went shopping with Mom and Elise today and their trip got cut short, so I think they’re planning to go out again tomorrow anyway. Oh, that reminds me. Dad said I should take you around town when we’re done on the mountain.”

What? Crow definitely did not agree to that! “He didn’t mention it when we talked.”

He can’t see Rean shrug, but he hears the fabric of his shirt rustle with the gesture. “I’ll sort it out tonight. Knowing Dad, he’s got some reason for it. Though I can’t promise it’s not supposed to be one of his teachable moments. He’s big on those.” 

Great. Just what Crow needs.

“Oh—you’ll want to get yourself a pair of thermals for tomorrow. What size shoe do you wear? I can probably scrounge up some boots.”

“Wait—why ?”

“… We’re going up the mountain,” Rean explains, as though Crow is a particularly slow student. 

Crow blinks. Somehow, he didn’t quite process that going up the mountain would involve, you know, going up the mountain. 

God hates him. 

Crow has been sure of that, but this just cements it. He’d taken to atheism for a while in his teens, but the shitshow that is his life has proven that God does, in fact, exist, and They are one spiteful motherfucker. 

Crow can guarantee Rean is going to want to set out at the asscrack of dawn tomorrow. 

“Size twelve,” Crow replies.

“Perfect! You can borrow my old ones. They’re still in good condition. Elise—my sister—got me a new pair last year. I think it was her way of telling me to come home more often.” He chuckles. “I’ll take care of the rest of the gear. Is 8:30 okay?”

Crow contemplates throwing himself out the window. He’s on the second floor, so it would amount to a pointless and needlessly dramatic gesture. 

Still. He’s tempted. 

He spares a forlorn glance through the pane of glass and sighs. “Yeah, I can do that. Where should I meet you?”

“Easiest way to get there is through the Ymir valley. My parents live close by, so if you don’t mind, it’ll be easier if you come here. This way, you can get your gear set up, and you’ll have a safe place to store your shoes.”

Great. Sure, he’ll just show up to the Schwarzer house, full of people who totally don’t hate him. Hey, maybe he’ll get lucky and this whole thing will be a trap designed to murder him and toss his body in the frozen wilderness to make it look as though he died wandering into a bear’s den.

Sadly, Rean is way too nice for that.

“‘Kay. Text me the address and I’ll be there,” Crow replies with all the enthusiasm of a man being slowly digested by a python.

Rean laughs. “Try to sound less excited.”

“C’mon, it’s two of my three least favorite things: cold and mornings,” Crow whines. 

“What’s the third?” Rean asks.

“Hm?”

“You said you had three least favorite things. Just curious about the third.”

“Why?” Crow asks suspiciously. “So you can have that waiting for me, too?”

Rean laughs. 

“You know, you really had me fooled with that nice guy routine. Underneath all that self-sacrifice is an absolute menace.” 

“Says the guy who left me to pay the bill for his lunch,” Rean reminds him in a teasing voice.

He’s not going to let that go, is he?

“I-I’m going to bed!” Crow announces, probably louder than necessary. 

“All right, then. See you tomorrow,” he says, doing Crow the courtesy of at least trying to hide his amusement. “Bright and early.”

Well, that could’ve gone better. 

It could’ve gone worse, too—but not by much. Ugh, if Vita ever finds out about this, she’ll never allow Crow to live it down. He’s not sure what machinations she and the rest of her clandestine venture capitalists at Ouroboros Inc. are up to in all of this, and frankly, he doesn’t care as long as he gets his revenge.

He knows he owes her for helping him establish proprietary ownership of Ordine. He’s sure she wasn’t acting from the goodness of her heart and it’ll almost definitely come back to bite him in the ass, but… Crow needs something to show for the six years he’s spent slaving away for a prissy little shithead who feels entitled to 90% of Crow’s commission.

If she wants Ouroboros to have exclusive rights to Crow’s software, they’ll have to pay up. It’d be great if he could finally stop living paycheck to paycheck.

But what else would he do with himself, really? He’s been doing this shit since he nearly got arrested for squatting in one of Cayenne’s properties when he was sixteen. The corporate grind is definitely preferable to vandalizing Osborne Group properties in the dead of night, and Cayenne will destroy him if he ever tries to go solo. 

His phone vibrates, this time with a text. Rean just sent his address.

Then: 

Why don’t you take care of the coffee this time?

What a little shit. 

Crow is cold.

He’s cold and tired and thoroughly unhappy. Doubly so because he’s carrying two coffees and only one of them is his. 

The only thing stopping him from chugging them both and arriving empty-handed is the fear of fucking the deal up even worse than he already has. 

He’s barely half awake when he knocks on the Schwarzers’ door. Rean answers, wide awake and ready to go, and Crow contemplates killing him. Not literally. He’d just sort of like to throttle him a little. Shove him up against the wall and tear his clothes off with his teeth—

“Crow? You okay?” Rean asks, and Crow abruptly jolts back to consciousness as Rean’s voice tears him from his wildly inappropriate daydream. “Why don’t you come in?”

Crow just nods and steps across the threshold. 

The house is dark wood and rustic, decorated with the usual festive trimmings. A TV is on in another room, and Crow hands one of the coffees to Rean just as the melancholic strands of “Silent Night” touch his ears.

Three for fucking three. 

His eye twitches.

“Wow… you really weren’t kidding about hating mornings,” Rean says with a nervous chuckle. 

He can see the commercial in his mind. Weak, shivering dogs with big, sad eyes peering out from cages, a litter of kittens mewling for milk that won’t come.

“It’s that fuckin’ ASPCA commercial,” Crow mutters hatefully.

Rean pauses, listens, and then his face goes sad. “I hate those.”

“Me, too,” Crow grits out.

Rean pauses, as if struck. “Wait… last night, you said you hated three things. Is that the third one?” he asks with amused curiosity. 

“Actually, it’s first on the list.”

“Well, the good news is your day can only get better from here,” Rean replies with a smile.

He has no right to be so cute. 

There’s a weird feeling in Crow’s stomach all of a sudden. He probably should’ve eaten more than a protein bar for breakfast, but apology coffee costs money and he has to ameliorate the shitty impression he made yesterday.

Coffee will have to do. 

He takes a long sip and Rean follows suit. When Rean lowers his cup, his smile is wider than before.

“You remembered my order.”

Wow, that coffee is kicking in pretty fast. Crow’s heart is beating a little faster and cheeks feel kind of warm all of a sudden. That’s weird.

“So, you wanna get going?” Crow asks abruptly.

“Let’s finish our coffee first,” Rean replies. “Oh, hey, did you eat?”

“I’m fine,” he answers. His traitor of a stomach audibly disagrees. 

Crow curses inwardly.

“Well, I won’t have you passing out on me,” Rean replies. He lets out a long-suffering sigh as he strongarms Crow toward the kitchen. 

Crow squawks indignantly in protest, but it’s no use. Rean is strong despite his lithe build, which only confirms yesterday’s hypothesis. 

Fortunately, Crow doesn’t have time to scold himself for thinking about Rean’s body. Not when he sees the women from yesterday’s purse-snatching gathered around the table. 

“What a pleasant surprise!” the older woman says as she stands up and moves to greet Crow like an old friend. 

Crow is still trying to process how this is fucking possible. Why the fuck are these people here?!

“You just disappeared on us yesterday—I didn’t even get a chance to thank you properly,” she continues. 

“Wait… Mom, do you two know each other?” Rean asks, equally perplexed by this turn of events

“This is the young man I told you about. The one who brought my purse back.” She returns her focus to Crow and squeezes his hands gently. “I never even got your name. I’m Lucia Schwarzer, but please, call me Lucia.”

“Crow,” he coughs out. “Armbrust.”

“You’re that realtor Dad was talking about,” says the younger, dark-haired woman, who’s presumably Lucia’s daughter. That would make her Rean’s sister, Elise. “The one who wants to ruin our town with a luxury resort.”

Crow opens his mouth, but it’s Lucia who speaks. “Come now, Elise. You know people aren’t their jobs. I thought I taught you better than that.” She turns back to Crow. “You’re welcome here. All I ask is that you don’t talk business.”

“Nah, she’s right. I get it. I’d hate me, too,” Crow replies. 

He wonders if she’ll hate him the way he hates Osborne. It’s not like he won’t deserve it.

“But I’m just the messenger,” he continues, in an effort to smooth things over. 

She narrows her eyes in scrutiny. “Convenient that you just happened to be passing by when those thieves attacked.”

The child at the table looks up from the utterly massive stack of pancakes she’s already half-conquered. “If he had engineered the situation as a means to gain your trust, he would have lingered, or at least given his name to garner favor. He is either telling the truth or he is terrible at his job.”

Crow’s not sure if he’s more impressed by how much she’s eaten or the quality of her response. 

“I suggest we remain mindful, but do not ascribe malice to yesterday’s events.”

“I think that’s a very reasonable idea, Altina,” Lucia says with a nod.

Lucia all but forces two pancakes into Crow, and he marvels silently at the kid’s ability to destroy them. She’s putting them away like it’s nothing. 

Rean introduces him to everyone and Crow tries to eat as quickly as possible. Elise glares at him frequently, and she has every right to, so he doesn’t force anything. Rean explains their brief encounter, omitting the part where he ran off without paying, and Crow breathes a sigh of relief.

Thankfully, they don’t linger long. Rean supplies Crow with a pair of boots and sets Crow’s shoes aside.

He won’t be shocked if he finds dog shit inside them when he returns.

Rean hands him gloves, hand warmers, a scarf, a hat, and… what the fuck?

“What the hell do I need goggles for?” Crow asks.

“It’ll take forever if we hike. We’ll walk to the end of the valley and take a snowmobile the rest of the way.”

Okay… that might actually be kind of fun. He’s never ridden one before, but it can’t be too hard.

The cold is… kind of bearable now that he’s appropriately dressed for it. The valley looks like something out of a folktale: everything is frosted over and glittering in the sunlight.

At the end of the valley is a small cabin with a garage of snowmobiles staffed by an older gentleman who looks positively thrilled to see Rean.

“Is that Rean Schwarzer ?” he asks with a huge smile as he sweeps Rean up in a bear hug. “When did you get into town? I haven’t seen you in years !”

Rean lets out an oof as all the air is crushed out of his chest, and Crow chuckles at his misfortune. 

“And who is this? ” he asks, turning his attention to Crow now. “I heard you adopted a little girl, but your sister never said anything about a boyfriend!”

“Not a boyfriend!” Crow immediately responds. “Just wanted to see the mountain. That’s all!”

“Is that what you kids call it nowadays?” he asks cheekily.

“Dad asked me to bring him up,” Rean clarifies. “I only met him yesterday. And I’m hardly a kid.”

“Eh, you’ll always be a kid to me.”

“Do you have any snowmobiles to spare?” Rean asks.

“Just one,” he answers. “But pretty boy over here ain’t gonna be able to handle the terrain outside the tourist zone anyway.” 

Rean has the nerve to laugh. 

Crow crosses his arms and huffs. They’re right, of course, but still. 

“How long has it been since you’ve ridden one of those, Rean?” Crow fires back in a voice that’s both polite and pointed.

Rean stops laughing.

The older man picks up where Rean left off. When it dies down he turns to Crow approvingly. “You’re a feisty one, ain’t ya?” 

Damn right, he is.

“We can just wait until one of the tourists finishes up,” Rean says, redirecting the conversation. “This is why I wanted to get out here early.”

“I didn’t drag myself into your kitchen and hold me prisoner until I ate,” Crow replies pointedly.

Rean rolls his eyes. “Your stomach was literally growling. Fatigue and high altitudes don’t make for a great time. And my mom hardly held you prisoner.”

Crow gives him a look flatter than a chipmunk crushed under an anvil. “She put her hands on my shoulders and wouldn’t let me stand up until I finished.”

The snowmobile guy laughs. “Hoo, boy, you met Lucia, all right.” He turns to Rean. “You know as well as I do he wasn’t leaving that table till he cleaned his plate.”

Rean grumbles. 

“It’ll be a few hours before any of those tourists get back,” he explains, just to ruin Crow’s day.

Fuck that. Crow did not drag his ass out of bed at the crack of dawn and walk across town in the blistering cold just to wait around for a stupid snowmobile.

“We’ll be fine with just the one,” Crow replies.

Rean starts, half surprised, half incredulous. “… Are you sure ?”

“Yeah, why not? After all, pretty boy like me ain’t gonna be able to handle the terrain , right?”

Rean bites his lip. 

“He’s got a point. Makes sense, as long as he’s comfortable with it,” the snowmobile guy agrees.

Rean shifts awkwardly, but acquiesces.

Ha, now Rean has to cart his ass around the mountain!

Crow’s vindication is abruptly cut short when Rean bestrides the remaining snowmobile and Crow realizes that the only place to sit is directly behind him. And the only way to hold on is by holding onto Rean .

“What’s the matter? You shy all of a sudden, Crow?” Rean asks, as though he understands the revelation Crow’s just had and wants to hear him admit he was wrong.

To hell with that.

“Nope,” he says and climbs on.

Fuck, this is awkward. It’s so awkward it’s almost painful, and Crow contemplates backing out for a moment, but he’s got his pride, so he slips the goggles on and wraps his arms around Rean’s waist.

This very well may be the worst idea he’s ever had, and he can’t even begin to regret it.

Rean revs the engine and the snowmobile lurches forward. Crow instinctively tightens his hold on Rean. He can feel Rean chuckle, and they’re off.

It’s kind of like riding a motorcycle, Crow realizes, but thrilling in its own way. Out here, there’s no pavement to speak of, just the raw pulse of the Earth. The cold doesn’t bother him for some reason—he’s yet to determine whether that’s because of adrenaline or the fact that Rean seems to be a human furnace, but it doesn’t really matter. How could it? Rean is running this thing at speeds he probably shouldn’t, handling turns and uneven terrain like it’s second nature. 

Crow can’t see his face, but somehow, he knows he’s got a huge grin plastered to it. 

He takes some turns sharper than he should and Crow would bet his last nickel that Rean is deliberately trying to launch them into the air every chance he gets, and maybe this guy isn’t nearly as mild-mannered as he thought.

Rean takes him to the three locations Cayenne asked him to scout. They’re all beautiful—pristine and untouched like so few things are. The last one has the best view: mountains as far as the eye can see. These rocks are older than god, he thinks. All this has been here as long as the planet has been spinning around the sun, made from the remnants of the spark that gave birth to the universe. 

And Crow is going to destroy it.

That’s evolution in its own way, isn’t it? Survival of the fittest. An organism either adapts and survives a new threat, or it gets eaten for lunch. 

“I haven’t been up here in a long time,” Rean says with a nostalgic sigh. “It really is beautiful.”

Crow nods. It’s like a painting or one of those nature specials narrated by David Attenborough. 

It’s just a plot of land, Crow reminds himself.

He can imagine it now: a huge, expansive deck lounge built over the cliff side, enclosed on all sides with sheets of glass so the guests can feel as though they’re really outside while experiencing all the creature comforts of champagne-soaked strawberries and authentic wood-burning fireplaces while sipping from a $130,000 bottle of Macallan 50. Spoiled brats livestreaming the day’s haul from the designer shopping annex that will no doubt appear in town. Men with micro-dicks flexing about the eight-point buck they took down, really meaning that they stood by while the hunting guide procured their trophy. 

All of them laugh and dance into the night while the nobodies in the town below agonize over whether to pay the electric or water bill and how much longer they can stretch what they got at the food pantry.

“Ah father, dear graybeard, lonely old courage-teacher, what America did you have when Charon quit poling his ferry and you got out on a smoking bank and stood watching the boat disappear on the black waters of Lethe?”

“… I know that from somewhere,” Rean says, as though he’s racking his brain.

Crow balks. Did he just… start spouting some obscure Allen Ginsberg bullshit out loud like some pretentious twat?!

“What are you talking about?” Crow asks, hoping he can gaslight his way out of this.

“It’s… from a poem, isn’t it?” Rean asks thoughtfully, as though it’s on the tip of his tongue. “My colleague and I do some cross-curricular lessons whenever I teach US History, and it sounds familiar.”

Crow chuckles awkwardly. “Maybe? The hell if I know. I dropped out at sixteen.”

Why the fuck did he just admit that?! Teo’s not going to trust some smooth-talking dropout! Fuck! Just when he’s started to climb out of the hole, he goes and digs himself deeper. 

Rean looks surprised. “Well, I never would’ve guessed. Seems like you did all right for yourself in the end, though.” 

Crow shrugs.

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of, Crow,” Rean says in response. “Everybody’s got to take their own path, and traditional academics aren’t everyone's strong suit. You can’t judge a fish by its ability to climb a tree; that’s what I tell my students. You might not go where you thought you would, but you’ll probably end up where you need to be. The hard part is hanging on until you get there.” 

Crow wants to roll his eyes and scoff, but it’s hard to do that when Rean is giving him such an earnest, genuine smile. He’s so striking like this, with his dark hair against the white, snowy backdrop and his cheeks flushed red from the cold. His eyes catch on Rean’s reddened lips, and—

The altitude is definitely getting to him.

“So, is there anything else out here you want to see?” Rean asks, changing the subject.

“Nah,” Crow replies. “I got everything I need. The pics I took should be enough for Cayenne.”

As much as anything is ever enough for that man. There’s always something Crow should’ve done or could’ve done better, yet the douchebag never misses a chance to take credit for Crow’s successes. 

He slides his goggles back on and it’s easier than it should be to get himself situated behind Rean. There’s none of the earlier awkwardness or hesitation; then again, they’ve been riding like this all morning, so he should be used to it by now. 

“Do you mind if I have a little fun with this thing on the way back?” Rean asks, revving the engine.

Yes. Yes, Crow absolutely minds!

“Nah,” he says, for some inexplicable reason contrary to every survival instinct. “Go for it.”

Rean certainly goes for it.

Crow’s life flashes before his eyes nearly twenty times down the mountain, but Crow has always been something of a risk-taker, so he can’t say it’s entirely unpleasant. He wishes Rean would give him a heads up before he launches them into the fucking air like that, but he probably wouldn’t be able to hear it over the wind rushing in his ears and his own screaming.

Much to Crow’s surprise, they make it back to the garage in one piece.

“Sorry if I got a little carried away,” Rean offers sheepishly as they make their way through the valley toward the Schwarzers' house. 

“A little? You call that a little carried away?!” Crow balks.

“I mean, you sounded like you were enjoying yourself…”

“It’s fine,” Crow says. “I’ll admit, it was more fun than I thought it would be. Also, more terrifying.”

“My dad should be around by the time we get back. Hopefully, he’ll be a little more forthcoming on the whole tour-of-the-town thing he mentioned last night,” Rean replies. “He wouldn’t explain it when I asked.”

Ah, yes, that. 

It would be a great chance to show Teo he’s interested in Ymir’s community, but Teo isn’t the one who’s supposed to take him around. 

It’s easier to remember why he’s here around Teo. What he’s supposed to be doing. Rean blurs his focus too much, and Crow has come too far and sacrificed too much to give up now that victory is in his grasp.

The walk isn’t very long, and as promised, Teo is waiting for them inside. There’s also an exceptionally floofy dog that he absolutely cannot refuse when it bounds toward him and rears up on its hind legs to plant its forepaws on his thighs and demands pets.

“Badeux, down,” Rean insists, chuckling lightly. “Down, boy! You know better than to jump on strangers.”

Badeux obeys, but at this point, Crow is immersed in providing ear scritches and rubbing the thick fur on the dog’s neck.

“Don’t listen to him; you’re a good boy, Badeux,” Crow tells the dog, who pants happily as he soaks in the attention. “Good boy.”

There’s a laugh—deeper than Rean’s, and Crow remembers that Teo is right there. He pops up, ramrod straight, and Badeux paws at his leg as if to say, “Excuse me, sir, but I didn’t say you could stop”. 

“He’s not usually like this with strangers,” Teo remarks. “He’s friendly, but mostly goes his own way. And he’s very protective of the house.”

Please let that be a point in his favor. 

“So, what did you think of our mountains?” Teo asks.

“They’re beautiful,” Crow answers. “I’m not much of a cold weather guy, so maybe it’s ‘cause I haven’t seen too many mountain ranges, but everything up there was really, really beautiful.”

Teo nods with a smile. “That’s why I’d like my son to show you around town. I’d do it myself, but I’m tied up with preparations for the Christmas Eve festival. Besides, you’ll probably enjoy his company far more than an old fart like mine.”

“Don’t get me wrong—I’d love to see more of Ymir, but I don’t think it’s fair to keep Rean from his kid and his family just to babysit me,” Crow replies.

“Oh, I’m sure Altina would love to join you,” Teo replies. “You’ll probably run into her, my wife, and daughter while you’re out.”

He’s clearly thought this out. He knows he’s the one with leverage here, that Crow is obligated to follow his whims and jump through whatever hoops he sets up. Most folks like to feel special and want to be wined and dined at a place that doesn’t have prices on its menu. They’re easily blinded by the number of zeros in the figure Crow flashes them, and he’s been doing this long enough to guess with startling accuracy what somebody’s price is going to be. With Teo Schwarzer? Crow has no fucking clue.

What the hell is this guy’s game?

He gives nothing away, so Crow smiles, holds back a sigh, and acquiesces. 

Chapter Text

They eat lunch at the Schwarzer house. Normally, this is the part where Crow would insist on taking the mark-er, potential client—out to the nicest place around on Cayenne’s dime, but he has a feeling that sort of move will backfire with Teo. Plus, it would involve using Crow’s personal credit card, and Crow has an internal anxiety attack just thinking about charging that much . Cayenne would probably reimburse him, but… that’s only if the deal works out. Crow wouldn’t be surprised if Cayenne refused on principle alone, citing Crow’s “failure to budget appropriately” as an excuse (ironic because that man has never once had to budget anything in his life).

It’s just as well because before they even decide what to eat, Teo’s phone rings and he has to excuse himself. Apparently, there’s some kind of permit issue regarding an ice skating rink that’s being set up in advance of the Christmas Eve festival, and the property owner is all out-of-sorts over it.

Pops had to deal with the same bullshit—holidays always seem to bring out the best and worst in people, and that goes double for small towns like these. Crow remembers helping the local merchants set up their stalls and endlessly testing strands of Christmas lights to find and replace the bad bulbs while his grandfather mediated squabbles and solved everyone’s problems. He remembers how proud he was of Pops back then, how proud Crow was of himself every time a broken strand lit up.

“Some things never change, I suppose,” Rean sighs as he searches the refrigerator and emerges with an assortment of deli meats. 

Bullshit. Everything changes.

“It’s always like this before the festival,” Rean continues. “And Dad still feels like he has to handle every issue in person.”

“That kind of approach goes a long way,” Crow remarks. “But it stretches you pretty thin.”

“Every year is going to be his ‘last year as mayor’.” Rean chuckles as he drops a loaf of bread on the counter. “There was one year he actually decided not to run, but nobody took him seriously and he ended up on the ballot anyway.”

That sure as shit won’t happen under Cayenne’s watch—certainly not under Osborne’s. Cayenne is happy to keep his puppets in office, but Teo won't play ball—which makes him too much of a risk. Cayenne won’t do anything other than throw money at another candidate, but money goes a long way if you know who to pay off. 

That’s not Crow’s problem.

“I hope sandwiches are okay,” Rean says.

The sandwiches are excellent. Surprisingly so. Crow can’t help but comment on it. 

“There’s a great deli in town,” Rean explains. “I haven’t found anything in Leeves or Heimdallr that compares—but that may just be my own bias.”

“There’s a really good little deli off Vesta Street,” Crow replies. “Can’t find it on a map and it’s only open between 11 and 4, but it’s down the alley next to Forest Tavern. I mean, it might be a money laundering thing or some kind of mob front, but they have damn good pastrami. Cheap as hell, too. Apparently, they make it in-house.”

Rean chuckles.“I doubt it’s anything that sinister. Probably somebody pursuing their passion in retirement. Do you live in Heimdallr?”

“When I’m not on-site with clients,” Crow answers. 

Rean nods. “I teach in Leeves, but two of my friends from school have a cafe in the city.”

“Ah, would one of them be the friend who ruined regular coffee for you?” Crow asks. 

Rean looks so pleased that Crow remembered, and it most definitely doesn’t do funny things to Crow’s insides. He’s just probably eating too fast. 

“Yeah. Machias and Jusis—Machias is the coffee guy and Jusis is all about tea. They hated each other for half a semester.”

“And they own a shop together?” Crow asks.

“And they’re engaged. You know what they say about the line between love and hate,” Rean replies with an amused smile. 

After they finish their lunch, they head into town on foot. The streets are narrow—clearly built for an era before cars. It feels like a place out of time, like it’s one of those decorative, ceramic Christmas villages Pops used to put out every year come to life. It stirs some long-forgotten part of him, some relic of better days that conjures tenderness and bitterness in equal measure. 

Wading into his past is like an archeological dig through a nuclear blast site, so it’s always best not to linger long. Luckily, Rean strikes up a conversation.

“I’m sorry about taking up more of your time,” Rean says with mild sheepishness. “You probably have things to do.”

“Like sitting in my hotel room?” Crow replies with a little more honesty than he should. “Besides, your dad just wants me to see how the town works so I can get a better idea of how the whole resort thing might impact the people living here.”

Rean sighs. “I’m sure that’s part of it. I think the other part might be to remind me to come home more often or something.”

“Is there a reason you stayed away?” Crow asks.

“I already told you I’m adopted. I was four, I think, but I don’t remember life before my parents. No matter what, they’ve always been amazing to me. So has Elise.”

“But…” Crow supplies. 

Rean exhales. “But… it’s not like they were looking to adopt a kid. Dad just kind of found me in the mountains and they took me in.”

“Sounds like a superhero origin story to me,” Crow muses, attempting to lighten the mood.

Rean looks at him as if he’s questioning Crow’s sanity. 

“Maybe there’s a pack of wolves out there you can control with your mind,” Crow continues.

“Somehow, I doubt that,” Rean answers, making a good effort to stifle his amusement.

“Well, have you tried?”

“No, Crow. I haven’t tried to control wolves with my mind,” he deadpans, emphasizing his words to make it clear how ridiculous they sound.

“Just saying. You could have some ‘call of the wild’ shit going on.”

“You’re absolutely ridiculous,” Rean replies.

“I’m not the one with a mysterious backstory,” Crow counters. 

Rean rolls his eyes. “Not sure being abandoned and left to freeze to death counts as a ‘mysterious backstory’.”

“You don’t have any memories, right? So there’s no way to know for sure you were abandoned. Maybe you’re the heir of some old-money aristocrat whose family was hunted down one by one,” Crow suggests dramatically. “He fled into the mountains with his only son and hid you away. He couldn’t outrun his assassin, but you survived.”

“You’re out of your mind,” Rean laughs. “It sounds like a bad action movie.”

Crow grins. “I haven’t even gotten to the part where a spontaneous DNA test reunites you with the loyal family maid who gives you your inheritance and together, you discover a web of lies and conspiracies that go all the way to the top.”

“The top of what? ”

“That’s what you’ve got to find out, Rean.”

“You’re actually insane,” Rean says, though he’s barely holding back his laughter. 

“You can’t prove it’s not true.”

“You can’t prove a negative in general,” Rean insists.

“Exactly ,” Crow answers with exaggerated vindication like he’s just won the argument. 

“I think it’s safe to say that I’m not some knock-off Batman.”

Crow brushes the comment aside because he’s just getting started. “Okay. But how do you know that you’re not from another world and somehow crossed into this one by accident?” he offers eagerly, earning an eye roll and a sigh as Rean shakes his head and resumes his stride. 

“No, seriously, it makes sense!” Crow insists, trying to hide his laughter as he jogs after Rean. “You lost your memory when you crossed over!”

“You missed your calling,” Rean replies. “Should’ve been a writer.”

“What if you were actually sent back in time to warn mankind about a future apocalypse, but something went wrong, and you arrived as a four-year-old with no memory of your purpose?” Crow tries.

“Then we’re all going to die in a future apocalypse, I guess,” Rean answers.

“Or maybe you were the result of experiments done in a secret government lab. You broke out, but destroying it cost you your powers and your memories.”

Rean laughs, loud and so thoroughly that he nearly doubles over. Damn, he’s even cuter like that. 

“I got at least a dozen more,” Crow quips with a grin.

“I think you’ve made your point,” Rean replies once he’s collected himself. “But those highly unlikely possibilities don't change the fact that my parents got saddled with a kid they never asked for.”

“Is that how you feel about Altina?” Crow asks.

Rean looks aghast. “No! Absolutely not!”

“So why do you think your parents feel any different about you?”

Rean stops walking, struck, as though this question never occurred to him before. “That’s… that’s different.” He doesn’t sound convinced. 

Crow shrugs. “Is it? Believe it or not, your mom and dad are old enough to make their own decisions, and they were making ‘em long before you came around. Nobody forced your parents to raise you. And didn’t you just say this whole thing with you taking me around town is because your dad wants you to come home more often? Gotta hand it to you, that’s some pretty impressive cognitive dissonance you got going on.”

Rean opens his mouth, then closes it. He looks utterly gobsmacked. It’s kind of adorable. 

“I… guess I never thought about it that way,” Rean manages.

“Heh, don’t tell your students you got schooled by a dropout,” Crow teases. His hand involuntarily reaches out and pats Rean’s hat-covered head, which is way too intimate a gesture for someone you’ve known less than 24 hours, but his hand doesn’t seem to care about that. 

“Sorry, that was—I should’ve asked first,” Crow offers, but Rean is blushing and it’s so damn cute that Crow can’t actually bring himself to regret it. 

“It’s fine. I, uh… I didn’t mind.” Rean clears his throat. “Anyway,” he says, resuming his stride. “The town proper has some pretty interesting places. Everything at the fish market is caught locally. There’s not much variety, but it’s all fresh.”

“Can’t beat that,” Crow answers and tries not to think about how the resort restaurants will decimate the lakes and rivers within two years. “Wait—people up here fish during the winter, too?

“Ice fishing takes a lot of patience, but it’s pretty fun. If you can stand the cold,” he says, clearly teasing Crow for his hatred of the weather. 

“You mean you take all the joy out of fishing and freeze your ass off for little reward. Got it,” Crow fires back. 

“You fish?” Rean asks, his curiosity outweighing the impulse to roll his eyes at Crow’s comment.

“Not so much these days,” Crow answers. “But when I was a kid, yeah. Couldn’t get enough of it.” 

“I didn’t realize how much I missed it until I took Altina last summer,” Rean admits. Then, he brightens. “She did pretty well. Managed to catch an 18-inch bass. I know it’s not that big, but neither is she, so I think she has a knack for it.”

Crow smiles, which is weird because normally, he can’t stand listening to people brag about their kids—but somehow, it’s cute when Rean does it. 

“Man, you really got the dad thing down pat, don’t you?”

Rean blushes again, and Crow wonders how many more times he can make Rean do that before it gets old. 

Rean rubs the back of his neck and quickly looks around for something to talk about. He gestures toward a nearby green storefront. “So, um, most people get their meat from the local butcher over here. Everything comes from the family farms nearby.”

Rich people like to see buzzwords like that: local, ethical, sustainable, free-range. It makes them feel like they’re doing a good deed, being charitable, and giving their money to a cause. They’re all right with spending more if the animals are treated right.

Then, they open their menu and order the veal.

“So they’re pretty small farms, then?” Crow asks. 

“Look, you have to remember that this was a hunting village. Even now, the nearest franchise grocery store is something like twenty miles away. People either shop for their meat at the butcher, or do what they’ve always done: hunt,” Rean explains. “Most people still fill a freezer during hunting season. There’s not a big demand for commercial slaughterhouses.”

That’ll change.

Cayenne will offer financial incentives for those farmers to expand and supply the resort year-round and then, when those incentives expire, they won’t be able to afford operations and some big-name distributors will buy them out.

Crow is usually excellent at maintaining an expression of engaged interest, but the look on Rean’s face says he’s slipped. Before he can fix his mask, Rean unexpectedly grabs his arm and drags him along with more enthusiasm than the subject warrants. 

“Oh, while we’re on the subject, there’s an amazing jerky shop around the corner. It’s all homemade. I think you’ll like it. They also sell different kinds of jams and preserves. It’s pretty unique.”

Delicious is what it is, and it pulls Crow right out of his melancholy. Rean wasn’t exaggerating at all. The old lady who runs the joint stuffs him full of free samples, and every single thing is somehow insanely good. Crow has never tasted jam that wasn’t more sugar than fruit, but the flavors are balanced, tangy, and perfect. The jerky is just as tasty—way better than anything Crow’s ever grabbed from the grocery store.

After that, Rean brings him to a tiny shop entirely devoted to honey—the real stuff straight from the hive, not that artificially-flavored corn syrup crap. They pop into a real, honest-to-god general store, like one you’d see in the old days, and a deceptively large antique shop that Crow spends far too much time in.

Maybe it’s a side effect of being raised by his grandfather, but Crow’s always had a soft spot for old things. They walk through aisles of plates and glassware from casual to crystal, and Rean pauses thoughtfully in front of the tea sets. 

“See something you like?” Crow asks.

“They’re all beautiful. But I was wondering if Elise might like one of these. She and her girlfriend are big on tea. Even if they don’t use it, it could be a nice conversation piece,” Rean muses.

“You saw it and you thought of her. Pretty sure you can’t go wrong with that,” Crow replies.

Crow is the last person qualified to speak on gift-giving since the last time he bought a present for someone was over a decade ago, but it sounds like the right thing to say.

Rean gives him a smile and Crow’s chest feels weirdly tight. Must be the transition from the cold outside to the warmth of the shop.

Crow continues to browse while Rean purchases the set from the woman behind the counter. There are trinkets and statuettes, glass sculptures, and clocks of all shapes, sizes, and types. There’s one cuckoo clock that looks like it was vomited up by a hunting lodge: a giant elk’s head (he thinks it’s an elk. Deer don’t have ears that big) is carved in the top, flanked by the muzzles of two long-barrel rifles and intricate oak leaves. There’s… an upside-down fox and what looks like a bird that might be an upside-down turkey with its head on the wrong part of its body? There are pine cones and horns, and Crow really doesn’t know what’s going on with that, but he has to clamp his hands over his mouth at the $1,200 price tag.

In the next section, he finds a bunch of old board games and magazines, playing cards, and—no, that can’t be a deck of… shit, it’s really a Blade deck. 

He hasn’t seen one of these since he was a kid.

Warm nostalgia washes over him as he holds it in his palm. How many hours did he spend with a deck just like this one? 

“What’s that?” Rean asks curiously. 

“Hm? Oh, just an old card game. Didn’t know any of these decks were still floating around,” he answers, replacing it on the shelf.

Rean cranes his neck to get a look. “Blade? I’ve never heard of it.”

Crow shrugs. “It’s nothing special. Just a dumb little strategy game. My pops used to play it with me when I was a kid. It was all the rage for a while.”

“Were you any good?” Rean asks.

Crow flashes him a smile. “The best.”

Rean picks up the discarded deck and examines it for a moment, then turns an unexpectedly shark-like grin of his own on Crow. “Bet I could beat you.”

“Hah,” Crow laughs. “You don’t even know how to play!”

Rean doesn’t look the slightest bit threatened. “You said it yourself: you’re out of practice,” he replies a little loftily.

No way this guy thinks he can just beat Crow just like that. Yeah, it’s been a while, but Crow was the freaking Blade master, okay? Back in the day, you couldn’t find a kid in Jurai whose ass he hadn’t kicked at least once. 

“Hope you know what you’re getting yourself into, Rean,” Crow replies, folding his arms.

Rean looks him up and down like he’s sizing Crow up, then meets Crow’s eyes unflinchingly. It’s so intense it’s downright commanding and Crow almost fucking whimpers.

“I think I can take you.”

Yes, please, take me, a completely unhelpful part of his lizard brain responds. Thankfully, what he says aloud is: “We’ll see about that.”

Rean smirks. “Guess we will,” he replies, then turns on his heel and fucking saunters toward the cashier. 

His smile is all friendliness and congeniality now, with no trace of the competitive, strangely seductive intensity he sported a moment ago—almost as though it never happened. It leaves Crow reeling, like a car hurtling forward after someone hit the brakes at 200 miles an hour.

“Hey, are you ready?” Rean’s voice asks, and Crow jerks back to reality.

“Oh, um, yeah. Sure. Let’s go.”

Rean is back to normal, all cheerful and casual like he didn’t just send Crow’s entire world spinning off its axis in the middle of a goddamn antique shop over a fucking card game. Maybe it’s the air up here. Maybe all the altitude changes today are fucking with his brain, or he’s finally reached the level of pathetic desperation so deep he’s projecting meaning onto a friendly challenge.

Is it possible that Rean doesn’t even know what he’s done? Is he completely unaware of the power he wields?

He must be since he’s yapping on about wind chimes or something.

God, this is horrible. The cold is horrible, Rean is horrible, all this is horrible and he needs to get some distance and perspective. This tour can’t end soon enough. 

At least, that’s what he tells himself.

Crow manages to get his shit together enough to pay attention as Rean points out a winter apparel store and one that sells regular clothes. They pass by a pet supply store, and Crow is briefly overwhelmed by the mental image of Badeux in a doggie Christmas sweater, with his neck floof erupting from the collar. Rean’s parents seem like the matching-Christmas-pajamas type, so he wouldn’t be surprised if there was at least one in storage. Would it be weird to ask about that?

As if on cue, they run into the rest of Rean’s family (minus Teo) outside the souvenir shop around the corner. Lucia is delighted to see them (Crow wonders if the woman ever gets angry—which is stupid because of course she does— everyone gets angry—and he realizes that being on the receiving end of her wrath must be the single most terrifying place in the world).

“How did the morning go?” Lucia asks. “Did you have a nice time in the mountains?”

Crow nods. “It was great. Someone had a little too much fun on the snowmobile,” he says, eyeing Rean, “but everything out there was beautiful. Cold, but beautiful.”

He waits for Elise to snap at him, but she doesn’t, which is weird. Her expression is a little tight, but there isn’t the faintest hint of the murderous glare from earlier for some reason. 

“I’d like you to come to our house for dinner tonight so I can thank you properly for your help yesterday, Crow,” Lucia says as though Crow isn’t actively working toward ruining her family’s life. Didn’t Elise make that clear this morning?!

Is there no getting away from these people? Why the hell do they want him around so much?

Dinner with a client would normally be par for the course. But she’s not proposing a meal at a restaurant or somewhere neutral where Crow can scout ahead. He can’t control the ambiance, the atmosphere, or the flow of conversation in someone else’s home. The setting changes the tone completely. Crow hasn’t sat down to a “family meal” in over a decade. What the fuck is he even supposed to talk about? 

He doesn’t like it one bit. 

But, it would get him closer to Teo. Crow knows how to turn on the charm, play humble, discern what people want him to be, and play the part. Plus, it’s free food and he doesn’t know how long he’ll be stuck here. He’s hoping to get a contract by Christmas, but it’s already the 22nd, so… yeah. 

He’ll have to buy something to wear, but they passed a thrift store a few blocks back. That should work.

“Um… I wouldn’t want to impose on you and your family,” Crow replies awkwardly, just in case this is some kind of test. 

“Nonsense. I wouldn’t have invited you if it were an imposition,” she replies.

He looks at Elise. Maybe she’ll save him by reminding everyone what he is.

“I shouldn’t have assumed the worst of you,” she says instead, completely misinterpreting his expression. “I’m still not okay with what you’re doing here, but I don’t think you had anything to do with what happened yesterday.” Now, her expression sharpens. “But we’re not inviting you as a representative of Cayenne Estates. We’re inviting you as the person who helped us when we were in trouble. If you can’t accept that, I suggest you decline.”

There’s that edge. Good to know at least one member of this deranged family has a sense of self-preservation.

Crow exhales. There has to be a polite way to decline this… he can just make up something about a conference call. 

What comes out of his mouth is, “Sure. Why not?” because he’s apparently lost his fucking mind, along with control of his body. This is the second time today his brain-to-mouth connection has fucking short-circuited! Maybe he had a stroke or something. A stroke would at least make sense. 

It could be early-onset dementia. Very early-onset, but hey, it’s possible! Doesn’t schizophrenia develop in your 20s? He’s not hearing voices or anything, and he honestly doesn’t know what the other symptoms are, but it’s something to look into. 

“Wonderful,” Lucia says, and she looks like she means it. Apparently, it’s wonderful to invite a complete stranger who made it clear he has an agenda to join your family for a meal. What could go wrong?

“Altina, do you want to head back with Mom and Elise or stay out with me and Crow?” Rean asks.

“I would like to stay out. There are several gifts I still need to procure,” she replies.

Procure? Christ, this kid has a better vocabulary than Crow does. Though that doesn’t really take much, he supposes.

“All right, then. Elise and I will be on our way.” She gives Crow that warm, mom smile. “Is six thirty all right? That should give you some time to relax after you finish your tour around town.”

He nods. “Yeah, that’s great. Thanks again.”

“How was your day, Altina?” Rean asks the girl, as though Crow’s not even there.

“It was thoroughly enjoyable. We got hot chocolate and I ate something called ‘rock candy’, which is crystallized sugar on a stick. I liked the bookstore. It was very hard not to spend all my money,” she answers.

“Altina, you can have whatever books you want. Mom knows I’ll pay her back for them,” Rean explains kindly.

She glances at the ground. “But your mother is not likely to let you repay her.”

“She’s got a point,” Crow interjects, even though he has absolutely no place in this conversation.

“Some things are more important than money,” Rean tells her like he actually believes it. “Your happiness, for one thing.”

“I am happy,” she insists, like she’s afraid she’s said something she shouldn’t. “I do not require additional books to achieve greater happiness.”

Rean and Altina are having two different conversations. It’s glaringly obvious to Crow, but Rean, bleeding heart that he is, can’t see it. 

“Rean doesn’t think you’re unhappy with him,” Crow explains gently and gives her an understanding smile. “You know what? I haven’t seen the book shop yet. Do you think you could show me where it is?”

She nods. “Of course. It is not far.”

She leads the way a few steps ahead of them, dutifully delivering them to the bookstore. Crow hasn’t seen one like this in a long time. Warm and weathered with plenty of mahogany, and smells like a bookshop should: paper, dried leaves, and cinnamon. 

The man behind the counter chuckles. “Back already, Altina?”

“Mr. Armbrust wanted to see the bookstore,” she explains.

Crow cringes. “Just ‘Crow’ is fine,” he says.

The old guy fixes his eyes on Rean. “My, you have been busy, haven’t you?”

Rean, blessedly dense, replies, “Well, yeah. The school was brand new when I started there, and I was the only history teacher the first year. It’s still just a small charter school, but we have a lot more students now and I’m in charge of the entire history department, so—”

“I’m just a tourist,” Crow clarifies. “Rean was nice enough to show me around so I don’t get lost.”

“Doesn’t mean you can’t keep an open mind,” the old guy says with a wink. “You never know where you’ll meet your soulmate. Hell, I met my wife on New Year’s Eve forty-one years ago when she threw up on my shoes.”

“Okay, you can’t just say that and not finish the story,” Crow replies.

The man laughs. “She felt so bad. We exchanged numbers and she promised to buy me a new pair. She followed through. And here we are.” He sighs fondly. 

“Good for you, man,” Crow says. “But I’m here ‘cause Altina here said you had some great books.” He looks at Altina. “And I’ve gotta see for myself what she considers ‘good’ before I can believe her. How about you show me those books you were looking at earlier? I bet your taste ain’t as good as you think it is.” He says it like he’s issuing a challenge, and it lights a fire in her eyes.

“I will not have my taste judged by someone who uses the word ain’t,” she counters.

“I’m hearing a whole lot of talk and no action,” Crow replies. “Not up to the challenge?”

Altina makes a determined noise and scurries off into the stacks. 

When he looks back at Rean, he finds him staring back in a way that’s part awestruck and part pure confusion. “H-How the hell did you do that?” 

“Do what?”

“Get her to—with the books,” Rean tries clumsily. “She totally closed herself off when I tried.”

“Oh, that. Look, she’s probably used to getting passed around like a hot potato,” Crow explains. “She likes you and doesn’t want to do something that’ll make you send her back.”

“I’d never do that,” Rean insists firmly, conviction flashing in his eyes. “I’m in the process of adopting her!”

He really has no idea. God, he’s adorably naive. 

“You know how many other folks probably fed her the same line?” Crow asks.

“It’s not a line!”

Crow puts a hand on Rean’s shoulder to calm him down. “You and I know that. She might even believe it. But that doesn’t mean she can just forget all the times other families dropped her. You only got left behind once, and it’s still eating you alive. Think about what it’s like for her.”

Shit. Maybe he went a little too heavy on the truth. Rean looks like Crow just rounded up and killed his whole family.

“All I’m saying is that it’s gonna take some time for her to get over her past. You’re doing a hell of a job, man,” Crow tries.

Rean sighs. “It doesn’t feel like it.”

“Did you see how many pancakes your kid shoveled down this morning?” Crow asks.

Rean looks at him and blinks like there’s a punchline he’s waiting for. 

“What I mean is that she felt comfortable taking a fuckton of food for herself. That’s a huge deal,” Crow tells him. This is getting uncomfortably close to things he absolutely, 100% does not want to think about, so he changes the subject. “Anyway, I figure when she’s done with the books, you can pretend you’re cleaning them up and buy them at the counter. I’ll keep her distracted. You might wanna swing by later to pick them up, though. Give them to her for Christmas.” 

“Would you pick them up?” Rean asks, a little more desperate than Crow expects. “I don’t know when I’ll have time to stop by without her.”

“Sure,” he says, because Crow is apparently incapable of saying no to this man about anything, ever.

Rean’s relief is almost palpable. “Thank you. If you want to distract her, bring up the crepe place in town. She’s obsessed with it.”

“A crepe is just a really thin pancake, so I’m not surprised,” Crow replies with a soft chuckle. 

Altina assembles her collection and takes him through her selections. They’re definitely high school level, a mixture of classics, contemporary fiction, and a smattering of YA, and Crow is seriously impressed. 

“Rean, you got some kind of genius on your hands,” he remarks. “How old are you, Altina?”

“Eleven.”

“What grade are you in?”

“Tenth.”

Yep, a literal freaking genius.

“Color me impressed. Okay, you’ve convinced me. You know what you’re talking about,” he admits, conceding. 

She grins with deep satisfaction. “Of course I do. You should not have doubted me.”

“So, which one of these do you want the most?” he asks.

She looks at him with critical suspicion. “I already told Rean: I am perfectly happy with the books I have.”

“The two of us made a bet and I lost,” Crow explains. “Everybody, even super genius girls, knows that when you lose a bet, you gotta pay up.”

She pauses to think this over and decides it’s acceptable. “All right. I suppose that is fair.”

Buying the kid a book is no big deal. He’s neurotic about money for a lot of reasons (mainly because rent is fucking disgusting and Cayenne refuses to let Crow officially close on any of the big deals he puts together. Cayenne signs his own name on the paperwork and Crow can’t say shit about it because Cayenne knows where most of Crow’s skeletons are buried), but a six-dollar book ain’t gonna break the bank.

As he pays, he lets the shopkeeper in on Rean’s plan to buy the rest of the books. With the transaction complete, he hands the book over to Altina, who looks thoroughly pleased as she deposits it inside one of her bags. 

“Rean told me there’s a place around here that sells crepes. Is it any good?” Crow asks.

“It is not good. It is fantastic. I have tried seven of their offerings and found them all immensely satisfying,” she explains.

She goes on to tell him about the ones she’s eaten and what was in them, then how they compare to each other. 

It’s obvious that Altina spent more time with textbooks than she did with other children. Her intelligence was probably off-putting her peers, and she probably found it hard to enjoy their company. He’d bet that her various foster parents thought she was robotic and creepy or grew to resent her for being smarter than they were.

At some point, Rean rejoins them, but he doesn’t interrupt. He just smiles at Altina with parental fondness. 

“Unless you want to buy me a crepe, you should not challenge my opinion,” she finishes with a little grin.

Well, somebody has a sassy streak after all. 

Crow chuckles. “Damn, kiddo, you’re never gonna let me live that down, are you? I’ve learned my lesson.”

She looks extremely pleased with herself.

“Okay, you two,” Rean announces with a smile. “Let’s be off. We’ve still got some exploring to do.”

So they explore. It really is a lovely little town chock full of unexpected surprises. There’s even a record store hidden away and accessible only via a fire escape. Altina has no interest, but Crow has to physically restrain himself from splurging. There’s an authentic, mom-and-pop hardware store, a bakery where everything is actually made fresh, and a store entirely devoted to lamps. He’s not sure how that last one stays in business, but according to Rean, it’s been there forever.

The crepe place is as good as Altina said. Rean treats him to one, probably to repay him for the book earlier, and he’s surprised by how much he doesn’t want the afternoon to end. 

What the fuck?!

What the fuck is he doing walking around town, playing happy family with these people?! These strangers?!

“Thanks for the tour, Rean,” he says as he rises to his feet and zips up the borrowed coat he’s still wearing.

Rean looks disappointed for a moment but then gives him a smile. “We ought to get going, too. I’ll see you tonight?”

He imagines how those words might sound whispered against the shell of his ear, and wonders if he’s lost his mind. 

“Yeah. Six thirty. See you.”

“Bye, Crow,” Altina chirps.

He waves. “Bye, Altina.” 

He takes a breath of sharp, cold air as he steps out into the streets and hopes it’ll wake him the fuck up. 

What the hell is happening to him? 

Everything about this trip is wrong. Nothing has gone to plan. Crow has a knack for adapting to whatever clients throw at him, but these people are something else. 

Maybe he’s in some kind of horror movie. Maybe the mountains have some strange electromagnetism that fucks with human brains and renders everyone some kind of fucked-up Stepford wife. It would make sense—if two guys hadn’t tried to mug Lucia the other day.

It’s just the Schwarzers, then. But Elise seems like she’s got her head on straight. Teo, too. Lucia literally took an orphan her husband found in the mountains and made him her son, so it stands to reason that she’d be fond of somebody who helped her out, despite his flaws.

Okay, so maybe it’s only Rean. Maybe that’s his superpower, Crow thinks derisively. Fucking up everything in Crow’s life until he can’t tell up from down or left from right.

Rean is stupidly hot, but Crow’s been around plenty of attractive people in the last few years and none of them have ever done this to him. 

And now he has to survive dinner with them. Family dinner, not business dinner. He’d call out sick if he didn’t think Lucia might show up at his hotel with homemade soup or some shit. 

These people are unbelievable.

They know exactly what he’s here to do, and they’re treating him like a human being rather than corporate scum. Were they this nice to Arundel? 

Crow exhales heavily. God, he wonders what it’s like to be Cayenne or Osborne, to step on people and not be repulsed by the shit it leaves on your shoes. Then again, it’s probably easy when you can just buy another pair.

He makes a detour to grab the books for Rean and stops at the thrift store on his way back. He manages to find a nice, black turtleneck and grabs a couple of casual shirts, just in case he’s here through Christmas. Thankfully, there’s a pair of jeans for dirt cheap. All things considered, it doesn’t set him back too far.

He makes it to his hotel and flops down on the bed. He sets an alarm for 5:00 (double checks that it’s PM, not AM) before he sets the phone down on the nightstand. 

He closes his eyes and absolutely does not think about Rean. 

Chapter Text

The whole “don’t think about Rean” plan goes about as well as walking blindfolded across a floor made of sharpened nails, but by some mercy, he actually does fall asleep for a while and even manages to wake up feeling refreshed.

He doesn’t know why he was so out of sorts earlier. Dinner is just a meal. Whether it’s at a restaurant or in somebody’s home, it amounts to the same thing—hell, maybe this venue is better. Teo isn’t like the people Crow usually deals with. This will give him a chance to show off how well he gets on with everyone, how he’s trustworthy and reliable, and minimize whatever reservations Teo has about doing business with Cayenne. 

He’s got this, Crow thinks to himself as he braves frigid, god-forsaken temperatures human beings were in no way designed to survive, and makes his way across town. It’ll be easy. He’s already met everyone who’s going to be in attendance, so it should be no problem to play them.

He knocks on the Schwarzers’ door full of confident swagger. Crow is a goddamn professional and he’s determined to keep things that way.

Then, Rean answers in a fitted maroon sweater and a wide smile, and the language center of Crow’s brain closes up shop and skips town.

“Long time, no see,” Rean chuckles, and it sounds like one of those wind chimes he went on about earlier: bright and melodic and beautiful.

Crow has something for this, something witty and playful that dances at the edge of flirtation, something perfect— but what comes out is: “Buh….”

Someone, please, kill him. It would be a kindness at this point.

Rean steps aside to make room for Crow to pass. “Why don’t you get out of the cold?”

Crow nods and manages to find the word, “Thanks,” hiding somewhere under a rock in his mind.

He needs to get his shit together fast. He can’t be fawning over Rean in front of the man’s entire family! Crow steps inside and takes his coat and shoes off without incident, which reassures him that he’s at least retained the competency of a toddler. That has to count for something, right?

Rean takes the jacket and just sort of… stands there for a few moments, lips slightly parted and eyes a little wide, as if someone somewhere pressed his personal “pause” button. Crow isn’t sure what he’s done to fuck things up now until he follows the line of Rean’s eyes to Crow’s chest.

Well, well, well, what have we here? Looks like Rean Schwarzer is a boob guy.

“Did I spill something on my shirt?” Crow asks with innocent curiosity as he searches his chest for a stain he knows isn’t there. 

Rean snaps back to the present.

“N-No,” Rean replies, then laughs awkwardly. “Sorry, I got lost in my thoughts for a minute there.”

Crow snickers internally. ‘More like ‘got lost in your chest’, which is a very unfortunate choice of words because Crow nearly has the wind knocked out of him as he’s assailed with images of Rean’s face buried in his—

Be a professional, damn it!

“Dinner should be ready in a few minutes. Let’s join the others in the den,” Rean suggests, which sounds like the best idea Crow has ever heard. 

“Lead the way,” Crow replies. 

Rean turns around and suddenly, a chorus of angels sing, and heavenly light shines down from the sky as Crow lays his eyes on the most perfect ass in all of creation. Jesus Christ, it’s magnificent. Crow has seen some good ones in his time, but this is a work of art. Men would scale mountains and fight monsters, debase themselves, and betray their own mothers for that ass.

He’s not exaggerating. It’s the kind of ass Helen of Troy must’ve had—an ass worth starting a war over.

Crow is not going to survive this.

“Oh, Rean, is that Crow?” Lucia’s voice calls out from what Crow assumes must be the kitchen, and Crow’s eyes snap in that direction so hard he swears he can feel ocular whiplash.

“Yeah, he just got here,” Rean replies as Lucia steps into the hallway and gives Crow the kind of warm, huge smile he in no way deserves.

“I’m so glad you came,” she says. She looks like she wants to hug him again, but restrains herself at the last second. “I know it’s not much, but it’s the least I could do to thank you.”

“Somehow, I get the feeling that ‘the least you could do’ is actually a lot,” he replies.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she answers. “I was making tonight's dinner anyway; it’s no trouble at all to set another place.”

He’s not going to win this one. She’ll just have to learn who he truly is when it’s too late.

“Altina told me she had a lovely time with you and Rean today,” Lucia explains. “Rean said you were wonderful with her.”

“Hey, Mom, shouldn’t you check the roast?” Rean interjects with a note of urgency in his voice. “I think I smell it burning.”

Lucia looks at him with slight confusion. “Nothing’s burning, honey.”

“Great,” Rean answers, not quite through his teeth. 

“Dunno about wonderful,” Crow replies with an awkward chuckle. “Sounds like Rean’s bar is set pretty low.”

“Well, she seems to like you,” Lucia replies. Then, with a soft laugh, she adds, “And from what I hear, you made the mistake of doubting her taste once and it cost you a book.”

Oh God, the kid probably told everyone in the house about how she ‘beat’ him earlier. She may be a genius, but she’s still an 11-year-old.

“Fair point,” Crow admits.

“Well, you boys go relax for a bit and I’ll call everyone when dinner’s ready,” she says with a pleased smile before she heads back into the kitchen.

“I apologize for my mother,” Rean mutters, his voice quiet and weary.

Crow chuckles. “Thought for a second she was gonna pull out your baby pictures or something.”

“I honestly wouldn’t put it past her,” Rean sighs, then resumes leading Crow into the den, where Crow is nearly knocked on his ass for the second time that day by a very eager Badeux.

Crow laughs as the dog pants in excitement, unable to decide if he wants to jump on Crow, rub up against his legs, or receive ear scritches, so he ends up doing this adorable thing that’s all three and none of the above. Crow lowers himself to one knee and pets him thoroughly behind the ears, on his neck, and on his haunches. This pleases Badeux so much that he flops down and rolls onto his back, belly-up. 

How can Crow say no to that?

“Well, that’s a first,” Teo’s voice muses. “He doesn’t give his belly to people he’s only met once.”

“Perhaps it is because he finds Crow so utterly non-threatening,” Altina pipes up with a grin in her voice.

Elise chuckles, then covers her mouth. 

Rean doesn’t show the same courtesy. “You should have heard him on the snowmobile,” he snickers. 

“Excuse me for being taken by surprise when you launched me into the air ,” Crow retorts, exaggerating his umbrage as he rubs the dog’s belly. 

“He screamed like a little girl?” Altina asks.

“You are a little girl,” Crow interrupts.

Rean ignores him. “Yup.”

“I did not scream,” Crow insists. “I released a loud and manly war cry. It was very intimidating.”

“Of course,” Rean replies, clearly unserious. “I’m sure the squirrels were terrified.”

“Notice how we didn’t get attacked by any wolves out there?” Crow retorts, as though he truly believes he cowed them into submission.

“You mean I wasn’t controlling them with my mind?” Rean teases.

“Ha! So you admit it’s possible,” Crow says with triumph in his voice. 

Rean laughs. “Oh my god, you really are like this.”

“Handsome and devilishly charming?”

“Insane ,” Rean replies.

“I prefer inventive,” Crow counters.

“I’m not surprised.”

“You will be,” Crow promises with a sly, scheming grin. “Go ahead and mock me all you want now, Schwarzer. I’ll be laughing later.”

Rean barks out a laugh. “Was that a threat?”

“Hey, Altina, have you ever seen Rean’s baby pictures?” Crow asks with considerable relish as horror dawns on Rean’s face. “I bet Lucia would love to show us.”

Rean blanches. “That’s low.”

Teo’s booming laugh yanks them both back to reality. 

Oh shit. Crow completely forgot he was even there. Oh God.

“I do not understand what just happened, but I would very much like to see Rean’s baby pictures,” Altina answers with honest enthusiasm, and Crow grins wider as Rean curses under his breath. 

“M-Maybe later, Altina,” Rean grudgingly acquiesces. 

“You dug yourself this hole, son,” Teo remarks, still chuckling slightly. 

“Everybody was a kid once,” Elise remarks, as though Rean is being overly sensitive.

“Well, I’m sure Alfin would love to see your baby pictures, Elise. She’s getting in tomorrow, right?” Rean replies with a threatening edge. 

“Try it and no one will ever find your body.”

Rean gives Crow a stern look. “See what you did!”

“Me? I’ve only met her twice and even I know better than to threaten your sister,” Crow replies with a laugh.

For the first time, Elise looks pleased with him. 

Rean sighs. “I spent my whole day carting you around, and this is how you repay me?”

“Maybe don’t be a jerk next time,” Crow teases.

“Altina started it!”

“Blaming an eleven year old, Rean? Really?”

“You’re impossible.”

“Altina likes me,” Crow replies. “And her taste is impeccable.”

Rean’s brow furrows. Crow’s backed him into a corner, and Rean knows it. He looks at Altina, a plea in his expression.

She shrugs apologetically. “You must admit, he is rather entertaining.”

“I’ll say,” Teo adds. “Things haven’t been this lively around here since you and Elise were kids.”

“Well, if someone would come home more than once every three years, you and Mom might not have to rely solely on me for entertainment,” Elise replies, pointedly eyeing Rean.

“I was busy!” Rean answers in his defense. “We were stretched really thin for the first couple of years. Do you know what it’s like coaching a sport you’ve never played?! I didn’t even know how to hold a tennis racket!”

“I think your commitment is admirable, Rean,” Altina replies. “However, you have a tendency to overwork yourself to the point of exhaustion.”

“You need to take better care of yourself,” Teo says gravely.

“Didn’t you skip lunch to fix some issue with a permit this afternoon?” Rean asks in reply.

“I don’t make a habit of things like that,” Teo replies. “And I’ve got your mother to make me slow down when I start getting ahead of myself.”

They’re not arguing but Altina is looking quietly concerned and increasingly uncomfortable. The way she’s glancing at Rean makes Crow wonder if she’s trying to decide if she’s to blame for the disagreement between Rean and his father. 

So, Crow interjects. “I think we can all agree that nobody’s perfect—except Altina and Badeux.”

“Obviously,” Teo replies with a smile.

Rean pats her head and she soaks up the gesture, looking pleased and relieved. 

“He raises an excellent point,” she remarks. 

“So what’s your favorite subject, kiddo?” Crow asks.

“Rean’s history class is very engaging,” she replies.

He nods. “Okay, then, second favorite.”

“I am enjoying my art class very much.”

“She’s so talented,” Rean gushes. “She painted my portrait in watercolor, and it blew me away.” He pulls out his phone and starts scrolling, presumably trying to find it, then enthusiastically beckons Crow over.

This is the sort of thing Crow usually hates, but Altina is a pretty amazing kid, so he’ll admit—he’s curious about how she did. He gets back to his feet, much to Badeux’s dismay, and sits down next to Rean without thinking.

Rean shoves the phone in front of his face and all Crow can think of for a moment is how nice he smells. “See?”

Once he recovers control of his faculties, Crow takes the phone and studies the picture. The colors are gentle and soft but not faded or dull, and the piece has a sense of motion to it that makes it feel alive. 

Rean wasn’t wrong to brag; the girl is massively gifted.

He lets out a whistle. “Guess I shouldn’t be surprised,” he remarks with a smile and hands the phone back to Rean.

Altina blushes, delighted. “I never placed much value on artistic expression, but I have discovered an appreciation for it. Our principal requires a humanities course every semester to expose us to subjects we might not ordinarily pursue.”

“Sounds fun. What did you study this term?”

“Singing and songwriting,” she replies.

“She has the voice of an angel,” Rean boasts.

“I am not the best writer, but my friend Ash is an exceptional poet, so we did our semester project together.” Her eyes light up as she talks. “He wrote the lyrics and we came up with how we wanted it to sound together. Then, I performed it acapella for the class.”

“Wow, kid. You got,” he stops himself before he says balls, “guts.”

“It was intimidating,” she admits, “but Ash stood up front with me even though he did not sing. My friends were there, and Rean came, too!”

“I recorded the whole thing,” Rean announces, already in the midst of finding the video on his phone. God, he has no right to make Dad mode this cute. “Ash did a beautiful job with the lyrics, and Altina really brought them to life. I keep telling her she ought to join the choir or try out for the school play, but she won’t listen.”

“I lack the dramatic flair Crow appears to have in spades,” she replies.

Was that a compliment or a jab? Both? It’s probably both. 

Well, it’s not like she’s wrong. 

“When you say dramatic flair, I think you mean style and panache,” Crow replies.

“If I meant style and panache, I would have used those words,” she teases.

Crow’s thankful when Rean shoves his phone in Crow’s face because he doesn’t have a retort for that. 

In the video, Altina stands at the front of a classroom, nervously fidgeting with her fingers. The blond boy beside her, much taller and definitely older, gives her shoulder a squeeze. He looks like a little punk, but he’s got kind eyes, and they go soft and encouraging when she glances up at him.

She draws in a breath and starts to sing. With each line, she grows more comfortable, and it’s easy to see the moment she loses herself in the music. Crow can’t help but smile.

There’s not much space to sing in group homes. Even fewer reasons to. You have to make yourself small with fosters because you never know what those people are going to be like once the social worker disappears, and you don’t want to find out the hard way. 

“I think you undersold it, Rean,” Crow remarks, handing back his phone. “That was phenomenal.”

Despite her teasing, it’s clear his opinion matters to her. He can see it in her reaction. Maybe because he’s an outsider here?

“See?” Rean says to Altina, probably referencing some earlier conversation. “If voice lessons will help you feel more confident, I told you I’m happy to sign you up.”

There’s that tension again. The pull between wanting something and being afraid to take it.

“I’m sure Rean has connections. He’s a teacher, right? He could probably set you up with a great coach for peanuts,” Crow adds, giving Rean a meaningful look.

It clicks instantly.

“Of course,” Rean replies. Good, he’s catching on. “It wouldn’t cost a thing.” 

She looks relieved but skeptical. Damn, she probably noticed the silent exchange between him and Rean. She’s perceptive like that. He’ll have to be more subtle.

“You could always start a band,” Crow suggests, only half joking. Mostly, he wants to distract her.

“It’s quite fun,” Teo offers. “You know, I was in a band myself once upon a time.”

Both his children stare at him in unblinking fascination while Crow tries to reconcile the image of the straight-laced, family man in front of him with the aesthetic of an 80s hair band.

“What?” Elise asks, trying to pick her jaw up off the floor. “You were in a band?” 

“It may come as a shock to you and your brother, but I, too, was once in high school,” he says with a heavy roll of his eyes. “Even college.”

“What instrument did you play?” Rean asks, as dumbfounded as Elise.

Teo looks at his son as though Rean just drank a tub of glue in front of him. “The triangle,” he answers sarcastically. “Isn’t that the instrument I taught you to play?”

“Oh. Right. Guitar,” Rean corrects himself sheepishly. “Sorry, I just… I can’t imagine you in a band.”

“Does Mom know?” Elise asks.

“Does Mom know what?” Lucia’s voice inquires from somewhere near the room’s entrance and everyone’s attention turns to her.

“Apparently, me being in a band is beyond our children’s ability to fathom,” Teo explains.

She laughs. “You were so handsome in your leather jacket.”

She looks at Teo so fondly. Not with regret for how much their lives have changed or all the things she misses about their youths, but with sweet affection for what they’ve become since. It’s the kind of look you see in movies or read about in books; the sort of thing Crow had always assumed was bullshit. Somehow, he knows they’re silently sharing some memory; it’s like they’re having an entire conversation with their eyes and smiles—a language only the two of them speak with a vocabulary unique to them.

It must be nice to be understood like that.

“All right, everyone. Dinner’s ready,” Lucia announces as the unspoken conversation with her husband concludes, shaking her two children from their stupor.

She ushers them all into the dining room where the table is set and decorated—not excessively or anything, but there’s a holiday-themed tablecloth and a centerpiece that doesn’t obstruct the view across the table.

Awkwardness descends upon Crow almost immediately because this is nothing like a restaurant. He’s got to decide how much food is acceptable to take: too much and you piss off everyone else, too little and you insult the cook. Teo is opening a bottle of wine, and now he’s got to factor in how much it might have cost—

Somebody directs him to a chair, which he takes with all possible haste.

“Is something wrong, Crow?” Lucia asks with concern. “I can make something else for you if—”

“No!” he interrupts, then internally chastises himself for his rudeness. “I mean, everything looks incredible—I just… it’s an awful lot of trouble to go through on my account.”

She gives him another one of her warm smiles and he wonders if it’s a mom thing or a Lucia thing. He’s got no frame of reference. 

“I already told you, it was no trouble at all.”

He finds that hard to believe. But, then again, he hasn’t been around a family in a long time, so maybe this is normal and he’s just being weird. 

He’s being weird, isn’t he?

He can’t even remember the last time he went to someone’s home for anything other than a fancy cocktail party where the napkins cost more than Crow will ever make. Gelica and George are the closest things he has to friends, and he’s never been to either one of their apartments. It’s not that he doesn’t want to or has an aversion to it… he’s just always busy. He’s got to find the next potential investment or fix somebody else’s fuck-up, and on top of that, he’s got to stay two steps ahead of the Osborne Group. 

Besides, the only people Cayenne tolerates failure from are his filthy rich friends and their families. Gelica’s idiot uncle—Heidel, or some stupid-ass name like that—got himself arrested for money laundering and what did Cayenne do? Fucking promote him to the head of the Roer office.

He only realizes he’s zoning out when Rean gently nudges him and offers him some of the roast.

“Take whatever you want,” he says in a whisper. “Otherwise, Mom will load your plate up until she’s satisfied you’ve had enough.”

Crow just nods at him and adds some meat to his empty plate, careful not to take more than Rean portioned out for himself.

He does the same for potatoes and green beans that make their way around the table, using Rean’s plate as a metric for his own. Teo offers him wine, and Crow isn’t sure if it’s more rude to accept or decline.

“There’s no need to be shy,” Lucia says encouragingly. “That’s not the only bottle of wine in the house, you know.”

Crow gives an awkward laugh.

Why is this so fucking hard? 

He’s closed a lot of deals, deals other idiots have fumbled so badly Crow had to pull off a Hail Mary with nothing but his charm and Cayenne’s credit card—and he did it without breaking a sweat. A simple, non-work related meal at someone’s home and Crow’s brain is clanging with the cacophony of a five-alarm fire. The stakes tonight couldn’t be lower, and yet, he desperately wants to make a good impression.

As much as he hates to admit it, he likes these people. He doesn’t want to fuck up.

Crow’s not sure what happens—maybe his head twitches or his face shifts into an expression of assent, or maybe Teo just gets tired of waiting for him to say something—whatever it is, it causes Teo to fill Crow’s glass and set the bottle on the table.

Crow manages to thank him without stammering. He shouldn’t pat himself on the back for that, but… a win is a win, right?

Once everyone has served themselves and gotten settled, they dig into their food. 

Crow has been to a lot of restaurants. High-end, Michelin-star, change-the-menu-every-day restaurants, and this random woman living in an obscure mountain town somehow blows them all out of the water. 

He can’t stop himself from blurting out, “Lucia, this is amazing!” 

She beams at him, then laughs. “It’s not much work to pop the meat in the sous vide and then stick it in the oven to finish.” 

“Seriously—I’ve been to some top-tier places and this is better than any steakhouse I’ve ever had.”

“Mom’s always been a great cook,” Rean adds.

“I wish my cooking were good enough to make my son want to come home more often,” she teases. “But I suppose I shouldn’t have taught him all my best recipes.”

Altina nods. “Rean is an excellent cook—however, his attempts at steak are… inconsistent.”

Elise laughs. “This one time, back when we were kids, Rean overcooked our steaks so badly, we played ice hockey afterward and used them as pucks.”

“Hey, I’ve gotten better!” Rean protests. “It doesn’t come out like that all the time! I’d say I’m about average now.”

“How’s your cheese omelette?” Elise asks cheekily.

“Terrible,” Altina answers, her voice utterly flat.

“Come on, man, it’s eggs, milk, salt, pepper, and cheese,” Crow laughs. “It’s hard to screw up.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you were an authority on omelette-making,” Rean retorts. 

“I kind of get a ‘lives on stale bread PB&Js’ vibe from you, to be honest,” Elise remarks, eyeing Crow with amusement.

He’s shocked at how precisely she’s got him nailed down, but he plays it off as offense. “Hey, even if that were true, which it isn’t, I can still cook a damn good meal.” 

It’s been a while, sure, but he’s not helpless in the kitchen. Back when it was just him and Pops, Crow cooked all the time. In those last six months, he made three meals a day. He might be rusty, but he’s got skills.

She doesn’t look like she believes him.

“Kraft mac and cheese, then,” she corrects herself. 

He points at her with his fork. “I’ll have you know Kraft dinner is Canada's national dish and a cultural icon.” 

To his surprise, she laughs. It’s not forced or polite, but real and much harder than he expects. It’s rewarding, for some reason. 

“I’d be happy to teach you a few quick and easy meals while you’re in town,” Lucia offers and at this point, it doesn’t surprise him.

He opens his mouth to decline and pauses for just a moment because this woman could definitely teach him a thing or two, but he’s already invaded their space enough. “I appreciate the offer, but it wouldn’t be much use. My schedule is super unpredictable and I’m in the office more often than my apartment.”

He wouldn’t know what to do with his free time if he had it. Besides, his mind wanders when it’s not occupied (as this trip has clearly shown), and thinking about things deeply never ends well for him.

“Do you enjoy traveling?” Teo asks.

“I used to, back when I first started. It was exciting. I don’t hate it or anything. I dunno… I guess it’s lost its charm,” Crow replies.

It’s also annoying as fuck traveling hundreds, sometimes thousands of miles to kiss ass and fix some idiot’s screw-up. Cayenne’s people are loyal, but fuck, some of them are as useful as a week-old, half-eaten hotdog. 

“It’s not strange to want some stability after living out of a suitcase for years. How long have you been in real estate?” Lucia inquires.

“Officially, six years.”

“All corporate, or did you start in residential?” Teo asks. 

“Corporate,” Crow answers. “I’d been doing odd jobs for cash at Cayenne Estates since I was sixteen, and picked up on a lot. Figured I might as well get my real estate license once I turned eighteen and work my way up. Took a while to get Cayenne to take me seriously, but eventually, I proved I could be more than just an errand boy.” 

He doesn’t tell them the “odd jobs” sometimes involved sabotaging Osborne Group properties.  But… is it technically sabotage if you give some folks in need a bit of cash and direct them to a place they can squat that just so happens to delay construction a few months? Crow would’ve killed for a chance like that before Cayenne. And it’s not like he told the squatters to steal and sell off building materials that got delivered to the site while they were in eviction limbo. It was just a happy, predictable accident. 

The pigeon thing was definitely sabotage, but to be fair, it was funny as fuck. The Osborne Group was just about to finish up a swanky new office building, and Crow spent weeks scattering birdseed on the roof every night until he attracted a sizable flock. On his last visit, he left the fire door and a few innocuous windows open. By the next morning, those winged rats had colonized the place—and to his delight, some geese had even made their way inside. The literal shitstorm that must’ve greeted them still brings a smile to his face.

Sure, it was immature, but he was a pissed-off teenager who would rather have died than gone back into the system, so if he had to appease Cayenne for a safe place to sleep and shower, he was at least going to have a little fun with it. And it wasn’t like Cayenne had to work too hard to convince him.

He did some secretarial work and other stuff around the office, too; probably because it was cheaper to pay him a pittance under the table than it was to pay a full-timer’s salary. 

… That arrangement probably qualifies as some kind of labor trafficking, now that he thinks about it, but he just won’t think about it.

“Well, I suppose that explains why you don’t act like a finance bro,” Elise muses aloud.

“Please, do not ever lump me in with those guys,” Crow almost begs. “I may be a corporate shill, but I’ve got some dignity.” 

Not much, but still. It’s something.

“Do you have any plans for the holidays?” Lucia asks. 

“Just work,” he answers. “But it’s fine. Not really big on things like that.”

“Well, if you’re still in town on Christmas Day, you come here for dinner, all right?” It’s phrased like a question, but Lucia isn’t asking.

It’s been over a decade since that kind of parental authority has asserted itself on him. He ought to be immune, but this woman’s maternal prowess is something that ought to be studied by science because he already feels himself folding. 

“… If I’m around,” he sort of squeaks out. 

“You ought to come,” Teo says encouragingly, which is not what he expects. “After all, it’s my fault you’ll be away from home.”

He can’t tell them he doesn’t have a home and Teo’s kindness is wasted on him. 

“It’s not on you,” Crow replies. “It’s my boss. You’re both very kind, but I wouldn’t feel right about it.”

“The offer will be open,” Teo reminds him.

He glances at Elise, but surprisingly, she says nothing. Neither does anybody else. Apparently, it’s perfectly normal to invite the weird stranger trying to turn your town into a tourist trap into your home for Christmas dinner. He feels like he’s on some weird reality show and a camera crew is going to pop out of another room, but nothing of the sort happens.

“Speaking of Christmas,” Rean starts, “I’m taking Altina to get a tree tomorrow. She’s never cut one down before.”

“Are you sure you can handle a tree by yourself?” Elise asks.

“It shouldn’t be a problem,” Rean replies. 

“You should bring your father along just in case,” Lucia suggests. 

“I’m sure I can make some time tomorrow,” Teo offers. 

Rean just looks at him skeptically. 

“Your mother can cover for me,” he tries.

“I’m doing the meal train tomorrow,” Lucia reminds him. 

“Okay… so Elise can make some time tomorrow,” Teo tries again.

“I promised Alfin I’d take her skiing,” Elise tells him. “But I’m sure she wouldn’t mind putting it on hold for a bit. She’d probably love to help pick out a tree.”

“Take her skiing,” Rean replies easily. “You should spend some time together. I don’t need help—I’ve been doing this for years.”

“But you never did it alone,” Elise reminds him. 

Rean exhales. “Guys. I’ll be fine.”

“If only there was someone with decent physical strength and a completely open schedule,” Altina laments dryly, glancing down the table past Rean and straight at Crow.

“W-Who, me?” he asks in utter confusion.

“No. I said: someone with decent physical strength.”

“Hey! I work out!” he protests, because working out is pretty much the only thing he makes time for. He promised himself he’d never be anyone’s punching bag ever again, and he meant it.

“Well, then, I suppose our problem is solved,” she says, satisfied, then turns back to her meal. 

… What the fuck just happened?

“Wait—A-Altina, you can’t just—Crow has things to do,” Rean sputters, sounding as blindsided as Crow feels.

“It’s only an hour,” Altina replies. “But if you are not confident in his strength, then perhaps—”

“I-I didn’t say anything like that,” Rean interrupts.

He keeps talking, but Crow is too busy trying to wrap his head around the situation to hear him.

Altina is smart. She’s teased him enough to know how he reacts to it. She 100% baited him into a position where he had no excuse for refusing the invitation. But why?

Does she… want him to come? Crow can’t imagine why. He’s just some stranger her dad had to put up with for half a day. Sure, he included her—he didn’t want her to feel like she had to make herself invisible, after all. She seems to enjoy teasing him, but at the same time, it’s clear she cares about his opinions.

Maybe it’s much simpler than that. After all, Altina is practical. Crow’s a physically fit 25-year-old guy with absolutely nothing to do but kill time until he closes the deal or Cayenne orders him back. She already knows he was willing to help Lucia for nothing in return, so really, not asking Crow to help is the more illogical choice.

He exhales. 

“It’s fine,” he says with resignation, then eyes her. “But I don’t wanna hear you complain when you get sick of me.”

“I shall endeavor to speak very quietly,” she replies, her voice full of mirth. 

“You better. ‘Cause there’s an awful lot of snow around, and I’d hate to see you lose a snowball fight,” he says with an edge of warning.

“You won’t,” she answers wryly.

Rean sighs. “Why do I get the feeling I’m going to end up with both of you over my shoulders, dragging the tree home behind me?”

Crow nearly spits out his wine at the mental picture. Then, he almost chokes at the thought of Rean effortlessly tossing Crow over his shoulder. Crow usually isn’t into that sort of thing, but he doesn’t mind the idea of Rean manhandling him a bit and why is he thinking about this—what the fuck?!

Rean chuckles at Crow’s stricken expression. “Relax. I’m not actually going to do it,” he pauses a moment, eyes sparkling with mischief. “As long as you behave yourself,” he adds.

Crow’s lizard brain thinks of all the ways he could provoke Rean into exactly that while his rational mind recovers from Rean’s poor choice of phrasing. “Let’s not forget who has the height advantage here,” he says.

“That just means I’ve got better leverage,” Rean retorts. 

“You’re both so weird,” Elise exhales.

“But highly entertaining,” Altina adds.

It’s especially startling for Crow to realize he’s been pulled out of reality and into Rean’s orbit. He’s always aware of his surroundings and a social chameleon by default—realizing he’s a starkly different color from the environment around him leaves him feeling naked and oddly vulnerable.

Thankfully, the Schwarzers don’t seem to mind his natural pigment. Even Elise seems to prefer it—as far as he can tell. Still, he tones it down and remains quieter as everyone finishes up their meal. The subject of conversation drifts comfortably from one inane topic to another until everyone puts their utensils down and leans back in their chairs, stuffed.

Rean takes Altina’s plate and utensils once he confirms she’s finished, then turns to Crow with the same inquiry. Crow nods and Rean adds Crow’s cutlery and plate to the pile. Teo pushes away from the table with a satisfied sigh. He leans down to briefly kiss his wife, then takes the stack of plates in front of her and disappears to the kitchen.

“Well, let’s go relax for a bit before we have dessert,” Lucia says. 

Dessert? 

The invitation was for dinner. There was never any mention of dessert! Is he supposed to go now? Will it be rude if he leaves?

“Hey, why don’t you teach us how to play that Blade game?” Rean suggests, moving to stand up. 

“I, too, am curious about this card game,” Altina says.

Crow smiles. Rean is going down.

The deck feels right in his hands. They’re not much different from regular playing cards, but there’s a sense of nostalgia all the same. He can still remember Pops handing him his first pack of cards, the stiffness and shine that faded with repeated use until they’d become well-loved. Something goes tight in his chest for a single, brief moment of almost violent longing, which he dismisses as quickly as it appears. 

Instead, explains the rules and what the special cards do, and goes through how to play a sample match.

Rean is eager to challenge him, and much to Crow’s delight, he loses. Crow retains his mantle as Ultimate Blade Master, but somehow, Rean only seems more fired up. Altina gives him a run for his money, but he beats her, too. As soon as Crow hands the deck over to Altina, Badeux seizes the opportunity to leap into his lap and demand pets. Crow can’t help but oblige as he watches Altina play against Lucia and win. She challenges Rean, but surprisingly, she loses. Rean seems to have picked up on the subtleties of the game quickly just by watching. 

Teo joins them once he’s loaded the dishwasher and put away the leftovers. Altina teaches him how to play, occasionally looking to Crow for confirmation that she’s got it right. She plays a round with him, then he plays against Lucia. 

Baduex’s fur is thick and soft, and he snores appreciatively as he dozes under Crow’s ministrations. He’s watching the match, so he’s not paying attention to the petting until his hand brushes against warm, calloused fingers. 

He abruptly turns to his left and meets an equally surprised Rean. 

Baduex, clearly unhappy with the sudden lack of contact, raises his head to look at them both, as if to say, “I don’t care what’s going on. You both have hands and they should be petting me” .

They both laugh softly, dissolving the awkwardness, and conceding to Badeux’s demands. Crow thinks about how nice it would be if their hands happened to touch again, how it might feel to let his pinky lock with Rean’s—and is he really fantasizing about holding hands, right now?!

What the fuck?!

Crow doesn’t hold hands or any of that cutesy shit. There’s no point. Relationships just make you weak and leave you vulnerable. Sex is one thing. Commitment is another.

The cake Lucia made is delicious—some kind of chocolate-cinnamon thing he’s never had anything like before. She gives him a chunk to take back to his hotel, and Crow knows he should refuse, but it’s so good, he can’t.

He gets his shoes on and Rean hands him his coat. 

“Will you be up if I come by after Altina goes to bed?” Rean asks quietly. 

Crow shoos his lizard brain back to the depths where it belongs.

“So I can pick up those books.” Rean finishes, much to Crow’s relief and disappointment. 

“Sure. I’m staying at the Phoenix Wings,” Crow replies.

Rean smiles. “That place has incredible hot springs.”

“Yeah, a hot bath outdoors in the literal freezing cold does not sound like my idea of a good time.”

“The steam from the water keeps your face warm,” Rean explains. He lets out a little sigh that has Crow’s lizard brain peeking out from behind the rock he shoved it under. “I worked there as a kid just so I could use the springs for free.” He laughs. “Did so much for the owners, they gave me a lifetime free pass to bathe as much as I want.”

Crow’s lizard brain wants to invite Rean to the hot spring. Crow’s rational brain knows that’s the worst idea he’s ever had.

“I’ll see you later. Just send me a text when you head over,” Crow replies.

He spends one-third of the walk back to the hotel freaking the fuck out, a third of it berating himself, and a third plagued by this weird giddiness he doesn’t understand. 

He’s known these people for a day and he’s getting the warm fuzzies? What the fuck?! What even is his life right now?

He’s here for a job. Tonight was about doing that job, not—ugh, the thing is, if he looks at the evening from the perspective of a Cayenne Estates employee, tonight was a stellar success. The Schwarzers like him—maybe Elise is still a little lukewarm, but even she seems to be coming around. He has their ear. All he needs to do is use that to sell them on Cayenne’s proposal. 

He should be celebrating. 

He should be, but he can’t, because it doesn’t feel right. Because he had fun, more fun than he’s had in a long time. Because they treated him like a person, and Crow didn’t realize how long it had been since someone did that until now. 

And Rean—he disarms Crow so easily, without any effort at all.

This was supposed to be easy: butter them up and serve them to Cayenne on a silver platter. Crow’s specialty. 

Ugh, whatever. Teo said he doesn’t plan on making a decision before Christmas, so it’s not like Crow has to worry about that now. He just needs some time to himself, away from the Schwarzers, to get his head on straight. 

Once he reaches the hotel, he showers and changes, then flops into bed and waits for Rean’s text. 

Cayenne’s comes through first. 

Give me a status update. 

Just had dinner tonight. They’re still hesitant. Need some more time.

I don’t think I need to remind you how important this deal is, do I?

Crow slams his phone down on the bed and lets out an angry exhale through his nose. 

Prick.

Like he’s ever had to work for anything in his life. Stole his dead brother’s company (Vita mentioned it was supposed to go to his niece, so Crow’s not sure how it ended up in his hands, but it probably has something to do with a fuckton of money and really good lawyers), and he’s been leeching off everyone else’s efforts.

He doesn’t deserve this place. 

He pulls up Vita’s number on the private messaging app she demands he use when contacting her. 

Hey, do you know anything about how Cayenne got his brother’s company?

She doesn’t reply. Figures. She’s probably at some fancy Christmas party, bewitching a room full of entrepreneurs with carols and karaoke at Ouroboros’s behest.

He turns on the TV—thankfully, the Internet’s whole “Die Hard” is totally a Christmas movie debate means he doesn’t have to suffer through one of those cloyingly sweet or stupidly childish holiday classics. He’s able to unwind a bit before Rean’s message comes through. 

Something flickers through Crow despite how tired he is. He feels kind of like what he imagines a kid might feel while waiting for their date to pick them up. Crow’s never had that experience, so he’s not sure if that’s the right comparison—he’s probably just exhausted and on edge from Cayenne’s earlier condescension.

It feels like he’s been waiting forever when Rean knocks gently on his door. 

He’s on the other side, face red from the cold and bundled up in his coat and hat with a smile too bright to be for Crow. Of course, he’s excited to get the books for Altina. He’s probably imagining how happy she’ll be opening them on Christmas.

“Here you go,” Crow says, handing the tote bags over. 

“Thank you so much for everything,” Rean replies warmly, taking the bags. “You’ve been so great with Altina… it feels like you’re already a better dad to her than I am,” he adds, a note of self-deprecation slipping into his voice.

“Hell no,” Crow says firmly. “You’re an awesome dad. It’s obvious how much she loves you. Foster kids just come with baggage most people don’t tell you about. That ain’t your fault.”

“You know a lot about them. Foster kids.” He doesn’t sound like he’s prying or even suspicious, but Crow instinctively clams up. 

“I used to know a social worker,” he lies. 

Rean nods. He seems to buy it. “You’ve done so much for my family in the short time we’ve known you. Please… don’t feel obligated to come tomorrow,” Rean says. “I really can manage the Christmas tree on my own.”

He should thank Rean and take the out, but instead, he gives Rean a smile and says, “Those sound like famous last words. It’s really no big deal.”

Rean looks at him with heartfelt gratitude so honest that it’s hard to hold his gaze. “Thanks again for picking up these books.”

“You took me up the mountain. This was the least I could do, you know?”

“I know,” Rean says cheekily, much to Crow’s surprise. “You still owe me for ditching me at the coffee shop.”

Crow can’t help but laugh. “I got you a coffee—that makes us even.”

“I paid for your sandwich,” Rean reminds him, grinning. God, he’s cute.

Crow grumbles. “Okay, after the tree thing, we’ll call it even.”

Rean hums. “Not quite. You forgot to account for interest.”

What a jerk. 

What a stupidly handsome jerk. 

“Really? You’re charging me interest on a sandwich?”

“Yep.”

“This is extortion,” Crow insists.

“Oh, so when I charge interest, it's extortion, but when you do it, it’s capitalism,” Rean teases, and damn it, that was actually a good one.

“Yes,” Crow replies, crossing his arms defiantly. 

“Okay, then. I’ll file for an LLC and call myself the Bank of Rean,” he teases with a glimmer in his eyes. He’s enjoying this way too much. “Then I can charge interest, right?”

Crow laughs. “Sure, but you’d probably end up paying more in taxes than you’d make collecting that interest you’re so keen on.”

“I just won’t pay my taxes then,” Rean replies. “Isn’t tax evasion what you corporate types do?”

Rean is making jokes about tax evasion and somehow, Crow cannot get enough and his chest feels all warm and fuzzy and weird. 

Crow waves a melodramatic hand dismissively. “It’s not tax evasion. It’s called tax deferral , Rean.”

“Ah, yes, where you defer your taxes until you die.”

“Or the company goes tits up and you get a bailout.”

Rean laughs and the sound is hypnotic and bright, more beautiful than the strands of colored lights adorning rooftops all over town. He looks at Crow with warm softness, his lips still pulled into a smile from his laughter. “I’m glad you came.”

Crow raises an eyebrow. 

“Cayenne Estates was going to send someone here no matter what. I’m glad it was you.” He scratches his cheek. “Though I’m sure this isn’t exactly what you had in mind when you took the job.”

Crow chuckles. “Can’t say I expected to go cut down a Christmas tree.”

Rean looks like he’s about to remind Crow that he doesn’t have to help, so Crow cuts him off.

“Never did it that way before, so I’m interested to see what all the fuss is about. You’ll have to show me how it’s done.”

Rean smiles and nods and Crow’s heart completes a series of complex acrobatic maneuvers inside his chest.

“Okay, then. I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says. He turns to leave, then hesitates a moment. “Oh, by the way,” he adds. “I looked up that poem you mentioned earlier. The one you remembered while we were on the mountain.” 

Crow contemplates the distance between himself and the window, and whether he can hurl himself out of it before Rean understands his plan. He’s fast, but Rean is probably faster—plus he’s got dad reflexes, which narrows Crow’s escape time even further. He could probably get one leg out before Rean intervenes. 

“I didn’t get it at first—the supermarket metaphor was a little weird—but apparently, it’s about Ginsberg looking to Whitman for inspiration, and sadly realizing that the America Whitman loved and wrote about didn’t exist in his time. He’s basically saying that Whitman’s America died with him, and if he were around to see it today, he wouldn’t recognize it.”

Crow’s mouth hangs open for a moment. “Look, being cold at high altitudes makes me start spontaneously spouting beat poets.”

Rean laughs. 

“What? It’s a thing!” Crow insists. “I’m sure it happens to other people!”

“Sure it does, Crow,” Rean replies. He has the nerve to throw a wink over his shoulder as he walks off.

Crow shuts his door and leans against it, head swarming with sparklers and a strange humming so loud he doesn’t notice his heart is racing until a weird squeal finds its way to his ears. 

Where the fuck did that come from? 

He glances around the room for a stray cat or something, but he’s the only one in the room.  

Well, it certainly didn’t come from him.

Chapter Text

Crow is totally normal and not at all excited about this. He's not getting antsy, alternately standing and pacing the room before plopping back onto the bed to mess with his phone for a few minutes, sighing, tossing it aside, and pacing again.

And even if he was, it wouldn’t be because he’s looking forward to spending time with Rean and his kid. He’s just bored and needs some way to occupy himself to pass the time. 

He jolts as his phone buzzes—and disappointment rises inside him when he sees Vita’s name on the screen. Still, she’s responding to his inquiry, and that’s something. She wouldn’t waste her time if it wasn’t a subject worth pursuing.

“Hey, Vita. What’s up?” he asks, trying to keep his voice neutral.

“I got your message. I have to say, I’m a little curious about what sparked your sudden interest.”

Crow sighs. “Something feels… off lately. Can’t put my finger on what exactly. Cayenne’s been breathing down my neck about the Ymir resort, and it ain’t normal.”

“Well, then, I have just the thing to cheer you up. Come with me to a Christmas party in Ordis tonight,” she says.

Crow sighs. “Can’t. I’m working.”

“You can’t tear yourself away from your beloved desk for your Big Sis just this once?”

“I’m not at my desk, Vita,” he explains. “I told you: I’m in Ymir.”

“Wait—he sent you already?” she asks, surprised. 

“He sent me two days ago,” Crow clarifies. “I’m working—and freezing —my ass off out here, and he’s bitching that things aren’t moving fast enough.”

She hums thoughtfully. “Interesting. He’s usually not one to get directly involved,” she muses, and Crow can hear the gears in her head turning even over the vast distance between them.

“Sounds to me like you might have an idea why he’s acting like there’s a lit firecracker up his ass,” Crow prompts.

“Well, I can’t say for sure. Hopefully, I’ll know more after the party tonight. It’s being hosted by a lovely family—the Egrets—who, rumor has it, are close relatives of Cayenne’s niece.”

He knows she’s winking.

He’s got to hand it to her; she’s impressive. And if she hadn’t vouched for his competence, he’d probably still be Cayenne’s errand boy.

Of course, her motives have never been entirely altruistic. Everything she does is meant to serve her own ends, and Crow has no room to criticize her there. Sometimes, he envies her callousness. She’s utterly unphased by the collateral damage of their joint exploits in a way Crow can only pretend to be.

Still, even if she won’t say it directly, she and her cohorts aren’t fully confident in Cayenne.  

She couldn’t possibly have secured an invite to this shindig overnight. She’s been suspicious. She’s been looking into this on her own, and she was already going to that party long before he contacted her. 

“You all have been working with Cayenne longer than I have,” Crow replies. “Why is Ouroboros suddenly interested in his backstory?”

She’s quiet for a beat, then she chuckles like she’s pleased. “Your talents are wasted on someone like him,” she muses. “You really should come work for us.”

Crow sighs. He’s done a lot of despicable shit for money, but he just can’t bring himself to work for a bunch of rich assholes whose sole purpose is pooling their wealth to fund businesses that will make them even richer. It’s gambling for the sort of people who can afford to lose a few million here and there. And yes, he knows that what he’s doing for Cayenne is no better—but he sure as hell can’t take down Gilliath Osborne alone.

“I appreciate the offer,” Crow replies. “But you didn’t answer my question.”

“It’s simply a matter of due diligence,” she replies. “You already know that once the Osborne group folds, we’re going to put a pretty penny into Cayenne Estates so they’ll have liquid funds to scoop it up. This isn’t a small investment, and we can’t get any of it back once the deal is signed. Of course we’re going to put every inch of the business and his personal life under a microscope.”

Crow cringes. God help her if she’s gone through his internet history. “Hope you got some eye bleach ready.”

“You couldn’t have warned me of that earlier?!” Vita complains. 

“If you’d mentioned you were nosing around his shit, I could have,” Crow retorts. 

She grumbles in reluctant acknowledgement of his point. “Well, I haven’t found anything wrong with his business or legal records. His acquisition of his brother’s business seems to have been perfectly legal.”

“But you’re not convinced, or you wouldn’t be going to this party,” he says more than asks. 

“You focus on your job, and I’ll focus on mine,” she replies with a smile in her voice.

Ah, the good old cryptic bullshit. She’s said all she’s willing to over the phone.

He sighs. “Vita… give me a heads-up if you figure anything out,” he implores. He’s not pleading, not exactly… but if Cayenne’s fucked up somehow, Crow needs to make sure Scarlet, Vulcan, and Gideon get out unscathed. What they’re doing with ILF is technically legal, but if there’s any fallout, it should land on Crow, not them.

“Haven’t I always taken care of you?”

He’s not sure how to answer that. She convinced Cayenne he could be useful, which got him off the streets but served him to Cayenne as a pawn in their scheme to topple the biggest real estate company in the country. She vouched for him so Cayenne would pay for Crow’s real estate license, which put him in the man’s debt for the rest of his life. He’s pretty sure she cares about him in her own way—like a brother, she says—but Vita hasn’t seen her grandmother or sister in years, so he’s a bit skeptical of how she defines family.

Not that Crow’s definition is any less nebulous.

“All right, I’ll let you go. I’m sure you’re eager to get back to working your magic,” she says.

He laughs. “If either of us has magic, it’s you, not me, Vita.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” she chuckles melodically, then ends the call.

The conversation leaves him feeling weird. He didn’t learn anything new, but it’s clear that he’s not the only one sensing the abnormal shift in Cayenne’s moods. He’s always erratic, of course, but Crow has become an expert at walking on eggshells in the near-decade they’ve worked together. Cayenne may be an egotistical prick, but he’s never interfered in Crow’s work before. Crow had initially chalked his behavior up to enthusiasm that their goals were finally within reach, but now… he’s not sure. 

Whatever. He doesn’t want to think about work. Okay, yes, his entire purpose for being here is work, but he can’t make any progress on that until after Christmas, so he may as well just relax and try to enjoy what time he has as best he can.

Figures that the closest thing to a vacation he’ll get is in the most inhospitable climate imaginable during a holiday he hates. 

Maybe “hates” is a little strong. Not about the weather—fuck the cold—the Christmas thing. He’s usually all cringes and sneers this time of year, but he finds the sentimentality of the season isn’t grating on him as much as it usually does.

He’s not enjoying it, of course, but he’s not so vile a piece of shit as to spoil an orphan girl’s first holiday with her soon-to-be permanent family. Altina is great—smart as hell with a wickedly dry sense of humor. She deserves to be a kid at Christmas while she still has the chance.

He’s pretty sure she’s been planning to provoke a snowball fight since he ‘threatened’ her with it last night. If she initiates, he’ll play along for her sake—it’s not like it costs him anything. Crow is willing to bet that Rean will put his warnings from yesterday aside and play along, too. 

Which will make it all the more fun to turn the tables on him. 

The fact that Crow fumbles so clumsily with his phone that he drops it onto the bed when it vibrates means nothing. He’s not waiting around for Rean’s message or anything, so naturally, it takes him by surprise.

If you’re still up for it, you can meet Altina and I at my parents’ house whenever.

Of course Rean texts with proper punctuation, Crow thinks, smiling to himself. 

Sounds good. I’ll head over now.

The weather is no more enjoyable than it’s been since he arrived, but at least he doesn’t think about it much. Not that he’s thinking about Rean instead—should he stop for coffee again? Altina’s a bit too young, but she would probably like hot chocolate. She mentioned having a good one in town yesterday, but she never said where it was from. 

Well, that cafe makes great coffee. They probably do a decent hot chocolate, too. 

He’ll have to dip into his personal checking account, which he really shouldn’t be doing, but Cayenne will demand receipts for every penny he spends, and Crow doesn’t want to deal with the headache of justifying such a “frivolous” purchase.

Besides, Crow could use the coffee himself. If he’s stopping there anyway, he might as well pick something up for the two of them. It would be rude not to.

Knocking on Rean’s door is a little tricky with the three drinks, but he manages, and it’s absolutely worth it when Rean’s face lights up with a pleased smile. 

“Crow, you didn’t have to do that!” Rean insists.

“Do what? These are all for me,” he jokes.

Rean laughs. “Ah, that explains why there’s an R on that cup.”

“Okay, you got me,” he says, handing it over. “I felt like grabbing one for myself and figured I might as well grab something for you, too,” he replies, offering Altina the hot chocolate. 

She looks at it, confused for a moment.

“You said you had a really good hot chocolate yesterday. Dunno if this is gonna hold up, but I thought it was worth a try,” he explains.

She brightens with happiness that borders on joy when she realizes it’s for her, as though he’s just given her an iPhone instead of a beverage. 

“Thank you!” she replies, momentarily forgetting her instinct to bully him. Crow is positive it won’t last, but he’s not the only one she trolls, so it’s probably a sign that she’s cool with him.

“Since we’ll be outside for a while, it’ll be good to warm ourselves up before we go,” Crow offers, taking a sip of his coffee.

“I’ll make us all lunch when we get back to the house,” Rean says in much the same tone his mother used to ‘invite’ Crow to Christmas dinner: it’s not an offer so much as a statement of fact.

“You don’t have to do that,” Crow tries.

“You didn’t have to buy me coffee, either.”

Damn. Rean’s got him there. 

“Besides,” Rean continues with a glint of sly mischief in his eyes. “Since when do you turn down a free lunch?”

Crow tries not to drown in the amethyst depths of his eyes and fails utterly. When he finally recovers, he plays it off by narrowing his gaze suspiciously. “… Why do I get the feeling you’re going to make me a cheese omelet?” 

Rean laughs. Crow doesn’t know why it makes him feel like he’s won something every time it happens, but it’s more addictive than the rush of betting on a winning horse.

“Have you seen the price of eggs lately?” Rean jokes. “I have to make something edible, if only to prove I’m not as bad in the kitchen as Elise made me sound,” he adds. 

Crow’s not going to win this one. And really, Rean has a point: since when does he turn down free food? 

”All right, then. Lunch is on you,” Crow says, then takes a long sip of his coffee.

Rean smiles, and Crow realizes that Rean doesn’t just light up a room; he’s the motherfucking sun .

“So, what exactly did I get myself into with this Christmas tree business?” Crow asks.

“It’s not difficult,” Rean explains. “All you’ll need to do is hold it in place and tilt it while Altina and I cut the trunk.”

Crow raises an eyebrow. “And how were you planning to do that with just the two of you?”

“Altina can use a handsaw by herself,” Rean insists. 

Altina coughs, covering her mouth to keep hot chocolate from spraying out.

“… While the mechanics of a handsaw are simple enough, I believe you may be overestimating my strength,” she replies.

“I saw you flip a grown man over your shoulder,” Crow reminds her.

“That was leverage and momentum, not arm strength,” she explains.

Rean exhales and rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah, I see how it might not be the most fun for Altina,” he admits.

Altina turns to Crow. “Rean is worse at asking for help than he is at making cheese omelets,” she explains. 

“Good thing he’s got you lookin’ out for him,” Crow replies.

“It is no easy task,” Altina explains with a sigh of slightly exaggerated weariness. 

“Oh come on,” Rean retorts. “I’m not that bad.”

Altina just stares at him flatly as if to say, “Do I look like an idiot to you?”

“… Anymore,” Rean tacks on.

This seems to satisfy Altina, and she gives him a half shrug of acknowledgement.

“So we go cut down the tree, then what?” Crow asks, picking up the original conversation. “How do we get it back here?”

“We’ll wrap it in a tarp and the two of us can carry it.”

He’s not even going to ask how Rean planned to get around that one himself. 

“I was going to drag it on a sled,” Rean explains in his defense.

Crow just sighs and shakes his head. 

“You see what I have to deal with?” Altina laments, gesturing toward Rean with her cup.

“He’d be lost without you, Altina,” Crow agrees.

Rean looks like he’s about to argue, but luckily, he takes a cue from the pleased expression on Altina’s face and bites his tongue, grumbling in reluctant acceptance.

“So, what kind of tree are we looking for?” Crow asks, changing the subject.

“We will need one no taller than five feet five inches, and should not exceed a circumference of three,” Altina answers.

Crow nods. “Did you test the lights to make sure they work?” 

“Rean assured me they were all functional,” Altina replies.

That’s a no. “And when was the last time Rean came home for Christmas?” He directs his question at Rean, not Altina. “Elise said something about three years, if I remember right.”

“You’re loving this, aren’t you?” Rean replies flatly.

Crow grins. “C’mon, Altina. Let’s check those lights before we head out.”

They discover that two of the strands are duds. About half of the bulbs on each are dead. Crow’s best guess is that someone (probably Teo) didn’t have time to run out and grab new lights, so he made sure that the functional bulbs would be facing outward and the dead ones hidden against the wall. It’s a clever fix, but it won’t do for Altina’s first real Christmas. Luckily, there’s a brand new box that Crow guesses either Lucia or Elise must’ve picked up.

And with that, they venture back into the cold.

It’s still biting and bitter, and Crow hates it as much as he ever did, but he survives, thanks to Rean letting him borrow a pair of gloves and boots again. Proper winter gear makes everything much less awful, but it doesn’t keep his face from freezing in the wind.

Crow doesn’t hesitate to complain about it. 

“It’s just a gentle breeze, Crow,” Rean explains, clearly amused by Crow’s plight. 

He scoffs. “If this is your idea of ‘gentle’, I don’t wanna know what you consider rough.”

Rean has the nerve to laugh. “Poor baby. I didn’t know you were so delicate.”

Crow is about to retort, but Rean silences him abruptly by wrapping his scarf around Crow’s neck (specifically covering his mouth). 

He can hear Altina’s muffled giggle from behind her own scarf. 

He takes a deep breath in through his nose, and Rean’s scent hits his brain like a bolt of lightning. An intoxicating combination of grapefruit, something floral, and incense that makes the overall effect bright, sweet, and soothing. There’s something herbal and musky that makes the scent undeniably masculine, and it’s dizzying. He feels lightheaded for a moment—which has to be a sign something is seriously wrong with him. It’s giving him a weird, fluttery feeling in his guts that absolutely cannot be butterflies, so it’s probably hypothermia. Or altitude sickness. Yeah. Those sound right.

For some reason, his frozen cheeks burn.

As usual, Rean is utterly unbothered by the loss of his scarf. Crow wonders if the man feels cold at all—he’s either a testament to the hearty mountain people this town breeds, or he’s got an undiagnosed thyroid problem. Then again, maybe he’s not human at all—maybe he’s the hybrid love child of an ice god and a human whose race was wiped out by an evil corporation trying to harness their power.

He smiles. He’ll have to bring that one up with Rean later.

Instead of taking the same path through the Ymir valley as yesterday, they go right at the wooden bridge and follow the trail that’s been worn through the snow until they arrive at the Christmas tree farm. 

He has to admit, there’s something innately beautiful about these sprawling rows of snow-covered trees, something that kindles the spark of long-dead magic he’s forgotten. 

He would have loved this place when he was young. How wonderful it must have been for Rean and his sister to come here with their parents and run through rows and rows of glistening greenery, breathing in the scent of pine as errant snowflakes drifted around them.

Altina seems just as enthralled as he would’ve been at her age. There’s a small building that doubles as an information desk, and the woman behind it welcomes them. Like everyone else in this town, she recognizes Rean.

“My God, look at you! You’re all grown up!” she says with a smile. 

“That’s usually what happens,” Rean replies with a note of guilt in his chuckle. 

“Is this the daughter I’ve heard so much about?” she asks, gesturing to Altina with a welcoming smile.

Rean nods, patting her hat-covered head. “Yep. Meet Altina.”

“The pleasure’s all mine, Altina,” the smiling woman says warmly before turning her gaze to Crow. “And this must be the handsome young man your mother mentioned. The one who got her purse back.”

Crow chuckles awkwardly. “I guess news travels fast in a small town. I’m just here to help with the heavy lifting.”

“Aren’t you just the sweetest thing,” she remarks fondly.

Rean snorts.

Crow scoffs, dismissing Rean’s reaction with a wave of his hand. “Was he this dramatic growing up?” he asks the woman behind the counter.

“He was such a sensitive soul,” the woman replies warmly, then laughs. “You should have seen him when he realized that chicken meat came from actual chickens. Poor thing would just burst into tears in the middle of town whenever he remembered. Oh—one time I happened to be at the butcher’s—”

“A-All right, that’s enough,” Rean interjects with polite urgency and a plea in his eyes. “We really should be going—have to find that tree and all!”

“Don’t be silly, Rean! We got plenty of time!” Crow admonishes with a grin. 

“Don’t you worry about entertaining an old lady, now. Go on and find yourselves a tree,” she replies.

“You kidding? Old ladies got the best gossip. You’re the one entertaining me!” Crow insists.

She laughs brightly. “You really are too sweet. Enjoy yourselves and come find me when you’re ready to pay, all right?”

“Will do,” Crow says, just before Rean yanks him off into the trees.

“Pfft. Like you’ve ever paid for anything,” Rean teases, rolling his eyes. 

Crow lets out a huge, exaggerated sigh. “Are you ever gonna let that go?”

“Sure I will. When you pay off your interest.”

“You know, you’re worse than those slimy, payday loan companies,” Crow laments.

Rean feigns indignation. “And to think, I wasn’t even going to charge you fees.”

“Fees?! On top of interest? Damn, Rean, you’re ruthless.”

“Oh, suddenly entrepreneurial initiative is a bad thing?”

Crow is about to retort when something hits his shoulder and explodes in a cloud of shimmering white powder. Rean suffers the same fate, and they both exchange a confused glance before turning in the direction from which the assault came. 

Apparently, this is exactly what Altina planned for, as she nails them both square in the chest with a snowball.

“I have already exhausted the usual means of getting your attention,” she explains innocently, though there’s a smile pulling at the corners of her mouth. 

Rean draws in a disappointed breath, but Crow is chucking a snowball at Altina before he can finish inhaling.

She squeals with delight, laughing as it clips her arm. Luckily, Crow’s dexterity allows him to get a few really good hits in while she’s simultaneously trying to evade and form a snowball.

“Crow! Altina!” Rean lectures. “This is—”

Crow exchanges a look with Altina, and they both hit Rean, one in the shoulder and the other in the chest.

“All right, you’re both in for it!” he announces, avoiding their follow-up volley and scooping up a perfectly packed snowball in a split-second. 

He’s got home-court advantage, and he knows it. 

Crow will have to try something more unconventional. 

Snow is flying everywhere as they use the trees for cover. Rean hits him in the back of the head, and Crow gasps in shock as the snow melts against his neck despite the scarf.

“Oh, we’re playing dirty, are we?” he asks icily as he aims for Rean’s face. 

He misses the first time, but Altina pelts Rean from the back, and he turns his attention to her, carefully stepping out of Crow’s range. 

Or what he thinks is Crow’s range. 

While throwing and shooting don’t have much in common, Crow has pretty good aim and a decent arm. He manages to toss the snowball in a high arc, over the tree, so it lands square on Rean’s head. The curse and flustered noise Rean emits tells Crow it hit exactly where he planned, and Altina’s laugh confirms it. 

Crow gathers more snow and slinks behind the tree Rean’s using as cover. Rean is so getting this one down the back of his coat.

Crow quicksteps to the left, but to his surprise, Rean isn’t there.

“Crow—!” Altina calls in warning, but it’s too late.

The ground is no longer under his feet. He squawks, flailing uselessly, as the world flips upside down and Rean casually slings him over his shoulder. 

“I warned you,” Rean sighs in the manner of an exasperated teacher about to give his unruly students a pop quiz, completely oblivious to the fact that he’s just unlocked a whole host of fantasies Crow didn’t know he had.

Oh, God, this is bad. This is very, very bad. His lizard brain is generating a series of scenarios in which this happens in the context of his hotel room, and he really needs to find the metaphorical equivalent of whatever eats lizards to police his brain because he can practically see the look of smug satisfaction on Rean’s face as he stares down at—

Nope, nope, nope! He’s not thinking about Rean climbing on top of him or the fact that his head is in dangerously close proximity to the most glorious ass in existence while air raid sirens blare in his skull.

Rean’s got an arm hooked around the crease of Crow’s knees to keep him in place, so, in a moment of blind panic, Crow uses his arms to shove himself sideways. Rean shouts, “Stop squirming, you’ll—” but it’s useless. Gravity has taken over, and he lands on his back in the snow. 

Rean must’ve tried to break his fall because somehow, he ended up face-first in Crow’s chest.

Good. Rean deserves his share of embarrassment after that stunt.

The coat doesn’t emphasize his figure the way Crow wishes it would, but Rean knows what he looks like without it, and the avalanche of flustered apologies Rean offers as his face goes red and he scrambles to his feet tells Crow that he’s definitely thinking about it. Hah, checkmate.

“Sorry for throwing me over your shoulder or sorry for landing on me?” Crow asks suspiciously once he’s brushed all the snow off himself. 

“The second one,” Rean answers.

Smug little shit.

Altina laughs at them. “I win!” she declares.

“Oh yeah? How you figure that?” Crow asks.

“You both got knocked down. I did not. Therefore, I am the victor.”

“All right, I concede,” Crow replies. “Altina wins the Battle of the Ymir Christmas Tree Farm.”

“Fine, fine,” Rean agrees, though he’s pouting a little, and it makes Crow warm for some reason, which is probably just from the exertion.

“Cheer up, Rean,” Altina says, conciliatorily. “At least you did not get thrown over someone’s shoulder like a sack of potatoes.”

A laugh bursts out of Rean.

Crow grumbles, but yeah, she’s got a point. 

“How the hell’d you even do that, anyway? I ain’t exactly light,” Crow asks.

“Oh, didn’t I tell you?” he smiles innocently, but Crow can see the glint of satisfaction and mischief in his eyes. “I’ve got a black belt in three different martial arts,” Rean says, like he’s been waiting for this moment to casually drop the lore that he’s pretty much a fucking ninja. 

“Guess I can’t feel too bad about myself, then,” Crow exhales. He narrows his eyes at Altina. “And don’t you dare say something like ‘there are plenty of other things you can feel bad about yourself for, Crow,’ or something.”

Altina laughs, which was exactly his aim. “There are many things at which you excel,” she replies. “Like losing to me.”

“Geez, you’re brutal,” Crow chuckles in reply. “All right, we’re here to find a Christmas tree, not to rag on me.”

“Can we not do both?” Rean asks.

“You sound like you wanna carry this tree home by yourself,” Crow replies, crossing his arms.

Rean laughs and squeezes his bicep like he wants to make sure Crow knows he’s only been teasing, and Crow’s guts go all fluttery and warm for some inexplicable reason as Rean turns to Altina. “He’s right—we should do what we came for. Altina, pick out whatever tree you like best.”

Altina begins by thoroughly inspecting the different species of available trees with the seriousness of an arborist. She tests the branches to assess how much weight they can bear, leans in to smell how fragrant the tree is, removes one of her gloves to examine the texture of the needles, and stands back thoughtfully to gauge the tree’s overall size, shape, and fullness. Crow isn’t one for warm fuzzies, but even he’ll admit that the kid is freaking adorable. Rean’s got his phone out, smiling as he records her process, and Crow thinks he might be starting to understand why some chicks go crazy for dad types—then promptly chokes on his own spit. 

Once Altina has concluded her evaluation, she turns to them. “The Siberian Fir has slightly weaker branches than the Frasier Fir, but the latter does not have as much fragrance.”

“Get whichever one you want, Altina,” Rean replies.

She scans the vast array of trees and hums thoughtfully.

“How about we start narrowing our options by size?” Crow suggests. 

“That should significantly reduce our selection pool,” she agrees, pulling a tape measure from her purse because, of course, she brought one. She hands it to him. “Measure this one,” she orders, pointing at a nearby tree. 

He looks at her quizzically. 

“You are the tallest,” she explains. “Rean knows his childhood home best, so he needs to assess whether or not the tree will be appropriate for the room.”

After measuring six candidates, they narrow it down to two, which is when Crow notices that Altina has gone from thoughtful and decisive to stressed, like the weight of the entire Schwarzer family holiday is riding on this tree.

Crow squats down next to her. “It’s a tough choice, but whichever one you pick is gonna be the right one.”

“You cannot know that,” Altina counters.

“Look, you might be a genius, but you’re wrong on this one,” he answers kindly. “Rean’s gonna love whichever one you pick ‘cause you’re gonna chop it down together. And the Schwarzers are gonna love it ‘cause you picked it.” He glances at Rean meaningfully. “Ain’t that right?”

Rean picks up the thread effortlessly. “Crow’s right, Altina,” he says seriously, patting her head. “This whole thing isn’t really about the tree. I just wanted to make a memory with you. You’re my daughter in every way that counts, and that means I care about you even if you mess up. You could choose the ugliest tree here, and it would still be perfect.”

Crow can’t help but smile at Rean. He’s getting the hang of this.

Altina is still quiet, like she’s unsure how to respond, so Rean lowers himself to her level and finds her eyes. 

“Being your dad is one of the best things that’s ever happened to me. You’re not going back into the system. Not ever, no matter what,” Rean continues. He speaks deliberately, like this is the most important thing he’s ever said. “If something were to happen to me, my parents wouldn’t think twice about taking you in. I know it’s not easy to believe that after everything you’ve been through, and it’s okay to get scared sometimes. But I promise, there is nothing that would change my mind.”

Crow gives her shoulder a squeeze. “Hear that, kiddo? You’re stuck with him.”

She abruptly throws her arms around Rean and draws a sharp breath. She’s very quiet but it’s obvious she’s emotional. Rean is patient as he holds her, reassures her that she doesn’t need to live her life trying to make him happy because he won’t be happy if she’s not being true to herself.

It pulls on Crow’s heartstrings in a way he’s not used to. He thought those threads snapped a long time ago, but it turns out he’s still got them. 

Rean really is impossible, isn’t he? Even Crow’s cynicism is silent as he watches Altina settle down and compose herself. Those two might just be okay after all. 

When she’s ready, she takes a step back, smoothing the front of her coat and adjusting her hat. She draws a big breath in, points to the tree on her right, and says, “That one, please.”

Crow pats her head. “Perfect choice,” he remarks.

She looks up at him with a smile and says, “Thank you, Crow.” 

“It was nothin’.” he assures her.

She scrutinizes him with her eyes, like she’s seeking the answer to a question that’s burning on the tip of her tongue, but she’s not sure if she ought to ask it. 

“I’m going to cut away some branches near the base so we don’t get poked in the eyes while we’re sawing through the trunk,” Rean announces, and Altina’s strange expression vanishes. 

Rean, mountain boy that he is, has no problem hunkering down in the snow to hack away the tree’s unnecessary limbs, then calls for Altina.

“Crow, make sure you hold onto the trunk. We’re going to cut from this side, so pull it toward you a little bit.” 

Crow’s face ends up a bit mashed against the branches, but just this once, he won’t complain. For Altina’s sake. Later, when she resumes her teasing, he’ll make a big deal about how he suffered.

“Got it,” he replies. 

Rean explains that they need to cut as close to the ground as they can to increase the chances that it’ll grow back. Crow had no idea that was a thing. He’d probably find it way more interesting if he didn’t have a face full of pine needles, but some things can’t be helped. 

Rean and Altina complete their work, and Crow lifts the tree off its severed stump and stands it upright while Rean and Altina spread the tarp. 

“Want a pic of you and Altina with the tree before we pack it up?” Crow asks.

The look Rean gives him does that funny thing to his insides again, the one where his stomach does this weird, warm fluttering that isn’t butterflies, so it has to be indigestion.

Rean takes hold of the tree’s trunk and uses his free hand to pass his phone to Crow. Crow pulls up the camera while Altina settles beside Rean. He takes a couple just to be safe, then a few with Altina holding the saw. She tells him it’s a dumb idea, but Rean thinks it’s cute, so she concedes—though not before rolling her eyes. Still, she smiles, and Crow’s pretty sure she’s secretly enjoying it. 

Rean takes his phone back and Crow helps him lay the tree down on the tarp, then all three of them wrap and secure it with rope and bungees. He’s grateful he won’t have to suffer a face full of pine needles the whole way back to the Schwarzers’.

It’s easy between the two of them—Rean really is much stronger than he looks. Well, he did just toss Crow over his shoulder like Crow weighed less than Altina. Crow knows he could overpower Rean if it came down to a contest of raw strength, but maybe that’s part of the allure and thank God it’s fucking freezing out here because now is not the time for that. 

Rean has them set the tree down outside and unwraps the tarp, then shakes it out to remove as many dead needles as he can. Altina opens the door and Rean brings the tree inside, setting it in its stand. 

“I have to tighten the bolts, so Crow, I need you to take the trunk and adjust the angle,” Rean explains. “Altina, can you stand back and tell him how to tilt it?” 

Crow resigns himself once again to getting poked in the face as he reaches through the branches and grips the trunk. 

“Left. More left. No, that’s too much—go right a little. Now tip it forward. Forward. Still more… there, that’s it.”

Rean does something with the base and then Crow is free to let go. Rean slides out from under the branches and shakes his hair like a wet dog, which has no right to be as cute as it is, and a shower of pine needles fall to the floor. A few stubborn stragglers remain stuck, and Crow only realizes he’s taken it upon himself to pick them out of Rean’s hair as he’s doing it. 

What the fuck is wrong with him?!

Well, Rean didn’t mind the head pat yesterday, and this is sort of the same thing, right? God, he hopes he’s right. Rean did just pick him up a little while ago, so they’re well past that boundary. He thinks.

He’s already plucked two free, so he might as well commit and get the last one. He pinches it between his fingers and flicks it to the ground, resisting the overwhelming urge to brush Rean’s hair back.

“Thanks, Crow,” Rean says with a smile that knocks him off-guard for some reason and makes it kind of hard to breathe for a second. 

They all step into the hall to do away with their winter gear, and, ever the gracious host, Rean insists on putting everyone’s things away. Crow doesn’t miss the way Rean steals what’s initially a casual glance at his chest before his eyes get stuck there for a long moment.

It’s not like he wore the slim-fit Henly shirt with all three buttons open because he thought Rean would like it. It just happened that way. And Rean’s attention definitely doesn’t send a little thrill through him.

Rean catches himself and moves to put everything away. “I’ll go get started on lunch. Can the two of you get the lights up in the meantime?”

“Sure,” Crow replies, like it hasn’t been over a decade since he last decorated a Christmas tree. 

Crow knows better than to sneak a peek at Rean’s ass as he heads into the kitchen. He knows, and to his credit, he really tries, but Crow is merely a mortal man and Rean’s ass is divine. How can he not gaze upon it and behold its glory?

It’s no less impressive than it was yesterday, especially in those pants. Complete and utter perfection. It belongs in a museum—Michaelangelo’s David has absolutely nothing on Rean Schwarzer.

Rean disappears into the kitchen and Crow checks back into reality, and a jolt of panic seizes him because Altina is here and if she catches Crow eyeing her dad’s butt, he might actually die. Thankfully, she hasn’t been paying attention to him. She’s already hard at work laying out the lights so they’re easier to grab as needed. 

“So… you, ah, ever done this before?” he asks.

She shakes her head. “I have not. Have you?”

Crow hasn’t had a Christmas tree since he was thirteen. 

It wasn’t anything special that year. He was still a kid, so he lacked the strength required to carry something more impressive home, and by that point, his grandfather was too weak to help like he used to. Still, Crow insisted on getting one. Insisted on following traditions and doing the same things they’d always done in a fraught attempt to cling to the illusion of normalcy. In the end, all his efforts just made it frighteningly clear that nothing would ever be normal again. That Crow wasn’t strong enough to carry them both.

He wasn’t even strong enough to carry himself.

“I’m sure we’ll figure it out,” he finally answers with an exhale.

All that was a long time ago, and this is about Altina, not him.

He perks up and gives her a smile. “You’re a genius after all, ain’t ya? I’m sure we can make it work.”

“Um… Crow,” Altina starts hesitantly.

“What’s up, kiddo?” 

She fidgets with the strand of lights in her hands for a moment. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure. What’s on your mind?”

“I am aware that I’m not… normal. Sometimes, I feel as though I were artificially created in a laboratory somewhere—”

“Who the hell made you feel like that?” he blurts out, cutting her off. “Some sad excuse for an adult who couldn’t stand a kid being smarter than them? Or a bunch of jealous kids who knew you had a future they couldn’t even dream about?”

Altina’s eyes go wide. He can see her turning the information over in her head, examining it like she did earlier with the various trees she inspected, to assess its veracity.

“… I’ve never belonged anywhere,” she finally tells him. “But Rean… he seems to truly care about me. I have grown very fond of him and I believe he is genuine when he says he means to be my father, but… I do not know how to be a daughter.” She bites her lip and shifts uncomfortably. “What if I’m bad at it?”

His heart breaks for her.

“You’re already his daughter, kiddo,” he reassures her with a smile. “Rean said so himself, didn’t he? Besides, there’s no right way to be somebody’s kid.”

“Then why didn’t the other foster families want me?” she asks, and what hits him the hardest is the sheer objectivity in her voice. She’s not sad or incredulous or confused; she sounds like she might as well be asking, “then why do things fall when you drop them” in response to the claim that gravity is a lie.

“Because they’re stupid,” Crow answers, surprised by the sudden vehemence that surges through him. “It ain’t you, not one one bit. You’re a great kid, Altina. Problem is that the sort of folks the system attracts can be pretty scummy. Most of ‘em want babies. And for every decent guy like Rean, you got ten people doin’ it for the extra cash and two more lookin’ for something that’s too small to fight back. Then, there’s the idiots who have their heart in the right place but no idea what they’re getting into. Trust me, Altina. It’s them, not you.”

Altina pauses thoughtfully for a long moment. “None of my foster homes were bad places,” she says, not exactly arguing, but more like she’s providing evidence to explain her conclusion. “I was with my last placement for almost three years—they wanted to adopt me, too—until they got pregnant with their miracle baby.”

“Well, shit, you don’t gotta worry about Rean getting pregnant,” he jokes.

It manages to get a laugh. “My point is that I am the only common denominator in these situations. If that couple could not see me as their daughter when they actually understood what having a real child—”

“Have you seen Rean’s parents treat him any differently than they treat Elise?” Crow interrupts.

She blinks. “… No.”

“Is Rean their biological kid?”

She looks at him as if to ask whether he thinks she’s stupid. 

“Well, there’s your proof that people can love a kid they didn’t make just as much as their own, and your foster parents were just shitheads,” Crow explains. 

“But Rean knows how to be a good son,” she tries.

“You heard Rean and Teo arguing back and forth yesterday. They don't always agree and neither of them is perfect. Hell, Rean gave me the same BS you’re pulling right now, some shtick about how he thinks his parents got saddled with a kid they didn’t ask for.”

“But it is objectively obvious that his parents love him,” she replies.

“And it’s objectively obvious to everybody else that Rean loves you,” Crow retorts meaningfully. “He’s a fanny pack away from being a walking dad stereotype.”

Altina giggles at that. “... He actually tried to wear one of those last summer.”

Crow laughs. Why is he not surprised?

“I told him that I would not permit him to accompany me in public if he insisted on it,” she finishes.

Crow can picture it easily: Rean in dad-shorts and a polo shirt with a baseball cap and a fanny pack. If there’s a man alive who could make it look hot, it would probably be Rean, and this should not be attractive God-fucking-damn-it!

“Face it, Altina. I’m right this time.” He gives her a playful smile. “That’s twice. I’m on a roll.”

It takes her a minute to process what he means, but when she does, she smiles. Then, she exhales dramatically. “Well, I suppose that even a broken clock is correct twice a day.”

Crow laughs. “Don’t worry. We’ll keep this one between us. Now help me figure out how to get these damn lights on right.”

Crow is convinced that Rean is deliberately taking his sweet ass time in the kitchen solely to avoid helping with the lights. He’d forgotten how much this sucks. He attempts twice on his own, and the results are so bad that they’re almost impressive. He’s pretty sure a blind guy could down half a bottle of tequila, spin around 200 times, and still do a better job.

Eventually, they manage to work out a system where Altina guides him at a distance so the lights don’t end up crooked. She’s got some cheerful holiday playlist going in the background, and surprisingly, he doesn’t hate it. It’s weirdly bittersweet. Makes him feel like a kid but also acutely aware that he’s not and never will be again.

But Altina still has time, and seeing her smile once he’s finished puts the lights on the tree to shame. 

“Couldn’t have done it without you, kiddo.”

“I know,” Altina replies. “I saw your first two tries.”

“Okay, someone needs to get her butt kicked at Blade,” Crow announces, reaching for the deck on the table. 

She puts up a good challenge, but she’s still instinctively organizing her cards in her hand in ascending order. She’ll be a force to be reckoned with once she realizes it. 

“… Hey, Crow,” she starts with a familiar uncertainty in her eyes. “I was wondering if I could show you something. It’s a present I’ve been working on for Rean. I have been unable to decide if I should give it to him.”

“Sure. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Altina grabs a large book out of a nearby tote bag and flips through the pages until she finds what she wants. Then, after a quick glance at the hallway, she shows him a drawing of herself and Rean. It must be from that summer fishing trip Rean mentioned yesterday because they’re both sitting in cheap, outdoor folding chairs at the edge of a lake with their lines cast.  

“It’s not finished yet,” she explains, tucking back her hair. ”Do you think he would like it?”

“This was the day you caught that 18-inch bass, right?” he asks.

It’s hard to catch Altina off guard, but that does it. “How did you know?”

Crow chuckles. “How else? Rean told me all about it.” He pats her head with a smile. “Said he didn’t realize how much he missed fishing ‘till he went with you, and how proud he was of your catch. Now, look, I haven’t known him all that long, but I don’t think there’s a gift out there that would make him happier.” 

It’s easy to imagine the way Rean’s face will light up when he sees it. He’ll ask if she made it, and he’ll start tearing up when she nods. He’ll give her a huge hug and tell her she did a beautiful job and he’s so proud of her—then, he’ll fret over whether he wants to hang it in their home or put it in a frame at work so he can show off how talented his daughter is.

Crow lets out a breath that in no way resembles a dreamy sigh.

Altina offers a relieved smile. “Thank you.”

“Mind if I check out your other drawings?” he asks. 

She looks pleased and gives him a nod. 

He figured that would be her response. She’s shy, but she seems to glow whenever she receives validation. He guesses her teachers probably didn’t like her correcting them when she was young, and he’s willing to bet most of her foster families weren’t fond of it, either. If she ever did a stint at a group home, she probably got no end of shit for her intelligence. She’s smart enough to see through shallow approbation, so he should be able to use her sketchbook as a springboard. 

As he expected, it’s full of incredible drawings. Most of them are realistic, but he finds a few abstractions, too. He’s always liked art, and he’s had to become familiar with it to be taken seriously among the wealthy elite. He smiles at a brightly-colored image full of geometric shapes.

“Studying Kandinsky?” he asks

Her expression is one of pleasant surprise. “Abstract art confuses me,” she admits. “But I am glad you recognize my attempt to emulate his style.”

“I ain’t real knowledgeable about it, but I think the way it started was about feeling. You gotta learn the rules of art first, so you know how to break ‘em in a way that means something. Nowadays, though, it seems like anything goes.” 

He looks curiously at a little doodle of a stuffed rabbit. It’s popped up on a few different pages now. 

“What’s this rabbit thing? Is it some kind of stuffed animal?”

“Oh, that,” she replies, a little stilted. “It’s just a toy I used to have.” To her credit, she’s actually doing a pretty good job of pretending she’s unbothered. “I lost it at a group home.”

He doesn’t tell her he probably “lost” his grandfather’s deck of playing cards the same way.

Whoever came up with the idea of forcing a bunch of profoundly broken kids to share a single, shitty space has a special place reserved for them in hell. He knows they’re not all underfunded and short-staffed by woefully unqualified guardians, but Crow wasn’t lucky enough to have that experience.

“Fuck group homes.” He doesn’t mean to say it, and he’s not sure how it slipped out. There’s a split second of raw panic, but Altina doesn’t look surprised at all. She looks… kind of relieved? 

“Fortunately, I was not there long. I know many children had to deal with far worse things than someone setting their favorite toy on fire, so I do not mean to complain. Still… I do not meet many people who understand, and it is difficult to explain without eliciting pity,” she replies. “I appreciate that about you, Crow.”

“Was that a compliment?” Crow asks, deflecting with humor. 

She gives him a smirk. “After a fashion.”

“All right, you two,” Rean calls from the dining room. “Lunch is ready!”

Whatever the hell Rean made smells great, and Crow’s stomach growls as he and Altina make their way to the table.

“Is that teriyaki pizza?!” Altina asks excitedly.

Rean laughs, nodding as he hands her a plate, and wait—did this guy just casually whip up a fucking homemade pizza?

Crow just kind of stares uncomprehendingly at the pizza on the table, trying to process its existence. 

“Did you… make this?” Crow asks, sounding exactly as stupid as he thinks he does. 

Altina shakes her head and facepalms silently.

“I know it’s a little unusual, but give it a try,” Rean says encouragingly. “Altina says it’s my specialty. If you don’t like it, I can make you something else.”

“Oh, no, I’m sure it’s great,” Crow replies. “You didn’t have to make something so elaborate, though.”

“Speak for yourself,” Altina replies after swallowing a bite. “I will accept teriyaki pizza any time Rean wants to make it.”

Rean puts two slices on his plate and smiles. “It’s really not hard. I use a thin, crispy crust, so the dough doesn’t need time to rise.”

Crow doesn’t know what to say and he feels weirdly flustered, so he shoves some food in his mouth. The flavors explode on his tongue: it’s a perfect balance of salt and sweet. The veggies are cooked to perfection—the onions have actually caramelized, and the crust is perfectly crispy. 

Not only does the man have an ass Adonis himself would envy, but goddamn can he cook.

“Rean. This is amazing,” Crow manages in between bites. 

To Crow’s immense enjoyment, Rean blushes a little. God, why does he have to be so fucking cute?

“So, um… did you get the lights on all right?” Rean asks, apropos of nothing.

“Yep,” Crow answers easily, as though he didn’t have to try three separate times.

“You did not see his first attempt,” Altina replies. “Or the second.”

“Tch, tattle-tale,” Crow retorts as he grabs another slice. ”After I suffered in the cold for hours just to make sure you and Rean got a Christmas tree.”

“We all endured the same weather,” Altina reminds him. Her voice is flat, but the corners of her mouth twitch against a smile. “And it was hardly hours.”

“Yeah, but only I got poked in the face the whole time you both were cutting it down. Those branches are prickly!”

“Perhaps we should get you a medal,” Altina muses.

“I’ll also accept a folk ballad recounting my bravery,” Crow replies.

An unexpected laugh bursts out of Rean. It’s easy and unguarded, and it hits Crow like a drug. Rean’s always cute, but when he laughs like that, it’s something else entirely. It stirs something inside Crow, breathing life into the embers of a feeling he swore was dead and buried. It’s completely insane—he knows that—but he can’t seem to make it stop happening.

“You studied songwriting, yeah?” he says to Altina. “Put those skills to good use!”

She chuckles, looking pleased that he remembered. “I shall detail how, despite your humiliating defeat during the Battle of the Ymir Christmas Tree Farm, you soldiered on and bravely endured the brush of pine needles against your cheek for a few short minutes.”

“You gotta make me sound heroic and cool,” Crow argues.

“That is an impossible task,” Altina replies flatly.

“I’m cooler than Rean.”

“Hey!” Rean protests.

Altina hums thoughtfully. “It is true that as far as I know, you have never attempted to wear a fanny pack—”

“There is nothing wrong with fanny packs!” Rean protests. “I can’t fit sunscreen and a basic first aid kit in my pocket, and fanny packs are simple and easy to access. Besides, it was understated and tasteful.” Rean folds his arms. Evidently, this is a sore spot for him. “Crow would probably pick one with neon dinosaurs on it or something!”

Crow laughs. “Uh, yeah, ‘cause that’d be cool as hell.”

Rean looks at Altina. “No way he’s cooler than me.”

“You’re her dad, so you’re lame in her eyes by default. You gotta lean into it. Dab in front of her friends and learn the hip new slang, but use it wrong on purpose,” Crow replies.

Rean chuckles mischievously. “So I should tell my students I spent my break ‘rizzmaxxing’, or something?”

Altina laughs so suddenly and with such force that she makes an uncharacteristic, sputtering noise as she tries to cover her mouth. 

“Throw in an ‘Ohio’ for good measure,” Crow suggests. “It’ll really get you some cringe.”

Altina is laughing so hard she’s gripping herself around the middle.

Rean grins at her. “Christmas break has been peak kino, right Altina?”

Rean’s ability to say it with a straight face makes Crow laugh, too. “Based af,” Crow adds, but he says A F instead of as fuck , which makes Altina cackle.

“That’s so fetch,” Rean offers.

… Is he actually referencing Mean Girls?

“Stop trying to make ‘fetch’ happen,” Crow insists.

Rean laughs like he’s pleased, and it sets off those sparklers in Crow’s chest again. “I ran out of slang,” he admits. “I didn’t know if you’d get it or not.”

“Mean Girls is a timeless cinematic masterpiece,” Crow replies, then turns to Altina, who looks curious—but also glad she can finally breathe again.

She reads the question in his eyes. “I have not seen that film.”

“All right, forget Christmas movies. Altina, your job is to watch Mean Girls.” 

“We’ve got a Christmas tree to decorate first,” Rean reminds both of them.

Well, that’s his cue to leave.

“Crow will have to decorate the top of the tree,” Altina says.

“Altina, I think this is supposed to be something special you and Rean do together,” Crow explains.

“If that were true, then we would not have invited you along,” Altina replies. “Right, Rean?”

“You don’t have to stay,” Rean says reassuringly. “You’ve already given up so much of your time.”

Is it weird to decorate another person’s Christmas tree with them? Crow’s at a loss for etiquette here. 

“How will we watch this Mean Girls film if you do not stay and assist us with the decorating?” Altina asks. “It was your request, after all.”

She’s making it way too easy to say yes.

“As long as I’m not a bother, I’m down to help out,” Crow replies.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Rean insists. 

“You just like keeping me around so Altina has someone else to bully,” Crow teases.

“Just think of it as her love language,” Rean explains.

“Pffft, some love language,” Crow tuts, folding his arms.

“Well, you certainly don’t mind when Rean does the same thing,” Altina reminds him with a pointed, knowing smile.

Rean shoots to his feet. “Okay, if everybody’s finished, I’ll take the plates into the kitchen!”

Crow has never been more grateful for a distraction. 

Chapter Text

As Rean removes the lid from a plastic bin of ornaments, Crow is forced to reluctantly accept that perhaps he’s finally crossed the line between personal and professional. 

Okay, if he’s honest with himself, he’s been watching that line disappear in the metaphorical rearview mirror like an exit ramp he doesn’t want to admit he missed; now that he’s seeing signs for the Pacific Ocean, it’s kind of hard to convince himself he’s still on the East Coast. 

He could panic. At the very least, he should pull over and take a minute to collect himself and make a plan to get back on track. What he shouldn’t do is hit the gas and plow straight ahead into the water, but that’s exactly what’s happening. Metaphorically, anyway.

He has no idea what he was thinking when he agreed to stay. Christmas ornaments are personal—at least, for people like Teo and Lucia—and Crow is a stranger here. That’s not even taking into account the reason he came to Ymir in the first place; this whole thing has become far too messy and tangled for him to even begin thinking about how—

Rean laughs for some reason, and it snaps Crow out of his thoughts. “You both look so serious,” he remarks. “It’s not a big deal. This is supposed to be fun!”

Crow glances at Altina, who simultaneously looks up at him. She looks just as awkward and adrift as he feels.

At least someone here gets it.

“You sure you don’t wanna wait for your family?” Crow asks Rean, and doesn’t tack on instead of sharing a tradition with a guy you met less than 72 hours ago for politeness’s sake.  

“We’re actually doing them a favor,” Rean explains with a reassuring smile that both charms and disappoints Crow for the same reason: it means he’s not getting out of this. “We used to decorate the tree together every year, but we all have so much going on that it’s impossible to find time for that now. Mom and Dad do their little tree in the hall together earlier in the month, but a big one like this is too much since Elise went to college and I started working full-time.” He looks guilty for a moment, then smiles brightly as he says, “I think it’ll make everyone happy to see it decorated like it used to be.”

“Is there a particular aesthetic we should try to achieve?” Altina asks.

“Aesthetic?” Rean looks puzzled for a moment.

“My previous foster family was very particular about adhering to a specific theme and color palette,” she explains.

“Hah, told you they were douchebags,” Crow mutters quietly to Altina, who snickers to herself.

Rean gives them both a perplexed look, too confused to lecture Crow about his language. “Just… put the big, heavier ones on the bottom and the smaller ones on the top. We don’t do glass ornaments on this tree—at least not after the year it fell down twice.”

“Twice?” Crow can’t help but ask.

“I guess there must’ve been a problem with the base or something,” Rean replies as he sets a package of hooks on the table. “Dad ended up drilling some eye hooks into a couple of walls and tied the tree to them just to make sure it didn’t happen a third time.”

He reaches into the bin and unwraps an ornament, then hands it to Altina with a smile. “Put it anywhere you want.”

Altina takes a deep breath and looks to Crow like she’s asking for confirmation, which is weird because he’s just as lost as she is here, but he gives her his best self-assured smile and a nod. It seems to work. She nods to herself and fastens the green, metal hook to the branch, then glances at Rean. 

“Looks great!” he offers, and he looks so genuinely pleased with her that even Crow can’t doubt he means it.

Altina smiles with relief and a sense of renewed confidence as she takes an ornament from the box herself this time. She unwraps it, and Crow can’t help but feel startled when she hands it to him. He stands there like an idiot for a few seconds before a weird rush of nostalgia grabs him by the throat. He swallows it down and shakes the feeling off, then turns toward the tree and hangs it up.

Crow used to do this with Pops every year until things went to shit. It was fun to rediscover the baubles he’d forgotten about and unwrap the special ones he looked forward to. He can still remember a pair of turtle doves that had belonged to his parents, a glass carousel, and a set of twelve numbered racing horses with jockeys sculpted atop them. Crow loved arranging them so it looked like they were racing, but his favorite part was always the story Pops would make up about the race Crow had staged. 

He wonders what happened to the ornaments in his grandfather’s attic. They must be long gone now, probably rotting in a landfill somewhere under twelve years’ worth of trash.

Altina pokes him in the arm, and he snaps back to the present and looks down at her.

“This one is small. It must go near the top,” she explains, handing him a small ornament shaped like a train. 

Somehow, it manages to pull him out of his melancholy, and he gives her a smile. This isn’t about him, after all. He’s here for Altina. What else is he going to do back at his hotel? Lay around remembering shit from a decade ago like it’ll change anything?

It has absolutely nothing to do with the way Rean’s laugh makes his chest feel like a sun is being born inside it, or how his smile makes Crow’s legs a little weak.

“You got it,” he replies cheerfully.

It’s easier from there. The three of them fall into a rhythm. Occasionally, Altina asks about the history of a particular ornament, and Rean explains its origin. By some stroke of luck, Crow finds one of those “Baby’s First Christmas” photo ornaments with a picture of Rean’s chubby, four-year-old face.

“Awww, look at little Rean!” Crow says, showing it off to Altina. “Isn’t he adorable!”

Rean rolls his eyes and pinches a hook closed on a branch with more force than necessary.

Altina laughs in delight. “It is strange to see him so small.”

“He had such chubby little cheeks!” Crow continues.

“It’s called ‘baby fat’, Crow,” Rean replies. 

Crow ignores him. “Don’t you just wanna pinch ’em?” he asks Altina.

“They do look rather pinchable.”

Rean turns a betrayed expression toward Altina. “Et tu, Brute?”

“Brutus is just as cute as Caesar,” Crow reminds him.

Altina blinks. “... What?”

Crow gives her a smile and pats her head. “Don’t worry, kiddo. You’ll get it after we watch the movie.”

“Can we all just leave my stupid baby picture alone?” Rean asks, a note of pleading almost smothered by his casual tone.

“I am sorry, Rean, but Crow is correct,” she offers almost regretfully. “I am not particularly fond of babies, but that photo makes me feel compelled to squish your cheeks.”

“This settles it,” Crow announces, holding out the ornament for everyone to see. “No way Rean’s origin story is as boring as he thinks it is. Nobody could just up and leave that face without a good reason.” 

“What do you mean?” Altina asks, puzzled—and for good reason. She has no idea what the hell he’s talking about.

Rean gives a heavy sigh and rolls his eyes. “Ignore him, Altina.”

“Rean here can’t remember anything before his folks took him in. He assumes somebody just left him out in the mountains, but he doesn’t know that,” Crow explains.

“Crow thinks I can telepathically communicate with wolves. Or that I’m Batman,” Rean says in the tone of an exhausted primary school teacher.

“I never said Batman. I said you might be the heir to some rich family who got shot up by assassins,” he says pointedly, as though issuing an important correction. “For all we know, you could be the hybrid love child of an ice god and a human whose race was wiped out by an evil corporation trying to harness their power.”

He’s met with silence.

“You’ve had that one ready for a while, haven’t you?” Rean says more than asks.

“It would explain why the cold doesn’t bother you at all,” Crow offers in his defense. “Or maybe there were some crazy cultists living in the mountains, and your parents sent you off to save you before the leader made you drink the Kool Aid.”

“Are you done yet?” Rean asks.

“Nope,” Crow replies cheerfully. “Maybe you were among the last survivors of a dying planet, cryogenically frozen aboard its last escape ship. The ship was damaged by asteroids so your escape pod sent you to Earth, and now you’re the last of your kind.”

Rean looks pleadingly at Altina. “You see what I’m dealing with?”

“That is certainly farfetched, but… it is not outside the realm of possibility that your parents were, perhaps, geologists who went up to the mountain and passed tragically in a freak avalanche,” Altina offers with a little smile, which Crow finds extremely vindicating.

“Not you, too…” Rean groans. 

Crow grins. “Maybe they were archeologists who happened upon the remains of an ancient civilization—”

“This is insane,” Rean sighs, shaking his head.

“Pfft, have you seen like any sci-fi, dude? It’s always archeologists that get humanity into trouble.”

“That’s science fiction, Crow. Fiction,” Rean repeats for emphasis.

“People thought the Earth revolving around the Sun was fiction for hundreds of years,” Crow reminds him.

Rean opts to ignore him, but he doesn’t manage to hide the smile pulling at the corners of his mouth as he goes back to hanging ornaments.

The smile on its own is a win for Crow, so he lets the conversation drop and hangs the ornament with Rean’s picture in the most conspicuous place possible on the tree, then goes back to the bin and unwraps another one.

Despite his reservations, decorating turns out to be strangely enjoyable. The clumsy, handmade ornaments are his favorite—the nativity scene made out of popsicle sticks featuring Mary and Joseph as actual peanuts and sheep made of cotton balls is a highlight. A poorly cut-out Christmas tree made of felt and drenched in glitter, a pipe-cleaner candy cane, and a hand-drawn, stick-figure illustration of the Schwarzer family all nudge at the empty space inside Crow and make him feel… weird, for lack of a better word, inside. He’s not one for sentimentality, but there’s something touching about Rean’s parents preserving and displaying these embarrassing relics of their kids’ childhoods. 

Much to Crow’s delight, he discovers that there are more photo ornaments—one for almost every year of Rean and Elise’s lives. Because he values his continued existence, Crow pointedly avoids looking at any of Elise’s pictures, just in case he happens upon an embarrassing photo she’d have to kill him for seeing. 

All things considered, it doesn’t take them long. Once they pack up the wrapping and set the empty boxes aside, Crow and Altina settle down on the couch and queue up the movie while Rean makes popcorn in the kitchen.

When he comes back, Altina shifts closer to the armrest, making space for Rean to sit in the middle. Weird, but okay; he guesses it’s probably weirder for her to be sandwiched between two grown men. Rean stares at the empty space for a moment and looks at Crow as if to ask whether it’s okay for him to sit there, like this isn’t Rean’s house. Crow gives him a nod and waves him over like he’s being ridiculous. It’s not like they weren’t sitting as close to each other yesterday when they were petting Badeaux, so Crow has no idea why it makes him a weird combination of nervous and excited.

… Jesus Christ, is he even fooling himself anymore? 

Much to Crow’s relief, Altina starts the film. It’s easy to relax, and he helps himself to the huge bucket of popcorn in Rean’s lap without incident.

As always, the movie withstands the test of time.

“Now I understand what you meant before,” Altina remarks. “In fact, I now realize that I have heard the movie referenced on several occasions. I see why it has had such a profound cultural impact.”

“So you liked it?” Crow asks. 

“It was a humorous but insightful commentary on social hierarchies, human nature, and conformity. It was not a perfect film—Aaron’s character could have been fleshed out, and Cady’s feelings for him felt shallow and underdeveloped, but the film was not intended as a love story, so it’s an understandable omission.” She tucks some hair behind her ear and continues, “I also identified with Cady’s transition from homeschool to public school, especially when the teacher got mad at her for reading ahead. It was rather validating to see a portrayal of someone else struggling with incomprehensible, unwritten social rules and teachers who do not appreciate student initiative.” She smiles. “I have not encountered those issues since I started high school, but it still resonated with some of my own experiences.”

They’re interrupted by the sound of the front door opening and two voices, one he recognizes as belonging to Elise. After a few moments of shuffling with winter outerwear, she steps into the room with a blonde-haired, blue-eyed bombshell. 

“Where’s my niece?!” the blonde asks excitedly. “I’ve been dying to meet her!

Altina looks at Rean and points to herself questioningly. 

“Altina is not your niece,” Rean replies with a long-suffering sigh.

“She will be someday!” the blonde argues, approaching Altina with a wide, comforting smile. Crow thinks it’s the kind of smile Jay Gatsby must’ve had—one that makes you feel like she completely understands and accepts as much of you as you’re willing to share. “You must be Altina. I’m Alfin. I’m so happy to finally meet you. Elise has told me so much, and I’m looking forward to getting to know you.”

Altina looks like she thinks she should be uncomfortable, but she simply can’t because Alfin's presence is so reassuring. Alfin seems to read her well and takes a step back, offering her an expression that says everything is fine and she’s not offended. 

Her eyes pass over Rean, then land on Crow, and she grins in a way that kind of scares him. “Oh-ho,” she hums melodically. “Is this the guy?” she asks Elise. 

Elise nods with a sigh.

She claps her hands together in delight. “You never said he was gorgeous!”

“… I’m a lesbian, Alfin,” Elise reminds her flatly.

It suddenly hits him that Alfin is the name of the girlfriend Elise mentioned last night. 

Wait—this is Elise’s girlfriend?! She’s so… bubbly and bright. Granted, he has very limited knowledge of Elise, and she has every right to treat him coldly, given what he’s doing here, so maybe it’s not as surprising a match as he initially thought.

“That’s Crow,” Altina explains. “He is almost too gay to function.” She says it factually, but he can hear the smirk in her dry voice. 

Crow chokes. What the fuck?! He never should have let her watch that movie!

Rean and Elise let out loud, sputtering laughs.

How the hell does she even know?! Does she have genius-level gaydar, too?! Crow is fairly straight-passing most of the time—at least, he thinks he is. 

Surely, he’s not that obvious. Then again, he thinks with a painful cringe that shatters something in his brain—it’s entirely possible she caught him staring at Rean’s ass earlier. 

This must be how Icarus felt. Crow has flown too close to the sun, and now it’s over. He’s been undone by an 11-year-old.

“Well, that makes two of us!” Alfin replies. Oh fuck, she sounds delighted. That can’t be good.

“Three, counting Rean,” Altina adds as though she’s discussing the weather. “That is what my friend Ash said—though I did not recognize the reference at the time.”

“Wait—Ash said what about me?!” Rean asks, a mixture of appalled, horrified, and shocked that Crow thinks is pretty well-deserved in this context.

“He, Musse, and Juna were speculating about the sexuality of various faculty at our school. Juna suggested that there was something between you and Ms. Herschel, but Ash laughed at her and said, ‘No way. Schwarzer’s almost too gay to function’.”

Elise cackles. “Well, he wasn’t wrong there.” 

Badeaux barks from outside, and a door that must be somewhere off the kitchen creaks open.

“Badeaux,” Teo’s voice says firmly, not scolding, but more like he’s attempting to wrangle a 50-pound dog who has no intention of staying still.

Rean looks relieved and practically leaps out of his seat. “I’m going to help Dad with Badeaux!”

Elise rolls her eyes and follows her brother, probably to apologize, leaving three complete strangers alone in their living room like it’s a totally normal thing. 

Alfin suddenly grabs Crow’s arm with an unexpectedly strong grip that implies he’s not going anywhere, and he’s too stunned to protest when she drags him a few steps away, just out of Altina’s earshot.

“H-Hey! What’s—”

She leans close to his ear with a grin that both intrigues and kind of terrifies him. 

“Rean’s wearing fuck-me pants,” she whispers scandalously.

Crow chokes on his own spit for the second time that day.

He has no idea what to do with this information. 

His lizard brain is throwing a fucking party with confetti and strobe lights while the rational part of his mind is scrambling to unplug the DJ booth from the wall and cut the power.

Okay, yes, there’s something exciting about the idea of Rean getting dressed up to impress him, but he shouldn’t just believe this chick like she’s some authority. For all he knows, she’s fucking with him on Elise’s behalf as some kind of punishment for his attempt to fuck over Ymir. 

“No, he’s not!” Crow whisper-yells back.

“Trust me. I’ve known Rean for five years now, and those are definitely fuck-me pants.” 

“What are you even talking about? What the hell are fuck-me pants?!”

“Pants you wear when you want to slut it up.” She gives him a sly, knowing smile he really doesn’t like. “Exactly like your shirt.”

Crow looks down at himself like he won’t be wearing the fitted, blue Henley with all three buttons undone. 

An incomprehensible stammer spills out of Crow’s mouth before he gets a grip on himself. “T-That’s not what—it’s just a shirt!” he whisper-yells. “I’m not trying to ‘slut it up’ or whatever!” he insists, even though there’s not a soul on the planet gullible enough to believe him. “I didn’t even get to pack my own shit! This is from the thrift store.”

She doesn’t believe him. Not at all. 

Probably because he’s a dirty, rotten liar.

“It’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” Alfin says with sympathetic reassurance. “I mean, you’re clearly not the only one peacocking here,” she replies with a nod toward the kitchen.

Crow rolls his eyes. “They’re just pants.”

Alfin looks like she’s about to say something that might render him catatonic when a 50-pound mass of black-and-white floof launches itself straight into Crow.  

Crow laughs and stumbles backward, tumbling over the arm of the sofa and landing on his back. Badeaux leaps after him, all excited, panting, and trying to lick his face. 

He’s never loved this dog more. 

“Oh my God, Badeaux, down,” Rean tries to no avail.

“He barely even let us wipe his paws before he came barrelling in here,” Elise sighs. 

Teo sighs and shakes his head. “I don’t know what’s gotten into him.”

“I’m popular with animals and little kids,” Crow replies. “You know, things with small brains.”

Teo chuckles, but Badeaux gives him a look.

“Not you, Badeaux,” Crow corrects. “You’re a big-brained boy genius, yes you are!”

This satisfies Badeaux, who allows Crow to right himself and sit properly on the couch before getting comfortable in Crow’s lap.

“Did you finish up for the day, Mr. Schwarzer?” Alfin asks.

He brightens. “Alfin! I’m so glad you could make it for Christmas,” he says, giving her a hug. “How was the trip here?”

“I slept most of the way,” she replies. “I wanted to arrive early so Elise and I could go skiing. Unfortunately, I’m out of practice, so I only lasted a few hours.”

“Well, you’re both in college now. I’m not surprised you haven’t found time to hit the slopes this winter,” he remarks. “How’s your family doing?”

“Cedric is still on his backpacking trip through Europe,” she explains. “I get why he feels like he needs to do it and I know he’s safe with Shirley—but she’s as likely to start a bar fight as she is to stop one, so I can’t help being concerned,” she admits. “Still, he video called us, and he seems happy. Ollie, Mueller, and Shera are all doing well. Things are still a little complicated with my parents, but they’re doing better.”

“Give them our best, will you?”

“Of course,” she replies. “Will you sit with us?”

“I can’t,” he says with a sigh that tries unsuccessfully to mask how tired of this shit he is. “It’s been one thing after another today. Badeaux was getting antsy and it didn’t seem fair to drag him around any longer, so I wanted to drop him off at home.”

“Don’t push yourself too hard,” Elise reminds him, though she knows he absolutely won’t listen. 

“I know my limits. I’m not that old yet,” he replies. 

“Well, you’re a grandfather now, so you owe it to Altina to take care of yourself,” Alfin reminds him sweetly.

Teo gives her a smile. “Okay, okay. I’ll be back in time for dinner. But I’ll have to leave now if I want to keep my promise.”

This woman could talk somebody wearing white gloves into buying a ketchup popsicle in the summer heat, Crow thinks as they all bid Teo goodbye for now. 

Elise and Alfin settle into the loveseat, and Altina moves to the comfy chair. Crow figures she probably wants some space to herself with a new person here, so Rean takes the newly emptied seat next to Crow on the couch.

“The tree looks great,” Elise remarks with a smile. “Who picked it out? It’s perfect, so I know it wasn’t Crow.”

“They’re so mean to me, Badeaux,” Crow laments as he rubs behind the dog’s ears. 

“Altina did,” Rean says proudly. 

“It’s beautiful. And it smells like proper Christmas,” Alfin remarks. 

“I struggled to decide between the Siberian Fir and the Frasier Fir,” Altina explains. “But I am glad you are pleased with my selection.” She looks so deeply validated that she blushes a little bit. 

“See? What’d I tell ya?” Crow reminds her. 

“You also said you would beat me in a snowball fight, so pardon me for finding the veracity of your opinions questionable,” she teases.

“You got him good, didn’t you, Altina?” Elise asks with a satisfied smirk. 

“I suppose I owe my victory in large part to Rean throwing Crow over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.”

He will never, ever live that down, will he?

Elise throws her head back and laughs like it’s the funniest thing she’s ever heard. She must not get out much. “I’d have paid to see that.”

“You don’t have to,” Rean replies smugly. “I can always do it—”

“I’m ready for you now, mister,” Crow interrupts sharply. “You won’t get the drop on me again.”

“So you say.”

Go ahead, laugh it up, Rean. See how you like this: “We met a nice old lady at the Christmas tree farm who told us all about how Rean cried over poultry as a kid,” Crow explains in retaliation.

Elise laughs again. “Who deaded the chicken?!” she says in Rean’s direction, who suddenly looks like he wants to become part of the couch and disappear. 

“... Okay, you’re gonna have to explain that part,” Crow replies.

Rean tries to protest, but Elise talks over him. He’s an ant, and she’s a bulldozer. 

Elise’s eyes sparkle with the specific type of mirth unique to one sibling finally having the chance to embarrass another. “So, I was too little to remember it, but the story is that Mom took Rean and I to the butcher shop for some chicken. She asked for it quietly, but the butcher repeated the order out loud to make sure he got it right. Rean got all distressed and demanded to know ‘who deaded the chicken’.”

It’s not hard to picture Rean as he was in that ornament standing at the butcher’s counter, sobbing inconsolably and shouting “who deaded the chicken?!”.

“Oh my God, Elise, I was five!” Rean reminds her. “It was a phase!”

“I know, I know,” she replies. “You stopped after Dad told you about the whole circle of life thing.” Her smile sharpens. “Which was when you started thanking your dinner.”

Crow imagines little Rean sitting at the dinner table with his palms prayerfully pressed together, saying something like “Thank you for being my food, Mr. Cow”.  

It’s so fucking cute it hurts.

“Hey, Elise, do you remember that time you wanted to play with markers and draw on your hands and started crying uncontrollably because the marker was on your hands ?” Rean asks with a frosty edge. 

Alfin giggles and throws her arms around Elise, pressing a quick kiss to her reddened cheek. “Too cute! My heart can’t take it!”

”You’re all terrible, except Altina,” Rean remarks, folding his arms.

“You are very lucky to have such memories preserved in family lore,” Altina replies. Then, as if she can sense he’s about to launch into an apology, “I will be sure to inquire about who deaded the chicken at the next opportunity.”

“Should we talk about the time you took NyQuil before school and thought the turtle in the science lab was talking to you?” Rean asks pointedly.

“I did not know the medicine was soporific!” she retorts.

Crow can’t help but laugh. It’s so easy to picture her deep in a very serious conversation with a turtle.

Elise eyes Crow. “You seem like the kind of kid who’d try to bite nickels in half to make more nickels or something.”

Crow cackles. “Can’t say I ever tried that. But I did accidentally make a shrapnel grenade with a buddy of mine once.”

“H-How do you accidentally make a shrapnel grenade?!” Rean asks incredulously.

“We were just kids when we were playing around in my grandpa’s garage and found this old can. We thought it’d be cool to see what happened if we put a bunch of stuff in it with a couple of firecrackers I had left over from Fourth of July. We threw whatever was lying around in there—nuts, bolts, nails,” he watches Rean cringe more intensely with each item he lists, “lit the fuses, and sealed it up.”

“The firecrackers were your idea, weren’t they?” Rean asks wearily.

Crow laughs. “Yup. Heh, I remember the exact moment we realized we were screwed.” He and Stark had looked at each other with the same “oh shit” expression and Crow instantly shoved him through the door and back into the house.

When Pops asked him about his day, he tried the time-honored tactic of pretending he had no idea what happened, but the gouges in the garage walls and ceiling were hard to miss. Pops just sighed, asked if anybody had been hurt, and told Crow he’d be spending his Saturday learning how to patch drywall with him.

“That sounds like something my friends Juna and Ash would do,” Altina says with a fond smile.

Rean slaps a hand over his eyes. “Please, do not give them any ideas.”

“Sounds like you got yourself a colorful group,” Crow remarks.

Altina nods. “Ash pretends he’s too cool to care about anything, but he is very creative and deep down, he cares very much. Juna is energetic and persistent but a bit scatterbrained. She can be headstrong and reckless, though she means well. Kurt is quiet but thoughtful and very dedicated to his studies. Musse is a senior and very popular, but she doesn’t seem to care about that, and hangs out with us anyway. She is extremely intelligent and likely to be valedictorian of her class. I get the feeling she is lonelier than she lets on. She also frequently makes inappropriate comments to and about Rean.”

Elise and Alfin laugh. 

“Glad to hear she hasn’t changed much,” Elise replies. 

Altina blinks. “Do you… know Musse Egret?”

Wait. 

That party Vita was talking about earlier. 

“It’s being hosted by a lovely family—the Egrets—who, rumor has it, are close relatives of Cayenne’s niece.”

There’s no way. 

“She’s younger than us, but she went to our high school before she transferred and we graduated,” Alfin explains. “We had some classes together and we’re still good friends.”

“The thought of you and Musse in the same room scares me,” Rean sighs in the manner characteristic of someone recalling memories of trench warfare.

“She’s lovely,” Alfin insists. 

“I swear, she’s trying to get me fired,” Rean complains.

“She thinks very highly of you,” Altina replies. “But I do not think she is attracted to you.”

Must be gay, then. Crow can’t imagine any other reason why any woman with a pulse wouldn’t be attracted to him.

Okay, that’s it. He needs to get the fuck out of here before he says something stupid like that out loud or lets another childhood anecdote slip.

Crow hasn’t talked about Pops or Stark in a good decade. Rean shows up and suddenly, all the shit he’s kept locked up and guarded by rabid dogs and broken glass comes out like it’s easy? Who knows what else he’ll say if he stays much longer. 

He’s letting himself get way too comfortable.

“I’ll go make us all some tea,” Alfin announces, interrupting Crow’s thoughts. “I came across this Eastern blend made with cherry blossoms I think Rean is really going to like.”

“As much as I’d love to take you up on that, it’s getting late,” Crow says, hiding how much effort it takes to make himself force the words out. “I should go.”

“Are you sure?” Rean asks as though he’s hoping Crow will reconsider. “You’re welcome to stay for dinner.”

He’s surprised by how much he wants to agree. To sit here, petting the dog and drinking fancy tea, chatting about random things. He hasn’t felt like this in years—before everything fell apart and he and Pops would go to Stark’s place and they’d play while the grown-ups gossiped over mulled cider. When he belonged somewhere. 

But he doesn’t belong here, and he’s just fooling himself thinking otherwise. He’s literally here to screw them over. God, how the fuck did this get so messy?

Rean. That’s how.

“Nah,” Crow replies, gently slipping out from under the dog, who gives a little whine that pierces his heart. “I actually have work to do. Not every potential investment pans out, so I need something to show Cayenne for the new year. I had planned to get started a few days ago, but he sent me here instead.”

Rean tries not to look disappointed. He smiles and stands up, heading toward the foyer to retrieve Crow’s coat from the closet there. Crow follows him into the hall, eyes carefully trained on the back of Rean’s head. No way is he going to risk glancing at the man’s ass with Alfin here.

Rean hands him his coat and hat, along with the scarf Rean wrapped around him earlier. 

“Thanks for all your help today,” Rean says earnestly, and fucking Christ, how can any grown man have that much genuine honesty in him? How has he not been torn apart, chewed up, and spat out by the world?

“It meant a lot to me, and I know it did to Altina.” He smiles, and Crow forgets how to breathe. “She’ll finally have the Christmas she deserves, and I couldn’t have made it happen without you.”

It’s sweeter than sugar-coated cotton candy, so sweet it should repulse him, but it just makes Crow feel warm and awkwardly flustered.

“I didn’t do anything,” Crow insists.

“You helped me connect with her in a way I might never have figured out. I’m grateful.”

He means it. His expression leaves no room for doubt or misinterpretations. There’s a weight to those words, but Crow is too weak to hold them, too clumsy to keep them without tripping over himself and shattering them to shards.

So he jokes instead. “So… does this mean I’ve paid off my interest?”

Rean laughs. “Not quite yet.” He offers another one of those heart-stopping smiles. “Have a good night. Don’t work too hard.”

“Good luck surviving Hurricane Alfin,” Crow replies, earning him a laugh that sounds uncannily like the bright shimmer of coins spilling into the tray of a slot machine. “That girl is a category 5 menace.”

“You have no idea,” Rean answers wearily. 

He lingers there for a moment more, unable to make his feet obey his brain and head out the door. He does manage it, though, and finally steps back out into the icy mountain air. 

It’s fucking cold. It’s cold and he hates it.

His mood sours as he trudges down the path from the Schwarzers’ house toward the town. Nothing has changed; it’s all bright and festive, but it just makes Crow tired. He’s probably exhausted. 

It’s fine. He’ll snap out of it. He’ll have to if he intends to placate Cayenne. If Crow can just find an alternate investment opportunity, maybe he can convince Cayenne that Ymir isn’t worth the hassle. It won’t stop Osborne’s machinations, but that’s out of his hands. 

He passes by the general store and almost doesn’t catch a uniquely bright shade of orange-red hair. He probably wouldn’t have caught the hair if it weren’t attached to a guy wearing a ridiculously fancy, bright purple coat.

Crow stops in his tracks and casually glances through the window to confirm his suspicions and… yep. That's definitely Arundel. 

What the hell is he doing here? Maybe he never left. Crow’s not sure how he could have missed that garish a man in a town this small, but who’s to say he hasn’t been wearing something else? More important than how long is why. Is Teo entertaining their proposal, too? Playing both sides against each other for a better deal?

Crow frowns. He’s pretty good at detecting when he’s being played. He’s known some world-class manipulators and bullshitters, and the Schwarzers just don’t fit the bill. If the Schwarzer family’s earnestness is an act, they’re the best there is.

If that’s not the case, why is Arundel here? For observation? Or has he already begun implementing Osborne’s usual tactics? Teo has been busy—exceptionally so, now that he thinks about it. Is all the discord he’s dealing with normal, or have there been more issues than usual? 

Well, there’s only one way to find out. 

He drops back and tugs Rean’s hat lower on his head and pulls the scarf up over his nose. He breathes in that scent again, that brightly floral yet masculine scent that makes his chest go tight and his head… he’d normally say “giddy”, but Crow Armbrust does not get “giddy”, so maybe he’s over-tired or something.

By the time he gets his bearings, Arundel is stepping out of the store and back into the crowd. Crow follows at a distance, which is more difficult than it ought to be because this guy is insanely intuitive. He seems to know exactly when to look over his shoulder—but he grew up at a fancy private school overseas; he didn’t claw his way out of the gutter, so Crow has the edge between them. It’s weirdly vindicating. 

He tails him back to a cozy little bed-and-breakfast, much more exclusive (and judging by the rates Crow finds online, expensive) than his own lodgings. If he weren’t fucking freezing, Crow might wait around, but he’s on the verge of becoming a human popsicle, so he doesn’t. He shuffles back into town and heads inside the first building he sees: an old-timey toy store.

Crow has no idea how this place survives; the population of children isn’t exactly booming, and what kids there are will grow up and leave this frozen wasteland, but it’s endured somehow. Still, a place like this might actually weather the tourism boom. Rich folks love to treat their kids, and—wow, there’s a whole wall of games.

Board games, card games, DND stuff…. Hah, it would be pretty fun to play Catan with the Schwarzers—though on second thought, given that he’s here to essentially build his own “settlement” and kick them out of theirs in real life, it might be in bad taste. Risk could be interesting. Elise would probably dominate, though Alfin might beat her if she’s willing to fight dirty—which, Crow assumes, she is absolutely in no way above doing. 

He sighs and turns away from the wall. Why bother even thinking about it? It’s not like he’ll find out what board game night at the Schwarzers’ might look like. He’s got a date with Ordine and some spreadsheets. Maybe he’ll try those stupid hot springs later, just so he can finally tell Rean he’s crazy. Then again, he probably won’t be hearing from Rean anymore. It’s not like he has a reason to contact Crow now that they’re square. Rean said they’re not, but he was just teasing. Crow is… kind of disappointed, which he shouldn’t be because he met this guy three days ago, but it’s the truth. It doesn’t really—

His thoughts come to an abrupt, screeching halt when his eyes catch on a plush toy sitting on the shelf to his left. It’s a dead ringer for the bunny doodle in Altina’s sketchbook.

He picks it up and turns it over in his hands: soft, fuzzy black fabric with white accents and blue stitching. The tag reads Claimh Solais. 

He stares at the black rabbit in his hands. He was going to buy it the moment he recognized it, but he pretends he needs a minute to think it over for no reason other than to convince himself he’s not excited about finding it, and gives a resigned sigh before he heads to the counter.

The clerk smiles at him. “Somebody just bought Airgetlam,” she offers apologetically. “You just missed him by an hour or so.”

Crow gives her a puzzled look.

“They’re usually sold as a set,” she explains. “It’s from a story about twin girls with magic dolls that—you know what? Never mind. It wasn’t really mainstream, and the plushies are cute all on their own!”

“My friend’s kid used to have one,” Crow replies. “I thought she might like it.”

“That’s so sweet! These plushies are pretty hard to find nowadays, so I’m sure she’ll love it! Would you like me to put it in a gift bag for you? It might be tough to wrap. No charge!”

Crow nods. He’s a man who knows his limits, and gift wrap is one of them. He hasn’t wrapped anything in over a decade, and Altina has enough ammunition to use against him.

The clerk sticks the toy in a shiny bag with a snowflake on it and stuffs some decorative tissue paper inside. He’s sure there’s more to it than that because it looks nice when she hands it over, but fuck if he knows how she did it. He takes the bag and thanks her, and heads toward the door.

He didn’t need to buy it, but how could he not? Sure, maybe he’s unconsciously trying to compensate for his own shitty experiences by giving her what he never had in foster care. He’s probably projecting his damage onto her, but kindness doesn’t cost him anything. She says she was spared the worst of the system, but loneliness is damaging in its own way. Just because she didn’t have to play punching bag for some asshole doesn’t mean she’s not worthy of Crow’s empathy. It’s not the damn Misery Olympics or some shit. 

Luckily, the cold stops his thoughts from veering any further into the detritus of his past. He’s dawdled long enough. It’s time to get to work.

Chapter Text

Crow exhales, leaning back in his chair as he rubs his eyes. Ordine is pretty reliable—she’s a program, so she’s not infallible, and her data is only useful if you know how to interpret it, but he does, and she’s giving him some weird results. 

He configured her to detect potential investment opportunities and patterns based on available data, company assets, past trends, etc. What makes her better, more effective, and more efficient than anything else is that Crow has fine-tuned her algorithms himself. He still has to do the research on his own, but she’s turned up quite a few leads for him. She’s also a huge part of why Crow has been able to predict Osborne’s plays so quickly. 

But right now, she’s off. She’s acting like the company is barely breaking even, when Crow knows for a fact that’s not true. He closed on six deals that netted them millions this year alone—and that was just Crow. Sure, most of that money is in assets, not cash, but still—Ordine knows that. He can’t figure out exactly what the problem is, but the results she’s giving him don’t make sense.

Sabotage? Not likely. No one but him and Vita knows about Ordine, and even if the Osborne group somehow discovered his secret weapon, they’d have to get into Crow’s hotel room. It wouldn’t be beyond Lechter’s talents, but cracking Crow’s laptop sure as hell is. There’s no evidence that anything was moved, either. 

The answer is probably a lot less interesting than it seems: Cayenne is up to another one of his hare-brained shell-cooperation schemes, and it’s fucking with his data. He and Rufus have set up a whole slew of them like Russian nesting dolls: one company owns another, which owns another, which owns another, and if you follow the money long enough, you can trace them all back to the Cayenne Estates family. 

ILF is technically one of those shells, but it’s funded by both Cayenne and Ouroboros (mostly Vita; he suspects she wanted to see what Crow and his little pet project could do before committing serious company resources). 

Cayenne has been obsessed with transferring properties to his shell companies lately, trying to make everything look neat and tidy for the accountants when they buy out the Osborne Group’s remaining assets. Crow’s not sure how or why Cayenne thinks a bunch of frenzied transactions will look less suspicious, but he knows better than to comment on it. It’s probably got to do with FCC monopoly laws or some shit—their only real competitor at this point is the Osborne Group, after all. Grease the right accountant’s palms so they ignore the connections between Cayenne Estates and its shell corporations, and those companies look like competition. 

Still, it’s weird Cayenne didn’t mention it to him. 

Then again, Crow has no illusions about his role. He’s not a general, just a lowly soldier, and unfortunately, that means Ordine isn’t able to turn up much. Still, it’s not like things were a total bust. He did get some ideas to pursue with just the ILF’s assets. There’s a couple hundred acres in their name outside Celdic that would make great warehouse space. If they convert it, they can rent it out for close to a million a month. Of course, Crow won’t see a dime of that money, but it’ll keep Cayenne happy. 

He sighs. This certainly isn’t what he thought he’d be doing with his life, but for a while, he didn’t think he’d live this long, so he supposes it beats the alternative. Not everybody gets to be an astronaut when they grow up.

He flops down on the bed and closes his eyes, but he’s restless. 

What is Rean up to right now?

Ugh. Crow has never been this hung up on anyone. They haven’t even fucked! Maybe that’s the problem. The chase or whatever—except Crow isn’t chasing Rean. He’s been trying to escape. Not that he’s been putting much effort into staying away, but still… he’s just sort of going with the flow, not actively pursuing Rean.

This doesn’t feel like it did when they first had coffee together. Rean is still hot—yet, somehow, despite learning that the man has a god-tier ass, all he thinks about is Rean’s stupid smile and bright eyes. While Crow certainly wouldn’t mind hearing him moan, he’s fantasizing about Rean’s laugh, and he craves it like some back-alley junkie shaking for a fix.

What the fuck is wrong with him?!

Thinking isn’t helping. The hot springs will just make him think of Rean, which will make his problem a thousand times worse. He doesn’t really have money to waste, but fuck it. 

It’s time to hit the bar.

The only place he knows is the tavern where he met with Teo, so he bundles up and braves the arctic lash of the bitter wind. He’d rather drink in his room, but the risk he might drunk dial Rean is way too high for Crow’s comfort. Plus, it’ll do him good to get out. He’s sociable. And if he’s not feeling it, it’s easy to find a dark corner and brood solemnly at the bar.

The tavern is warm and alive, and thankfully, not playing Christmas music. It’s oddly crowded despite it being so close to the holidays—then again, he wouldn’t be surprised to find half these people are here to escape their visiting in-laws. By some small miracle, he manages to score a seat at the far end of the bar and orders a whisky. He’s had to develop a tolerance for it in his line of work, so it goes down easy now. The liquor warms him from the inside, thawing his earlier tension. It was a pretty good day, all things considered. Way more fun than he’s had in a while. 

That’s part of the problem. He’s not here to have fun and make friends and think of new ways to make the most perfect man in the world laugh. This is supposed to be work. Crow is supposed to be the one charming them, luring them in with expensive gifts and lucrative contracts, dazzling them with promises of a gilded, glimmering future, and somehow, he’s the one blinded by Christmas lights and shitty, handmade ornaments.

He gulps down his drink and sighs, ordering another. He’s tempted to toss this one back, too, but he just swirls the liquor in his glass and stares into it, then fidgets with the little black stirrer.

He doesn’t want to be so mopey. He usually just works when he gets like this, goes to the gym, or hits a bar with Gelica and George. Chaperoning Angelica requires all of his focus, and George always drinks him under the table, so he’s not thinking about much when the night ends. They’re good people; he just doesn’t let them close. He doesn’t let anyone close—so how the hell has Rean ended up under his skin? The worst part is that it’s not even a little bit unpleasant. He expected it to chafe like sandpaper, but it’s just… weirdly warm.

Can he please just go one minute without thinking of Rean? 

He sighs hard and gulps down half his drink. Damn, he needs some distance. The fact that he’s disappointed and already dreaming up excuses to see Rean again confirms it. Maybe he’ll look into transferring to the St. Arkh branch when he’s allowed to return from his exile, just to minimize temptation once he’s back in the real world. It could never work between them, regardless of how the Ymir deal pans out. It’s been a cute little fantasy, but reality will set in soon enough. Rean is way too good for him. Crow is 41 different flavors of fucked up with more baggage than a Samsonite warehouse.

Crow takes a small sip from his glass and sighs in resignation. In a few days, everything will go back to normal—

Something grabs his bicep. 

Crow wrenches away and thankfully, bothers to spare a glance at his assailant before he throws a punch in their direction.

He blinks. 

“What the fuck are you doing here?!”

Alfin gives him a cheerful grin. “Altina kicked Rean out to work on something. Apparently, he was ‘impeding her creative process’, so the three of us decided to get a drink.” She points across the bar, and sure enough, there’s Rean and his sister sitting at a high-top table. Elise side-eyes her brother while Rean waves at him with a smile.

Crow absolutely does not melt. 

“We haven’t been here long,” she says. 

“Are you even old enough to drink?” Crow asks pointedly. 

“I’m happy to enjoy a mocktail. Buuuut there’s no rule about bringing your own booze.” She winks.

“Yes, there is,” Crow insists. Is she crazy? “There is very much a rule about that, Alfin!”

“You seem like the kind of guy who never met a rule he didn’t break.” 

He’s long since grown out of it, but he can’t exactly say she’s wrong. He’s just shocked at how easily she reads him.

She laughs at his expression. “You’re too much fun to tease, you know that? Rean would never allow such a thing. Now come over and sit with us.”

This is not at all what he imagined Elise’s girlfriend would be like.

“Surely you find our company preferable to drinking alone,” she adds with sad cat eyes. 

Crow bites his lip, then sighs. “Fine.”

Way to put up a fight, he thinks to himself. 

Alfin claps her palms together. “Hooray!”

He grabs his drink and weaves through the crowd, and somehow, there’s an empty fourth seat at the table waiting for him. It looks like a bunch of people have migrated to the open area nearby to dance, so the chair likely won’t be missed. 

“Long time, no see,” he offers, trying very hard not to seem awkward and in no way succeeds. “I’ve been here for a while, so I’m good to go if this is weird. You guys don’t have to be polite.”

“Just sit down,” Elise replies in a voice that suggests he ought to know better. “I don’t intend to be polite.” Ah, there’s the Elise he knows.

“I didn’t want to bother you if you wanted time to yourself,” Rean explains, adorably sheepish. “I’m sure you’re sick of me by now.”

Like he could ever be sick of Rean. “Not at all. If anyone’s outstayed their welcome, it’s me.”

“Don’t say that,” Rean replies. “You can stay as long as you like.”

Crow narrows his eyes skeptically. “So you can start charging me rent on top of interest?”

Rean laughs, and fuck, Crow needed that. He swears he can feel the sound waves thrumming through his bloodstream.

“Eliiiiise, your brother is a vicious capitalist,” Crow whines.

She looks at them both, clearly aware there’s a larger joke she’s missed. Then, her expression goes flat as if to say, “idiots” with a sigh.

“Poor Crow,” Alfin laments. “Rean’s going to take the shirt off his back.” Somehow, she makes it sound both innocuous and suggestive, and the gleam in her eyes makes it clear she’s thoroughly enjoying this.

The drink and a half gives Crow’s lizard brain a golden opportunity to imagine Rean ripping Crow’s shirt off in a fit of wild, animalistic passion. He clutches the metaphorical lizard’s neck in a panicked attempt to strangle it once and for all, but it slips away just to spite him.

“What’s wrong, Crow?” Elise asks, smirking. “Someone doesn’t like playing by his own rules?”

He wants to fall to his knees and thank her for digging him out of the hole Alfin shoved him in—even if she only steered the conversation back on track to assuage Rean’s potential embarrassment.

“I didn’t invent capitalism,” Crow pouts. 

“Feudalism did—that’s the prevailing theory, anyway,” Rean explains, sipping his beer.

Oh yeah, he teaches History, doesn’t he?

“You’re not drunk enough to go full-on history nerd,” Elise remarks.

“Elise, it’s literally my job to go full-on history nerd,” Rean reminds her in a flat tone. 

She chuckles. “Remember that time you drunk-dialed me and left a 20-minute voicemail about the Magna Carta?”

“I didn’t mean to! Alisa said that punch bowl was non-alcoholic!” Rean retorts in his defense.

“How have I not heard this story?” Alfin asks, intrigued.

“Because there’s no story,” Rean insists. “Gaius invited Elliot to a party, so he dragged me along for moral support. I didn’t know Gaius too well at that point, and I didn’t want to leave Elliot alone, so I hung out with Alisa. She confused the punch bowls and finally got the courage to make out with Ferris. I got bored, so I called Elise.”

“And talked about the Magna Carta for 20 minutes,” Elise repeats.

“I once saw a guy set his mustache on fire ‘cause he just had to do a flaming shot,” Crow replies.

Everyone at the table either laughs or asks him if he’s serious.

“You sure that guy wasn’t you?” Elise teases.

“Yes,” Crow replies pointedly. “He worked for a company we closed a deal with. We were all at dinner celebrating and I guess he thought it would impress his boss or something.” Crow can’t help but laugh at the image in his memory. “I don’t think he knew you’re supposed to put the fire out first. He freaked the fuck out and the alcohol came shooting out his nose. I’d never seen someone’s face so red before.”

“That’s certainly one way to make an impression,” Alfin laughs.

“The guy’s boss fell out of his chair laughing. Not sure what happened to his career after that, though,” Crow replies.

“Sounds like you’ve got some stories,” Alfin remarks with considerable interest.

“You meet some real interesting people working in corporate. Don’t even get me started on the idiot who nearly threw hands with a bartender over a bottle of Louis XIII.”

“The French king?” Rean asks curiously.

“A $20,000 bottle of cognac,” Crow answers. 

“Wait… really? That’s how much it costs?” Rean inquires, dumbfounded. 

“Yup,” Crow replies. “Restaurants usually don’t like to open a bottle like that unless they’re gonna get their money’s worth, which ain’t gonna happen if somebody only wants one glass. It turned into a whole thing. Guy made an ass out of himself and I had to smooth everything over.”

“Sounds like a charmer.” Elise’s sarcasm could not be heavier.

“Yeah, he was a real class act,” he agrees, matching her cynicism and taking a sip of his drink.

Alfin laughs. “My big brother ended up in a bit of an alcohol-related situation while he was abroad. Racked up a bar tab he couldn’t pay, then somehow convinced the manager he’d work it off by performing. He actually ended up becoming a bit of a local celebrity there.”

“No shit?” Crow asks.

“I wouldn’t believe it if his partner didn’t confirm it. His stage name was the Debaucherous Prince,” she explains with a fond chuckle.

“We’re talking about bad decisions made under the influence,” Crow reminds her. “That’s the coolest story ever.”

“Well, Elise and I would never dream of drinking underage,” she says with clear exaggeration as she eyes Rean, “so I’m afraid we have no such tales of woe.”

Rean takes a long drink of his beer and sighs, shaking his head. “I don’t want to know.”

“C’mon, they’d be legal in Europe,” Crow says, gently elbowing Rean. 

“Have you ever made a good decision while drunk?” Rean asks pointedly, as though he already knows the answer.

The question conjures broken images of a spinning nightclub bathroom where a behemoth of a man holds Crow’s hair back as he pukes his guts out. There’s also a tall, skinny guy standing protectively nearby, shouting at a human-shaped blur to keep his hands to himself because Crow is a goddamed baby and… something about sticking someone’s dick in a bear trap if he got any closer? 

Those guys felt so bad for him they took his half-conscious ass back to their apartment and let him sleep it off on their couch. The hell were their names again? Leo and… fuck if he remembers.

Turns out, sneaking into a gay club underage and getting sloppy drunk so someone will take you home, thereby giving you a place to sleep, is not a sustainable life plan. Who knew?

Rean gives him a smug smile, which means that Crow’s expression must convey his regret sufficiently enough to answer the question.

“Thought so,” Rean replies with too much satisfaction for Crow to let the matter drop. 

“Plenty of artists and writers made tons of great work under the influence,” Crow counters. He’s not sure why exactly he’s arguing when he fundamentally agrees with Rean… the guy just brings out his competitive nature. 

“Ginsberg?” Rean asks with a smirk.

Crow pouts into his drink. “Shut up.”

“People make plenty of bad decisions without alcohol all the time,” Elise reminds them. 

Alfin hums in agreement. “There’s no blaming alcohol for that bob you had in fourth grade,” she says solemnly to Elise.

“You were never supposed to see that picture,” Elise counters.

Rean gives his sister an accusing glare. “Hah, that wasn’t nearly as bad as the time you cut my bangs.”

“Cedric tried to give me straight bangs when we were twelve,” Alfin says in a commiserating tone with a sympathetic expression. “They were so bad, he cried.” 

“I tried to dye my hair blue,” Crow offers. “Only it was less the ‘electric blue’ I wanted and more ‘dirty pigeon blue’.”

“I’m trying to picture you with blue hair,” Elise muses, squinting at him.

“It wasn’t as bad as what happened to my buddy,” Crow continues, chuckling at the memory of poor Stark. “We tried to give him highlights ‘cause I didn’t think I needed the hair bleach. It went as well as you’d expect.”

“A friend of ours did the same thing with his brother!” Alfin replies with a laugh. 

An amused but thoughtful expression flickers across Elise’s face.

“I’m sure that went over well at home,” Rean remarks.

Crow chuckles. “Pops had a good laugh and said I was definitely my mother’s son. He showed me some photo albums from her teen years, and it turned out she had a huge punk phase.”

Pops was never shy about making sure Crow knew his mother and father, but it was always a little harder for him to talk about his daughter’s childhood. Crow can still remember sitting on the couch with the photo album in his lap, looking at a picture of his mother with bright blue hair and Stark’s mom’s electric pink. Pops sat beside him, an arm around his shoulder as the late afternoon light spilled in through the blinds and made the whole room glow. Or maybe that was just his brain romanticizing the memory because he had felt special that Pops was sharing something so precious with him.

“I wonder if Mom has any pictures from Dad’s band era,” Elise muses.

“She must have something,” Alfin replies with an excited smile. “I’m sure if Altina asks, she’ll pull them out right away.”

“Oh, speaking of Altina,” Crow says, turning to Rean. “I picked up something for her earlier—just a dumb little thing I saw and thought she might like.”

Rean’s face doesn’t light up so much as resemble the sun breaking over the horizon in a brilliant blaze of gold-drenched glory. 

“I don’t wanna be weird or anything, so if you wanna just give it to her yourself, that’s cool,” Crow adds, realizing how fucking strange it sounds for a grown man to buy a present for an 11-year-old kid he just met.

“You haven’t been weird with her at all,” Rean insists.

“She’s obviously quite fond of you,” Alfin adds. “You must tell me your secret!”

Crow shrugs. “There’s no secret. She’s still insecure about her place with Rean being permanent, so just treat her like normal.”

Rean sighs. “I keep telling her—”

“She believes you,” Crow explains. “She’s still got her own hang-ups, so just be patient.”

Rean looks both grateful and relieved.

“I admit, I was rather worried when you told us you were taking her in, Rean,” Alfin confesses. “But I think it’s been good for you.”

He smiles and finishes off his drink, then sighs. “I know everybody thought I was crazy. Hell, sometimes I thought I was crazy. Maybe I was. But just because something’s crazy doesn’t mean it can’t work out.”

“How very philosophical,” Elise replies with a small smirk. 

Rean flicks a bead of condensation from his glass at her.

She flinches away. “Ugh. Real mature.”

He grins, then picks up his empty glass. “I’m getting a refill,” Rean announces. “What’s everybody drinking?”

“Shirley Temple for me, please,” Alfin says.

“Get me one of those apple-cranberry mocktail things,” Elise replies.

Crow looks into his glass and debates whether or not he should have another drink. 

What’s one more bad decision?

“Whisky,” he answers. “Anything but Jack Daniels.” Three drinks is his tipping point where he moves from buzzed to tipsy, so he’s still in the clear. He feels pretty good right now, and it’s a welcome relief after his earlier melancholy. As much as he wishes it were otherwise, he can’t deny that he enjoys being around these people—even Elise. 

“So, Crow,” Alfin says the second Rean turns his back and heads toward the bar. “Tell me all about yourself. I have so much to catch up on!”

“There’s not much to tell, honestly,” he answers. “I work for Cayenne Estates and that’s really it. I sleep at the office more often than my apartment.”

“That’s no fun,” she replies with a pout. “All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy, you know.”

“Good thing my name’s not Jack,” Crow retorts.

She chuckles. “When Elise told me about you, I tried the usual social media vetting, but you’ve got absolutely no digital footprint.” She sounds disappointed for some reason. 

“You’re… disappointed you couldn’t cyberstalk me?” Crow asks flatly.

“Of course!” 

At least she’s not denying it. He appreciates her honesty.  

“Wouldn’t you want to know about a mysterious, handsome stranger who showed up in your girlfriend’s hometown just before Christmas? What if you swept her off her feet in my absence?!”

Crow snorts. “The only way I’d ever sweep Elise off her feet would be if I picked up her corpse.”

Elise actually laughs and gives him a nod of agreement.

“My Elise is quite a catch, so I can’t be too careful,” Alfin replies. 

“How’d you two meet, if you don’t mind me asking,” Crow inquires.

“School,” Elise explains. “I was lucky enough to get a scholarship to a private, all-girls boarding high school in Heimdallr, so I took it. Rean was headed to college, and it was a chance I couldn’t pass up.”

“I was smitten the moment we met, but it took Elise a little while to come around,” Alfin interjects.

Elise rolls her eyes, as though she knows what’s coming.

“She’d tell me about this college boy she knew every time I tried to flirt with her,” the blonde continues. “It made me so jealous! She never mentioned that boy was her brother.”

Elise sighs wearily. They’ve clearly had this conversation before. It must be Elise’s penance for making Alfin wait so long. “I wasn’t sure I liked girls back then and I panicked. Now, she’ll never let me live it down.”

Crow chuckles. “You sound like an old, married couple.”

“That’s the dream!” Alfin replies cheerfully. “Four years down, forever to go.”

“For what it’s worth, I think you’ll make it,” Crow offers. 

“I think so, too,” Alfin says with a smile. “What about you? Someone special back at home?”

Crow laughs at the thought. “Nope. Too busy.”

“Perhaps you just need a person worth making time for,” Alfin suggests.

As if on cue, Rean arrives with everyone’s order and sets the glasses down on the table before distributing them. 

Crow accepts his drink with a nod and quickly notices that Rean’s switched from beer to something in a martini glass.

“So you’re a martini guy?” Crow asks.

Rean laughs. “You can call just about anything a martini if you put it in the right glass. Though it does have gin in it, so I guess that counts.”

“As long as it tastes good, right?” Crow says, raising his glass. 

Rean clinks his own against it with a smile and takes a sip.

Crow braces himself for the sharp, bitter flavor of cheap whisky, but he’s pleasantly surprised by the smooth blend. Shit, this is better than what he ordered for himself!

“Did I get the wrong thing?” Rean asks with concern. “I’m not a whisky drinker, so asked the bartender what she recommended.”

“No, it’s great,” Crow replies, giving Rean a pleased smile. “It’s better than the shit I was drinking earlier.”

Rean’s smile hits him harder than anything he’s had to drink all night. It warms him from the inside and makes his fingertips tingle with a strange electricity.

“How’s yours?” Crow inquires, if only to break the hypnotic effect of Rean’s smile.

“Delicious,” Rean answers, brightening. “I like lychee, but I never thought about using it in a cocktail. I don’t like overly-sweet things, so mixed drinks can be hit or miss for me.”

Crow takes a sip of his drink just to keep himself from staring at Rean like a fucking weirdo.

“I don’t know how you drink that straight,” Rean remarks, his face now contorted in a slight cringe.

“It’s just about the only thing he does straight,” Alfin giggles.

“You don’t know me well enough to make that joke,” Crow retorts, more petulant than actually irritated, which is weird because he really should be annoyed with her. Maybe the alcohol has mellowed him out.

“I think I know you just well enough, actually,” she replies, eyeing his unbuttoned shirt meaningfully before meeting his gaze again, as if to say: I clocked you the minute I saw you, and we both know it.

He hates that she’s right. 

“Now that everyone’s here, let’s get a picture to commemorate the night!” Alfin declares, already pulling up the camera app on her phone and holding it out to try and get the best angle. It’s kind of silly, considering Crow is right there.

“I’ll take it,” Crow offers.

“But then you won’t be in it,” Alfin explains as though it should have been obvious that she wants to include a guy she met a few hours ago in a group picture.

When was the last time anybody took a picture of him? Crow doesn’t even remember. He feels totally out of sorts for a moment, but then Rean scoots his chair closer and his shoulder presses against Crow’s, and suddenly, Crow can’t think about anything that isn’t the warmth of Rean’s body seeping through his shirt and into his skin. He smells even nicer up close. If Crow thought the residual scent of cologne on the scarf Rean let him borrow was dizzying, the real thing is… electric, as if every part of his brain is glowing like those blinding, LED headlights.

“One, two—Crow, you’re not even looking at the camera!” Alfin chastises. 

Crow snaps back to reality and smiles as Alfin takes the picture. Then, Rean slides out of his personal space, leaving Crow oddly bereft. That weird, fluttery feeling twists in his stomach again, and Crow takes another sip of his drink to burn it away. 

“Do any of you mind if I post it?” Alfin asks. “My account is private.”

“Knock yourself out,” Crow says. He genuinely couldn't care less.

Alfin does her thing, then smiles as she nudges Elise’s shoulder. “Look! Musse just sent me a picture from her grandparents’ party,” she turns her screen to Elise. “Doesn’t she look lovely?”

Elise smiles at the image. “She does. I can’t believe she’s turning eighteen next month.”

Rean groans, his face twisting as though he’s eaten something bitter and utterly vile. “I wish I could forget, but she won’t stop reminding me.”

“Oh, she says she wants to FaceTime,” Alfin says, her voice intrigued and curious. 

“That’s weird. She’s at a party,” Elise replies, and Crow can hear the note of concern underneath it. “Answer. It might be important.”

Alfin gives Crow and Rean an apologetic look for taking a call like this in a public place. Normally, it pisses Crow off to no end when people have conversations on speaker—in fact, it might be number four on that list of his least favorite things—but he’s busy watching Rean raise his glass to his lips and damn, what he wouldn’t give to be that particular piece of drinkware right now. 

That’s a totally normal thought, right?

“Musse, is everything okay?”

“You’ll never believe who I just met!” the girlish voice on the other line announces excitedly.

Crow isn’t paying attention to anything but Rean until Vita fucking Clotilde’s voice coming out of the phone’s speaker yanks him back to reality so hard he almost falls out of his chair.

“Oh my God, no way!” Elise gasps excitedly. “The Misty? From Abend Time? That’s my favorite podcast!”

Why the hell is Elise calling Vita ‘Misty’? And how does she even know her?! 

“What? Who the hell is Misty?” Crow asks, utterly perplexed.

Vita’s voice laughs, and there’s no mistaking it. He’s sure it’s her.

“Is that my little Crow I hear chirping in the background?” she asks with a note of delight that makes him instantly regret ever opening his mouth.

Alfin turns the phone toward him. Yep, it’s definitely Vita.

He gives her a wave and prays for mercy.

“What a surprise! Looks like I did get to see you tonight after all!” She flashes him a sly smile. “Hard at work, I see.”

“Same to you,” he retorts. “Since when do you have a podcast?”

“Touche,” she replies. There’s a brief pause where he sees a revelation spark in her eyes, and the smile on her face tells him it’s nothing good. “Ah-ha! So you’re the mysterious guy who’s been spending time with Musse’s beloved teacher.” She eyes him knowingly. “Nice shirt.”

Alfin cackles. 

Crow wonders if he should throw himself on the butter knife nearby and be done with it. Failing to kill himself like that would at least be less embarrassing than this.

Blessedly, Rean just looks confused. 

Alfin turns the phone around, and Crow’s not sure if he should be grateful.

“Sorry to interrupt your evening,” Vita says, though her voice implies she’s not sorry in the slightest. “When Musse told me her friends were big fans, I thought it might be fun to call. ”

Bullshit, Crow thinks. You did her a favor so she owes you something.

But what the hell does Vita need from Cayenne’s 17-year-old niece? She mentioned something about “due diligence” earlier, so she’s probably investigating any potential financial ties the kid might still have to Cayenne Estates. She’ll probably cash in her favor by asking Musse to introduce her to the grandparents. She’ll use her position at Ouroboros to start a conversation about finances, and it’ll be easy for someone like her to ply the information she needs out of them from there.

She stays on the line for a bit longer, tells them to listen for a shout-out in her next episode, then ends the call. Alfin is gushing about how she can’t believe they got to talk to Misty for real, while Elise is staring at him, looking utterly devastated for some reason.

“What?” Crow asks.

“You just got so much cooler,” she laments despondently. 

Crow laughs. “I’m still as lame as ever,” he reassures her.”

“Now you have to tell us how you know Misty!” Alfin insists with fervent enthusiasm. “All the details!”

“It’s really not all that exciting,” Crow explains, hoping to temper her enthusiasm. “She works for a VC firm that invests in Cayenne Estates—it was actually her who convinced Cayenne to give me a real chance.”

“She made it sound like the two of you are close,” Rean says, trying to keep the curiosity out of his voice. 

“Nah,” he sighs. “She’s… complicated. Hard to tell when she’s being real and when she’s working an angle. Sure, she’s helped me out a lot, but she also benefited from my success. That kind of thing.”

Rean nods, taking a sip of his drink. 

Crow chuckles. “Not surprised she has a podcast, though. That woman loves to hear herself talk.”

“I’m surprised you’ve never heard of Abend Time,” Rean replies. “Even I listen to it.”

“I’m sorta old school, I guess,” Crow explains. “Yeah, I got music on my phone, but there’s something fucking cool about chilling at home and putting on a record.”

“My big brother adores vinyls,” Alfin says fondly. It’s clear she looks up to him. ”He’s got such an amazing collection. Everything from Billie Holiday to Beyoncé.”

“I’m jealous of your brother. I get what I can at estate sales ‘cause they’re usually priced cheap, but the selection is limited,” Crow replies. 

“He really fostered a love for music in Cedric and me,” Alfin explains. 

“You know, I’m surprised they’re not playing Christmas music in here,” Crow remarks, gesturing with his hand to indicate the bar.

“Tomorrow’s the Christmas Eve festival. Everyone in town spends so much time preparing for it, most of them want a night to relax and let loose so they can actually enjoy themselves and get into the holiday spirit tomorrow,” Rean explains. 

“They sure are lettin’ loose,” Crow remarks, scanning the crowd of groups and couples moving around to the music. Even the old woman from the Christmas Tree farm is out there.

“Then we ought to join them!” Alfin declares, popping out of her seat and taking Elise by the arm. “Come on, darling! Dance with me!”

Elise bites her lip. “How can you want to dance after we went skiing?”

“Pretty please? Just a few songs!” 

Damn, Alfin does not fight fair. Those big, blue eyes practically have Crow folding, and he’s not even into women.

“... In a minute,” Elise grumbles. “I need to mentally prepare myself.”

Alfin grins, the expression wide and bright, and Crow wonders how Elise managed to fend off her girlfriend’s advances for a whole year. He’s honestly kind of impressed with her willpower.

The upbeat notes of a new song hit their ears, and Alfin runs out of patience. She grabs Rean’s hand and tugs. It’s probably a testament to Rean’s years of martial arts that he doesn’t fall on his ass. He tries to refuse, but, as always, Rean is too sweet for his own good and lets her drag him over to the improvised dance floor because she really, really likes the song.

Which leaves Crow sitting alone at the table with Elise. 

Great.

Crow doesn’t panic. Instead, he sips his drink and contemplates whether it’s possible to slide stealthily under the table and slink along the wall until he can reach the door. Maybe if she turns away for long enough, he can make it to the exit—but he’d have to sacrifice his outerwear, and it’s just too fucking cold for that. 

Shit.

She catches his eyes. She’s like half his size, so it shouldn’t be hard to look away, but she has this insanely commanding presence that demands his attention. “Seriously. I need to know: are you just fucking around with Rean?”

Crow blinks. “What?”

“Is he a part of your plan to get Dad to sign your proposal?” she asks.

He appreciates her for not beating around the bush, but he’s surprised by her directness.

“No,” he answers. “I’m not—I don’t… I’ve been trying to keep my distance, actually,” he admits, sighing as he runs a hand through his hair. “You can see how well that’s going for me. I honestly don’t know what the fuck is happening.”

How articulate. Crow is going to blame the alcohol for the inelegant deluge of word vomit that just came spilling out of his mouth. 

For some inexplicable reason, his uncertainty relaxes her. “I get that it’s not my place to say who Rean should or shouldn’t be involved with. Just know that if you break his heart, they’ll be identifying you by your teeth.”

“Wait—I-I think there’s a misunderstanding here,” Crow stumbles over his words like a flustered idiot, each one tripping over the heels of the last because okay, yes, he’s very much attracted to Rean, but it’s not anything beyond that.

Elise looks at him questioningly, like she’s waiting for a punchline, then shakes her head and lets out a huge sigh. She draws in a breath and turns her eyes to the dance floor. She watches the crowd for a moment or two, and Crow takes another sip of his drink because he has no idea what the hell is going on, so it can’t hurt. 

Finally, Elise exhales, as though conceding to something. 

“My brother’s been eyeing you since Alfin dragged him out there. Go dance with him.”

Crow sputters inelegantly; it’s a shocked stammer of incoherent noises at a pitch he will never admit his vocal cords are capable of producing as he tries to formulate a response.

Elise scoffs, like Crow ought to know better. “He’s like one of those sad puppies from an ASPCA commercial every time he looks over here. I can’t take it anymore.”

“That’s not fair, Elise,” he protests, as images of poor, neglected animals bombard his brain. 

“Just look at him and tell me I’m wrong,” she insists.

Crow glances over, and he has no idea what Elise is talking about. Rean is fine! He’s laughing and dancing with Alfin, and—

His eyes cut toward Crow and sure fucking enough, Crow can practically hear the lachrymose strands of Sarah McLaughlan over the upbeat pop song he knows is actually playing in the background.

Elise nudges him with her foot under the table, and he knows she’s got that smug expression of victory on her face without even looking at her. “What’d I tell you?”

He exhales and grudgingly gets to his feet against literally all his better judgment. He hasn’t been able to say no to regular Rean on a good day. He has no fucking chance against sad puppy Rean. 

“I hate you,” he mutters.

“I hate you, too,” she replies, giggling. She adds insult to injury by grabbing Crow’s half-empty glass and throwing the contents back while Rean isn’t looking. 

“Hey!” Crow protests. “That was actually good whisky! You’re not supposed to—hey !” 

His protest dissolves in a startled noise as she grabs his wrist and, with surprising strength, yanks him off balance and toward the crowd. To be fair, Crow’s teetering at the very edge of buzzed, so his reflexes aren’t all that fantastic, and Elise has the element of surprise on her side.

“I’ll trade you,” she says to Rean, shoving Crow toward him while she takes Alfin’s hand and playfully pulls her into an embrace. 

Rean is just as ill-prepared for this turn of events as Crow, which leaves them standing there awkwardly, inches away from each other.

“This feels like high school,” Rean remarks with an awkward laugh that somehow sets Crow at ease.

“Bet you had people lining up around the block to ask you for a dance,” Crow teases. 

“Now that’s the pot calling the kettle black,” Rean replies. 

Crow laughs. “Jokes on you. I’ve never even been to a school dance.”

Rean thinks he’s joking for a moment, then his expression goes shocked, like he can’t quite wrap his head around it. “Wait… really?”

Crow shrugs. “Wasn’t my scene.”

“Ah, you were an emo kid, weren’t you?”

“Find me a lyric more clever than ‘I love you in the same way there’s a chapel in the hospital’. I’ll wait,” Crow retorts.

Rean laughs. “‘One foot in your bedroom, and one foot out the door’, right?”

Crow points at Rean, or he tries to, but they’re so close he sort of pokes him in the chest. “You accuse me of being emo like it’s a dirty word, but you’re no better than I am, Rean Schwarzer.”

“I wasn’t so emo I boycotted school dances,” Rean reminds him.

“I didn’t boycott them,” Crow explains. “I just didn’t see the point in going. Besides, I barely even finished my sophomore year, so it’s not like I had a lot of chances.”

Rean pauses thoughtfully for a beat. “I’m a little late, but…” his face goes a little shy as he holds a hand out to Crow. “Do you want to dance with me?”

This ridiculous, impossible man is asking him to dance because he skipped out on it in high school. God, Rean even looks nervous around the edges of his expression, like he thinks Crow might reject him or mock the gesture. 

He should. 

He should double over and laugh until he can’t breathe, but for some reason, it’s not funny at all—it’s so fucking adorable that Crow almost can’t take it. His chest feels funny, like his heart is melting and aching at the same time, which he desperately hopes is indicative of a serious medical condition because the alternative is too much to think about.

Saying no would be the smart thing. But he’s two and a half drinks in and his lizard brain is poking out from behind the rock it usually flees under, reminding him that Rean is so unfairly hot and he’s sweet and he’s right fucking there.

It was never even a question.

“Sure. Why not?” Crow says, taking Rean’s hand. 

Rean’s face lights up in a way that puts the Christmas tree in the center of town to shame. The lizard cheers him on as Rean pulls him in and they move with the music.

Rean’s pretty good on his feet. His movements are so fluid, it’s almost hypnotic—all those years of martial arts have made him something to behold. It’s a struggle to look away from Rean at the best of times, but right now, it’s impossible. 

Crow has never really been one for dancing—he’s not averse to it; he just hasn’t had a reason or an urge to do it outside of his kitchen or while cleaning his apartment. It’s… kind of fun, though, here at the edge of this impromptu dance floor. He can feel the thrum of the bass in his body, and the rhythm is catchy even if he doesn’t know half the songs. Occasionally, they do play something he knows, and he laughs when “Mr. Brightside” summons everyone within earshot and the whole bar sings together so loudly they can probably be heard down the street. He imagines people abruptly popping out of doors and windows to join the chorus, which makes him laugh harder than he has in years. 

He explains this to Rean, who has no idea why his dance partner is suddenly cracking up, but luckily, he finds it just as amusing, and Crow gets to hear him laugh uncontrollably, which is so much more potent than usual. His regular laugh is narcotic in its own—now that he’s heard this, he’ll never be the same again. He knows that the first high is always the most powerful, that addicts chase that feeling with every hit, and Crow finally thinks he understands why.

A slow song finally sweeps in, and Crow doesn’t know what to do with himself, but Rean fixes that. He takes Crow’s hands and puts them on his waist, then links his hands together behind Crow’s neck.

Fully sober Crow would probably freak out, but slightly tipsy Crow just asks if it’s okay. 

“No, I arranged us like this because it wasn’t okay.” Rean’s sarcasm could not be heavier. Not if it were the densest uranium sealed in a six-foot-thick lead box, encased in concrete, and dropped into the Mariana Trench. Cherynolbyl’s sarcophagus has nothing on Rean’s sarcasm. “Everyone should have to suffer through an awkward high-school style slow dance once in their lives.”

Crow laughs.

The thing is, though, it’s not awkward with Rean. It’s… comfortable, actually. 

Alarm bells should be blaring in his head right now, and maybe they are, but between the lights in Rean’s eyes and the warmth of his body and the buzz of the alcohol in Crow’s veins, he can’t hear them over the music. 

He’s never slow danced with anyone, now that he thinks about it. No one’s ever taken him in their arms so gently and demanded nothing in return, not since he was a child. Jesus Christ, before Lucia, when was the last time he even hugged someone? He doesn’t do hugs and warm fuzzies because he’s a grown ass man and he’s not supposed to need that shit—plus, letting someone close enough to hug you makes it easier for them to shove a knife in your back. 

There’s no fear of that with Rean. Somehow, Crow knows for certain that Rean would turn the knife on himself before he ever used it to hurt another person (unless it was the only way to protect someone he loves).

“This is kinda nice,” Crow blurts out because the alcohol has loosened his tongue and torn gaping holes in his brain-to-mouth filter.

“It is, isn’t it?” Rean answers with a sweet smile that leaves Crow in utter shambles for a moment.

Crow lets out an amused sigh once he collects himself. “You have no idea what you do to people, do you?” 

Rean’s cheeks flush slightly, and Crow remembers just how much he loves when that happens. “I’m nothing special,” Rean insists.

Nothing special? Hah! Yeah, right. Crow can’t help but laugh. 

“What?” Rean asks, then smiles wryly. “Imagining the whole town breaking into a fully-choreographed dance to ‘Mr. Brightside’?”

Crow laughs abruptly at the mental picture. “You really think you’re nothing special?”

“I’m just a history teacher,” Rean replies.

“And a motherfuckin’ ninja,” Crow reminds him.

Rean laughs, and God, nothing else will ever hit like that, will it?

“Seriously, you’re something else, Rean. I’ve met a lot of people and not a single one of ‘em was like you. It ain’t about what you do for a living. It’s who you are—”

Before his mouth gets carried away spewing sappy, sentimental mush he’ll certainly regret, he’s saved by a beat he’d recognize anywhere as the bar erupts in a chorus of:

Apple-bottom jeans, boots with the fur…

“There cannot be this many millennials here,” Crow remarks with a laugh. 

“Oh, they still play this one at school dances,” Rean explains.

Rean has no shame about shaking his ass to the beat, and if Crow dies now, he thinks he’d probably be cool with it. 

One song bleeds into another and another, and he’s not sure how long they dance, but it’s all too soon when the bell rings out, clanging loudly as the voices behind the bar shout, “Last call!”

“Shit,” Rean balks. “It’s really after one?!”

Crow checks his phone and what the fuck? He’s been here five fucking hours?!

“I need to call Altina—” Rean says hurriedly as he taps on his phone and breathes a sigh of relief. “Alfin sent her the picture and texted her earlier. Altina told me to have fun and not to worry.” He frowns. “I can’t believe I lost track of time like that.”

“It happens,” Crow says, patting his shoulder. “She’s probably glad you enjoyed yourself and didn’t cut your fun short on her account. She’ll also probably use it against you when she eventually misses her curfew.”

Rean’s expression drops. “She will, won’t she?”

“It got late fast,” Alfin remarks as she and Elise enter their orbit as they head back to the table. “Crow, are you okay to get back to your hotel alone? Rean can walk with you.”

Subtle, Alfin. Real subtle.

“I’m fine,” Crow replies, even as his lizard brain claws and shrieks at him to take the offer.

“Are you sure?” Rean asks, making it that much harder to resist. “I really don’t mind.”

Maybe Crow was strong enough to resist inviting Rean in yesterday, but he’s got none of that resolve tonight. He wants to say yes so badly —he can imagine how easy it would be to pull Rean against him, seal their mouths together, and fall into bed—but that’s a line he can’t cross. Rean deserves more than one night, which is all Crow can offer.

“I’ll be fine. You’ve got a kid to get home to. If Elise comes home without you, Altina might worry.” Thankfully, he has enough presence of mind to keep, “Especially if you don’t get home until tomorrow morning,” in his head. 

Rean’s expression shifts. His eyes widen just enough to suggest he’s put two and two together. “Well, at least text me when you get back to your room, all right?”

“Sure, Mom,” Crow teases.

“Hello, Oedipus,” Alfin chuckles just loud enough for Crow to hear.

“That’s Dad to you, mister.” Rean says it as a joke because he’s Altina’s dad, but seems to realize with swift horror that he’s basically just told Crow to call him Daddy. 

Even more appallingly, Crow’s lizard brain chirps “yes, Daddy” in enthusiastic agreement, and okay, seriously, he’s not even remotely into that, so what the fuck?! That slutty, shameless little lizard! He swats it away and chases it back under its designated rock with a hatchet.

Alfin cackles in the background while Elise suffers from profoundly powerful secondhand embarrassment. 

“That came out wrong,” Rean offers.

“No kidding,” Elise groans, hiding her face in her hands.

Crow just casually laughs it off as he bundles himself back up in his borrowed coat. “Well, I’ll see you guys around.”

They bid him goodnight and once again, Rean reminds him to text when he gets in. He gives them a wave and a smile and heads out the door. 

The brutal cold has a sobering effect. The alcohol has long since left his bloodstream, but Rean is infinitely more intoxicating, and he’s been drinking in the man’s presence for hours. He drags his hands down his face and sighs, his breath turning to vapor in the icy air as he trudges toward the Phoenix Wings. It’s not far, thankfully, but it allows ample time for regret.

He doesn’t know when he got to be so foolish. Errant snowflakes tumble from the clouds overhead, whirling on the bitter wind, glimmering with luminescent shimmer in the streetlight’s comforting glow. 

It’s beautiful, he thinks. This whole place and just about everyone who embodies its sense of community. Places like this inherently foster communal obligation—how else did humans survive in such an unforgiving climate? They couldn’t. Not if they didn’t help each other. In a place like this, the usual, ruthless application of “survival of the fittest” ends in extinction. If only one human lives at the expense of the others, the species still dies.

What the fuck does it matter? He’s a corporate realtor, not an anthropologist.

He shouldn’t have danced with Rean. He never even should have sat with him. He should have politely turned down Alfin’s invitation or told her he was heading out.

There’s no room for plausible deniability now. He’s been falling—he just couldn’t recognize the feeling for what it was because it’s so unfamiliar. It’s not love, not after only a few days, but he can’t pretend it’s purely lust—not when he’s just as happy watching Rean smile as he is watching the man shake his ass. 

How the fuck did this happen so quickly? Was he really that easy to break? Is Rean just that good? Or did he manage to touch some part of Crow that’s been silently crying out all along? He doesn’t know. It doesn’t matter. It won’t get him out of this predicament, won’t clean up the mess he’s made.

That was their last dance—literally and metaphorically. He can’t let himself fall any further or the inevitable crash will kill him. There’ll be nothing left to salvage. 

He steps across the threshold of his hotel room and sighs, shedding his outerwear and texting Rean to let him know he arrived without incident; if he doesn’t, there’s a chance Rean might decide to check up on him in person. Once he checks in, he sets his phone aside and clears his head with a hot shower.

Of course, his phone shows a notification when he finishes.

Rean: Tonight was really fun. 

Rean: You should come to the Christmas Eve festival with me and Altina tomorrow. It’s a great time!

Crow sighs. Nope. Thanks for the invitation, but this is where it ends. 

Crow: Way too cold for me! But enjoy yourselves!

Rean: They have warming stations all over, and some of the events are even indoors! I promise, you won’t be cold!

Fuuuuck, why does he have to make everything so hard?

Rean: At least come for a little while, just so you can give Altina her gift. I bought your drink tonight, so you still owe me interest.

Crow sighs again. Well… he does need to drop off the present at some point. He’s definitely not going over there for Christmas dinner, so he’ll have to do it sometime tomorrow.  

Crow: If I go to this stupid festival, we’re square?

Rean: We’ll see 😜

Tch, asshole.

Crow: Fine. I’ll go to your stupid festival. But I’m leaving if it sucks. 

Rean: Great! We’ll meet at my parents’ house? Does 1pm work?

Crow: Sure.

He didn’t even try, did he? Well, maybe it’s a good thing. He hates the cold, Christmas cheer, and screaming kids, so he’ll be in a foul mood. No matter how abundant those warming stations are, he’s still going to freeze his ass off. It’ll be a good wake-up call, a stark reminder of how he doesn’t fit here and how incompatible he and Rean truly are. 

Plus, if Lechter really has been causing chaos behind the scenes, he’ll definitely pull something big at the festival. In a way, Crow is obligated to do that much for the sake of his job. Spending some time with Rean while he does it will just make the work more bearable. 

Chapter Text

It’s not a date.

Crow is just spending an hour or two in the freezing, miserable cold with Rean and his kid because he needs to make sure Osborne isn’t pulling any strings behind the scenes via Lechter.

That doesn’t explain why he spends nearly an hour fussing with his hair, especially when it’s doomed to be flattened underneath a hat, but so what? Crow is a man who likes to look nice. There’s nothing wrong with that. 

It’s not a date. 

“But you want it to be,” a horrible, traitorous part of his idiot brain chirps.

Yeah, well, Crow wants a lot of things, but life is full of tough breaks. No one knows that better than him. 

And still, that stupid, moronic corner of his heart that somehow hasn’t frozen over and shattered into pieces wants.

Worse than wants. It hopes.

Crow doesn’t do hope. It’s a delusion that never brought him anything but pain. Worse yet, it’s shortsighted and reckless. It’s irrational. 

Nothing is going to happen between him and Rean because it can’t. Pretending otherwise is stupid.

He repeats this mantra ad nauseum during his walk to Rean’s place, but he can’t help being distracted by all the booths and decorations that seem to have popped up overnight, with people bustling about. It really does look like a festival, and apparently, it extends well beyond the center of town. 

They used to do something like this in Jurai every December. The pier would be lit up, and the boat owners would try to out do each other’s decorations. The park would be decked out with all sorts of Christmas displays, and they had plenty of games and cookies for the kids.

Stark was terrified of Santa when he was really little—Crow can’t blame him; the thought of a strange, old man breaking into your home, even if only to leave presents, is kind of weird. It definitely did not sit well with Stark, and he refused to sit for a picture with the universal symbol of holiday cheer unless Crow was with him.

He sighs. Sometimes, he wonders what happened to Stark. He was smart as hell, even when they were kids, so Crow is sure he’s fine wherever he ended up. He’s considered looking Stark up, but he can never quite bring himself to go through with it. It would open doors better left closed, and besides, Stark probably doesn’t even remember him. It’s been over a decade now. Stark was what… nine, or something, the last time they saw each other? Crow is better forgotten, anyway. 

By the time he finishes his train of thought, he’s standing in front of Rean’s house. He can’t quite shake the gloom, which is probably a good thing, because it tempers the weird, fluttery thing going on in his chest as he knocks at the door. 

It’s not long before the door opens, and there’s Rean: smiling so brightly it obliterates the last dregs of dark melancholy from every corner of his mind. No one in their right mind should be that happy to see him. Rean probably wouldn’t be if he knew a damn thing about the kind of man Crow truly is—but, for now, at least, he doesn’t, and it makes Crow feel strangely warm despite the frozen chill. 

Rean lets him in, and Crow steps through the doorway, accidentally brushing against his shoulder. There are at least three layers of clothes between them, including a winter coat, but that doesn’t seem to make Crow any less affected. 

Ugh. He’s become a fucking walking cliche. He hates it. 

“You did not bring hot chocolate this time,” Altina observes with mild disappointment.

He turns his head toward her and gives her a smile. “I figured we’d grab some at the festival. But I do have something for you,” he says, holding out the gift bag and trying very hard not to be awkward. 

She looks like she needs a moment to process what’s going on, which makes him feel a little less out of his depth. 

“Saw it at a store I happened to stop in on my way back to the hotel after I left here yesterday.”

Altina takes the gift bag slowly, as though it might disappear in her hands. She’s scrutinizing both him and the bag, and he can’t blame her. It’s fucking weird to get a gift from a guy more than twice your age who’s known you for all of three days. 

Still, she decides to open it, curiosity winning out like it usually does with her. Crow thinks about all the ways this could go horribly wrong because the road to hell is almost universally paved with good intentions, but when she takes the plushie out of the bag, she recognizes it immediately.

There’s a moment of utter shock and disbelief, like she’s not sure she can trust her own eyes. She traces the blue stitching on its belly with her fingertip. “Claimh Solais…” she barely whispers.

“Hey, that looks just like the bunny you always draw,” Rean observes.

“It is!” Altina explains, her awe gradually giving way to joy. “I used to—it was the only thing I had from my birth parents, but it got ruined at a group home. I thought I’d never see it again.” She holds the plush in front of her and when she smiles, it doesn’t just reach her eyes; it explodes in the flecks of her green irises, a happiness that makes her look like an 11-year-old kid for once, not a jaded prodigy who’s been shuffled around more times than a ball under a cup at a county fair. “It’s exactly like I remember! I can’t believe you found it!”

It makes Crow feel like he’s done something right for once in his miserable life, and it stirs something in him. Something strange and alien, a feeling he remembers like a distant echo, hollow and strained by time at first, and it’s only when it fills his chest to capacity that he recognizes the shape of its name: pride.

Crow is proud of this. 

It’s not like the pride he feels in his work: the vindication that comes with closing a deal that feels like a middle finger to everyone who considered him useless. It’s not like the pride he feels in Ordine, either: the satisfaction of creating something. The gesture is so infinitesimally small, and yet, the feeling it gives him is disproportionately enormous.

He can’t pretend he doesn’t know what it means to her. She probably spent nights whispering her woes into the stuffed bunny’s floppy, angular ears. Held it to her chest when she was afraid or lonely, cried into it when she was sad. She probably tried to teach it calculus because she had no one to play “school” with. But more than that, it was a physical reminder that she’d been loved once. A testament to the fact that someone, at some point, had wanted her. It reminded her that no matter how many times she got rejected or moved around, she was brought into the world by people who had carved out a place for her in their home and their hearts. 

It was an anchor. And losing it left her intact but adrift. It took a part of her with it, leaving her with a wound that would never quite heal because every time she went to reach for the toy, she’d remember it was gone. And no matter how often she told herself it didn’t hurt, that it was just a stupid toy and she was a big kid who didn’t need stuffed animals anymore, she would never stop wanting it.

Altina looks at him, unable to hide her joy, and then she’s got her arms around him, mashing her face into his stomach and nearly knocking the wind out of him with the intensity of the embrace. She laughs at herself (or, more likely, at the abrupt wheeze Crow lets out). Crow looks at Rean for guidance, utterly out of his depth. Rean’s got this adoring smile on his face that Crow in no way deserves, and he doesn’t even try to hide it; he just gestures for Crow to pat Altina’s head.

So he pats her head. “Don’t suppose this means you’ll stop makin’ fun of me, does it?”

“Absolutely not,” Altina assures him with a laugh.

“I figured,” Crow answers. 

She releases him and goes back to marvelling at the plushie as though she’s still amazed by its existence. “Thank you, Crow. I am very grateful.”

“It was no big deal,” he replies, waving it away with his hand.  

“That does not reduce my gratitude.”

Crow doesn’t know what to do with that, so he shifts awkwardly and rubs the back of his neck. 

“Why don’t you go put it upstairs, Altina?” Rean suggests.

Altina holds it to her chest instinctively. 

“I just don’t want it to get lost at the festival. You can even put it in my suitcase for safe keeping if you’re worried about it. Take your time. Nobody’s rushing to get anywhere,” Rean explains with warm compassion. 

He really is a fast learner, Crow thinks. A few days ago, he probably wouldn’t have understood her hesitation to leave the bunny behind, and he definitely wouldn’t have thought to offer his suitcase as an alternative place to store it. 

“Okay,” Altina agrees with a nod. She looks a little sheepish, like she can’t believe she’s being so foolishly sentimental, but grateful that Rean isn’t making a thing out of it.

Crow nudges Rean with his elbow once Altina disappears up the stairs. “Nice thinking with the suitcase.”

Rean turns to him with that same stunningly deep affection as before, and it makes Crow’s breath catch for a moment.

“I never even thought to consider whether her drawing was based on something real,” Rean remarks.

“Don’t go giving me too much credit,” Crow replies. “She told me about it yesterday when she showed me her sketchbook. I just got lucky as hell finding it at the store.”

“You paid attention to something she cared about and noticed the toy when you saw it, Crow. That’s amazing .”

Crow does his best to shrug the compliment off and ignores the warmth rising in his cheeks. “It’s more coincidence than anything.”

“You made her happy,” Rean continues. “Thank you.”

He’s caught in Rean’s gaze, unable to look away from the soft fondness he finds there. It makes him feel strange and shy, but he doesn’t hate it. In fact, part of him never wants this moment to end. 

He doesn’t know when they got so close to each other, only realizes they’ve drifted into each other’s personal space when Rean’s fingers touch the lock of hair perpetually falling over his eye. Alarm bells should probably be going off because there’s really not much space between them at all, but his internal warning system seems to have met the same fate as Crow’s other defense mechanisms when Rean is involved. Rean is a magnet to Crow’s compass, making it impossible to discern north from south. All he can feel is the pull, and it would be so easy to just lean in a bit closer and—

Altina’s footsteps on the stairs snap him out of whatever trance he’s in, and holy shit, what the fuck?!

To his credit, Rean manages to collect himself after only a moment of blind panic and recovers by pretending to pluck something out of Crow’s bangs.

“That’s better,” Rean announces, his voice trying just a little too hard to be casual. “You had some fuzz in your hair.”

Crow swallows, heart suddenly racing, and nearly blind with internal panic. Somehow, he doesn’t sound as strangled as he feels when he says, “Thanks.”

Altina looks from one of them to the other. She’s way too observant not to pick up on the tension dissipating in the room, but it either doesn’t bother her or she doesn’t care. Or maybe she’s still caught up in the excitement of having her stuffed rabbit back. Crow desperately hopes for the latter as Rean and Altina get themselves into their coats.

Crow needs to get a fucking grip. God, did that just almost happen? Did he really let Rean that close to him without thinking anything of it?! 

At least things will have to stay platonic with Altina around for the rest of the day. It should prevent Crow from any more near fuck-ups while he tries to figure out why his brain just shut off. Shit. Sure, Crow has wanted to kiss people, but it’s always been because they were hot; he’s never wanted to kiss someone for the sake of kissing them. As part of sex or a one-night stand, yeah, but it’s never been some… emotional thing. 

Not that he has any emotional feelings about Rean. Sure, he’s nursing a bit of a crush, but it’s nothing deeper than that. He’s only known the guy for a few days, so how the hell could emotions possibly be involved?

The last time Crow had a crush, he had just barely started puberty, so it makes sense that he wouldn’t be familiar with how it feels and everything that goes along with it. He’s making a big deal out of nothing.

Luckily, the cold does wonders for his racing thoughts. It’s hard to think about anything that isn’t how cold he is. 

“Have you thought about what you want to do first, Altina?” Rean asks as they make their way toward town.

Of course she has, and the answer turns out to be hot chocolate and ice skating. This is fine with Crow, until he learns that she’s included him in this plan. 

The closest Crow has ever been to ice skating is watching in the stands, usually from Cayenne’s private box with a client. 

He tries to come up with a polite excuse that will allow him to sit it out, but Rean offers to pay for his skate rental and Altina says something about how it’s okay if he’s not brave enough to try it, and for reasons that totally aren't related to him being down bad for Rean, he finds himself tentatively stepping onto the ice.

Saying he's like a newborn baby deer would probably be a grave insult to the fawn. 

His legs go out from under him, and he lands flat on his ass almost instantly. Well, part of the reason he agreed to attend the festival in the first place was to have a terrible time, he reminds himself. And he’s already hating this.

He tries to pull himself up and get his legs under him. It’s way more effort than it should be, and just when he thinks he’s got his balance, he goes down again.

Fuck. This is stupid! Why do people do this, anyway?

He tries a few more times and does eventually manage to stand up and move by pulling himself along the rail. He’s not going very far or very fast, but at least he’s on his feet. 

Until he’s not.

God fucking damn it.

Out of nowhere, Rean holds out a hand. Crow takes it, but not without grumbling. With Rean’s help and the wall, he gets himself upright.

"Just relax," Rean says with a smile. "If you lock your knees, you'll fall. Use your core for balance and don't think about it like walking. Let me show you. Watch my feet, okay?”

Rean skates ahead and, okay, yeah, sure, Crow can totally focus on Rean’s feet when his ass is right there. God, those pants leave absolutely nothing to the imagination, do they? 

His knees threaten to buckle, and he swallows down a whimper.

Rean turns around just in time to see him waver, and quickly skates to his side so he doesn’t fall again.

"Sorry. Lost my balance,” Crow lies like a dog, gripping the rail for dear life.

"I’m just glad you’re okay,” Rean replies with a relieved expression. “I'll show you again.”

This time, Crow mostly watches Rean’s feet instead of his ass, which, he observes, is becoming harder and harder to do. Still, he’s able to pick up on the way Rean is moving. His feet are kind of at an angle when he pushes off, and the way he moves is almost more like marching than walking. 

Crow experiments tentatively and doesn't fall, so that's a start. He’s hesitant to release his grip on the rail, but after a while, he decides to give it a try. He doesn't get far before he slips, but Rean’s hand reaches out and grabs Crow’s to steady him before he falls again. Crow rights himself and continues.

"See? It's not so bad,” Rean remarks with a smile.

"I've spent more time on my ass than upright, so… whatever you say,” Crow replies. “You’re pretty good.”

"Elise did figure skating for a few years when she was a kid. I tried hockey, but it wasn't for me,” Rean explains. "I fell way more than you did my first time.”

There’s no way he’s telling the truth, but it’s sweet of Rean to offer consolation.

"Where’s Altina?” Crow asks, afraid he’ll fall if he moves his head and starts looking around.

Rean frowns. "She said I was ‘hovering’ and skated off by herself.”

“Ah. She'll come back after a bit. Probably wants to try and figure something out so she can impress you. She likes getting validation, but only when she’s earned it. She can tell when it’s bullshit.”

"I wish I could read her the way you do. I've never seen her take to someone as quickly as she has to you," Rean replies. "It was months before she started letting me in “

"It only happened so fast with me ‘cause you did the hardest part already," Crow explains.

"What do you mean?”

"You got through to her. You earned her trust and kept it. Proved that not everyone was shit. She wouldn’t have given me the time of day otherwise. You got no idea how much that helped her.”

Rean looks a little shocked, like it’s never occurred to him that he might be responsible for any of the positive changes Altina’s experienced in the time they’ve known each other.

“It's like I said yesterday,” Crow continues. “You really have no idea what you do to people.”

Before he can even realize what he just said, Rean gives him this absolutely gorgeous smile: part laughter, part sunrise, part sheepish, and Crow’s heart nearly launches itself into the stratosphere when Rean squeezes his hand.

Wait. 

When did they start holding hands?! Have they been doing this the entire fucking time?! How did Crow not notice?

His body involuntarily squeezes Rean’s hand back in an attempt to prevent a full-body convulsion.

"You’re one to talk,” Rean replies, his voice soft and earnest, like he means it, and Crow flails spectacularly, landing flat on his ass. 

Rean goes down next to him, laughing like it’s the funniest goddamn thing in the world. The sound becomes an incandescent thing blooming in his chest; it's contagious, and Crow can't help laughing, too.

Rean pushes himself to his feet first and offers his hand to help Crow up. He should refuse it, should say something like:“Thanks, but I think I got this now” in a friendly tone that makes him sound like he’s determined to successfully skate solo to soften the rejection. 

But Crow really fucking sucks at ice skating. It probably won’t be long before he’s back on his ass, or worse. He could faceplant and break his nose or hit his head and end up with a concussion, and there’s no ER nearby. 

These are very legitimate concerns, and Crow is absolutely, 100% not making excuses because he wants to hold Rean’s hand, so he takes it. 

For safety. It has nothing to do with his crush.

It’s much easier getting up with Rean’s help than it would be alone, which reinforces Crow’s decision.

“Sorry about that,” Crow offers as they begin moving again.

“It’s fine,” Rean replies, still smiling. “I kind of deserve it for dragging you out here.”

“You just want Altina to have a good Christmas,” Crow says with sympathetic understanding.

Rean gives him an I-should-have-known smile and shakes his head. “You really know how to read people, don’t you?” he remarks. “I'm pretty good at sensing when somebody needs help, but you just get people.”

"Not always,” Crow reminds him, though he can’t help feeling flattered. “Some people are easier than others.”

“Yeah? What about me?” Rean asks. 

“Well, I definitely didn’t think you’d turn out to be a vicious loan shark when we met,” Crow teases.

"So what did you think?”

"Honestly? I thought you were the biggest bleeding heart sucker in the universe. Who gives their coat to a random stranger?” he asks with teasing accusation in his voice.

Rean laughs. “You were shivering!” 

“Nobody does that,” Crow replies. 

“They’re not all used to the cold like I am. I didn’t need the coat, and I had an extra at home. I saw somebody in trouble and I wanted to help.” The corner of his mouth pulls upward in a small, wry smile. “Plus, it was a good excuse to invite you for coffee.”

Crow somehow manages to stumble on the ice. His body pitches forward, and Rean’s grip on his hand is the only thing that saves him from face-planting.

He’s embarrassed, but this also validates his decision to keep holding Rean’s hand as a safety measure, so he can’t be too mad about it.

Rean’s concern melts into amusement, and he stifles a laugh as Crow regains his equilibrium. Little shit. He knew that comment would throw Crow off-balance, didn’t he?

“I… think the front of my blade got caught in the ice,” Crow tries in a pathetic attempt to salvage what might be left of his dignity.

Rean shows him the courtesy of agreeing, though the mischievous sparkle in his eyes makes it obvious that Crow’s not fooling him.

Altina suddenly appears beside them, her eyes gleaming with excitement. 

"Are you having fun, Altina?” Rean inquires.

She nods. "Look, guys! I can skate backwards!” she announces, skating out ahead of them, turning around, and demonstrating her new skill.

"That's amazing! Rean exclaims, beaming with pride.

"Yeah, I can barely skate at all,” Crow adds.

“I have heard it said that if you can't do something, well, you should learn to enjoy doing it badly," she replies.

"Whoever said that probably didn't fall on their butt twelve times.”

Rean rolls his eyes, amused. "It was hardly twelve. And you're getting the hang of it.”

“You mean I didn’t fall the last time I lost my balance?” Crow retorts dryly.

“See? That’s an improvement!”

Altina drops back to skate on Rean’s other side. “Better to land on your butt than your face,” she reminds Crow.

“Great, now you’re gonna jinx me,” Crow laments teasingly.

“I am in no way responsible for your lack of coordination,” Altina retorts.

“That was before you jinxed me.”

Rean sighs in amused exasperation. “We’ve got about fifteen minutes left on our rental. I think you can manage that.”

This would be a great time for Crow to say something to the effect of: “I've had my fill of fun on the ice. I'm gonna go turn in my skates and take some pictures of you guys,” but he doesn't. Because Rean is still holding his hand, albeit through gloves, and Crow doesn't want to let go. It's not like he'll have an excuse to do this again, so even though it's a terrible idea, he might as well let himself enjoy it while it lasts. Reason tells him this will only serve to encourage his stupid crush, which will make it harder to do what ultimately needs to be done, but why would he start listening to logic at this point?

“I appreciate your deeply misplaced confidence,” Crow replies cheerfully.

Altina laughs, and Crow has to admit, this isn’t as awful as he initially thought it would be.

“Have you thought about what you want to do when we’re done skating?” Rean asks Altina.

She nods. “Yes. I would like to make a gingerbread house.”

“I hope Rean’s got some baking skills, ‘cause I can’t promise anything I make is gonna be edible,” Crow replies.

“Rean has yet to successfully make those slice-and-bake cookies from the supermarket,” Altina explains.

“Okay, that had to be the oven,” Rean insists. “Or we used the wrong type of pan and they cooked too fast.” He turns to Crow. “She won’t let me try again.”

“The kitchen smelled of smoke for two weeks,” Altina reminds him. 

“That’s an exaggeration,” Rean retorts. 

Altina rolls her eyes. “Fine. Thirteen days.”

Rean realizes that it doesn’t sound any better that way, and his shoulders slouch in defeat. “Yeah, I’m a terrible baker.”

“You sure you wanna do the gingerbread thing, kiddo?” Crow asks Altina. 

“Fortunately, everything has already been prepared at the bakery. We will be doing design and assembly,” she explains.

She tells them about what she wants it to look like, and Crow and Rean exchange increasingly concerned glances. Sure, Crow was decent at art as a kid, but he hasn’t drawn anything in over a decade, and Altina is imagining what sounds like ornate, filigree-esque patterns and corbels and fancy windows. 

“That’s a pretty tall order, kid,” Crow replies. 

“I enjoy complex challenges,” she answers. “This is an artistic medium I have yet to attempt, so naturally, there will be a learning curve. But I am excited to try.”

“Go big or go home, eh? I respect that,” Crow muses. 

Before he knows it, their time on the ice has expired, and they have to turn in their skates. Crow is grateful to have his feet on the ground again, but the loss of Rean’s hand disappoints him more than it ought to. 

Rean leads them into the town bakery, which is blessedly warm and smells of Christmas. A few tables and chairs are set up with icing and all sorts of edible decorations. Crow and Altina grab a free table while Rean pays, and they're given the requisite parts necessary to assemble a gingerbread house, plus a little plate of gingerbread cookies for snacking.

Crow is picky about gingerbread; it’s usually too heavy on the cloves or nutmeg, but he has to admit this is good . It reminds him of the gingerbread Stark’s mom used to make. Shit, he hasn’t thought about that in years.

“According to my research, it is best to decorate the pieces, then assemble the structure,” Altina explains, setting out the pieces of the house. “Since Rean’s artistic ability is on par with those of a potato, he will be responsible for assembly.”

Crow lets out a surprised cackle. This kid is fucking hilarious sometimes. 

“Don’t judge a fish by its ability to climb a tree,” Rean reminds them. 

“Crow, I will need you to demonstrate your ability to pipe decorations,” she says, handing him a bag of white frosting and a piece of tin foil.

Rean watches him with a mirthful glimmer in his eyes, like a cat waiting to pounce, most likely to bully him when he fails miserably.

Altina shows him a complicated, doily-like pattern on her phone, and Crow takes a deep breath. He doesn’t remember the last time he put so much focus into a task, but it ends up being worth it when he manages to do a pretty damn good job. It’s not perfect, but it’s still fucking great. Even Altina looks impressed.

Crow will admit that latent art skills aren’t nearly as impressive a reveal as Rean’s ninja abilities, but it counts for something. Rean blinks a few times at the pattern like it’s some incomprehensible text.

“That’s… wow, that’s amazing, Crow!”

He should have deliberately failed. The praise is so much worse than the playful bullying. He knows how to handle that. Genuine compliments? Nope, nope, nope.

Ugh, he can feel his face getting hot.

Thankfully, Altina is eager to get started and divides the more artistic details between her and Crow. Rean is in dad mode again, snapping about a hundred pictures of Altina at work.

When they’ve completed the finer details (it’s certainly not perfect, but it’s not bad, either), construction begins. Rean is so careful as he pipes the icing “glue” to the cake board, and Altina holds the edges of the gingerbread with her fingertips to keep it in place. The three of them do manage to assemble it with minimal smearing, and then they go to work adding the candy decorations. Rean is allowed to help with that part.

In the end, it turned out much better than they expected. It’s not as ornate as Altina originally planned, and they had to improvise a bit, but it’s definitely something to be proud of. Altina loves it, and that’s really all that matters.

Rean goes on another photo-taking binge before they box the gingerbread house up to go. It may not get home in one piece, but at least Rean and Altina won't feel guilty about eating it if it breaks in transit.

Next on Altina’s list is checking out the Christmas bazaar. The rows of festive stalls are the spitting image Crow remembers from Jurai: decorated and bustling, all kinds of trinkets on display, glowing under the Christmas lights. It seems like every store in town is represented. Of course, there are plenty of Christmas ornaments for sale, and Crow notices the way Alina’s eyes linger on them every time she passes a display.

She doesn’t stop at any of them, though. Instead, something at the local glassblower’s booth catches her eye. When she stops to inquire about it, Crow pulls Rean aside quietly.

“You should have her pick out an ornament for the tree at your parents’ house,” Crow whispers.

Rean brightens with understanding, then his expression falls, and he shakes his head, frustrated, as though he’s failed as a father. 

"I can’t believe I didn't think of that!” he says in a self-admonishing whisper.

“Give yourself some slack, Rean,” Crow replies. “You can’t think of everything.”

Rean doesn’t look especially convinced.

“She’s having a blast so far. You’re doing everything right,” Crow offers reassuringly.

“It’s the little things I miss,” Rean says. “But they make all the difference.”

”Look, you may be adopted, but you ain't a foster kid. It’s gonna take some time for you to understand how she sees the world. You’re catchin’ on, though. You handled the stuffed bunny thing like a pro earlier,” Crow reminds him. “It’s only been a couple of days since this shit clicked for you. I know you wanna be perfect for her, but you don’t have to be. You just gotta be there. A Christmas ornament ain’t gonna make or break your relationship.” 

Rean’s lips pull into a small, grateful smile. “Thanks, Crow.”

Crow pats his head without thinking. He should be freaked out by how easily the gesture comes to him, but that’s something he’s not going to dwell on right now.

Altina decides to buy the little sculpture she's been haggling over from the vendor. She hands over some cash and accepts a small, festive bag in exchange. 

Then, she turns around and holds the bag out to Crow.

"Merry Christmas, Crow,” she says as though she’s quite pleased with herself. 

He stares at the bag in confusion for a moment. 

“You want me to hold it for you?” he asks dumbly.

She gives him an amused expression, though shockingly, she doesn’t tease him. “I am giving it to you. As a gift.”

“You don’t have to do that, Altina,” Crow replies, trying desperately to hide how utterly out of his depth he’s been thrown. 

“That is what makes it a gift, correct?” 

“I mean: you ain’t obligated to spend your money on me just ‘cause I picked up that toy for you.”

“I did not act on feelings of obligation,” Altina explains. “Please accept it.”

There’s not much he can do but take the bag from her hands. It’s kind of surreal, and he looks at it like an idiot for what is probably a concerning amount of time, but it’s just… weird. His throat feels strange and scratchy, and he tells himself it’s got to be the first sign of a cold, but deep down, he knows it’s not. He knows that because there’s a feeling in his chest that’s so embarrassingly childish; it’s warm and light, and he doesn’t know what to do with it.

For fuck’s sake, when was the last time somebody gave him a present?

That voice inside him tries to shout that he’s an adult and adults don’t need presents—they should be able to handle life’s shit by themselves, but it’s a whisper of its usual brash, abrasive sharpness.

He finally opens the bag and finds a small, bird-shaped glass figure. It's black but still sort of translucent. It takes him another moment to realize it’s a crow.

"I thought, perhaps, since you said you are not home very often, it could keep you company on your desk at work so you don't forget about us,” Altina explains. “It is small and unobtrusive, and would not look unprofessional.”

There's this weird, sharp sting in his eyes, and his throat feels raw from trying to swallow past the serrated mass that's lodged there.

He should refuse it, but doing so would be tantamount to telling her he'll forget her just like every other shitty adult that's entered and exited her life in a series of revolving doors. More than that, the irrational, childish part of him clutches this stupid little bird to its chest with near-animalistic ferocity. He doesn’t think he could let it go if he tried.

“It would also allow you to tell your colleagues that there is about to be a murder in your office,” Altina finishes. Her voice is deadpan, but she can’t quite fight her smile.

He has to think about it for a second, and the laugh it provokes makes the weirdness inside him abate. 

“When someone asks where I’m going, I can tell them I’m on my way to a murder,” he replies. “Or ask them to join me in my office for a murder.”

Rean laughs. “Better hope they all know you’re talking about a group of crows and not homicide. Are two crows enough to qualify as a murder?”

“Attempted murder, then,” Altina suggests.

Crow laughs, then carefully deposits the figure back into the bag. “Thanks, Altina.”

She doesn’t make a big deal out of it. She just gives him a smile and turns her attention back to the marketplace, heading off toward the next thing that catches her eye. She picks up a lovely bracelet for Musse, a locket for her friend Juna, a wallet on a chain for that Ash kid, and a pair of stylish gloves for someone named Kurt. When she announces that she’s finished her shopping and would like to try the Christmas Karaoke bar, Rean tells her to wait a second and brings her over to the booth selling what, in Crow’s opinion, are the nicest ornaments available.

He puts a hand on her shoulder. “Pick whichever one you want and we’ll put it on the family tree when we go home tonight.”

She gives him this wide-eyed, hopeful look as if to ask if he means it, and Rean nods. 

She plays it cool, but her body language screams that she’s utterly ecstatic. She scrutinizes the ornaments, examining them with as much care and attention as she did when trying to choose a Christmas tree, but this time, she makes a selection without the indecision paralysis. 

She chooses an adorable little bunny with a Santa cap. It’s definitely up her alley, and Rean smiles so brightly that it’s simultaneously hard to look at and impossible to look away from. He’s just so beautiful, especially when he’s happy. He gives Crow a look that reminds him of that almost-moment a few hours ago in the front hall of Rean’s house, and he feels his hands metaphorically unclench around the equally metaphorical rope keeping him tethered to things like professionalism and vengeance and sanity. It’s so hard to hold onto those things when what he’s aching to hold is Rean.

Letting his guard down will almost certainly come back to bite him in the ass when Rean’s warmth isn’t around to shield him from the ice-cold dose of reality he’s got coming his way. 

But it’s really hard to care when Rean looks at him like that.

Chapter Text

As a general rule, Crow does not sing Christmas carols.

He hates them. They grate on his nerves. All those songs about family and generosity and love—ugh. Spare him.

Vita has tried to rope him into karaoke more times than he can count at the Ouroboros company party she insists on inviting him to each year, and she always fails. He pretty much hangs out in the back with McBurn (that’s not actually the guy’s name; from what Crow understands, people kept butchering the pronunciation so badly that he just decided to go by “McBurn” because, according to him, it’s hilarious making very serious business people say it) and waits for the night to be over.

The point is, Crow detests Christmas music. But Altina likes to sing, and she wants to give karaoke a try, so here he is, at the tavern where he danced with Rean last night, enduring a tone-deaf, inebriated rendition of “Last Christmas”, and somehow, he doesn’t hate it.

He somehow ended up carrying everyone’s bags; Altina handed them off to Rean so she could peruse the available songs at the sign-up station. Rean offered to buy everyone a round of drinks, so Crow took the bags and set out to find them a table. Supposedly, this place has amazing mulled cider. It’s not something Crow would choose to drink on his own, but Rean’s taste hasn’t steered him wrong yet, so he’s willing to give it a try, especially if Rean is footing the bill.

Of course, Rean is probably covering the tab so he can add to Crow’s ‘interest’, which absolutely does not make Crow smile in a goofy, fond sort of way, so there’s no reason he needs to stop.

Crow manages to snag a small table close to the raised platform ‘stage’, not because he’s enjoying the attempted murder of WHAM! currently happening on it, but because it’s at a decent distance for recording, and Rean will most definitely want to record Altina’s performance. Plus, he remembers what she said about being nervous when she sang for her class at school, so it’ll be good to have friendly faces where she can see them.

Crow sits down and takes off his coat and outerwear, glancing around as he settles in. It’s busier here than he thought it would be. Not nearly as crowded as last night, but a bigger draw than he expected for Christmas karaoke. He’s pretty sure it’s the alcohol and not the local talent that’s enticing the patrons, but everyone seems to be in a good mood despite the rather… unique vocal stylings of the tourist’s performance. 

Crow has to admit, it’s hard not to be.

Yes, that defeats the entire purpose of agreeing to this whole outing, but… would it really be so bad if Crow actually enjoyed himself for once?

The voice that screams, “Yes, in fact, it would be CATASTROPHIC,” is silenced when he catches Rean’s eyes across the distance and waves him over. Rean offers a nod of acknowledgement and navigates through the bodies and tables until he sets the three mugs in his hands down. He offers Crow one of the big ones and takes the other for himself, leaving the smaller mug at an empty seat for Altina.

Rean takes a long sip of his cider as he glances in Altina’s direction, and his expression slips into unexpected concern.

“What’s up?” Crow asks.

“I’m really glad she wants to sing, but she’s still… shy about performing. I guess I’m worried she’ll get up there and lose all the confidence she’s built,” Rean admits.

“She’s got you here,” Crow reminds him. “Whatever happens, you’ll be there for her. That’s what she’ll remember.”

He doesn’t say that she’ll probably remember freezing up onstage and freaking out, too, because it’s obvious that Rean already knows.

Rean chews on his bottom lip, and Crow absolutely doesn’t think about what it would be like to bite it. “I just don’t want it to ruin her day.”

“Then we’ll have to make sure it doesn’t,” Crow says with a reassuring smile, like that’s something he can do. 

He’s about to chastise himself for such a stupid remark, but Rean finally smiles again, and Crow feels it in his chest. His heart does that weird thing that he reluctantly acknowledges probably isn’t palpitations, and he has no idea how to handle it, so he takes a drink of his cider to try and keep himself from thinking about it.

It’s surprisingly good. Not too heavy on the spices or sweetness.

“What do you think?” Rean asks, taking a sip from his own mug.

“It’s great,” Crow answers.

Rean smiles like he’s pleased, and yep, there’s that thing happening in his chest again. He can’t help it, okay?! The man lights up so brightly it makes everyone else in the room invisible, and the curve of his mouth is so damn pretty and—

Crow grabs a mental flamethrower and turns it on his lizard brain.

Thankfully, Altina arrives and takes her seat, eager to try the non-alcoholic cider.

“So, what song did you pick?” Rean asks her.

“Just tell us it’s not ‘Santa Baby’ and we’ll be all right,” Crow remarks. He’s pretty sure she wouldn’t do something like that, but… still. He needs to make sure.

“Because you would like to sing it?” she asks in answer, absolutely trying to egg him on.

If nobody in this town knew him, then… Crow might be able to put aside his disdain for Christmas music if he were drunk enough, and only to see the reaction it would get from Rean.

Crow’s expression goes flat. “ No. Karaoke’s not my thing. Why doesn’t Rean sing it?” he suggests with a smirk.

“Because it would be impolite to inflict that on everyone,” Altina answers factually.

Ouch. He knows Altina can be harsh, but damn. “Rean can’t be that bad,” Crow replies, turning his eyes to Rean, who offers a shrug and nod of acknowledgement.

“My friend Elliot said the same thing and took me to karaoke to prove it,” Rean starts.

“And?”

“He apologized for doubting me and said he’d trust my judgement from then on,” Rean finishes and takes a sip of his cider, laughing as he sets the mug down. “He tried so hard to be nice about it. I mean, I’ll sing along to music at home or whatever and my voice isn’t going to make somebody’s ears bleed or anything, but it’s not something I do well .”

“Rean has many talents, but singing is not one of them,” Altina adds.

“He’s a hell of a dancer, though,” Crow replies without thinking, instinctively throwing Rean a wink.

Rean abruptly chokes on his cider.

Hah, that was payback for almost making Crow fall at the ice rink! How do you like a taste of your own medicine, Rean?

Rean coughs into his napkin and clears his throat a few times to collect himself. His cheeks are still tinted pink, and god fucking dammit, how is it possible to look that cute? It’s not fair.

“You never told us what song you picked, Altina,” Rean abruptly reminds her, almost desperate to change the subject, and Crow can’t really blame him. It’s kind of adorable.

She gives Rean a look that Crow can’t read, then answers. “I thought ‘Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas’ would be a good choice. It is not difficult to sing, it is short, a classic, and it is unlikely to get on the nerves of other patrons.”

“I think this place has a strict limit on ‘All I Want for Christmas is You’,” Rean answers. He gives her a smile. “You picked a great one.”

“What is your favorite Christmas song, Rean?” she asks.

Rean hums thoughtfully. “It’s tough to decide. My dad used to play ‘Run, Rudolph, Run’ on his guitar every year for Elise and I when we were kids. I thought he looked so cool. It was what made me want to learn to play, so I guess I have a special attachment to that one.”

“What about you, Crow? What is your favorite Christmas song?” Altina asks.

“I ain’t really into Christmas music,” he admits.

She nods as though she understands. “I was not particularly fond of it until recently. Now, I find it much more tolerable.”

He smiles at her. “Good. The world don’t need another Scrooge like me.”

“You are far too poor to be a Scrooge,” she teases in that dry, matter-of-fact tone.

Rean slaps a hand over his mouth to muffle his cackling.

“Brutal, but fair,” Crow remarks.

“I don’t think Scrooge would decorate gingerbread houses or go ice skating,” Rean adds wryly.

“Yeah, well, I blame both of you,” Crow complains. 

“Oh no,” Altina deadpans. “You will simply have to enjoy Christmas this year. How awful.”

Crow can’t help but chuckle. “I gotta admit, this whole thing has been way more fun than I thought it’d be.” The songs aren’t grating on his nerves the way they usually do, and that acrid bitterness that usually wells up in his chest is absent. He just feels… warm and fairly comfortable.

“I am glad you decided to join us today,” Altina replies. “Rean is much happier when you are around. He laughs more.”

Rean chokes on his cider again.

Crow isn’t sure whether to fist-pump the air or slam his head against a wall for wanting to pump his fist in the air, so he chuckles and says, “You give me too much credit.”

She looks at him flatly. “Really? I have given you too much credit?”

Fair point. Altina’s not one to let you down easy or coddle your feelings. “What I mean is that you make Rean happier than you think,” Crow clarifies.

“So do you.”

Rean chokes on nothing but air this time, and Crow would probably laugh if he weren’t balking in shock at the kid’s audacity and its implications.

Part of him is thrilled to an embarrassing extent. Another part is just plain embarrassed because what the fuck, is he really this pathetic? A grown-ass man getting schoolgirl-giddy over finding out he makes his crush happy?

Yes. Yes, he is.

He’d ask what the fuck is wrong with him, but the answer is sitting right there, looking like he’s praying to be struck with an aneurysm in the next five seconds.

When it doesn’t happen, Rean draws a breath and composes himself.

“So you really don’t have a favorite Christmas song?” Rean asks Crow, clearly opting to pretend Altina’s last comment didn’t happen.

He doesn’t deny it, though, the stupid, hopeful part of his idiot brain chirps.

Crow latches onto the question like a lifeline because Rean might like him back, and dear God, he really does sound like a fucking teenager. 

Christmas songs. Crow needs to think about Christmas songs.

There are plenty of tracks he remembers fondly; it’s just difficult to extricate them from the shit they’ve been tainted by. Still, he pushes aside his usual disdain and views the question objectively rather than emotionally: which song did he enjoy the most as a piece of music?

That’s much easier to answer. The name and the artist elude him, but he distinctly remembers that soulful woman’s voice with the bright saxophones and bells chiming in the background. It was on some compilation album, the Home Alone 2 soundtrack, if he remembers right, and Crow would always beg Pops to play it one more time whenever he heard it. What the hell was that singer’s name again? Something Love, wasn’t it? Pops called her ‘the queen of Christmas’, didn’t he? Dolores? Darlene, that was it. 

“Something by Darlene Love on the Home Alone 2 soundtrack. I doubt too many people know it, but I remember I always liked it,” Crow replies. “Pops never complained no matter how many times I played it.” And Crow played it a lot .

“Of course your favorite would be some obscure thing no one’s ever heard,” Rean teases.

“Rean Schwarzer. Calling me emo is one thing, but I draw the line at insinuating that I am or ever was a hipster.”

Rean laughs. It’s that warm, wonderful sound that settles in the space between his ribs.

The performances leading up to Altina’s range from impressive to ear-splitting. He respects the guy who gets up there and tries to do a metal version of ‘Holly Jolly Christmas’. It doesn’t work with the background music, but he at least made an effort to put his own spin on it.

Altina is fine when her turn comes, but when she steps onto the platform and looks out at the crowd, she goes rigid, like she’s just realized that she’s completely alone up there. She tries to focus on Rean, but her eyes keep straying to the sea of strangers. She’s not completely frozen, though; she clearly wants to sing, and it’s so obvious that she’s pushing herself with everything she has to keep the microphone in her shaking hand.

Rean was afraid this would happen. And Crow promised that he’d make sure it didn’t ruin Altina’s day.

Fuck.

“Should I go up there with her?” Rean asks desperately, even though he knows it’s a bad idea. In no universe does his vocal accompaniment make the situation better. 

“The things I do for love,” he mutters to himself as he pushes his chair out and heads toward the organizer’s table near the stage. 

It’s easy enough to get Altina’s attention, and her expression melts from terror to curiosity.

“Want some backup?” he asks quietly.

She hesitates a moment, then offers a nod. “It… would be appreciated,” she replies.

The organizer hands Crow a microphone, and fucking hell, he’s actually doing this.

Well, what the fuck else is he supposed to do? Let this become one of those soul-crushing humiliations that she forever associates with Christmas and destroys her love of singing? Crow doesn’t hate Christmas carols that much.

It’s weird standing on stage, even if the ‘stage’ is just a raised platform. He hasn’t done anything like this since middle school.

But this isn’t about him, and he can suck it up for a song.

“You start, I’ll come in,” he suggests, and gives her shoulder a squeeze like her little blond punk friend did in that video Rean showed him.

It seems to do the trick.

She tells the organizer she’s ready, and they give her a big smile and an encouraging thumbs up as they start the music.

Her voice is a little unsteady at first, but she finds it when Crow joins her on the second line. It’s strange how he still knows all the words even though he’s only heard them incidentally over the last decade.

Once she starts to lose herself in the song, Crow backs off and lets her carry it. He throws in some harmonies and stuff, just for style, and it seems to encourage Altina to have a little fun.

He can hear the moment when she stops trying to sing perfectly and starts making it her own with little vocal embellishments. She brightens beside him, like she’s suddenly realized that this isn’t just a skill to be perfected; it’s meant to be enjoyed.

When they get to the song’s final “somehow”, she belts out the vowel, and Crow holds the note as Altina lets her voice shift in a gorgeous run of notes that earns some cheers from the audience. They finish the song softly, with a warm harmony, and Crow takes a step back and gestures toward Altina with an outstretched arm.

She takes a bow and soaks in the praise, shy but also radiantly happy.

“You were awesome, kiddo,” Crow tells her, offering a pat on the head after they turn in their microphones.

Altina gestures for him to bend down, and Crow assumes it’s because she wants to share something private. Instead, he finds himself dumbfounded when she pats his head.

“You were not bad at all.”

Crow laughs as he stands to full height. “High praise comin’ from you.”

Even though their table isn’t far from the stage, it feels like there are a hundred people in Altina’s way, all of them telling her how wonderful she was.

She’s surprised and somewhat overwhelmed by it, so Crow politely asks them to disperse. Luckily, they all take the hint and clear the way.

Of course, Rean is at the table waiting for her with an enormously proud, beaming grin on his face. He sweeps her into a big hug and tells her how incredible she was and how he couldn’t be prouder. Not just of her performance, but that she was brave enough to accept someone’s help.

“Altina did it all herself,” Crow corrects. “I was just moral support.”

Rean meets his eyes, and there’s a fierce intensity in them that Crow doesn’t know how to describe. It’s a look that cuts to the core of him without an incision, and it makes Crow feel more exposed than he’s ever been—but not necessarily in a bad way. Like Rean can see a part of Crow that Crow himself didn’t even know was there: this strange, embarrassingly soft thing that cannot exist because Crow was sure it had been crushed out of him a long time ago.

“Crow is an unexpectedly good singer,” Altina remarks.

“Well, I don’t like to brag, but I was the lead in the middle school play,” Crow says with dramatic exaggeration.

“Oh my god, you’re a theater kid. That makes so much sense,” Rean muses with a small chuckle.

Crow rolls his eyes—theatrically, of course.

“It certainly explains his dramatic flair,” Altina agrees.

“I told you,” Crow starts with an exaggerated sigh, “it’s style and panache.”

It gets the laugh he wants from Altina. She looks doubly pleased that he remembered the conversation she referenced as she settles back into her seat.

Altina tells Rean about how much fun she had, how she never tried singing like that before, and didn’t even know she could. She’s so much more animated than usual, and honestly, Crow gets it. He’s still riding the residual adrenaline of their performance while half of him tries to shove that strange, giddy thrill into whatever box it tore itself out of. 

It’s stupid to be this excited over Christmas karaoke, especially as a grown man. 

“You look happy,” Rean remarks, looking at least twice as happy as Crow ever could, and Crow feels shy for some irrational reason.

“Just the adrenaline, I guess,” he replies. “Can’t remember the last time I sang where someone else could hear me on purpose.” He doesn’t want Altina to feel like it’s her fault for putting him on the spot, so he ends up rambling. “I used to sing all the time when I was a kid. It’s just… complicated.”

Complicated? Because that makes any kind of sense. 

What’s weirder is that Rean actually seems to understand what he means, judging by the look of supportive acknowledgement on his face. He gives Crow’s shoulder a squeeze, and Crow really hopes he didn’t make the weird, high-pitched sound he heard in his head out loud, because he’ll actually have to throw himself off the mountain. 

Neither Altina nor Rean teases him about it, so he may actually have kept that to himself—or the pitch was too high for human ears. It’s more likely the sound got swallowed up by whoever is belting out “Jingle Bell Rock”. He’s just grateful nobody’s commenting. 

“Well, for what it’s worth, I think you two were the best act we’ve seen.” Rean says it like he’s putting a period at the end of a sentence, like a parent leaving no room for argument.

It’s not like they had much competition, but it’s still nice to hear. Crow takes another drink of his cider to hide the renewed flush in his cheeks. 

“What do you want to do next, Altina?” Crow asks in order to shift the conversation before Rean can start telling him how great he is or some shit like that. Any more compliments right now and Crow thinks he might internally combust, or melt into a puddle—or worse: let out one of those weird fucking squeals Crow is learning, to his absolute horror, he’s actually capable of making.

“I think it would be prudent to investigate the food stalls next. Then, it will be dark enough to visit the light display.”

Crow finishes the last dregs of his cider. “I’m ready when you are.”

Once Rean is done with his drink, they collect their bags, head outside, and make their way over to the food vendors. There’s too much to try, so they end up sampling a little bit of everything. The local butcher knows a thing or two about barbecue, and he’s pulled out all the stops. He’s got two huge smokers going, and the brisket is one of the best Crow has ever eaten.  There’s chicken and duck, and even some kind of spiced venison skewers. 

Altina takes a moment to politely ask the butcher, “Excuse me, sir, but could you perhaps inform me who deaded the chicken?”

Rean slaps his palms over his face in abject embarrassment, and the butcher gives a hearty laugh. 

Crow gives Altina a high five.

They sample some bacon-wrapped chestnuts and encounter an elderly woman serving up the most incredible lasagna ever. The local fishmonger is doing his twist on the ‘feast of the seven fishes’, but it’s basically just paella, calamari, fish and chips, fish tacos, and coconut shrimp. It takes Crow back to Jurai for a moment—before the farm-raised fish and imported crab meat flooded in, when everything was local and fresh. 

The paella is good—not as good as his grandfather’s—though Crow’s not sure if the distortion of memory is making the dish seem better than it really was. Still, he didn’t expect to find even half-decent paella in a remote mountain village.

Crow is ready to pass out in a food coma, and Rean looks no better, but Altina has an agenda, and they drag themself off to the trail of lights.

Altina offers them both one of those fun-sized, individually-wrapped candy canes from her purse as consolation. The peppermint and the cold air helps wake Crow up, but it’s the entrance to the Ymir valley that brings him back to full alertness.

It’s lit up in a sparkling arch, glowing with warm brightness. The path follows the river, which is decorated with glowing scenes on either side. The lights play off the running water, reflecting the dazzling shimmer and glinting off the snow, making it look more like glitter than precipitation. 

It’s nothing short of magical. 

Altina is all wide-eyed amazement, pointing out things she notices about the composition of the scene’s staging or the way the colors complement each other, or she speculates about how a certain effect might have been achieved when she’s not taking it all in.

Even Crow can’t find anything negative to say about it. It was clearly set up with love—a desire to create something beautiful and festive rather than campy and cheap.

Rean looks so happy that he puts the lights around them to shame. He’s thriving on Altina’s enjoyment, and Crow doesn’t miss how he keeps checking on him to make sure he’s having fun, too—of course, it’s impossible for Crow to miss because his eyes keep drifting back to Rean.

For the first time in probably ever, Crow doesn’t think. He just kind of feels everything all at once, and somehow, it’s not overwhelming. It’s easy. There’s a lightness in his chest, and he thinks he could stay out here and watch Altina and Rean amid these mesmerizing displays like this forever.

Reality opens like a trap door beneath his feet, and he feels the fall in his guts.

What the fuck is he doing? Seriously, what kind of bullshit, fantasy nonsense is he playing at? 

It’s been over a decade since anything made Crow feel this way, and it’s Rean Schwarzer, some kid, and a bunch of Christmas lights that finally does it? 

He’s so monumentally stupid.

He’s not made for this. 

They reach a warming station strategically set up at the midpoint of the trail just as the cold really starts to bite. Altina makes a beeline for the bonfire where people are making s’mores, while Crow parks himself beneath the nearest heater and soaks up its warmth. Rean chuckles at him, but he’s under the heater, too, so he’s in no place to judge Crow.

“Are you okay?” Rean asks with concern.

No. He’s not okay, and he hasn’t been since Rean found him in the center of town and offered his coat. 

But Rean is too bright for even the abyss of Crow’s nihilism, and still manages to spark something in his heart. 

Crow exhales and watches his breath dissolve on the wind. 

“You ever get so happy it scares the shit out of you?” It slips out before he can catch the words behind his teeth.

Rean nods. “Not normally. But I’ve felt that way a lot lately.”

Lately? As in lately around Crow or lately because of Altina? Why is Crow suddenly so twisted up and breathless over the possibility?

“It’s… nice to know I’m not the only one,” Rean adds with a small, relieved smile, and thankfully, Crow does not make that squealing noise he feels bubbling up in his throat out loud.

What is he supposed to say to that?! 

Crow looks around for something, anything else to talk about. The first thing his eyes catch on is the sprig of green leaves with white berries hanging above Rean, precariously close to the heater. That’s got to be a fire hazard, right?

What ends up coming out of his mouth is, “You’re standing under mistletoe.”

Rean blinks, then looks up. He chuckles softly and meets Crow’s eyes. 

“So are you.”

There’s weight to Rean’s words, an unspoken intention Crow is pretty sure he’s not misinterpreting, and it makes his stomach do that wild, fluttery thing again—only this time, it’s so intense it makes him kind of dizzy, and his heart starts picking up speed.

That heater must be doing a really great job—oh fuck it. It’s not the heater; it’s Rean. It’s been Rean this whole time.

“You know what that means?” Rean asks, his voice lower than usual as he shifts closer to Crow. 

“We fight to the death?” It’s involuntary; a knee-jerk reaction to Rean being so close and Crow being so close to a fucking heart attack, but it makes Rean laugh, and the sound lands like a face card on an ace, sparking the thrill of blackjack through Crow’s veins.

Rean’s eyes shimmer with residual laughter and that soft fondness Crow in no way deserves, but craves just the same as his hand finds its way to Crow’s shoulder. It snakes around to cup his nape through his borrowed scarf, and Crow’s breath catches in his throat for a moment. 

“Wouldn’t be much of a fair fight,” Rean says, and Crow can’t stop looking at his mouth. “All I’d have to do is wait until you got cold.”

Crow pouts. “You’re so mean.”

He isn’t sure how long his hands have been on Rean’s waist, but it’s only now that he realizes he’s drawing Rean closer.

“I guess I should probably make it up to you, huh?”

Crow never imagined he could possibly want anything more than he had wanted revenge on Gilliath Osborne. It consumed every waking moment of his life for the last twelve years. He lived and breathed for nothing but vengeance, and he has no idea how something that’s become the cornerstone of his existence can feel so small compared to what Rean has done to him.

The way he wants Rean is different. Right now, it feels like he needs Rean to kiss him like he needs oxygen.

It’s shortsighted and stupid and impulsive, and unfortunately, Crow is all those things.

“Yeah. You should.”

Rean closes the space between them and presses his lips gently against Crow’s, and holy shit, it’s soft and warm and straight-up fucking delicate, like Crow is something to be treasured and not tossed away after it’s used. 

He doesn’t know what to do with that, so he stands there like an absolute fucking idiot. He makes a sound he will never admit to before he snaps back to reality and actively returns the kiss.

It’s the best mistake he’s ever made.

The kiss doesn’t last long, and it’s tame even by the strictest standards, but damn if it doesn’t shake Crow to his core.

Rean’s cheeks are flushed, and he’s beaming at Crow. It’s only been a few days, and Rean doesn’t really know the whole truth about him, and—shit. 

He owes Rean the truth. If he were even half a decent man, he’d tell him now, but Crow can’t bear to shatter that smile.

Not yet, at least. Not until he has to. 

He’ll give himself tonight. A few more hours to live in this fantasy world of what could’ve been before he has to give it up. He’ll allow himself an evening to be enthralled by the possibility of a future and a life with someone else in it before the metaphorical clock strikes twelve and the magic dissolves. 

For now, he gets to be Cinderella and dance with the prince before it all collapses and the glass slipper shatters.

Chapter Text

They draw apart when Altina approaches, offering s’mores she just made over at the fire pit. If she knows what happened between him and Rean, she doesn’t show it, which is a small mercy.

He’s still a little giddy; weirdly lightheaded in a way that’s not exactly bad. He’ll never admit it, but he thinks he kind of gets the whole stereotypical squealing-into-your-pillow-while-kicking-your-feet thing. He wouldn’t be caught dead doing it, but appallingly, the urge is there. 

He manages to behave like a normal adult as they continue to walk through the trail of lights, the second half of which is no less magical than the first. He’s not sure if the displays are actually glowing brighter, or if it’s Rean distorting the world around him, but either way, it’s amazing.

Rean stands a little closer, bumping into him or brushing against him occasionally, and every time he does, he looks at Crow with this gorgeous smile that makes it impossible to resist returning the gesture.

It’s strange. It’s not arousing or teasing or anything like that; it’s touch for the sake of touch, simply wanting to be close. If anyone else tried it, Crow would ask what their problem was or shove them away (not hard, but enough effectively to convey his lack of enthusiasm). 

“Was the trail this big when you were growing up, Rean?” Altina asks as they move on to the next area of the display, which has a blue, white, and silver snowflake motif.

“Not at all. It’s really grown since I’ve been away,” Rean answers. “I can’t believe how beautiful it is.”

“Shit like this is usually cheesy, but whoever put it together really knows what they’re doing,” Crow muses with an approving nod. 

Rean is about to answer when his phone buzzing in his pocket gets his attention. He checks the screen and reads the message. 

“It looks like the guitarist from the live band came down with food poisoning and won’t be able to make the show, so Dad’s going to fill in. Mom asked if we’d all come for a little while to support him,” Rean explains. “Is that okay, Altina? I know you wanted to try out some of the games.”

Something about that sets off a ping on Crow’s radar. It’s not necessarily indicative of nefarious intervention, but it would certainly put a damper on the festival if one of the main attractions is cancelled. It would be the perfect opportunity for Lechter to start riling people up on social media with bad press about Ymir—especially with the alleged food poisoning.

He doesn’t want to make a big deal out of nothing, but he can’t ignore the fact that Lecter is still in town.

Altina nods in answer to Rean’s question. “Of course. I would love to see your father play the guitar, and I wanted to stop and listen to the band, anyway. Will we still have time to play some games and eat dessert?”

Rean nods. “Absolutely.”

“Then let us finish the trail. It will be good to warm up again while we watch the band. I fear Crow may begin to whine if we remain in the cold much longer.”

“Those sound like fightin’ words to me,” Crow remarks, an unserious threat in his voice.

“You are remarkably confident for someone who experienced a decisively humiliating defeat in our last snowball fight,” she replies, her voice dry and amused.

“Okay, okay, you two. This is not the place. There are other people on the trail and it’s not polite to hit them by accident,” Rean intervenes. 

Crow gives an exaggerated sigh, then looks at Altina. “I’m sure we can settle this over one of those festival games you were talking about. Sound good?”

She sticks out her hand for a shake. “Prepare to lose.”

Crow takes it. “Pride goes before a fall, you know.” 

“That would probably explain why you keep losing.”

“I only lost because Rean had secret ninja skills that gave him an unfair advantage,” Crow insists.

Altina waves her hand dismissively. “Excuses.”

“I’ll have you know I haven’t complained about the cold once tonight,” Crow says, steering back to the original subject so Altina doesn’t get the last word in their verbal spar.

“I suspect that has far more to do with how close Rean insists on standing next to you than anything else.”

So yeah. She knows.

She looks so pleased with herself as she gives them both a sassy little grin and walks right past them.

Rean holds his head in his hands. 

“She’s too damn smart for her own good,” Crow grumbles.

They finish the trail and make their way into the center of town, where a stage is set up. There are a bunch of these cute little “pod” things decorated with lights, and each has a bench and its own small heater, which Crow is eager to turn on as they settle in before the show starts. It’s pretty comfortable, all things considered.

They sit and people-watch for a while as more and more spectators arrive, including Elise and Alfin, who stop over when Altina waves at them.

“How are you enjoying the festival, Altina?” Elise asks with a smile. 

“Very much, thank you,” she answers with a smile.

“Why don’t you come and sit with us for the show?” Alfin suggests as if she doesn’t intend to use the opportunity to pry every last drop of gossip from Altina. “Elise and I would love to hear all about your afternoon!”

Of course she would.

Altina turns to Rean. “Would that be all right?” 

“Sure,” Rean says with a smile. “I’ll watch your bags.”

“Thank you,” she says before standing to join the girls as they find a nearby pod for themselves.

Which leaves him alone with Rean.

“So, I gotta know: did people actually come out to the middle of town for a concert in the freezing cold before portable heaters became a thing?” Crow asks.

Rean chuckles. “You never would have survived.”

“I’m barely surviving now,“ Crow declares.

“It’s been killing you not to complain about the cold since Altina called out your whining, hasn’t it?” Rean asks like he knows the answer.

“Yes,” Crow replies pointedly. “In fact, I’m dying right now.”

Rean laughs. “Crow, the heater is on.”

“Don’t interrupt my death scene,” Crow admonishes.

“Hmm. I have to say, I expected a lot more from a theater kid of your caliber,” Rean says with a disappointed sigh.

So Crow puts the back of his palm against his forehead and lets himself slump over, falling into Rean’s lap very dramatically.

Rean instinctively catches him before he can hit his head on the bench.

“You’ll have to go on without me,” he announces, and Rean just barely holds back laughter. “Move forward, without looking back. Forward, relentlessly…” he lets his hand drop to his side and hang limply off the bench as he ragdolls in Rean’s arms.

Rean bursts out laughing, and it kindles the blinding warmth in Crow’s chest he’s grown hopelessly addicted to.

He doesn’t let it show, though. Instead, his eyes snap open, and he folds his arms, looking up at Rean as he shakes his head in disapproval. 

“Uncultured swine. That was peak drama.“

Rean laughs again. “I refuse to believe you’re supposed to be some big-shot corporate realtor. How does anyone take you seriously?”

“Who knows? Maybe I killed the real Crow Armbrust and I’m an impostor wearing his skin.”

Rean lets out one of those sputtering, wheezing laughs that force themselves out of you without warning, and it resonates in the marrow of Crow’s bones.

Crow grins. “Isn’t that what most corporate types are? Parasites in human skin?”

“I think you’re one of the few exceptions,” Rean replies.

He’s not. Not really. But disagreeing will kill the mood, and Crow is determined to enjoy this for as long as he can make it last.

He glances outside their warm little alcove and immediately notices even more people standing around waiting than there were before.

“Hey, it’s getting pretty crowded. Surprised this many people showed up to hear more Christmas music,” Crow remarks. “Looks like they’re doing a sound check.”

“That means it should start soon,” Rean replies, using the arm under Crow’s back to push him upright again. Crow reluctantly sits up like a civilized human being, which is when he realizes that Rean had been essentially holding him ever since Crow, for all intents and purposes, threw himself into Rean’s lap. You know, like an insane person.

Who the fuck does that?

Apparently, Crow does. But the thing is: he doesn’t. Hell, Crow himself probably couldn’t convince Vita, Scarlet, Vulcan, or Gideon that he wasn’t making shit up if he told them. He has no idea what the fuck is happening to him—and worse yet—he doesn’t really mind it, so when Rean sort of nudges his hand, Crow lets him take it.

It turns out that Rean’s dad is one hell of a guitar player. He’s having a blast onstage, and Crow is willing to bet that in his younger days, he was the guy climbing on amps and hanging from rafters, sliding across the stage on his knees, or some other crazy rocker shit. He’s not doing any of that now, but it sure looks like he wants to.

The rest of the band is pretty talented, too. They’re so entertaining that Crow doesn’t even mind that it’s Christmas music.

After a while, Crow notices Rean getting fidgety beside him, tensing up uncharacteristically. He’s shifting uncomfortably, and when Crow turns to look at him, the conflicted, pained expression on his face makes Crow’s guts lurch.

“You feelin’ okay?” Crow asks as the metaphorical clock chimes midnight in his mind.

Rean lets out a long, heavy, defeated sigh.

“I know it was selfish and wrong to kiss you before you had all the facts.” He says it like he’s confessing a sin, and Crow doesn’t think he’s ever been more confused in his entire life. “I was having such a good time, I got caught up in everything and I didn’t think. I, um… don’t really date, so I’m not sure when the right time for this kind of conversation is, but I want to make sure you don't get invested before you know the truth about me.”

Crow blinks a few times just to make sure he’s not hallucinating because those are definitely his lines; Rean is supposed to be on the other side of this conversation.

“I… have depression—it’s controlled and medicated, but it’s still a part of me. It’s not easy for me to be open or lean on other people, so when I eventually break down, it’s bad. Staying busy helps, but sometimes I take on too much and forget my meds, and…” He hangs his head, like he can’t look at Crow. “I… get it if you want to leave things here.”

Crow waits for the next part, for some horrible thing worthy of the shameful expression etched into Rean’s face, but he remains silent. 

“… That’s it? That’s your big secret?” Crow asks, understandably incredulous. “Seriously?”

Rean swallows, then nods.

It’s not polite to laugh, but Crow can’t help it. Rean is sitting there thinking he’s some unlovable monster because he’s clinically depressed? And he’s saying that to Crow?

“Rean, I am such a fucking mess I wouldn’t know where to start. I don’t even know if there’s a name for all the shit that’s wrong with me—and I probably never will ‘cause I can’t imagine talking about personal shit with a stranger. I’m a delinquent dropout with no family and nothing to show for myself.”

Rean tilts his head in puzzlement. “I adopted Altina, and you think I have a problem with you being a foster kid?”

Crow shakes his head because Rean is comparing apples to nuclear submarines. “It’s… not the same.” 

“I’m not saying it is. But I still don’t see how it’s a big deal. I’m a teacher. I have no illusions about the foster system and how it fails kids. And what does it matter that you dropped out? You found a job you’re really good at—why would I think that a bad thing?”

“B-Because I’m a fucking slimeball, Rean,” he insists. It’s harsher than he intends, but Rean needs to understand that Crow is not a good man.

“Yeah, you sure have been strongarming my dad into taking Cayenne’s deal,” Rean replies with heavy sarcasm.

Crow sighs in irritated exasperation. Rean just keeps making excuse after excuse for him, and Crow can’t take it anymore. “My entire professional career has been about ruining Gilliath Osborne, and I did whatever I had to do to make it happen.”

Rean blinks. “Gilliath Osborne as in the Osborne Group?”

“Yes,” Crow hisses.

“Wait—really? I mean, I don’t know much about the situation, but I looked the Osborne Group up when Dad told me about that Lechter guy coming to town. From the articles I read, it sounds like they’re in big financial trouble. You’re telling me that you’re the reason they’re in such bad shape?” Rean asks.

“Not entirely, but yeah. A big part.”

“So much for ‘nothing to show for yourself’,” Rean replies, and it sounds like he’s calling Crow out, which makes absolutely no sense. 

“... What?”

“You’re not even thirty and you’ve nearly crushed a corporate real estate titan without even graduating from high school. That’s impressive no matter how you spin it.”

Crow stares at Rean for a few long seconds while his brain tries to process Rean’s response because what the fuck?! Rean is the biggest bleeding-heart do-gooder in the fucking universe, so how is he okay with this?! 

“Rean. I’m no better than Osborne is. I’ve fucked a lot of innocent people over.”

“I’m sure you’re not blameless. But Dad said you were way more honest than Lechter. You actually acknowledged that his decision to sell would impact the town—for better or worse. You’re not stealing land from people or ruining their lives if they won’t make a deal. Yeah, the whole system sucks, but you’re not responsible for it.” 

He pinches the bridge of his nose. “You just don’t get it.”

Rean tries to smile even though he looks defeated. “I understand. You don’t have to be nice about it, Crow.”

That’s… there’s clearly been some kind of misunderstanding here. “Nice about what?”

Rean gives him a sad smile. “You don’t have to protect my feelings. I wouldn’t want to date me, either.”

“Fucking Christ, Rean, I want to date you more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my stupid, pathetic life! But… I’m out of my depth here. You can do so much better than me, and…” he doesn’t know how to finish, so the sentence just drifts into silence, his throat clenched around the words he doesn’t know how to say. He looks away. “I’m gonna let you down.”

“That’s… really the reason?” Rean asks with an unexpectedly hopeful note in his voice. “You don’t care about the whole… mental illness thing?”

“I’m way more fucked up than you are.”

Rean scoffs. “Please. I’ve had days where I couldn’t even brush my teeth,” he counters. “And at least you have a reason to be screwed up. I’m just like this.”

“That’s not your fault,” Crow tells him, because it isn’t.

“... So, you, um… actually want to date me?” Rean asks. “You weren’t saying that to make me feel better?”

Grudgingly, Crow nods, and they sit in confused silence for a moment.

“Well. I, um… I didn’t expect…” Rean rubs the back of his neck. “Is this really okay?”

Crow sighs. “Whatever this is… shit like this doesn’t just fall into your lap, Rean.”

“That’s true. Sometimes it pukes on your shoes.”

Crow has no idea what the fuck Rean is talking about for a second, then he remembers the old man at the bookstore and the story of how he met his wife on New Year’s Eve, and he can’t help but laugh. “I guess.”

“So, you’re saying I should puke on your shoes?” Rean asks, and Crow has no idea why the fuck this man has to be so… everything.

Crow can feel that want from earlier strangling him again. The want is so fierce it’s terrifyingly close to need that—

A blur of purple and orange flickers in the corner of his eye.

Shit, is that Lechter?!

Crow whips his head around, and god fucking damn it, that’s definitely the back of the bastard’s coat. 

“Fuck. That guy from the Osborne Group is here. Be right back,” he says as he grabs his hat, gloves, and his bag from Altina and follows the purple coat until Lechter steps out of the crowd and puts his phone in his pocket. He looks like he’s waiting for someone.

“Yo, Arundel,” Crow calls out with a casual wave.

Lechter notices him and chuckles, then nods at him in greeting. “Armbrust. Geez, old Cayenne really did send you out this close to Christmas, huh?”

“Let’s not pretend I’m the only one on the clock here,” Crow replies. 

Lechter puts both palms up in surrender. “I’m actually here on vacation. The Ymir project is dead in the water.” He cringes. “The old man really chewed me out for that one.“

“… What?”

“Crazy, right? This place could’ve made us a fortune—I tried to convince him, but he wouldn’t hear it. Wouldn’t say why, either. Weird, isn’t it?”

It’s more than weird. It’s illogical.

“Last I heard, you guys were in a bind.”

“That’s putting it nicely,” Lechter replies. “But the old man says he’s got some things in motion that should fall into place after the new year. Won’t tell Claire or I a damn thing about who he’s working with or what he’s up to, but I get the feeling it’s really gonna shake things up, so watch out.”

Lechter lies as easily as he breathes, so it’s entirely possible he’s feeding Crow a bunch of bullshit. But if he’s telling the truth and Osborne really is making some kind of play Crow hasn’t seen coming, everything he’s done up to now will be for nothing. 

Out of nowhere, a small woman with short purple hair and delicate features appears at Lechter’s side with a steaming paper cup in both hands and gives one to him. 

“Oh, Lechter, is this someone you know?” she asks, smiling at Crow amiably.

“Professional acquaintance,” he explains, then nods in Crow’s direction. “Armbrust here is damn near running us out of business. Cayenne better thank his lucky stars that he snatched this guy up first, because he’s even pulled one over on me a few times.”

It’s so fucking weird to hear Lechter talk him up like they’re friendly rivals or something. 

“Good for you,” the woman says, giving Crow a wink.

“You’re so mean to me, Kloe,” Lechter pouts.

“Are you two…” Crow trails off.

“It’s complicated,” she answers.

“I sure as hell get that,” Crow says.

“Crow!” It’s Rean’s voice from behind him with Altina beside him. “You just ran off! Are you—” He breaks off, noticing Lechter. “You’re that guy from the Osborne Group.”

“Your presence here seems rather nefarious,” Altina adds. 

Lechte‘s jaw drops at the sight of Altina. He literally flinches, and his eyes go comically huge.

“… Have I done something to upset you?” she asks with concern.

“This can’t be real. Your name, it’s Orion, isn’t it?” Lechter asks as though he already knows.

Rean takes a protective step forward. “She’s my daughter.”

Lechter pulls his phone out and thumbs through until he finds what he wants, which happens to be a picture of Altina, but with amber eyes and bright blue hair. 

“They could be twins,” Rean remarks, stunned.

“I’d bet my last dollar they are,” Lechter replies. “This is Millium Orion,” he says, tilting his phone. “She’s my foster sister. Osborne took her in after a car accident killed her parents—he saw the car run off the road and called it in. Tried to help, but… there’s only so much he could do. Millium needed tons of surgery after the crash and no one was around to pay for her care, so he did it. Don’t ask me why, but he’s got a soft spot for kids.”

Osborne? Has a soft spot for kids? That’s news to Crow.

Wait. If this Millium girl is Lechter’s foster sister, and Osborne took Millium in… what the—did Osborne actually raise Lechter?! And why?

Kloe scoffs. “As long as he doesn’t have to actually parent them.”

Lechter sighs. 

Ah. There’s part of the ‘complication’ Kloe mentioned. She’s got strong feelings about Osborne’s parenting skills, or lack thereof. Lechter clearly doesn’t agree—or he knows she’s right but can’t separate himself from the obligation he feels toward the man who took him in. Lechter isn’t stupid, so it’s probably the latter.

As much as he hates to admit it, Crow has swallowed a lot of shit for Cayenne for the same reasons. 

“Anyway,” Lechter continues, “since Millium’s sister wasn’t hurt and she was still young, Family Services decided it made sense to place her with a family if they could—especially since they didn’t know if Millium would make it. It was a closed adoption, so that’s where the trail went cold.”

“... Is that really true?” Altina asks.

“I swear it.”

Suddenly, it clicks. “You’re the guy who bought Airgetlam,” Crow says. “Yesterday, at the toy store.”

“Um, yeah. Millium’s is old. Just all ratty and falling apart,” Lechter replies. “Damn, Claire and I have been trying to find her sister for years, and I walk right into her.”

“Let’s not make assumptions,” Rean says reasonably. “We won’t know for sure without a DNA test. If you’re right and they are sisters, this is a huge deal and Altina’s going to need some time to process it. She may decide she doesn’t want to meet Millium at all.”

“Of course,” Lechter answers with a nod. He gives Altina an apologetic smile. “Sorry for dropping a bomb on you like that, kid.”

“I accept your apology,” Altina replies. “I will think about what you have said and decide what is best for me.”

“That’s all I can ask. Armbrust has my details, so just give me a call when you figure out what you want to do. It was real nice to meet you.” He shifts his focus to Crow. “I’m sure I’ll be seeing you around. I bet we’ll both be surprised by whatever the old man is up to.”

There shouldn’t be any room for surprises. If Ymir really is off the table, then what the hell is Osborne planning? Where is there a deal to be made that’ll net him enough to keep the business afloat? 

Private equity? Nah. Osborne is too proud—plus, everything those fuckers get their hands on turns to shit. He’s working with someone even Lechter and Claire don’t know about, which means he wants to keep their hands clean if it goes bad, or it’s so risky even Lechter wouldn’t bet on it. 

Ugh, what the fuck?! Ordine should’ve picked up on something.

A horrible thought occurs to him: what if she did?

Oh. Oh fuck. 

It shifts into focus with the sickening snap of a broken femur: Vita’s interest in Cayenne’s niece, the shell companies, why Cayenne has been up his ass about closing the Ymir deal by the end of the year. 

There has to be a trust—something the niece’s parents set up in her name that would transfer ownership or a majority stake or some percentage of the company’s profit when she turned eighteen, so Cayenne is dumping their assets into those fucking shell corporations to make sure he keeps the profits and the girl gets nothing but debts. 

In no universe is Cayenne smart enough to come up with a scheme like that on his own. 

It’s Rufus. It has to be. He’s the one who suggested those shell companies in the first place, which means Cayenne trusted him to set them up because Cayenne doesn’t fucking do anything.

No wonder Ordine couldn’t find their assets. They don’t fucking exist.

Well, the assets themselves are still very much extant, only they’re in Rufus Albarea’s possession, and he’s going to gift wrap them to Gilliath Osborne. Why? Who the fuck knows? It doesn’t matter. 

Neither does the last decade of Crow’s life.

A hand squeezes his shoulder.

“What happened?” Rean asks, and his concern is so deep he almost looks scared.

This man barely knows him, and he’s so worried about Crow that he can’t even hide it. His hand on Crow’s shoulder is strong and grounding, even through the layers that separate them. Somehow, against all reason and logic, looking at Rean makes the panic, the terror, the utterly crushing devastation he felt nearly crack him in two a moment ago—all of it—feel so, so small.

Because what does it matter, really? Cayenne never lets him forget how replaceable he is while relying on him more than anyone. He has no life outside work and nothing but revenge to live for. Revenge barely pays the bills. It doesn’t make him feel like he belongs somewhere. It doesn’t smile like the sunrise or have a laugh as vast as the ocean that crashes around Crow every time he hears it. 

It certainly doesn’t have an ass so divine that Christ himself would’ve knelt before its perfection.

It doesn’t slow dance. It doesn’t make him feel like a person.

Crow draws in a breath and lets it out slowly. He never realized how much space revenge took up inside him, didn’t understand until now why it was so much easier to breathe around Rean than it had been during the last twelve years.

If he holds onto this, it’ll kill him. 

But his death won’t mean shit to Gilliath Osborne.

“Nothing—I just figured some stuff out,” he manages. “If I’m right, Cayenne Estates won’t exist after next week.”

Rean looks as shocked as Crow felt.

“I think my boss is getting scammed by his second-in-command and everything’s about to hit the fan come January first.”

“Do you need to go?” And to his credit, Rean tries very hard not to let his disappointment show. 

“We can bring some dessert to your hotel,” Altina suggests.

That’s what he should do. It’s the reasonable, responsible thing, but Crow is fresh out of fucks to give because it’s Christmas Eve and there’s a kid whose ass he needs to kick at a carnival game, and a man who doesn’t want anything from Crow but his company.

The shitshow will wait. Everything is closed until the 26th, anyway. He’s sure Vita’s got some high-powered attorney who gets paid to be on-call 24/7, so he’ll give her a heads-up. He owes her that. ILF will be fine in the short-term; Ouroboros is the majority owner, even if Cayenne provided most of the funding, so he’ll have to buy them out if he wants to sell. ILF still has enough assets to stay afloat, which means Crow’s people will be taken care of until he can come up with a plan. 

“If I cut out now, you’ll just say I did it ‘cause I was scared I’d lose to you at one of those games we haven’t gotten to play yet,” Crow says to Altina.

She smiles. “You are going to lose anyway.”

“I gotta make a work call real quick, but I promise, I’ll meet you when I’m done,” Crow tells Rean.

“Are you sure?” Rean asks.

“Gotta pay off that interest, right?” He winks because why the fuck not?

He agrees to meet them at the warming station nearby once he’s finished. His call goes to voicemail because Vita, like every normal person at this point on Christmas Eve, is not answering her work phone. 

He explains everything.

No matter what happens, Cayenne Estates is finished. If they’re able to prove that Rufus is conspiring with Osborne, maybe all three of them will go down. Sure, it’ll be some Club Fed, but at the very least, Cayenne will be broke as fuck by the end, so Crow can look forward to that if nothing else.

He sticks his phone in his pocket and meets Rean and Altina at the warming center. Elise and Alfin are there, too.

“Okay, who else is up for dessert?” he asks.

“Rean said something happened with work?” There’s actually concern in Alfin’s voice despite also fishing for information.  

“Just some fourth-degree grand larceny, fraud—probably embezzlement, and fuck knows what else, but none of that is my problem. The fallout will be my problem, but not until December 26th, so screw it, we ball, YOLO, or whatever the kids say.” He keeps his tone light and casual, in a manner entirely unbefitting of crimes that carry considerable prison sentences.

Altina snorts. 

“E-Excuse me?” Elise squeaks.

“My idiot boss finally transcended the bounds of human idiocy and ascended to the pantheon,” he explains.

Wow, Elise actually looks concerned for him. “Oh. I know I haven’t been very kind about your job, but I know how important it is to you.”

Crow shrugs. “I have to admit, I’ve been gettin’ pretty tired of slaving away for a guy who doesn’t appreciate a damn thing I do. Who knows? It might even turn out to be a good thing in the end.”

Crow is flexible, and he’s got a fuckton of experience. He’s built a reputation for himself. He’ll land on his feet no matter where Cayenne ends up. 

“It would certainly allow you to have more of a personal life,” Alfin muses, her subtext obvious. Then, far less subtly, “You might even have time for a little romance!”

“So, Altina, you want some crepes?” Crow asks, refusing to dignify Alfin with a response.

Altina decides she values a crepe higher than bullying Crow, so she agrees without adding some kind of clever little quip to follow up Alfin’s comment.

Dessert is very much like dinner, but with Elise and Alfin tagging along, they’re able to split smaller portions because there is way too much to choose from. Like Rean, Crow isn’t a fan of super-sweet things, so he doesn’t gorge himself too badly this time. He still eats way too much because those chocolate-peppermint cupcakes have no right to be as fucking good as they are. It’s not usually his thing, but he really enjoys the mini apple pies with a bourbon caramel topping. The tartness of the apples balances out the sweetness of the caramel, and the baker did not skimp on the bourbon. The homemade truffles go down way too easily.

Altina, destroyer of pancakes, tackles dessert with the same gusto as she does breakfast. He swears, the kid’s stomach is a black hole or something. But she’s happy sampling all the different kinds of cookies, cake pops, truffles, and pies, and that’s all that matters.

Rean is obsessed with these little green tea-flavored cakes. He keeps saying he’s finished, but every time Crow looks at him, he’s sneaking another one from the box of 12 he bought to take home. Crow ends up buying him a new one because there’s no way Rean’s box makes it home. Rean gives him a sheepish smile and a guilty little shrug, and Crow wonders if he could possibly learn to make those cakes without inadvertently setting his apartment complex on fire or inducing food poisoning.

George loves desserts, and he seems like the kind of guy who’d enjoy finding culinary applications for his engineering skills, so maybe he’d be willing to give Crow a hand. 

… Is he really making long-term plans right now? 

“So, Crow,” Alfin starts, “Lucia said you might come to Christmas dinner.”

He glances at Rean, which he should really know by now not to do if he wants to maintain his resolve about anything, and folds like a collapsible lawn chair at the sight of his hopeful smile. 

“If the offer is still open, sure. It’s not like I have anything else going on,” Crow replies.

“I’m sure Mom would be more than happy to have you,” Rean says, and God, he’s so fucking handsome when he’s happy. 

Alfin giggles. “I think we all know which one of us wants to have him.”

Elise admonishes her girlfriend while trying not to laugh. Rean rolls his eyes even as his cheeks go pink.

“You are actually the worst,” Rean tells her.

“She is not incorrect,” Altina reminds him factually. 

Crow just laughs, partially to drown out his lizard brain screaming in ecstatic joy, and partially because Rean is getting teased by his family for having a crush, and it’s so cute how happy they are for him. 

“... Crow?” 

He hears his name from somewhere behind him in a voice he doesn’t recognize and turns around. The person standing there looks to be about Elise’s age, male-presenting, with light brown hair and eyes. He’s looking at Crow like he’s seen a ghost, which is weird, because Crow can’t place him at all.

“Stark?” Elise asks, her voice confused and extremely surprised.

Chapter Text

Wait—Stark? As in Stark Stark? 

There’s no way. It’s not exactly a common name, but his Stark can’t be the only one in the world. 

“I thought you were in Jurai,” Alfin adds, clearly trying to make sense of his presence. 

But that’s… It’s just not possible. Though he guesses Stark would be about this guy’s age now, and there weren’t any other kids with the same name—at least, not back when Crow lived there. Of course, one could have moved there in the twelve years that Crow’s been absent, but… a second kid named Stark from Jurai who knows Crow’s name, even though they’ve never met?

Crow scrutinizes this person’s features and tries to reconcile them with the picture of eight-year-old Stark in his mind. Little Stark, but taller and broader with the baby fat mostly gone from his cheeks… 

"I’m glad you lost the bandanna," Stark says, his voice strained.

Crow involuntarily scoffs. "The bandanna was cool, and you made me get you one just like mine, so don’t even pretend you didn’t love it."

He manages to let out a startled "oof" as Stark ambushes him in a hug so tight it borders on violence.

“I knew you were still alive,” he says, choked and broken. He draws in a hitched sniffle, and oh God, he’s crying. Crow wasn’t equipped to deal with Stark’s presence in the first place; he’s at a complete loss for how to cope with his tears.

There’s a whirling tempest of conflicting things happening inside him right now, things he doesn’t have names for or know what to do with, so they just kind of coalesce into a natural disaster and lay waste to everything he’s painstakingly boxed up and organized or deliberately walled off and painted over.

It’s better to focus on the kid—who’s not a kid at all anymore. He knew that, of course he did, but seeing it… That’s something else entirely.

“I’m so happy, Crow.”

He sure as hell doesn’t sound like it, but okay. There’s too much to process right now—his childhood best friend appearing out of nowhere in a remote little town he has no connection to and no business being in, for one.  

“What brought you all the way out here?” Fuck, he never thought to check on Stark’s parents. Maybe… oh shit. “Are your folks okay?” 

Stark nods, and Crow relaxes as much as Stark’s grip will allow, which isn’t much at all. It’s… actually getting hard to breathe.

“Look, I’m happy to see you, but you’re way stronger than you used to be,” Crow says.

Stark releases him apologetically, wiping his cheeks with his sleeve. He’s looking at Crow the same way he did when they were kids, which is yet another thing that makes no sense. “I saw Alfin’s picture from last night and nearly had a heart attack. Your name was tagged in the post, so I asked her about it. She said she didn’t know anything, but Elise recognized the story you told about the time we dyed our hair—I had mentioned it to her when she was thinking of getting highlights a while back. Three for three might’ve been a coincidence, but I never told her about the coffee can thing, so I thought that maybe—I had to know if it was you.”

“So you just… showed up here?” Crow asks, perplexed. “Why didn’t you just tell Elise, or ask her for my number?”

“I… was honestly scared you wouldn’t want to talk to me, and I’d never get the chance again,” he admits.

Crow hates that Stark is right. That’s exactly what he would’ve done. As much as he’s missed Stark, there’s part of him that doesn’t want to ruin the image he had of Crow as a child: the big brother who was smart and strong and could do anything he wanted to. The disappointment is going to be immeasurable, and Crow is so tired of failing. He didn’t think the kid would even care anymore, which would’ve hurt in its own way. It would be painful no matter what, and Crow has had enough pain for one lifetime.

He chose to protect himself from that pain at the cost of Stark’s. What kind of a big brother does that?

Crow knows there wasn’t much he could do to stay in touch once he went into the system. He didn’t have a phone, and the places he stayed at usually didn’t have functioning landlines. Besides, what would he have said? Help me? It wasn’t on Stark to protect him or keep him safe. 

He couldn’t reach out after he ran away, even if he wanted to. If Family Services found out where he was, it would be foster care roulette again, and Crow had a knack for getting the bullet each time. Of course, he could’ve called once he turned 18, but Jurai felt like another life at that point. He didn’t think that Stark would still be waiting by the phone.

"Relax, man," Crow says, betraying none of the guilt and turmoil he feels churning inside him. "There’s no bad blood or anything. Life happened. It tends to do that. I turned out just fine. Big, fancy corporate realtor—for the next day, at least. Eating my veggies and all that.”

Stark hugs him again, tight but much less constricting. “You have no idea how much I missed you.”

“... I missed you, too, buddy,” he admits.

“Do you have a place to stay, Stark?” Elise asks.

Oh, that’s right. Other people are here. Wow, that’s awkward.

That’s… really fucking awkward.

Stark pulls back and nods. “Yeah. My parents managed to find me a hotel room.”

“Hold up. You’re staying? Tomorrow is Christmas! Your parents are gonna be all by themselves,” Crow tells him.

“They paid for my travel. Finding you is the best gift they could ever get! They never stopped hoping you were out there somewhere—Mom kept all your stuff the way it was, just in case you came back," Stark explains, like it doesn’t impale Crow through the heart and lungs.

Why on Earth would they be waiting for him? Why would they send their son halfway across the country on the off chance that maybe a random guy with his name was a kid they knew twelve years ago?

He’s acutely aware of the others, these virtual strangers encroaching on a part of his life he deliberately keeps private. It makes him feel vulnerable in a way he doesn’t like, as though he’s on display.

His throat starts to tighten, and then he feels a small tug on his sleeve.

“You still have not proven you can beat me in one of the festival games yet,” Altina reminds him. “When you throw down a gauntlet, you cannot abandon the challenge without forefitting.”

She might not be the most emotionally intuitive kid out there, but she gets him, and he’s endlessly grateful for that.

“Someone’s in a hurry to lose, huh?” Crow remarks, seizing the distraction like a lifeline.

“And someone appears to be stalling,” she retorts.

“Well, I gotta keep my word, then. You guys mind if we head over to the games?” Crow asks the group.

“I’m so sorry for intruding like this,” Stark says apologetically, now fully cognizant that he’s in public. “Oh my God, I was so rude and I didn’t think before—"

“You’re not intruding,” Crow interrupts. “And you’re welcome to tag along. Seems like you already know Elise and Alfin, and you’re friends enough to have swapped some family stories.” He’s got no idea how much Stark has told them, but it’s clearly enough for them to make his showing up here seem perfectly reasonable. They even look happy for him.

Stark gives Crow that little brother grin of fond admiration Crow definitely doesn’t deserve. “You're still as smart as ever."

"Don’t make me change my mind," he replies, with no conviction behind the threat.

"So, Stark," Rean starts as they all begin walking. "You grew up with Crow?” 

Stark nods. "Yeah. He's my big brother—not biologically, but in all the ways that matter."

"If only you’d come yesterday! We were sharing stories about Rean and Elise as children—I’m sure you could’ve made some delightful contributions about Crow!” Alfin chirps.

"He was pretty much the coolest kid in town," Stark announces, and Crow is convinced that this has to be some kind of karmic payback. "He was good at everything—he won me this huge clownfish plush at the summer fair one year, and all the other kids were so jealous—and this one time, a guy rigged the milk can game and Crow figured out how he did it, and got everyone their money back."

Crow holds his face in his gloves and wonders how long it would take him to freeze to death. "Please kill me."

"This is adorable," Rean retorts. "We’re keeping him."

"You don’t get to make that decision unilaterally," Crow reminds him.

"We are absolutely keeping him."

"I concur. This is highly entertaining," Altina adds.

Crow pouts.

"Glad to see you’re still dramatic as ever," Stark teases.

"Not surprised to hear he was always like this," Rean remarks. 

“Go back to talking about how cool I am,” Crow tells Stark.

“You were cool. I can’t say whether or not that’s true anymore,” Stark teases, and wow, little Stark got sassy, huh?

“It’s not,” Altina answers.

“You’re both gonna lose so hard,” Crow promises them.

And he delivers. 

His aim is still as good as it ever was, and he kills it at the shooting game and balloon darts. Stark almost beats him at the ring toss, but almost isn’t enough to claim victory. Crow is a magnanimous winner, of course, and lets everyone pick the prize they want. When they see it in their rooms, they’ll remember how he beat them, and what more could he really ask for?

“You’re freakishly good at carnival games,” Rean remarks.

“I’m a man of many talents,” Crow replies with just a bit of exaggerated swagger—but is it exaggerated if you’ve earned it? 

Rean laughs, and Crow wants to kiss him so, so badly. Once wasn’t enough—Crow doesn’t think any number could be—and it’s objectively terrifying to want something that isn’t vengeance this much.

“I will concede defeat,” Altina admits, hugging the festive penguin plush to her chest. 

“Told you,” Crow replies with a smirk.

“At least my loss did not involve being tossed over Rean’s shoulder like a sack of potatoes.”

Crow sighs and stares into the sky. “I’m never gonna live that down.”

“Wait—what?” Stark asks.

Naturally, Altina is all too happy to recount the story for Stark’s amusement.

“It really wasn't that funny,” Crow insists.

“Yes, it was,” Altina assures him. “Your face was extremely expressive.”

“Excuse me for reacting appropriately to the ground disappearing,” Crow retorts.

“I suppose you could say Rean swept you off your feet,” Alfin chimes.

“Rean’s right. You really are the worst,” Crow remarks.

Altina yawns. 

Rean pats her head as best he can with her bags on his arms. “Tired?”

“I am fine,” she insists, but she’s a terrible liar, and yawns again.

It triggers a chain of yawning among the others, and Crow checks his phone for the time. He has no idea how it’s 8 pm, but time tends to slip away when he’s around Rean, and Crow is never ready for it to end. They’re walking around in temperatures better suited for polar bears than human beings, which is the second or third thing he hates most in the world, and somehow, Crow would rather keep doing that than go back to his nice, warm hotel. 

It’s completely irrational, and Crow doesn’t even care. 

“Well, I don’t know about Altina, but I’m exhausted,” Alfin announces. 

“I think we should be getting home,” Rean says, offering Crow an apologetic expression. 

“Us, too,” Alfin agrees. 

While the girls say their goodbyes to Stark, Rean takes Crow aside. “I’d still like to finish that conversation from earlier, but it can wait.” He nods in Stark’s direction to indicate that he should take priority right now. “I’ll check in with you later to see how you’re holding up.”

For a split second, he wonders how Rean could know that chatting with Stark might be unpleasant, but then he remembers that Rean is smart, and Crow has stupidly given him enough pieces to understand the shape of things. There’s that involuntary urge to pull away, but Rean smiles at him, and somehow, it’s okay.

“See you tomorrow?” Rean asks hopefully.

“Yeah,” Crow agrees. 

Once Rean figures out that Crow can’t say no to him, he probably won’t ask for anything ever again, so Crow supposes he might as well make it count now.

They rejoin the group in time for Alitna, Alfin, and Elise to say goodnight and merry Christmas before they head back home, leaving Crow alone with Stark for the first time in over a decade.

“I shouldn’t have shown up like I did,” Stark begins pretty much the moment the rest of the group turns around. “I didn’t even care about whether or not you wanted to see me.”

“Of course I wanted to see you,” Crow reassures him, wrapping an arm around his shoulder and giving him a side hug like he used to. It’s weird how easily you fall into certain habits around different people, even when you haven’t seen them in years. He still has this instinct to comfort Stark, to protect him like an older brother, even though he has no right to. “Things are just… complicated.”

Stark nods. “So, you’re a corporate realtor? Didn’t see that coming, but it makes sense. You’ve got the charm for it.”

Crow sighs. “I got into it to ruin Osborne. Came pretty damn close, too. But I think I’m done now. Hell, the whole reason I’m here in the first place was ‘cause my boss sent me to make Rean and Elise’s dad a proposal.”

“And somehow, you ended up winning everyone a prize at the Christmas Eve festival…?” Stark says with amusement.

“Let’s get the fuck out of the cold. Where you stayin’?”

“A place called the Phoenix Wings. Apparently, they had an emergency, last-minute cancellation. I mean, I hope those people are okay, but I’m glad I didn’t have to find a place outside town.”

“Elise’s mom wouldn’t let that happen. But I’m at the same hotel. We can find a corner in the lobby to talk.”

Crow doesn’t want to do this, but he owes it to Stark. He doesn’t have to tell him everything—he’s not sure how much Stark actually knows, so he’ll try to fish that out of him first. He’ll keep it brief, tell him that foster care sucked, but it was fine, and everything worked out in the end. 

He plans everything out in his head, but Stark beats him to the conversation.

“Just so you know, we never stopped looking for you or gave up hope. I don’t know the whole story, but my parents spent three years in family court trying to deal with your caseworker, and just when they finally got custody, we found out you had dropped off the face of the Earth.”

Crow hears only sounds for a moment, just sonic patterns making the air vibrate. They gradually become words and sentences with meaning, and Crow tries to make sense of them. 

There’s that small, childlike part of him he hasn’t managed to kill, though not for lack of trying. It’s so silent most of the time that he generally forgets that it’s there, but Stark’s words resonate with it powerfully. It’s almost vindicating. There was somebody out there who gave a shit about him. The whole time he thought he was alone, somebody was actually trying to help him.

Then, there’s the guilt that settles heavily in his chest. These people loved him, and he never bothered to even let them know he was alive. They spent years of their lives and who knows how much money fighting for him, and they got nothing in return.

“... I didn’t even know they were looking,” is all Crow can manage.

“I don’t want to talk about the past,” Stark says, and Crow has never been more grateful for anything in his life because he is woefully unprepared to open that box. “I want to talk about what’s going on between you and Elise’s brother.” 

Wow, this kid became such a little shit in his absence. His eyes are gleaming and he’s grinning, and okay, talking about Rean is awkward, but it’s certainly preferable to discussing the past.

Crow rolls his eyes and makes a show of his annoyance, and Stark tolerates it because he knows he’s going to get what he wants.

“Honestly… I don’t know. It’s,” he wants to say complicated, but he feels like he’s used that word a thousand times and it’s starting to lose its meaning. “I’m not sure. I’ve only known him for a few days.” He gives a summary of the highlights, which somehow turns him into a teenage girl, much to his horror. Stark is listening with rapt attention, offering very animated reactions, and Crow wonders if this is how things might have been if they’d been able to finish growing up together.

“Then he gets all serious and starts with this ‘I’ve got baggage you should know about’ shit, and it’s like, the tamest stuff ever, so I tell him what a fucking category-5 disaster I am, and he just sits there, blinking at me. This is serious shit and he’s completely fuckin’ unfazed, until he starts to think I’m trying to let him down easy! I finally convinced him I wasn’t, but that’s when I saw an asshole from the Osborne group and thought he was up to some shady shit, so we didn’t get to finish talking, but yeah. That’s where things stand.”

“I think you should go for it,” Stark says. “What have you got to lose?”

“If it goes well, literally everything,” Crow replies.

The corner of Stark’s mouth pulls upward in a grin. “That’s a potential future. I asked what you’ve got right now.”

Nothing. Crow has absolutely nothing, not even his career, at this point.

“You’re both too cute—you have to at least give this a try.”

“Ugh, let’s talk about something else,” Crow says, covering his face. He peeks out from behind his fingers. “But he’s really fucking cute.”

Stark smirks a little.

“Okay, it’s getting late. Off to bed,” Crow instructs in his best parental tone.

Stark laughs. “I’m not a kid anymore, bro.”

“Tough shit. You’ll always be a kid to me,” Crow reminds him, ruffling his hair.

“And you’ll always be my big brother.”

Jesus fucking Christ, even after all these years, he still looks at Crow like he hung the moon just for him. 

“C’mon, man. I’ve been out of the picture for a decade and change. I never reached out. I don’t deserve that title.”

“That’s not for you to decide.” Stark’s voice is matter-of-fact, and his eyes are sharp, and Crow doesn’t know what to say to that.

Stark grins. “Ha, finally managed to get the last word.”

“You really grew up, buddy,” Crow says, his voice all admiration. 

Stark looks so proud of himself, like Crow has just given him the greatest compliment he’s ever received. Crow thinks he’s an idiot for giving his words so much weight, but that’s neither here nor there.

Crow has to admit that the conversation wasn’t as bad as he thought it would be, as he parts ways with Stark and heads back to his room. He expected more of an interrogation, or that Stark would at least want Crow to account for the years they’ve been apart, but it seemed like he just wanted to be in the same room with him. 

Then again, Stark has probably imagined every gut-wrenching circumstance under which their reunion could’ve taken place, so it must have been a relief to find Crow alive, sober, and sane enough to function outside the walls of a psych ward.

Crow still can’t quite wrap his head around why Stark is so attached, why his image of Crow hasn’t tarnished even slightly, but… maybe it really is like Rean said. Crow doesn’t see how; all he did was survive, but maybe that’s enough for some people. 

Rean is a whole other can of worms. The problem is, Crow’s already opened it, and there aren’t as many worms as he thought. They haven’t even made a mess; they’ve just quietly and politely dug themselves into the soil and disappeared. This leaves Crow standing with an empty metaphorical can, prepared to clean up a mess that doesn’t exist, and he has no idea what he’s supposed to do now.

He’s broken every resolution he’s made to himself regarding Rean, so it seems like the best course of action is to not think about it and see where things go. 

Despite the day’s surprises, Crow can’t say it wasn’t the best he’s had in a long time. He’s definitely expended his social battery, though, and he’s ready for a nice, hot shower and some sleep. 

He’s just finished changing into his sleepwear when Rean’s text comes through.

Rean: You okay?

Crow should text in sentences, shouldn’t he? Rean is a teacher, after all, and Crow should at least put some effort into his syntax.

Crow: Yeah, it’s all good. The talk was pretty chill. Way better than expected

Rean: Good. 

Rean: How weird is it that you and Altina both discovered long-lost siblings tonight?

Crow: pretty fucking weird

Crow: How’s she doing with that? She didn’t have much of a reaction earlier, but she ain’t one to show her feelings

Rean: I asked her about it before she went to bed. She said that aside from surprise, she doesn’t feel any way about it. They don’t have a sibling bond, so this other girl is just a stranger. But she’s willing to talk about it with her counselor, and that’s all I can ask for.

Crow: she’s got a good head on her shoulders

Crow: except when she’s bullying me

Crow: then, she’s wrong about everything

Rean: 🤣

Rean: I don’t think she’ll agree

Crow: Which means she’s wrong, just like I said

Rean: You can be the one to tell her that.

Rean: But I should let you know that you’ll have to provide evidence and cite your sources if you want her to take you seriously.

Crow: I was gonna complain, but you know what? I respect that in this day and age

Rean: The age where credibility is determined by how loudly someone screams?

Crow: pretty much

Rean: Don’t even get me started.  

Rean: You wouldn’t believe how hard it is to convince teenagers that influencers are literally paid to INFLUENCE you and aren’t showing you their actual lives.

Crow: I don’t envy that

Rean: By the way, you were totally right about the Christmas ornament. 

Rean: Altina was so happy putting it on the tree when we got home.

Crow: I bet she was. That’s awesome, Rean

Rean: She said today was the best day she’s ever had.

Rean: And to be honest, it was the best one I’ve had in years.

Is Rean flirting? Is he saying that to flatter Crow, or is he fishing to find out how Crow feels about things? Or is he just being honest and stating a fact that Crow is reading too far into?

Crow doesn’t know how to handle this. 

His instinct is to play it off with a joke, but “damn, your life must be bleak as hell” would definitely be in bad taste, especially given what Rean’s told him about himself. He could tell Rean the truth, or a toned-down version of it; “I genuinely can’t remember the last time I felt this happy” is excessive for one thing, and Crow doesn’t think he could physically make himself write something that honest, for another.

If he teases Rean with something like: “Of course. You spent the day with me, didn’t you?” Rean might take him seriously and fucking straight-up agree, and Crow cannot handle that. 

He feels like this matters, like everything hinges on whatever he says next. The problem is that Crow doesn’t know what the fuck he wants.

That’s not even a little bit true—he knows exactly what he wants, and Rean offered it to him. He just doesn’t know if it’s okay to take it. 

Yes, Rean is a grown man who's perfectly capable of deciding things for himself, and he made it clear that he doesn’t care that Crow’s a mess—but, you can’t let someone you care about jump off a fucking bridge, even if they swear it’s what they want.

Rean might survive the fall, but not without damage.

A voice that sounds suspiciously like Stark sighs in annoyance and orders him to drop the dramatic bullshit. Crow isn’t making some noble sacrifice to spare Rean pain; he’s making excuses because he’s fucking terrified. He’s scared he’ll screw things up, afraid of being vulnerable, and petrified of emotional intimacy. This is the first time he’s wanted to hold on despite the instinct to push away, and that’s frightening in its own way.

Good things don’t last, and Crow always ends up alone once they’re ripped away.

Except that’s not true, either, is it? 

Stark and his parents were there all along—they just couldn’t find him. They never stopped missing him like he was their own. Everything his caseworker said about how no family would ever want to take him in was complete and utter bullshit. All those shitty foster homes filled with even shitter people, every lie they beat into him until it became the truth—just because Crow buried it doesn’t mean it’s not still there, rotting and festering deep beneath the surface, infecting the roots of everything it touches without Crow’s conscious awareness.

It’s like putting on a pair of glasses for the first time and seeing the world in focus.

Even as he realizes it, there’s still that part of him that refuses to accept it. But it’s much harder to believe that he’s worthless and unlovable when Stark travelled halfway across the country, with his parents willingly footing the extortionate cost of last-minute holiday airfare, just to find Crow.

Crow doesn’t know what he deserves, but he knows what he wants. Rean has made it clear he wants the same thing. 

What else is there to consider?

Crow: I know what you mean. Even the ice skating turned out to be pretty fun

Rean: I told you you’d get the hang of it.

Crow: That’s generous

Rean: I never said you did it well.

Crow: Next time you can do the gingerbread house decorations. Or sing with Altina

Rean: She’d accuse me of breaking the Geneva convention.

Crow: I’m about to have a ton of free time on my hands so maybe I’ll use it to get good at ice skating

Rean: I think there’s an ice rink in Heimdallr, but you probably shouldn’t go alone.

Rean: You need someone to make sure you don’t end up in a full-body cast.

Crow can be cool about this. Rean is just maybe kind of almost definitely trying to see if Crow would be open to going on a date. An actual date. 

What do people even do on dates?!

Once again, Stark’s voice pipes up and says: pretty much exactly what you and Rean have been doing the last few days.

God, he’s a little shit in Crow’s head, too.

Crow: Know anyone who’d be interested?

Rean: I could be persuaded. 

Rean: If there’s dinner afterward.

Crow literally fucking squeals, and it is, without question, the most horrible sound he’s ever made.

Crow: That’s fair

Rean: You choose the place.

Given Rean’s penchant for those green tea cakes and that cherry blossom stuff Alfin bought with him in mind, it’s not unreasonable to assume Rean is into Eastern shit. Sushi is probably a safe bet. Crow knows a place with a small bakery attached—he’s never tried the sweets there, but Rean might like it.

Crow: There’s a sushi joint with a little eastern bakery

Crow: Dunno if they’ve got those cakes you like, but it might be worth checking out

Rean: I’m sold.

Rean: Once you have a better idea of what’s going on with work, we’ll figure out the details.

There’s a conversation they were supposed to finish, but somehow, they’ve blown past it and careened straight into planning a date. 

Well, Crow certainly isn’t going to be the one to back out of it.

Crow: Sounds good

Frankly, it sounds terrifying and amazing and surreal all at once. It’s the pop and sparkle of champagne fizz buzzing through his body while being totally sober. There are so many emotions happening and Crow doesn’t even recognize half of them, so it’s a bit overwhelming, but he doesn’t hate it. 

Rean: I was disappointed I didn’t get to kiss you goodnight before we left.

Crow involuntarily lets out this weird, high-pitched whine and his face goes scarlet. He reads the message over six times, just to make sure he's not hallucinating from all the blood rushing to his head, but the words don’t change. Rean wants to kiss him again.

What is he supposed to say to that?!

Ever unhelpful, his lizard-brain suggests: why don’t you come to my room and make it up to me? with a hundred horrible, holiday-themed sex puns that make him cringe.

That would’ve been nice

Nice? What the fuck?

You could have

Not as disappointed as I was

Fuck, Crow is terrible at this. 

Crow: Me too.

He hits ‘send’ before he can overthink it, and he’s pretty sure he doesn’t breathe until he’s startled by a knock at his door.

Ugh, Stark has the worst timing ever! He’s going to take one look at Crow and know something’s up, and that little shit is way too smart to not attribute it to Rean. Then again, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to have a wingman who actually knows how to talk to people you want for more than a fuck.

He resigns himself and opens the door, then stands there as his brain tries to understand what the fuck Rean is doing in front of him. 

In a testament to his smooth-talking silver tongue, he says, “You’re not Stark,” and thinks about drowning himself in the bathtub.

Rean laughs lightly, and the sound is so endearing it’s like honey, or sunshine, or some other wonderfully bright, sweet thing Crow can’t name because his experiences with things of that nature are so preciously few.

“Sorry,” Crow says, rubbing the back of his neck, and oh God, how’s his hair? He didn’t blow-dry or style it, so it has to be a disaster. He quickly tries to smooth it into place as best he can, but he’s not sure if it makes things worse or better. “What’s up?”

Heat rises in Rean’s cheeks, and he looks shy for some reason. “There’s… time for that goodnight kiss—if you still want to.”

Crow will never forgive himself for the sound his throat makes in that moment. Normally, he’d be longing for the bathtub, but he wants to kiss Rean more than he’s embarrassed, which is frankly shocking, especially given how utterly humiliating it was for that sound to have come out of a grown man.

He couldn’t help it! Rean showed up at his hotel to kiss him goodnight. This man is just not fucking real.

He still hasn’t answered, but Rean is waiting patiently, smiling as he watches what has to be a series of extremely unfortunate expressions pass over Crow’s features.

Fuck words. He cannot do words right now. Any attempt to do words will not go well, so he just nods.

Rean looks relieved, like he was worried Crow might not want to kiss him, and Crow almost laughs because he cannot imagine a universe in which that would be even a little bit true.

Crow is more prepared for it this time. Rean’s lips against his own still hit him like a shotgun blast, but in a good way—which makes absolutely no sense whatsoever, but to be fair, it’s difficult to generate metaphors when every last neuron in his brain is sparking to life.

Rean’s still wearing his coat, but the front is unzipped (to make it easier to take off or because the coat is too warm? His lizard brain clings to the former while what’s left of his rational mind assumes the latter), so they’re much closer than they were without the heavy outerwear between them. Rean has an arm around Crow so his open palm is splayed across the small of his back. It burns through Crow’s T-shirt, holding Crow against him with gentle pressure no more demanding than a suggestion. Still, there’s a tension, an intensity there, almost as if Rean is holding himself back—like he wants to pull Crow against him with all his strength and smother the space between them. 

Rean’s other hand is on Crow’s neck, his thumb stroking the line of his jaw. It’s so gentle that Crow doesn’t know what to do with it. He just kisses Rean back as he cups one hand behind the nape of Rean’s neck and rests the other against the middle of his back while he fights the urge to snake that hand inside Rean’s coat and hold him closer. 

Rean flicks his tongue over Crow’s bottom lip, like he’s testing to see if it’s okay, and Crow somehow manages not to stick his own tongue down Rean’s throat in response. There’s something novel about the way Rean kisses him, like it’s something to be savored and enjoyed rather than an obligatory gesture to avoid talking to the person you’re undressing, so Crow defers to Rean, partially out of curiosity. He parts his lips so Rean can deepen the kiss, and Crow just about dies when Rean’s tongue brushes against his.

He barely manages to swallow the strangled whine that wants to force itself out of his throat. The kiss is slow, but not lazy… it feels oddly purposeful, like Rean has chosen to deliberately kiss him this way—which means he planned to kiss Crow before he set out for his hotel. It only now occurs to him that Rean tastes like mint, toothpaste-mint as opposed to the peppermint candy cane Crow tasted on him at the warming station earlier.

His lizard brain yanks the steering wheel away from Crow’s yet-to-be-anthropomorphized better judgment. He considers pulling Rean into his room by his coat and shoving him against the door, but before he can even tighten his grip, Rean slows the kiss down until it’s the same, sweet closed-mouth kiss he initiated. 

Rean draws back, but not far. He leans in again to press a short, soft kiss to Crow’s lips, then withdraws. It takes a few more chaste kisses before he’s finally able to pull back and let his hands slide away from Crow.

“See you tomorrow?” Rean asks, his smile glowing.

Crow blinks at him. 

“Did you… really walk all the way here just to kiss me goodnight?”

Rean rubs the back of his neck. “I actually headed over because I was worried about how things went with Stark,” he confesses. “I can imagine there are some questions with answers you probably don’t want to think about, and I thought you might need a friend. I was about to go back home after you told me everything was fine, but the conversation kept going and, well… one thing led to another. I didn’t expect you to say you said you were disappointed, too. I hadn’t left the lobby yet, so I figured I’d make it up to you—if you hadn’t changed your mind.”

Crow’s lizard brain actually slams on the brakes of its own will.

If Crow had stopped responding to Rean’s messages or said, “I’m heading to bed, see you tomorrow”, he never would have known Rean was even here. Rean would have quietly gone home and said nothing about it.

He’s not here because he wanted to kiss Crow. 

He’s here because Crow wanted to kiss him.

Rean didn’t brush his teeth because he planned some elaborate, romantic seduction. He’d showered and changed, realized that Crow wouldn’t ask for company even if he needed it, dressed himself again, then walked here, just in case.

Crow has no idea what to do with this man.

He expects his lizard brain to chime in with “rip his clothes off”, but shockingly, even it is stunned to silence. 

He’s so far out of his depth he may as well be floating in the Mariana Trench.

Rean… really doesn’t expect anything from him?

“Anyway, I’m glad the talk with Stark went well,” Rean says. “Dinner tomorrow is super casual, so you don’t have to dress up. You can come earlier if you want to hang out—we’re usually done with brunch and presents by two, so I’ll text you when we finish.” He gives Crow a smile and zips up the front of his coat. “I guess I’ll see you in a few hours.”

He leans in and presses a small kiss to Crow’s cheek. “Merry Christmas, Crow,” he offers with a smile, before he turns and starts down the hall. 

Crow just stands in the doorway for a few long moments, until Rean turns down the hall. Just before he steps around the corner and out of sight, Crow catches a glimpse of Rean’s face, painted with a grin so bright it makes the sun look like a cheap, flickering lightbulb. 

Crow’s breath catches in his chest because it is, without a doubt, the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. 

He once listened to Bleublanc ramble on about Stendhal syndrome, explaining how some people have actually been hospitalized after being exposed to exceptionally beautiful works of art. Naturally, Crow thought it was bullshit—but now, he’s certain the guy was on to something because Crow’s heart is beating way too fast, and he’s kind of dizzy, and feels like he might be floating.

Something bubbles up in his throat, something iridescent and strange and oh dear God, is he fucking giggling right now, what the actual fuck?!

He frantically ducks into his room and shuts the door, flops face down on the bed, and does not scream into the pillow. 

He screams into the comforter.

Yes, there is a difference.