Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Generally, Jute tries to keep their distance from everyone, but Balor especially. Ever since he said, “you look familiar,” so nonchalantly on their first day in Mistria, they knew he was going to be a problem. With the small population of the town and their neighbors' penchant for gossip, a simple realization from Balor could be enough to put an end to their time here. 

But Jute can’t just avoid him outright as much as they wish they could because that, in itself, would devolve into a rumor. Then, that would lead into prying, and probably end with Jute getting kicked out of Mistria for lying about being from the Guild. 

It’s why when Jute approaches his cart today – neutral faced, eyes alert, and posture straight – they feel a shiver down their spine when Balor doesn’t greet them with a wave, but with keen eyes and an arched eyebrow. 

“Good morning, Balor.” Jute says calmly, like they aren’t thinking about every route this conversation could go down, like it’s not going to end with Jute having to leave their new home. They’re suffocating all the embers of uncertainty and fear. Jute has control. This will be fine.

“Ah, Jute, so good to see you this fine morning!” Balor sounds far too happy to see them and Jute fears he may break out into song. “Keeping busy?”
Jute paws through his daily wares in hopes of chocolate and plum blossoms, but is met with bugs and wool that they have no use for. Even though they’re done looking, they keep their hands busy and eyes down turned as they speak, playing focused. Balor will not be getting anything out of them. They nod in agreement and without looking at him, says, “Farming keeps you pretty busy.” Jute takes the wool in their hands, testing the texture and pulling at it before putting it back into his cart for good measure – they’re interested in his wares, they’re entertaining his questions like a good neighbor would. 

It’s the silence after that makes Jute really nervous. They’re well aware of Balor’s eyes on them, burning holes into the side of their head. Carefully, they retract their hands, itching to put them in their pockets but instead they let them hang at their sides as they attempt to leave, but Balor takes a step forward. 

“You know, Jute, being in my profession, I see and hear a lot more than people expect me to… Or, maybe want me to,” He chuckles. Jute is frozen in place as they meet his eyes, unsure of what that glint could possibly mean. “You play it so composed, but we both know you’re not just here farming.”

Jute doesn’t even furrow their brow in confusion, unwilling to let their face speak for them. They do, however, rest their hand on the pommel of their sword out of a nervous habit. Balor does not seem fazed by it as he leans down to speak to them. 

“I know your secret.” 

Their skin crawls. Heat is creeping up their neck while cold slinks down their spine. Things are ending right in front of them – how can they stop it? This can’t devolve to violence. They’ll have to lie their way out, try to play dumb… Hell, they’ll beg or put themself in debt with him if it comes to that. Right now, though, they have to keep calm, stay in control. Their jaw clenches as they tilt their head curiously, keeping their tone as light as they can when they ask, “My secret?” 

Balor nods, smiling. Jute gets an old impulse to strike it off his face, but they make no moves at all, waiting for him to speak. 

“You’re really going to keep acting like you don’t know?”

“...I don ’t know.” 

In response, Balor makes a tch noise and crosses his arms. “Funny, because the others are starting to catch onto it…” 

Jute’s heart is sinking. All they can do is curse themself, their foolishness for thinking this would ever work out, for even trying to live a life in the first place.

“...all those quick “visits” to Sweetwater, always while Hayden is home in the morning or evening… In fact, I’ve heard you’ve been stopping by for breakfast almost every day.” 

Like they’ve been hit in the stomach, Jute lets out a huff of air that warps into laughter, nervous and relieved, though they’re sure Balor doesn’t know them well enough to parse that. Hayden is their dirty little secret? Jute is already grateful for him, but right now they could drop to their knees and thank him a hundred times just for this moment alone. 

“Is that so? Where’d you get that information?” Jute challenges playfully. It’s not untrue, nor are they ashamed for stopping by Hayden’s to bring him and Henrietta breakfast. 

“The man himself, of course.” Balor smirks. A smile tugs at the corners of Jute’s lips involuntarily. “He told me that, among some other things.”

They stop and think about how this conversation should end, remembering the list of requests they need to fulfill and how few days there are to catch certain bugs, and though their legs are itching to move, Jute’s compelled by some unknown force to say, “Like what?” 

As if they said the magic words, Balor’s grin splits into a big, wolfish smile, and he starts walking around them like he’s sizing them up to eat them. An intimidation tactic? Maybe, but Jute thinks he looks right stupid doing it. 

“Hayden’s been telling me you’re a good farmer, a natural at it, even. Said something about how he’s glad he’s ‘tilling the same soil’ as you. I’d bet a decent chunk of tesserae that he wants you to get into ranching next, I’m sure he’d love to teach you everything he knows,” Balor puts extra emphasis on the word love and Jute feels nervous in a new kind of way. “He also said you’re quite a helper, running around Mistria for everyone, building the place back up alongside Lady Adeline – I think he said something about you having a good heart.” 

Even in the breezy weather, Jute feels like they’re being simmered. There’s no reason for it, Balor is just saying things to them – they have no way of verifying if they’re true or not. It shouldn’t warrant this kind of reaction from them. Despite knowing better, their face still burns and their lips tug upwards against their will as Balor continues on.

“And, while being good hearted, you’re also ‘very sweet’, to him and Henrietta – though he’d probably want me to add that he said ‘and everyone else’ after he specified himself and Henrietta first. He likes spending time with you very much, Jute.” Balor finally stops his pacing and stares them down square in the face. “Of course, he said more, but I think those were the key takeaways.”

“...You expect me to believe you hung out with Hayden and all he did was talk about me?” Jute calls his bluff. 

“You don’t have to believe me, but you can ask him yourself tomorrow at breakfast. Hayden told me he was hoping you’d swing by.”

The thought makes Jute’s heart skip a beat. They’re not… Jute doesn’t, can’t , entertain that idea that whatever it is they’re feeling towards Hayden is more than friendly. What Balor just told them means nothing to them, he’s just relaying a normal conversation to them, and Jute should not feel like an excited child at the prospect of Hayden gushing about them behind their back, because that’s simply not what it is. 

As they spin out on thought, Balor inches closer and whispers, “And if you do stop by, you should put your hair up in a braid. He wouldn’t stop mentioning it.” 

Jute is a statue with a clenched jaw threatening to drop. They only have a moment to get back on track, back to being the calm, unflusterable adventurer Mistria has come to know them as. They take a step away from Balor, nodding in their departure. 

“Good to know.” 

It takes every fiber of their being not to run back to their farm. 

Chapter Text

Even though Jute is enjoying their time in Mistria, they never expected it to be so… Lonely. Perhaps being in close quarters with about 20 other people the entirety of your life will make the world seem empty when you’re by yourself, and though Jute would never go back, they’d be remiss to say that they didn’t miss the company. 

The rain makes them especially nostalgic. Bad weather was a pain to travel through, but the troupe would always sing to lift spirits. Jute finds themself humming an old tune as they cast their rod into the river – something to keep them company. 

In the poor weather, Jute feels spiritually invigorated but their body very loudly disagrees. The searing ache in their knees reaches down to their ankles and their left hand is flaring up so bad, Jute can barely make a fist around the rod. No amount of sheer will allows their digits to bend, and it angers them greatly. 

There’s too much time in the day now that the rain has watered all their crops and with their hand the way it is, there’s barely anything substantial they can do – what are they supposed to do? Take a break?

Jute is so lost in thought, they miss the fish tugging on the line. They curse themself and recast. 

“Shucks, Jute, I know you’re an adventurer and all, but I don’t think you want to be fighting off a cold!” Hayden makes them nearly jump out of their skin. They turn to him, confused by how a big man like himself could have snuck up on them and confused about what he’s talking about. He gestures towards their outfit – the same thing they’ve been wearing since they arrived: a linen shirt, flannel bandana, brown overalls, and work boots. “Do you need a jacket?”

“No, I’m–”

“Sorry, do you want a jacket?”

Hayden is already shucking his off his shoulders. Jute’s confusion turns to surprise and they wave their free hand to get him to stop. “No, no, seriously, I’m fine!” A tug on the line splits their focus and they try to reel in the fish, to no avail. It’s embarrassing to have Hayden here watching them fail. They groan, annoyed, before they right themself. “I like the rain. I think it’s nice.” That makes Hayden pause and he returns his jacket to his shoulders.

He steps forward, closer to the river’s edge – closer to Jute. Their heart flutters nervously. 

“It is pretty, isn’t it?” Hayden reaches his palm up to the sky to feel the drops on his skin. The serene expression – his handsome, chiseled face that’s all soft smiles and hearty laughs – and the pose makes him look picturesque. Hayden’s eyes are trained on the sky, but Jute’s eyes are trained on him. “Does it rain a lot where you’re from?”

The question throttles Jute back into reality. “No more than any place else.” Jute answers vaguely. This part was a pain, they’ve come to realize, all the lying they have to do. It’s starting to make them feel bad , especially when it comes to Hayden. They bite their tongue, hoping he doesn’t ask any more questions. 

“Do you miss it?” 

Jute curses. They swallow down the thick lump in their throat that threatens to choke them out. How would someone from the Adventurer’s Guild respond? Did they even bother to think up a place to pretend to be from? Jute is half-tempted to jump into the river. 

No is what they sincerely mean to say, but what comes out is: “I guess so, sometimes,” and the realization hits them hard, leaving them feeling crumpled. They try to take control, adding on, “but, I prefer being here.” That, too, feels too honest, too vulnerable, and Jute feels their stomach churn. 

Hayden is completely oblivious to what he’s doing to them. While Jute feels like they’re being ripped apart at the seams, Hayden places a hand on their shoulder – warm, comforting, and grounding. It’s the nicest thing Jute has ever felt. “I’m happy to hear it.” Now, Jute is cursing him. Where does he get off? Being so kind to them, gentle with his words? If it wasn’t for the nervous excitement they regrettably feel, they’d be angry.

“What’s your reason for being out here? I figure a guy with a jacket would have better things to do than meander about in the rain.” What did they mean by this? Jute is just letting words fall from their mouth at this point. It’s humiliating. Hayden laughs, and Jute feels another jolt of shame mixed with unbridled joy. It’s a beautiful sound and Jute can tell they’ll cherish it for a long time. 

“Days like this are good for spending time at the Inn. Warm food, warm drinks, good company…” He has to know what he’s doing. The heart-melting grin he gives Jute makes them want to fall to their knees. “Care to join me?”

Even with the cold rain chilling their skin, Jute feels unbearably hot. Their chest feels warm and the sensation radiates throughout their entire body. Oh, God, what’s happening to them?

They… really should be getting work done. Fishing (or more aptly, failing at fishing) is work. Running off to the mines is work. Sitting at home and watching the crops grow could, possibly, count as work. What isn’t work is sitting with Hayden at the Inn. It’s not reveling in his presence, in his all encompassing warmth. It is not falling for the first person that's genuinely nice to you – not that that’s what Jute is doing. This feeling will pass. It has to pass.

“Sure.”

God damn it. 

Hayden only beams, bright as the Sun breaking through the storm clouds. Jute is warmed. They take to his side as he begins to walk down the Narrows and into town. The silence is comfortable, but Jute is more at ease when Hayden begins to think out loud. 

“Not sure what I should go for… I’m thinking hot toddy, but hot chocolate also sounds nice… Normally, I take my tea before bed, but that sounds good right now, too…” 

Jute hums, deliberating with him. They’re not sure what they want either. “Save the tea for bedtime, there’s plenty of other hot drinks to warm you up.” Hayden nods in agreement. “I think I’ll have the hot chocolate.”

“Ah, so it’s settled, then,” He says with an assured smile. “You get the hot chocolate, I’ll get the hot toddy, and we can split them!” Hayden punctuates his sentence with a friendly pat on their shoulder and a hearty laugh. It brings a smile to Jute’s face.

As they step to the Inn, Hayden graciously opens up the door for them to pass through first before stepping in himself. While picking a table to sit at, Jute shucks off their sopping bandana, tucking it into their back pocket and carding their fingers through their hair, sighing. The Inn is warm and cozy as always, filled with quiet chatter from folks itching to stay dry and comfortable. When the two pick an empty table and seat themselves, the word home pops into Jute’s mind. 

How long can they get away with this? The lying, the settling in, the falling in love? Is anyone going to stop them? When is the other shoe going to drop?

“Nice to see you two! Care for the soup of the day, or should I start you guys off with some warm drinks?” Reina approaches the table. 

Hayden gives the young woman a pleasant smile and orders a cup of hot toddy and a cup of hot chocolate and when Reina turns her back on them, he gives Jute a playful wink. 

Jute doesn’t know when this will end. Honestly, they hope it never does.

Chapter Text

The Inn is lively tonight despite it being only Wednesday. While everyone else is here to relax and kick their feet up, Jute is here to talk business.

“So, you think that it’s been going well?”

“Sure enough,” Hayden responds affirmatively. “Balor’s been saying that the quality is good, quantity too.” 

Jute’s chest swells with pride. Compliments from Hayden always leaves them soft, but something of this nature coming from him – Mistria’s rancher – makes them feel like they’ve been bestowed a high honor. 

“Ah, speaking of…” Jute bumps their shoulder into his and smiles up at him. He returns it with a small, curious one. They rifle around their pack on the floor for a moment before retrieving a small bottle of milk with a golden top. They toss it in the air and it spins beautifully as it drops back into their waiting hand. Then, they extend it to Hayden who’s looking at them in awe. “For you!” 

He guffaws and takes it graciously. “Well, this is mighty thoughtful of you, Jute.” He nudges his arm against theirs and keeps it there. The smile that he gives Jute melts them completely, warmth spreading throughout their entire body, especially where their arms are pressed together. “As one rancher to another, the quality of this produce can’t be beat!” 

Jute can’t stop themself from beaming, though they feel embarrassed for the amount of joy they’re feeling. They wind a lock of hair around their finger as they find anything but Hayden’s kind face to focus on. It’s almost a bit overwhelming. 

“Well, I – I wouldn’t call myself a rancher. I just have a few cows and chickens, that’s all.” 

The tone Hayden takes with them is surprisingly playful, almost like he’s trying to tease them. “Aw, you don’t want to be a rancher with me?” He jokes.

“I didn’t say that…” 

“Such a shame, too. You’re real good at it.” 

Jute rolls their eyes and takes a sip of their drink. Hayden is just laying it on thick, playing with them because it’s amusing, and Jute can’t blame him – they enjoy it when he does it, and they like doing it to him too. It’s an odd sensation, a strange joy they derive, and though Jute thinks they shouldn’t indulge, they find it hard to ever stop. 

Hayden leans closer, a handful of inches separating them. Jute can’t bring themself to keep focusing on the woodgrain when he gets this close. 

“Honestly, Jute, you’re making a fine rancher.” In an instant, that lighthearted teasing is replaced with stinging sincerity and it makes Jute dizzy. They’re trying to remind themself that they’re here for work, discussing their progress with their animals and the quality of their produce, not… toying with their neighbor. He makes it hard, though, with his handsome smile and sweet words. “You might even be able to teach me a thing or two!” 

That makes Jute chuckle, albeit at their own expense. They hide it behind the back of their hand as they look up at Hayden through crinkled eyes. “I sure hope not!” They drop their hand down to the table as the fit of laughter passes. “I came here to learn a few things from you about ranching, not the other way around.” 

Hayden lets out an amused huff as the conversation winds down. Jute watches as he turns his attention to his drink with a thoughtful look in his eye. They mimic him, placing their hands around the outside of their cup. 

He really is a good man. The thought makes Jute feel heavy and nervous, like they’re a tree being uprooted. Hayden is good to them. Maybe Hayden is good for them – the prospect is enticing, but Jute knows such a thing is unattainable. 

They’re not as good of a man as Hayden. They’re many things – a rancher now, a farmer, the Impaler, a side show act, and most importantly: a liar. Remembering that always puts a sour taste on their tongue and ruins good moments like this. It makes them think foolish thoughts, like how they should come clean – tell Hayden, or anyone, but probably Hayden, that they’re not really from the Adventurer’s Guild, that they really like being here and that they’d hate to leave. 

When they look at Hayden, they briefly see a life they could have, and it scares them to their bones. Jute can’t take it and goes for their drink. Even though it's not alcoholic, it will at least give them something easy for their mind to focus on.

“I suppose you could stop by my place for a lesson in breeding.”

Hayden’s words slice through the thick fog of overthought and pierces something in Jute’s chest as their eyes fly open in surprise. They hear someone cough, choking on their beverage, and they’re keenly aware of Balor sitting next to them, who definitely heard exactly what Jute did. 

Jute is absolutely astonished by him, and they can’t stop it from appearing on their face. They can feel the horrible way their cheeks burn, the comical way their mouth hangs open, and the wideness of their staring eyes. To their surprise, though, Hayden is sipping from his cup like he didn’t just proposition them, but when he puts the glass down, he casually says, “There’s not much to it, really. I have some treats you can give to your animals, and then all you have to do is wait. We can talk seasons and variations in coats, but–”

Oh. So that wasn’t… Of course. Right. Jute swallows, trying to calm themself. Not that they weren’t calm already, no, they were fine and knew exactly what he meant. They’re trying to listen very closely about his explanations – giving them the breeding lesson right here at the bar rather than at Sweetwater – but they’re busy admonishing themself for every misfired thought they have as they watch his lips move. 

Take a sip. Feel the weight of the cup. Feel the wood of the bar. Swallow. Hayden is going to do them in even if they never confess to him, even if they never fall in love, even if they never share a life together. Moments like this, Jute is certain, are going to kill them. 

Hayden’s nervous chuckle brings them back to reality. He rests his hand against the back of his neck. “I’m sorry for talking your ear off, I meant to save that for later. Did… did you get all that, at least?”

Jute tries to right themself, hoping that they look normal. “Ah, well… I wouldn’t mind it being reiterated…?” They realize that could trap them at the bar for longer than they mean and attempt to backtrack. “Not right now, of course. Later, maybe. Tomorrow, if that’s not too soon?” Jute curses themself. If their cheeks weren’t lingering red from Hayden’s earlier comment, they’re certainly blushing again now.

“Well, sure, but… Are you feeling up to it?” Hayden’s face scrunches up in concern.

“Yeah, why…?” Jute mirrors him.

To their surprise, he leans in closer, and looks down at them like he’s observing them. It’s not some friendly joke. He seems genuinely worried. “You’re just looking awfully flushed.”

Jute swears their heart stops. Unable to get a grip on their mind and body, a nervous laugh bubbles from their throat until they manage to spit out. “I think I might just need some rest!” This is going so terribly. Jute feels so embarrassed. They scoop their pack from off the floor and sling it around their back, clearly hurried, visibly rushing. It’s every single tell in the book – blushing cheeks, antsy movements, all on display for everyone and Hayden to see. “See you tomorrow!” 

“Uh, bye, Jute!” Hayden is audibly confused. Jute can only imagine the expression he’s wearing. Unfortunately for them, as they open up the old door of the Inn, they can hear him speak to Balor and ask, “Did I say something wrong?”

Unable and unwilling to hear Balor’s response, Jute shuts the door behind them and sprints back to their farm.

Chapter Text

“Morning, Mister Jute!”

“Morning, Miss Jute!”

“Morning, Farmer Jute!” 

The Dragon Guard simultaneously greet them as they approach. Jute’s practiced smile cracks into one a smidge more genuine. Jute is starting to catch on. Yesterday, Dell was the one calling them mister, today it’s Maple, and the day before, it was Luc. 

“Mornin’.” Jute stands before them soldier-straight, hand resting on the pommel of their sword. They know the kids think it’s cool – Maple has said that Jute would be a good knight for the Dragon Guard, so Jute tries to play their part well. “Any updates on our project?” Truthfully, Jute is unsure whether or not they’re actually supposed to be robbing (...?) Balor. They’re asking for the sake of clarification in a roundabout way because they would be pretty lame if they flat out asked. 

The kids huddle in on each other, conspiratorially whispering. They’ve never really talked with children much before, so Jute’s unsure if this is a good or bad sign. Maybe they can sense that Jute doesn’t want to rob Balor, so now they have to find a way to let them down easy. Jute patiently waits for their deliberations to end. 

Dell goes first, “There are! But we’re still working on it. We’ve been pretty busy.” 

“Maple and I got in a lot of trouble because we let Dell into the kitchen.”

“It’s true,” Dell confirms. “Did you know you shouldn’t use frying pans as a weapon? I think it would hurt really hard if you got hit by one.”

“It would.” Jute agrees. 

Maple steps forward and gestures for Jute to get closer. Though they’re pretty short, Jute kneels down like they’re ready to be knighted. Maple leans in and whispers loud enough for the other two Dragon Guard members to hear. 

“We’re gonna have our next steps done by Friday,” Jute gives a solemn nod. “So you have to come back to the Inn, okay? And you can’t come before or after everyone gets here, or else it will look supspi - suspicious.” 

Though their face is hardened and determined as it should be, Jute wants to break it with a smile. Last Friday, they were dreadfully late and almost didn’t show. Joy swells in their chest at the realization they were missed.

“Okay, I will.” 

The children smile at them and Jute grins back.

“What are you all up to?” A voice booms out from behind Jute, feet above their head. Hayden is looking at the four of them with a delighted expression on his face. 

Dell is quick to respond, “That’s confi-dential information, Mister Hayden!”

“Ah, I see. Then why’s Jute here?”

Maple says, “Jute’s our knight,” as Luc says, “Jute’s our jester.” All eyes then go to Luc and he adds on, “Well, they are! Mister Hayden, have you seen them juggle?”

“He doesn’t need to see that.” They say jokingly. Embarrassment reaches the tips of their ears. Jute stands, aching from having been on their knees for too long.

The Dragon Guard, having been interrupted by Hayden, start easing their way out of the conversation to avoid getting caught. Jute thinks they’re like a group of crabs trying to scuttle away together. 

“Well, we have to go be busy somewhere else now,” Maple says.

“Aw, alright then, be safe!” Hayden waves. Jute gives the kids a knowing wink as if to say I’ll be there Friday . The Dragon Guard says their good-byes to the two of them. Once they’re far out of ear shot, Hayden says, “They must think a lot of good about you, Jute.” 

Jute waves their hand in the air as if to dispel his assumption.

He playfully slugs their shoulder, light as a feather as to not jostle them. “I’m serious! They’re pretty exclusive, they won’t let anyone else into the Dragon Guard.”

“Jealous?” Jute teases.

“A little bit.” Hayden responds honestly. That makes Jute freeze. Would it break the Dragon Guard’s heart if they found out Jute has been lying about who they are? Would they be disappointed, betrayed? Jute feels incredibly guilty. “You’re really good with them.” Hayden’s words come as another painful strike to their chest.

“Awh, I don’t think so,” Jute fixes their face and shakes their head. “They like me ‘cause I’m new and they think I’m cool because I have a sword.”

“And you can juggle.” Hayden adds with a playful smile.

Jute returns it with a more subdued, exasperated one. “...And I can juggle.” Hayden’s smile only grows. “You know, you’re good with them too. Not to air out their business, but they were talking about how you’re kind of like a dad.” Jute laughs a bit at the end of their sentence.

Surprisingly, Hayden is silent, face completely awestruck. Jute feels another strike to their chest, though this time, not out of guilt. “...Really?” Hayden’s voice, despite his rugged exterior, is so soft and sincere when he asks. 

“Well… Yeah?” Jute means it as a compliment when they say, “You kind of are, anyways,” Mostly thinking about Henrietta and his animals, but Hayden’s face only grows redder and he winds a nervous hand into his hair. His smile, always so wide, is small and sheepish. Jute has never seen him like this, and although they already think he’s handsome, he looks even more so now. “Like, with all your animals, you know?”

“I don’t really know if that’s the same…” 

Jute shrugs in response. They’re not one to pry, to poke the bear, but… “It’s close enough, I think. Animals or not, I think you’d make a good dad regardless.” In a gesture of friendliness, Jute pats his arm the same way he’s done with them dozens of times. It doesn’t ease that wide-eyed expression and for some reason, it pleases Jute greatly. “I’m surprised you aren’t one already.” Hayden visibly jolts at that comment, and that smugness that Jute was feeling turns to guilt. It might be a sore spot. Jute doesn’t know him all that well and this might have toed the line from being playful to cruel. 

Hayden looks like he’s thinking hard, really considering what he wants to say before speaking. Jute wants to interject to apologize, wish him a good day, then spend the rest of the day deep in the mines to wallow in their shame and overzealousness, but Hayden doesn’t give them the chance to. “Well, maybe someday, I hope.” He softly admits. Jute’s heart pangs. “It’d be nice to have a few kids, it’d be a big help with the farm, I’m sure.” He laughs a bit at his words and Jute wonders if he’s doing it at his own expense. 

They’ve never thought about family before. Having their own has always been off the table – domestic pursuits aren’t befitting for a life on the road. They’ve always liked the notion of settling down and that’s kind of what they’re doing here in Mistria; settling down, getting domestic. Does that mean they want a family? Should they even have a family? 

When they look at Hayden, past the endearing blushing cheeks, the chiseled face, and soft lips, Jute starts to see the cracks. Little bits of loneliness and longing peeking through his friendly facade. In that second, Jute realizes the feeling, their own little cracks, their own longing reflected in someone else. It’s startling, it’s all encompassing, and Jute feels the impulse to run their fingers along his seams to see what else they could pull out of him.

They don’t though. Jute fixes their face into something natural and assuring so when they say, “I’m sure.” Hayden knows they’re taking him seriously. He doesn’t look convinced. They pat his arm one more time, letting their hand rest against his skin for a moment longer than what’s appropriate. They allow themself to get a bit closer, to lean in conspiratorially to say, “Hey, you never know, right?”

His uncertain smile breaks into short, breathy laughter. “Well now,” Jute is able to let him go, though they miss the sensation of his skin against theirs. To make up for it, they set their gaze on his warm face. Hayden seems to right himself, fix his expression into his natural, neighborly state. He smiles down at them, making their heart jump. “I suppose you’re right.”

Chapter Text

It’s not like Hayden didn’t look forward to the morning – quite the opposite, really. The morning is his favorite part of the day. Mornings mean another day to tend to his animals and his crops, another day to see his friends, another day to watch the Sun rise and fall, another day to watch the world turn. 

It’s just that now, he has a new neighbor. A new friend. Something else to look forward to when sunlight seeps past his eyelids, guiding him into the waking world. 

Even their absence has impacted his morning routine, a part of himself that he held so steadfastly, now has warped into something new and unfamiliar. When his eyes crack open, he briefly thinks of Jute, then thinks of what he needs to get done for the day. As he does this, he gets dressed, washes his face, feeds Henrietta then himself, and takes to his morning chores – intermittently thinking of Jute all the while.

Hayden tells himself it’s nothing serious. Jute is just an interesting person, and he likes having a new neighbor. Warm, inviting eyes and gentle smiles are just an extra perk, as far as he’s concerned. He also tells himself that part of the reason he’s so fond of them is because they stop by almost every morning with coffee for him and a treat for Henrietta. Jute’s kind, compassionate, and very considerate – how could Hayden not keep them in his thoughts?

He’s gotten used to the sound of their boots crunching the grass underfoot as they approach his farm. As he’s pulling peppers off their stems, he waits for them to greet him first. 

Like clockwork, Jute stands about a foot away from him and their cheery voice cuts through the crisp Summer air when they say, “Mornin’.”

That’s when Hayden turns up to greet them in kind, but he’s dumbstruck at the sight of them. They’re wearing a plain t-shirt and black shorts – that, they’ve been wearing all summer and comes as no surprise to him – and their face has been flushed red from the nonstop heat. It’s their hair that briefly stuns him. All season, they’ve let it cascade past their shoulders, but now it’s been woven into a loose braid. 

“Good morning!” Hayden manages to spit out. Jute seems none the wiser to his internal dilemma, because they extend the mug of fresh, hot coffee to him and they flash him a gentle smile while doing it. When Hayden takes it, he’s reminded of another favorite addition to his routine – their fingers brushing momentarily. He’s not starved of physical contact by any means, but there’s something delicious about the feeling of Jute’s skin against his. “Thanks, Jute, as always.”

“Of course.” 

Hayden rises to his feet, grunting as he stretches after being on his knees for so long. “You hungry? Can I get you anything?” He’s well acquainted with their little song and dance. Jute brings the food, Hayden takes it and offers something of his in return, and Jute never takes it. He doesn’t bother recalling the days worth of “no”s they’ve given him, because they add another one to the pile. 

“I’m all set.” Jute pauses, soft smile unwavering. It’s only when their eyes flit away from his for a moment that Hayden realizes that they might be nervous. “I appreciate it, though. Really.”

“It’s no trouble, honest.” Hayden hooks a finger in his belt loop. He tries not to pry into their life nor make assumptions about them – it only distracts him more. He tries to think about objective truths instead, like how Jute has been by to treat him to breakfast almost every morning since the middle of Spring and how when he hugs them, he can feel their bones jut through their skin. It’s mostly out of worry and neighborly duty when he adds, “I’d love to make something for you.”

Jute’s tiny smile doesn’t budge, but their eyebrows raise in surprise. It’s silent, painfully so, and Hayden starts to feel regret seep into his bones. 

“Ah…”

“If you’d like me to, of course.”

“Of course! I just…” 

“It’s not a problem.” 

“I – I’m sure, it’s just that I don’t want you to…” The Sun must be kissing his cheeks because he’s starting to feel as red as Jute, who might be turning scarlet based on their complexion. Whatever it is they’re trying to say must be difficult for them to put together, because their hands are hovering, fingers twitching at nothing, and their eyebrows are knit together like Jute’s dreadfully lost in thought. “You don’t have to do anything for me. I’m not looking for anything from you.” 

As the gears of Hayden’s mind turn, he says, “Well, I’m not looking for a fresh cup of coffee from my neighbor every morning, but you still show up anyways,” He pats them on the shoulder like he would Holt or Hemlock. “I’m not looking for anything from you, either.” Unlike patting Holt or Hemlock’s shoulders, Hayden keeps his hand steady on Jute’s. 

That seems to… do something to Jute. Their hands slowly return to their sides and the tension of their face releases into something more neutral. Their eyes are still pointed, thinking hard, but Hayden couldn’t guess about what.

“The offer’s always open.” Hayden gives them one more encouraging pat for good measure, but that blank expression doesn’t fall from their face. They’re looking at him quizzically, like they’re trying to figure him out. 

Jute’s mouth opens to say something, then they close it again, only to open it to just say, “Alright.” A hand goes to the back of their head, twiddling with a stray lock of hair that managed to escape their braid. Even more quietly, they tack on, “...Okay.”

It’s not quiet enough for Hayden to miss it, and the comforting smile he’s been wearing grows into something more excited. “...Okay?”

The corners of Jute’s lips are upturned as they speak, tinting every hesitant word with joy. “...Yeah, I… I could come back tomorrow if that’s better for you.”

Tomorrow would be better. Hayden hadn’t accounted for a surprise breakfast shared with Jute. But right now, his heart is fluttering, and for some reason he’s letting his mouth do all the heavy lifting this morning, though that’s probably for the best because if he thought for more than 30 seconds, he wouldn’t be able to ask Jute if they’re hungry now. 

Maybe he’s being too forward. Maybe he’s rushing into things. Maybe he’s acting a fool. Jute seems to crumple a bit at his question, but instead of the declination he expects, Jute sheepishly asks, “...Are you sure…?”

“Positive. Anything in particular you’re craving?” 

Jute barks out a nervous, breathy laugh. “You’re the host.”

“You’re the guest of honor.” Hayden shoots back, beaming. 

Again, they buckle in on themself, their smile growing minutely. It’s a rare sight to see them shy and Hayden revels in it, a surge of pride runs through him at the realization that he’s the one responsible for it. Another nervous laugh passes through their lips. Then, they speak, surprisingly genuine for the moment, “You’re really putting me out on the line, here, big guy,” They run their thumb along the scar on their left hand. “I’ll eat breakfast with you if you pick what we eat.”

“Hm… How about omelets and toast? I could set you up with some tea, too. I have plenty of fixin’s for it. What do you think?” Hayden is already brushing his dirt-covered hands on his thighs, itching to bring Jute inside. He starts walking towards his door and Jute takes to his side.

“Sounds delicious.” 

Hayden’s heart begins to swell. “I sure hope so.”

Chapter Text

When Hayden enters Jute’s home, he expects to see them there, but their tiny cabin, decorated in eclectic furniture, remains empty, despite their assurance they’d be home at the time.

He probably shouldn’t have gotten his hopes up about this whole dinner thing. Maybe Jute got word he was blabbering about it to anyone that would listen and they were weirded out by it – and him, by extension. As Hayden’s eyes flit around the room, they fall on the round dining table, he notices a piece of paper folded to stand. On the outside of it in Jute’s careful-but-shaky handwriting is his name.

It’s a bit anxiety inducing – Hayden is fearing the worst. They were so freaked out by his over excitement that they left Mistria. They couldn’t even bring themself to tell him in person, so they left him a note instead.

Hayden takes the parchment in hand and unfolds it.

Hayden,

If you’re reading this, I messed up dinner. Really bad. First off, sorry, because I’m sure I’m making you wait. Secondly, if you don’t want to wait, I won’t be offended if you head home. We can try again another day if you’d like.

I’m at the Inn right now getting food. I shouldn’t be long. If you do want to wait, make yourself at home. I know it doesn’t look like much, but the couch is pretty comfortable.

See you soon/have a good night,

Jute

First, Hayden feels a swell of relief that his overactive imagination was incorrect. Secondly, he feels foolish for ever thinking that could have been a possibility. Then, his heart starts its incessant racing now that he knows he’s still having dinner with Jute. As his thoughts swirl around in his head, Hayden takes to the couch.

Jute really should give themself more credit, their house is coming together. The couch is a friendly yellow and is placed near the woodstove, a coffee table put in front of it and there’s an extra seat to the left. It’s thought out, inviting, and Hayden repeats that so he remembers to tell them. 

Hayden sits, more or less dropping his weight onto the couch – he forgot that he’s not in his own home and that Jute’s furniture probably isn’t made with someone as big as him in mind – it creaks under the sudden pressure and it sounds like something hits the floor. It makes Hayden shoot up straight to assess the damage. The seat looks fine, but for good measure, he drops to his knees to peer under, making sure nothing broke. He’d pay them back for it, even make them a new one if they asked. 

No wood or stuffing rests under the couch, but there is a paperback book. Maybe it was resting on the slats? Hayden reaches for it, bringing it into the light. 

Is… This can’t be Jute’s, can it? The book looks old and worn – well loved, for sure, but the surprise isn’t from the quality, it’s from the cover image. A strapping man with an open shirt kneeling at the feet of a well-endowed woman, partly in silky clothes, partly in armor, raising her sword in the air. In beautiful, cursive font, the title reads CONQUEST. 

He swallows. He should put it back, probably pretend like he never saw it. 

Hayden cracks the book open at a random page. He’s just a bit curious, it will only be a quick glance. 

“Amoura,” Hannigan purrs as he is laid out on the silken sheets of the bedroll. Amoura treats him as though he is merely a child’s porcelain doll – gentle, precious, and fragile – as she skates a calloused hand under his shirt. She’s warm with desire coursing through her veins, arousal making her burn ever hotter. She glares down at Hannigan, mischief in her eyes. Coyly, Hannigan traces a careful finger across her scarred and sweaty cheek and whispers, “Will you have your way with me?”

Hayden is thrust into reality when the book is swiftly ripped from his hands from above him – Jute is practically bent over the back of the couch, reaching over his shoulder to take it from him. When did he sit down? How much of that did he read? He gasps, shame and surprise overtaking him, and he stands to face Jute, preparing to apologize. 

It’s just hard to do so when he looks at their face. Jute looks aghast, like they should be pale in the face but their cheeks are tomato red, and Hayden finds it unbearably cute. He’s never seen them shocked, and he’s never seen them blush , not like this. It’s almost a triumphant moment if shame wasn’t creeping up his neck.

After a beat of silence where the two stare down each other, Hayden gets the courage to speak. “Jute, I’m–” At the same time, Jute interjects, “It’s not what it looks like!” and the two shut their mouths, back to staring hopelessly at each other.

Surprisingly, it’s Jute who successfully breaks the silence. Even though they’re very visibly flustered, their voice rings out steady as they ask, “How much of that did you read?”

“Oh! Um! Not very much, why?” Hayden immediately rests his palm against his face in shame, unsure of why he asked that. He’s also very certain that Jute does not believe him and that makes him feel even more foolish. Painfully, he admits, “About a chapter, give or take a few pages.” 

Jute noticeably cringes like they’re preparing for impact. They close their eyes and scrunch up their face, tucking the book in their arm as they pinch the bridge of their nose with their free hand. 

“Okay.”

“Honestly, it wasn’t even that bad!” Hayden tries to soothe them.

“Okay.” They repeat.

“I mean, it was just a bit of heavy petting, nothing wrong with that!”

“...Okay.”

“...and even if it got dirty that’s fine too! Th-those two seem to get on well, I’m sure they’d have a great time if they did–”

“Can –” Jute blessedly stops him from running his mouth with their stern interjection. They haven’t moved, haven’t opened their eyes to look at him, their hand still obscuring their face. Their cheeks are definitely hotter, redder than Hayden ever thought possible. “Can we just forget this happened? Please?” Jute’s voice sounds strained, as if this moment is taking a physical toll on them.

Hayden tries to ease the weight of it. “You know, there’s nothing wrong with having hobbies,” In all honesty, Hayden doesn’t think he could ever forget this. It’s oddly vulnerable seeing Jute flustered, though he wishes it was under different circumstances “You’ve got nothing to be ashamed of.” 

The tenseness begins to leave Jute’s face, they even peer at him momentarily before dropping their gaze to the floor. Their cheeks are still ablaze though, giving away their true feelings. They tuck the book a bit closer (Hayden dares to think it’s them fidgeting nervously), and quietly they quietly ask, “Do you still want to have dinner?”

That brings a big smile to Hayden’s face and Jute seems to soften a bit when he does. “I’d love to!”

Jute makes their way to the kitchen, filled with boxes of food from the Inn, much to Hayden’s surprise. He trails behind them and as he gets closer, he speaks without thinking, saying, “You know, we could discuss your book over dinner,” genuinely curious, endeared by this side of Jute. They laugh, a quick and rough bark of joy, addled with nerves. They toss their paperback on the counter so they can unpack the food, unable to meet Hayden’s eyes. 

“You… No. Absolutely not.” They chuckle. Hayden takes to their side, also unpacking a box. “And, uh… Please don’t tell anyone about this.” Their eyes slide to his face, smiling nervously, pleading with him.

Hayden doesn’t need to think when he pats their shoulder and sincerely says, “You have my word as a farmer, Jute.” Their secret, this moment, is only his, only theirs, and it means the world to him. At his promise, Jute seems to relax a bit, plating the food with a gentle smile and pink cheeks. 

Chapter Text

Jute’s not entirely sure why Hayden is letting them teach the Dragonguard their agriculture lesson for today. Surely, he’s the more experienced farmer between the two, and he’s certainly better with kids than they are. Maybe it’s enrichment for the kids, even though Jute isn’t the best at explaining things. Maybe it’s a test, because Hayden is sitting off to the side, scribbling away in his notebook. 

The kids wave at Jute and Hayden as they part ways. Jute waits until they’re no longer visible once they pass into the Narrows before they saunter over to Hayden, still completely lost in his note taking which makes Jute a bit uneasy – surely they’re not that bad of a farmer? 

They’re all nonchalant smiles as they stride up to him, taking in his deeply focused face – his brow is furrowed in concentration and his usually soft expression is a bit more tense. It’s endearing… And really attractive. Jute swallows that thought down as they playfully tap their foot against his. That makes him jolt and straighten his posture and his concentrated look shifts to surprise. He’s quick to shut his notebook too and that makes Jute even more jittery. 

“How’d I do?” Jute asks like they’re completely fine and not worried at all. 

Hayden looks nervous though, for whatever reason. Jute readies themself for the truth, but all Hayden says is, “You did great.”

They tilt their head curiously. That seems to make Hayden antsy, because his eyes fall from theirs momentarily, flits around the landscape, then returns to Jute’s face. Maybe it’s the warm summer heat – Hayden’s cheeks are an appealing pink. 

“What’s with all the note taking, then?” Jute’s curious and Hayden has never shamed them for asking anything, but now he looks uncomfortable and Jute starts to feel bad. Maybe it’s… not the summer heat. Hayden’s face is slowly turning from rosy to red. “If you don’t mind me asking.” The least they can do is give him a way out.

Hayden stands to his full height, towering over Jute and leaving them eye-level with his ample chest. Jute hangs on to their eye contact like a lifeline. Even with the advantage, Hayden shifts on his feet, still looking as sheepish as ever. He belts out a nervous laugh and his hand rests on the back of his neck as he tucks the notebook under his arm. “I… uh… wasn’t…” His smile is just as uncertain as his tone of voice. “I was just… practicing.” He says quietly.

Jute smiles, interested. “Practicing what?”

He looks down at them, clearly thinking about his next move. Jute’s question goes unanswered. Instead, Hayden says, “Want to stop in for some lemonade before you get back to work?” and he doesn’t give them much time to respond because he pats their shoulder and turns to his door leaving Jute to jog to catch up with his long strides.

It’s fun to watch Hayden work in his kitchen, it’s like every step he takes is rehearsed – well memorized. Jute, of course, has to appreciate it. The notebook rests on his counter by the till and Jute is leaning against the wall by it, eyes darting between the notebook and a busy-handed tight-lipped Hayden. They’d never open it, that’s a massive invasion of privacy, but it doesn’t stop them from wondering what’s inside. 

“...Are you still drawing?” Jute asks, still looking at the notebook. The shuffling in the kitchen comes to a halt. Jute doesn’t have to see him to know that Hayden looks like he’s just been caught doing something he’s not supposed to. Of course, Jute still turns their attention towards him and they give him a big grin, hopefully dispelling any of his nerves. “I think that’s great. Your stuff from the Inn was pretty good.”

Hayden shyly smiles back, turning his attention back to squeezing lemon halves between his palms. Jute’s attention also turns to his hands, deeply focused on how big they are, how forceful they squeeze, how they’re capable of drawing thin and gentle lines despite their size. “They were alright,” Hayden says quietly. “Still got a long ways to go.”

Jute shrugs. Any art that’s not performing is beyond them. “Well, you’re practicing, right? I’d say that’s a step in the right direction.” Jute continues to watch his gentle hands stir in the sugar. Their mouth feels so dry. “What have you been working on?” They’re not trying to put him out, Jute is genuinely curious, they like getting to know Hayden. 

Another step of his song-and-dance, Hayden pulls a tray out from the cupboards to place both the glasses on. “Care to sit?” He tosses his head towards the couch and Jute nods, plopping down on the corner. Hayden comes into view, one hand supporting the tray and extending it to Jute for them to take their glass, the other holding on to his sketchbook. Jute gives him a tiny thank you as they take theirs, eager for the first, crisp sip. Hayden takes to the seat beside them, placing the tray on the table, the tiny book still in a death-grip. He looks at Jute urgently. “...If I show this to you, do you promise you won’t be upset?” 

Now, what could that possibly mean? Jute places their glass down and gives him a serious look. “I promise.” 

Still, Hayden seems to hesitate before handing it over. When it’s out of his hands, Hayden seems to collapse in on himself, making himself as small as possible while Jute goes through each page.

The first few are from the first Friday Night at the Inn this summer – representation of their friends and neighbors that are a bit awkward and unsure, but each face is still recognizable. A few pages of flowers, of crops poking out of the ground, of peppers and corn done in quick, impressionistic strokes. A handful of pages of Hayden’s animals – these have the most amount of rendering, clearly the most time has been spent on these.

“Hayden, these are really beautiful.” Jute doesn’t tear their eyes away from the pages. They completely miss the proud smile he gives them. “I mean it… Eiland should put these in the museum.” 

That makes him laugh from his gut. Jute continues to go page by page. More studies of plants and animals, each one becoming more specific and confident than the last. Then…

“Oh.” Jute exclaims, surprised to see themself on the page. A lot of them – some of them are unfinished, some are just different parts (their eyes, their lips – for some reason, there’s a lot of their nose in profile), but there are a few other portraits of them littered among each page. The one they’re looking at has the same attention as his animal drawings, the same careful lines, the faded pencil shading… Jute’s heart does a flip as they’re rendered completely speechless.

“I’m really sorry,” Hayden breaks their reverie, sounding completely miserable. When Jute looks at him, he looks absolutely mortified, and hunching in on himself only makes it all the more sad. “I figured I see you everyday, so you should be easy to draw, but I haven’t been able to get it right.”

“I…” Jute flips through a few more pages, met yet again by their isolated features and complete pencil portraits. They’re familiar with their cold, gaunt reflection. Hayden’s drawings make them seem more warm and lively. Even the drawing of them has upturned lips, barely bordering on a smile. He’s kept all their wrinkles, the deep eyebags that reside on their face, their messy hair… Jute swallows down something thick. They can’t bring themself to speak above a whisper, fearing that their voice will break. “I think they’re really nice…” 

The last page Hayden has filled is from this morning – a sketchy rendition of Jute out in his farm with the kids, their back facing him the moment they dug their shovel into the ground and started narrating what they were doing for their lesson. Jute’s heart feels tight. 

Hayden’s voice rings out, reminding Jute that he’s right here and now is probably not a good time to cry, and he softly says, “Thank you.”

Chapter Text

Every now and then, Hayden catches a glimpse of the scar imprinted on Jute’s hand – a thin, pink strip of skin that’s laid over their tendons, and it looks like time has touched it. It’s healed well, but it still remains. Hayden, too, has his own. Probably from far less interesting instances (animal rearing and being a silly child being his top reasons for injury), but they still mottle his skin, despite time making its mark on him as well. 

He doesn’t mean to be so focused on it, but these days, it’s hard for him to think of anything without Jute popping into his head too. The scar itself, much like Jute, is a mystery to him. They never talk about the guild, never talk about their past, and wherever this scar came from will remain unknown to Hayden for the foreseeable future. It doesn’t stop him from wondering, thinking about what mission or adventure Jute had been on to cause such a wound. 

“Special day, isn’t it?” Jute’s voice rings out from behind him, mingling with the sound of the docks creaking wood. They’re walking towards him with their hands behind their back and a relaxed smile on their face. Hayden, as always, finds his heart beating a little faster when he sees them approach. 

“Pretty special, I’d say. The Shooting Star Festival only comes once a year.” 

Despite being at the beach, Hayden’s not here for a swim. Something’s got him feeling nostalgic, trapping him in his thoughts, and when he gets like this, a trip down to the beach to watch the waves lap at the shore has always helped clear his head. 

“You ever see something like that where you’re from?” Hayden asks. He doesn’t mean to pry and he knows if Jute’s not keen on answering, they’ll find a roundabout way to say that. Still, it doesn’t hurt to try.

Jute shakes their head silently. Hayden nods and turns his gaze back to the water. 

The two stand together – he’s not sure about Jute, but he feels like he’s thinking a mile a minute. What are they here for? Would it be odd to brush a stray lock of hair from their face? Would they ever think of going to the Summit with him? Would he be able to reach out and really touch their hand?

Jute’s hands – small in comparison to his, though everything is small in comparison to him, and everything seems large in comparison to Jute. Calloused palms, thin fingers, work-worn with a pink scar crossing their tendons that Hayden itches to touch just to see how it feels, if it’s anything like his. That one moment could lead to him encompassing their palm in his, winding their fingers together. He wonders if they’d be clammy to hold, or maybe warm to the touch. Jute is full of surprises, he’s sure they could go either way.

“Well,” Jute’s voice wavers a bit, speaking an octave higher than normal. Hayden chances a glance down at them, but their face remains steadfast and solid despite the break in tone. “Days like this deserve celebrating.”

It brings a smile to Hayden’s face. “I couldn’t agree more.” 

Hayden feels a crashing wave of relief when Jute tilts their head up to face him, relaxed smile a bit bigger – maybe more excited than before. 

“I’m glad you think so!” Slowly, Jute moves an arm from behind their back and with a small flourish, they extend a glass tupperware container to him. 

Hayden reaches for it, intrigued. When he grabs it, his fingers brush against Jute’s for a brief moment and Hayden wishes he could live in that second forever. They felt warm and soft, and Hayden commits the sensation to memory. 

Inside is a fresh slice of sweet potato pie. Hayden gasps, then beams at them. 

“Now isn’t this thoughtful of you, Jute. Thank you!” He claps a hand on their shoulder, accidentally jostling their tiny frame, but Jute doesn’t seem bothered by it – in fact, they laugh . It’s music to Hayden’s ears, the breathiness of it, the melodically high pitch of it, and the fact that Jute doesn’t bother to hide it behind their hand is even better. 

What makes his heart nearly beat out of his chest is when Jute’s laughter dies down and they place their left hand over his, still resting on their shoulder. The scarred hand. It’s warm, light, and soft – a gentle, tentative touch, like Jute is unsure if they can touch him. For a second he entertains the idea that maybe that’s just how they hold everything, but a hardened adventurer probably never gets to indulge in that kind of behavior. 

Maybe that’s what this is – indulgence. Hayden tries not to ever do that, he tries to live a moderate life. Limit on the alcohol, limit on the work hours, limit on social time; everything must be balanced. But Jute seems to have banished all notions of moderation as he just can’t seem to shake the ever present thoughts of them, of the childish and fluttery feeling he gets in his chest when they’re around. 

Like right now. Without thinking, letting his hands think for him, he removes it from their shoulder and captures their hand in his, letting them hang between the two in an almost-handshake. 

Jute’s hands are lithe and nimble, but they don’t make any effort to escape his light grasp – though they don’t really reciprocate the action either. Hayden is the one maintaining the connection, enveloping their small hand with his, resting his thumb just against the edge of the scar. 

“Are you going to the Summit tonight?” He’s not sure what compels him to ask, why he’s letting his mouth just run like a fool, but he can’t take back the question nor the excitement he feels when Jute shakes their head no.

“I’ve got some work to get done tonight. These requests aren’t going to fulfill themselves.” 

Something sour and sad overtakes Hayden. It’s not like he was going to ask them, it’s a bit too early to merge their destinies, he’s sure – but they’re not even going to take the time to look up at the same sky with him… and everyone else? It makes him get his wits about him. 

“Well, just don’t work yourself too hard.” He lets their hands drop. Hayden doesn’t like feeling empty handed, so he tucks his thumb in a belt loop. Jute, as casual and collected as ever, lets their arms hang by their sides, the small smile never leaving their lips. 

He wonders if they take his comment to heart, because they don’t say anything or even nod in acknowledgement. They’re already stepping away from him, wood groaning under every step. 

“Enjoy the stars, big guy,” They wave as they go. “And the pie.”

The tupperware container weighs heavy in his hand, as heavy as the blanket of thoughts Jute always manages to leave him with. 

“I mean it, Jute!” He calls in a teasing tone, though he’s incredibly serious. “You won’t want to miss it!” 

Even though they’re halfway up the steps, distancing themself from him to his dismay, they stop.

Jute turns and smiles at him. Hayden can’t tell what kind it is – coy? Friendly? Knowing? It doesn’t matter, though, because Jute has already turned away from him, heading back to work. 

Even when he turns back to the ocean, the waves do very little to soothe his rampant thoughts. 

Chapter Text

Ryis has been gone for about eight minutes – that’s all it took for Hayden to nearly saw his thumb off. For all the times he’s stubbed his toe and went to Valen, Hayden finds himself frozen, wordlessly watching the blood pool in the palm of his hand, cradling the injured one. He’s not sure if he’s registering the pain or if the fear has a chilling grip on his brain, allowing him to stay calm. 

“Wait, I forgot, did Ryis say he wanted nails and screws? Was there something else…?” Jute’s voice cuts clear through his silenced thoughts, bringing him back to reality, back to the warmth and red flooding from the cut. He turns to face them to answer their question, but no words come out. When Jute’s eyes meet his, their quizzical expression drops. Their eyes are wide like saucers and their mouth hangs open. “Hayden, what happened?” They drop the buckets of nails on the ground and hurry over.

Seeing Jute worried gives him enough brain power to measly spit out, “Nothing, Jute.” But his stern, shaking words do nothing to ease them as they make their way to his side, grabbing at his arm to assess the damage. Hayden can hear his voice tremble when he says, “I’m fine,” but Jute is already moving, untying their bandana and grabbing another cloth from their pocket. 

Hayden doesn’t protest when Jute presses their bandana to the wound, encasing his thumb with it, wrapping their hand around the digit for good measure. Hayden isn’t sure if his head is empty or if it’s spinning out, so all he can do is focus on Jute’s touch and stare at them as they work – cold faced and deadly serious. 

Jute’s hands are very nice. They’re warm and steady as they sop up the drying blood from his hands. They don’t tremble like his. They’re unyielding, determined in their actions, certain in their touch, confident in their ability to mend. Jute doesn’t seem to be bothered by the blood, either, because there’s plenty of it dampening their sturdy hands, turning their pale skin red. Hayden means to apologize, but the only thing that passes from his lips is a shaking breath. 

The bandana is dropped to the ground as Jute takes the secondary cloth – Hayden thinks he’s seen them use it to polish their sword, maybe – and they tenderly wind it around his hand. Hayden watches the way the fabric folds evenly and neatly. Practiced, probably. 

“Go get Valen.” Jute’s voice is rigid as they speak to Ryis. Hayden didn’t even realize he returned, far too lost in the searing pain and Jute’s gentle hands. He’s not sure if Ryis says anything as he goes, but he’s quick to drop the planks and buckets he was carrying to run across town. Hayden’s about to protest, reminding Jute that he’s fine, but they beat him by a second when they softly say, “It’s okay, you’re okay.” Hayden can’t bring himself to speak, fearing that a sob might echo out instead. 

Valen and Ryis return swiftly and though Jute is no professional, they still hover closely while Valen disinfects and properly wraps his thumb up. Hayden has been ushered to sit on the cleared workbench, and admittedly it helps him come back to himself now that he doesn’t have to focus on keeping himself upright. 

What he really wants right now is comfort. He gets a bit of it keeping his eyes on Jute, whose expression remains stony and cool – at least it’s Jute, at least he can still look at them. It would be nice to have their hand in his, though, to feel their warm touch soothing the stinging and soreness of being put back together. Even if he could find the words to ask, he couldn’t do it in front of Ryis and Valen, both out of his stubborn pride and out of Jute’s potential discomfort. 

Luckily, it doesn’t last forever like he feels like it should have. Ryis has grabbed him a glass of water from the Inn and Valen is talking his ear off about how to care for the wound. Hayden is coming back to himself, finally feeling a bit better. He nods, thanks them both, and apologizes to Jute for making a mess of their hands. They briefly look shocked until their normal expression glazes over their face and they wave his apology out of the air with bloodied hands. 

“You really should wash your hands, Jute.” Valen reminds them. Jute doesn’t seem to have any qualms as they make their way to the Narrows, probably heading back to their farm. 

After some more aftercare instructions and another glass of water, Hayden, too, makes his way to the Narrows, heading back to Sweetwater for some rest per doctor's orders. As he does, he catches a flash of red flannel head through the Mine doors, and now that Hayden is feeling right as rain, a proper apology to Jute is in order. He hastens his step, hoping to catch them before they make their descent. 

“Hey, Jute!” He calls into the dark stone room. 

Jute stands in front of the elevator, back to him. They’re silent for a moment before they respond with a short, “Yeah?” still not facing him. 

Hayden draws closer as he speaks. “I… I just wanted to apologize for today, I’m sorry to have put you through all that.”

“It’s no trouble.” Jute waves their hand, clearing the stagnant air.

“Well, I’m especially sorry about your bandana, I’m sure it’ll be a pain to wash.” Hayden morbidly jokes.

Jute sounds just as neutral as ever when they say, “I’ll get a new one,” and a small seed of worry begins to grow in Hayden. 

When he gets close enough, he places his good hand on their shoulder and leans a bit closer to say, “I can pay for it, least I could do,” to try and see if there really is something wrong. There must be, because when Jute nods, their head doesn’t return up, hanging to face the floor. Hayden feels the slightest tremor in their shoulder and his gentle touch turns to a squeeze. “Jute, what’s–”

“I’m fine.” Even with the bite in their voice, it’s warped by the tremble of each syllable. That seed of worry blooms into something fierce and Hayden’s heart is entangled by the roots of it. He only means to urge them, not pull them to face him, but he always forgets that Jute isn’t this weighty and solid person that they present themself to be. Jute is scrawny, light, and easy to move with a nudge of force.

Their face is streaked with tears, poured from red and irritated eyes. They look scandalized as they face him, betrayed by his gaze, and Hayden feels a surge of guilt, but also the need to set things right.

“...I’m sorry.” Is all he can blurt out. Jute’s face forcibly scrunches and they cover as much of their face as they can with one hand as another sob wracks through their body. They shake their head no. Hayden feels at a loss, unsure what to do, unsure what they mean when they shake their head, shame flooding his bloodstream. All he can do is open up his arms, inviting Jute to take comfort, and for a second, he’s certain they won’t step forward, but he’s surprised when they finally do. 

Jute tightly wraps their arms around his torso, fisting the back of his sweater. Hayden tries to envelop them entirely, rubbing the space between their shoulder blades gently. It only manages to pull another shaking sob from them, leaving them trembling in his arms and hiding their face in his chest.

“I’m sorry.” Jute whispers into him. Hayden places a hand on the back of their head, winding his fingers into their hair. "I’m sorry for crying… I’m not… I don’t like seeing you hurt.” They weep and nestle closer. Hayden continues stroking their hair as a litany of thoughts appear at the forefront of his mind.

Instead of voicing any of them, Hayden leans down to whisper to them, “I’m better now, I promise,” He feels Jute press as hard as they can into him, like they’re afraid of him disappearing from their grasp. He won’t. He won’t ever pull away if he can help it. “All thanks to you, dear.” 

The sob Jute makes almost sounds like a bitter laugh. From his chest, they ask, “Are you sure?” and Hayden thinks they might be smiling, just a little bit.

When he snakes his hand down the curtain of dark hair, Hayden presses a quick kiss to the crown of their head. “I’m certain, Jute.” He places his hand over the top of their head, cradling them close. Jute seems to settle, relaxing minutely into his touch as their crying begins to soften.

Chapter Text

Under the growing cover of evening, Jute hesitantly steps past the gates to the beach, admittedly anxious. The heartfelt letter from Hayden was one thing (enough to get them a bit misty-eyed and leave them distracted all day), but inviting them to their own cookout was another. Their heart has been steadily racing all day, ramping up by the hour. 

When was the last time they celebrated their birthday? As far as they can remember, it’s just been another day on the calendar. Margie got them their sword when they became, what? 13? Decades have passed since and Jute has no idea what to expect from Hayden’s cookout.

“Jute!” Hayden’s voice booms across the beach as he beams up at them and waves. Jute silently waves back, giving him a small smile as they stride over. Hayden meets them halfway as they take to the sand, wrapping his arms around their middle and squeezing them against his chest. A laugh bubbles from Jute’s chest as their heart threatens to beat out of their ribs. They reciprocate a bit tighter than they normally would, even rubbing his back as they set their arms around him. Hayden feels nice. Hayden is nice. “Happy birthday!”

Jute pulls away, keeping their hands on his waist. They smile. “You already said that this morning.”

“And? Has it been happy?”

They chuckle as they let Hayden go. They cried a bit this morning, ate a good baked potato, got invited to a cookout, and got practically no work done. “Yeah. You? Did you have a happy… happy day?” Jute repeatedly chants get it together in their head.

Hayden smiles down at them sincerely. He places a hand between their shoulder blades and ushers them towards the benches. A fire has been set to fend off the night and there’s plenty of food for the two of them, already set up. “Very! I’ve been looking forward to this.” 

There’s a small seed of doubt growing in Jute’s throat that makes them ask, “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather be at Holt’s birthday dinner instead? I know Nora was saying she was planning something.”

He passes a plate to them and gestures for them to start grabbing food. “It’s just the two of them this evening. If I’m feeling adventurous I could interrupt, but I’d much rather be with you.” 

Jute nearly drops the plate, the strength in their wrist wavering as they attempt to hold it steady. “Oh!” They curse themself for exclaiming anything and not keeping their mouth shut. “Okay!” They can hear the highness of their voice. Get it together. They blink hard and right their expression, determined to not embarrass themself this evening. 

The two settle in on the same bench. Jute is glad to be so close, not just because they’re fond of Hayden, but because the ocean air is cool and there’s a bit of a breeze. Hayden is big enough to block a chilly lashing of wind if it creeps up from his side. Plus, he’s warm. Jute is sitting close enough to him for their thighs to brush and their biceps are almost flush, they seep what heat they can from him, obstructed by the material of his sweater and their flannel. They’re sitting in a pleasant silence, content with letting the world breathe around them and letting the clinking of silverware fill the air between them. Jute’s plate is almost empty, though, and they’d either have to get up to get more, leaving Hayden’s side momentarily, or they’d have to start talking now that nothing is keeping their mouth busy. They swallow down a morsel, deep in thought.

“What was it that you appreciated last year?” Jute asks. “Your birthday has to be next season, right? Unless you had Lady Adeline take it off the calendar.”

“The eighth,” He starts, then he falls silent for a moment, clearly thinking hard. “With the quake and everything, I was really appreciative of everyone being so willing and eager to come together. You know, everyone is pretty helpful, but last year it was just… An overwhelming feeling of support. I’d never want anything like that to happen again, but it was nice – everything after it.”

Jute nods, taking in the last bit of their food. It’s hard for them to imagine this place ever being bustling, even harder to imagine it in ruin. Hayden’s been here his whole life, his family has been here for generations – they can’t imagine how hard it must have been for him to see everything he loved destroyed. 

“What about you?” Hayden asks. 

They know he’s curious. They know they’re tired of keeping up the adventurer act. They know they’re afraid of losing his trust and their new home. Though there’s something about Hayden that makes it hard for them to think straight, and so they thoughtlessly respond with, “Nothing.”

“...Nothing?”

Jute shakes their head, resting their fork on the empty plate. They swallow, unsure of how to even express what they’re thinking. “I didn’t really like my life until I came here.” They say it flatly, not allowing any emotion to seep through the cracks in their facade. Quietly, just between the two of them, Jute adds, “I wasn’t in a good place. I… like to think I’m much better here.” 

It’s the first time in a long time they’ve been honest with anyone, including themself. The feeling of it hangs heavy in the air and Jute desperately wishes to take it back. To add insult to injury, a gust of wind rushes in to chill them to the point of shivering. Hayden catches it, and ever prepared for this evening, he unfolds a blanket hanging on the back of the bench and drapes it around their shoulders, leaving his arm resting on the back of the bench, almost like he was wrapping it around them. It’s extremely tender, a kindness Jute hasn’t experienced, and it makes them sweat despite the growing cold. 

“I’m glad to hear you’re doing better,” Hayden’s voice sounds serious, not as giddy or smily as usual, even though the corners of his mouth tugged up a bit. He turns his eyes from the fire up to the starry sky. “I know it’s selfish, but… I-I think Mistria wouldn’t be the same without you. I’d hate to think of you anywhere else but here.”

“I’d hate it too.” Jute agrees. Hayden huffs, then looks down at them. 

They’re both very close. Jute’s knee is brushing against his thigh and his arm is almost-kind-of wrapped around their shoulders. His face is only a few inches away. Jute clutches the blanket tight around them, hoping that they don’t look expectant. They just want to live in this moment forever. Forget the past, forget their farm – sitting under the stars with Hayden on their birthday is the only thing that has ever mattered to them. 

Hayden breaks the reverie by asking, “Are you still cold?”

“Ah, a little…” Emboldened, running on pure stupidity, Jute unwinds the blanket from their shoulders and extends an end to Hayden. “Do you…?”

He doesn’t think twice about it. Though there’s a disparity in their height, Hayden wraps the blanket around his shoulders and settles closer to Jute, bodies pressed together firmly. Even though their nerves are firing off rapidly, Jute feels themself relax. 

They’re back in silence, both watching the stars twinkle in the sky. Jute feels their smile grow and they make no efforts to suppress it.

Minutes go by, maybe hours, until Hayden asks, “Is there anything else you want before your birthday ends?”

“I…” Get it together . “No, uh, no. This has been really nice, thank you.”

Hayden leans in, gazing at them knowingly, sure that there is something they want. “I don’t mind at all, Jute, it’s your day.”

“I–I know that. Um…” Jute the Impaler is the biggest idiot to have walked this earth, they’re certain of that. Below a whisper, Jute pathetically says, “Would it be too much to ask for a kiss…?” They can’t even look at him. They feel so foolish, ashamed for being so open in their desire. Why would they even ask that? They’ve never kissed anyone before, how are they–

Hayden shifts closer, his face hovering by theirs. Jute doesn’t stop themself from gasping as the gap closes and their eyes widen. Jute thinks there’s a moment of hesitation from him, but then his lips, warm and soft, press against the corner of their mouth. He hovers there for another second before pulling away completely. 

Jute is looking past him into the sea with a big, silly grin on their blazing face, completely missing the way Hayden looks down at them fondly. 

Chapter Text

For what it’s worth, he really didn’t mean to drink so much. It was a long day, for one, and two, he’s just been so lost in thought these days. A beer with some friends is usually enough to ease his mind, but that hasn’t been the case. So he figured a few would soothe him, and when the few passed, he upgraded to a handful. By no means is he a lightweight, it does take quite the effort to get him inebriated, but Hayden has always put 100% into everything he does whether he means to or not. 

He probably hasn’t been this drunk since he was in his twenties, goofing off. In a way, it makes him feel nostalgic – he remembers being so energetic and hopeful. Not that he isn’t now, he’s just… More subdued. He remembers all of his worries then, how small they seem now, how most of them don’t exist anymore or have been replaced by more pressing worries, like the looming thought of his old ranching injury worsening with age. Though, some worries he’s carried over as he’s aged.

Jute has a really nice side profile. He’s been tracing his eyes down the arch of their brow bone, down the slope of their nose, and across their soft lips repeatedly. Their hair is also loose, adding another layer of appeal. Hayden can’t tell whether he likes it up or down more. 

Hayden remembers worrying about never finding a partner. He remembers being quick to fall, even quicker to heartbreak – of all the times he’s had expectations too high, goals too lofty, desires too unwieldy. These past few years, he’s been tempering himself, accepting that it’s just going to be him for now on.

He watches the way Jute tucks a lock of hair behind their ear before taking a sip of their drink. He wonders what brings them in tonight, if they’re also trying to clear their head. Maybe that’s why they didn’t sit with him. The sourness he feels at that thought eases when he watches their throat bob as they swallow down their ale. Hayden swallows around nothing. He was right to worry all those years ago. 

It’s just him and them. Hemlock too, behind the bar. Hayden loves the guy like a brother, but he wishes he would just disappear right now. Hayden is imagining a perfect world where it’s just him and Jute, alone in the Inn, sitting next to each other. When his mouth starts feeling dry, he takes another sip, feeling the liquid pour down his throat and hitting him low. 

Maybe, somehow, he managed to put his drunken wanting into the universe because Hemlock steps past his table, drums his fingers against its surface, and tells him, “I have to stop down in the wine cellar, I can top you up in a few,” before he’s off, thumping down the old stairs. Hayden feels himself renewed, a burst of energy ready to spur him to his feet. 

They only notice him once he’s about a step away, and when they do, they peer up at him from the corners of their eyes, and Hayden watches the way their lips curl into a kissable smile. When he approaches, Hayden leans down to get to their eye level, which for the state he’s in, is quite a feat. He plants both his steady, heavy hands on the barstool next to them to support his angle. It’s more intoxicating than Hemlock’s best when Jute turns their whole body to face him. Hayden feels his mouth go dry again, and there’s something he’d love to swallow down. 

“What’s my lovely neighbor doing here by themself on this fine evening?” With the amount of drinks in him, his drawl is slow and deeper, partly slurred. He means every word he says though – they’re lovely, they shouldn’t be here alone, and they certainly are his neighbor. 

To his surprise, Jute laughs – not behind their hand, not a quick bark, it’s a fit of giggles passing from their lips. Hayden knows they’re sober, that their cup is still almost full. His heart starts to flutter. It’s the nicest thing he’s ever heard.

“I figured it was a nice time for a drink. I guess you thought the same.” Hayden laughs too and Jute seems to jolt a bit. “Jeez, Hayden, how many did you have?”

“Guess!” 

Jute hand – the scarred one – spindly and warm, cups his face. Hayden’s flirtatious smile falters and is replaced by awe. He could have never imagined how good this would actually feel, yet here he is, being held gently by Jute. Their eyes flit between his like they’re really studying him, drinking in his flushed cheeks and blown out pupils and parted lips. He came over to charm them, but he’s finding himself swept away by them like he always is. 

They smile coyly. “Too many.”

Hayden would laugh, but he’s still too drunk on the sensation of their hand against his cheek, of their thumb mindlessly pressing patterns into his skin. 

Hayden presses closer, rubbing his cheek against their palm, eager for more affection, for anything they’d give him. A pleased rumble is pulled from his throat when they start scratching at his beard. Hayden leans forwards to give them better access, inviting their fingers under his chin –

The silence of the Inn is shattered by the sound of splitting wood. Hayden’s brain is seconds behind his body when he drops. It would be a clean fall to the floor if it wasn’t for Jute, who’s quick to try to catch him.

It doesn’t work – Hayden is probably twice their weight, has a handful of inches on them, and is too drunk to straighten himself out – he takes them down to the floor with him, the two collapsing on the hardwood with their own sounds of agony upon the impact. 

When he opens his eyes, what he sees is enough to knock him breathless – Jute, under him, hair splayed out like a halo on the floor. Their surprised face is bracketed by his hands, the only things keeping him from crushing them under his weight. He can’t figure out how to move, what to say, what to even do – the sight alone is enough to make him speechless, but the feel of their hands on his waist, of the inside of their thigh pressed up against his calf has his addled mind turn to mush. 

Jute inhales sharply before speaking. The visual, the sound, is permanently engraved in Hayden’s mind. “You okay, big guy?”

“Y-yeah, I’m… I’m so sorry, Jute,” He’s broken from whatever spell Jute had him in, finally able to speak. “Did I hurt you?” He doesn’t mean to sound so sorrowful when he says it, but it comes out regardless. The thought of it makes him sick to his stomach. 

To his surprise, Jute smiles up at him, easing his troubled mind. “I’m okay. Guess I’m not as strong as I think I am.” They joke. To his utter dismay, Jute drops their hands to their sides, no longer holding onto his waist. Hayden almost asks them to put them back, but Jute props themself up on their elbow and places their other hand on the side of his head to get his lazy eyes to focus on them. Quietly, they whisper, “Want me to walk you home?” 

Hayden’s mouth flounders for a second as he thinks. 

“Is everything o–” Jute’s face turns to Hemlock before Hayden’s does, and they certainly look more startled, like they’re about to be scolded. Hayden just shoots Hemlock an apologetic look about the stool, but he’s not sure if Hemlock is registering it. His mouth is hanging open, then it closes tight, then it’s back into his signature, cool grin. “Okay…!” 

“Hemlock –”

“‘m sorry about your stool, I’ll pay you back.” 

Hemlock makes his way over to the two, extending a hand out to Hayden. He knows Hemlock isn’t able to pull him up, but the steadying is nice as he sways to his feet. Hayden chances a look down to Jute who immediately sits up when they’re free from being under him. Hayden notes that their face is completely flushed, and he can’t help but smile. 

“Oh, no worries, buddy. Trust me, you’ve done plenty to make up for it.” Hemlock pats his back. 

Chapter Text

Elsie, Adeline, and Eiland, sure know how to put together a party. Big, fancy events like this were more common before the earthquake, back when Mistria was bustling, filled to the brim with people. This feels more intimate than all those other galas hosted by the Baron and Baroness – Mistria is filled with only a handful of folks now, dedicated, doting people, tied to the soil just like Hayden is. 

Adeline had assured everyone that it’s not a gala, just a piano recital for Olric… Accompanied by Elsie, with intermittent appearances from Josie and Hemlock, and Eiland as well… And that formal attire was not required, but encouraged. 

Being in his bests makes Hayden a little antsy, he much prefers clothes he can get dirty in with no problem, even if he’s not working. Faded yellow button-ups tucked into cotton slacks don’t do well with the wear and tear of everyday living, though they do bring in dozens of compliments which makes the tips of his ears burn no matter who it’s coming from.

“You sure clean up nice.” Jute brushes past him to grab a finger sandwich from the snack table that he’s been hovering around. Hayden catches the way their eyes give him a once over before turning to the food, and he feels his ears catch on fire. 

He can’t spit it out right now, but Jute looks stunning in their black silken dress, held from their shoulders by two thin straps, red shawl dangling from the crooks of their elbows. Their hair is tied back in a braid with snapdragons woven in between the strands. Hayden swallows thick before he manages a shy, “You too,” before taking a sip of his wine. “The… flowers are a nice touch.” 

Jute smiles up at him. They fish one of the flowers from the sea of woven hair and tuck it into the breast pocket of his shirt. Hayden feels his heart jump at the contact and flip when they pat his chest where the flower sits. Jute seems completely oblivious to the effects of their actions and they grab a flute of champagne. When they lean over to grab it, Hayden peers at their exposed shoulder blades and the line of their spine dipping past the silk. 

“Really, you look nice.” He’s trying to keep it cordial and short, because he knows if he lets himself run his mouth, he’s going to be saying some deeply personal thoughts that Jute does not need to know. 

Jute winks. Hayden clutches the glass tighter.

“Thanks. You holding up alright?” They gesture with their flute to the grip he has on his wine glass. His heart feels like it's going to beat out of his chest, Jute is making him sweat in his nicest clothes, and the amount of bodies and noise in the room is starting to feel a bit overwhelming. He absolutely does not feel alright.

“Fine, fine. These things make me a little nervous, I guess.” Falling in love or big, elegant parties? Hayden is split down the line. Regardless, Jute looks at him with warm, sympathetic eyes. 

To his surprise, they say, “Yeah, me too.” He never could have guessed. Jute always looks so assured, even now. They don’t tremble or blush or sweat like he is – at least, he can’t tell. “My best advice? Find an unassuming spot to stay the whole night. Sometimes, I’d make up stories about the people on the dance floor to pass the time, but… I know everyone here, so I think it’d be a bit weird.”

Hayden chuckles. “Are we being unassuming now?”

Jute hums in thought, then surveys the room. With a tilt of their head, they gesture for him to follow as they walk towards the other end of the snack table and towards an unoccupied corner of the grand foyer. “At least over here, we’re out of the way of the food.” 

“Good call.”

The two settle into an amicable, albeit electric silence. It’s nice to be on the outskirts with Jute, observing the rest of their tiny town together. The flood of nerves he was feeling begins to lull and the music begins to swell. Elsie’s voice, soothing and crystalline, echoes between the walls and Hayden’s ears. Then, the song ends and everyone cheers, Hayden and Jute included. 

Josie joins Elsie and Olric’s playing begins to slow. 

Hayden’s heart begins to thrum with the stroke of the keys. The chatter falls to silence as everyone moves, pairing up. Hayden watches with a dry throat, staring at the tender, graceful touches between friends and lovers alike, of people that he knows are slowly falling in love. It makes him ache all over. 

“Did you ever learn how to dance?” At their words, Hayden can spare a glance at Jute. They’re not looking at him, they’re focused on the sea of people, just as he was, and it makes him wonder if they’re thinking the same thing.

“Josie’s parents taught us all,” Hayden laughs, partly warmed by the memory, partly bitter at his own expense. “Might as well have been required, like reading and writing.” 

“You any good?”

Hayden’s heart catches in his throat. “Probably a bit rusty. I don’t get to dance very often.”

He can hear the fond smile in Jute’s voice when they talk. “What a shame.”

The next minute of silence is agonizing. He really shouldn’t be so nervous, he’s a grown man, not some school boy. He should be able to confidently take Jute’s hand, look them in the eye, and ask if they’d dance with him, but all his old worries manage to creep into his head – he’s too old to be dancing, too old for a partner, he’s missed all his chances.

His hand is brushed by the back of Jute’s, shocking and startling in the split second they touch. It’s enough to draw his tired eyes to them. Would it be wrong to say that they’re looking at him admirably, that they’re hoping for… Something?

“Would you like to dance with me?” Jute asks sheepishly. Like always, Jute manages to bring him back into his skin, set his feet solid on the earth, taking root in reality. Jute is here and wants to dance with him.

He can’t get the words past his lips, but at least he still has control of his body. He slides his hands into their palms, taking one and holding it close and placing the other on his shoulder, then letting his rest on their hip. Hayden feels his face flush at the tender points of contact and without thinking, he lets his thumb caress the soft skin of their hand. Jute’s smile twitches in the chandelier light and Hayden returns it nervously.

Their bodies are so close. It makes Hayden ache in a completely different way. The way they step in sync makes him wonder if their hearts are beating at the same, rapid pace – or maybe that’s just him. 

Jute was right about finding an unassuming corner to hide in, because here, he feels like it’s just the two of them. Elsie and Josie’s voices are ethereal, surrounding them from the heavens rather than from feet away. No one is looking at Jute and Hayden holding hands, swaying together like they’re in love. No one can tell that Hayden lets himself inch forwards, wordlessly inviting Jute to take what’s rightfully theirs. No one can catch the way Jute shrinks in on themself nervously for just a moment before taking to their tiptoes and pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth.