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“Are you certain about this?”
The musician crouches down daintily, one knee sinking down into the lush grass and an easy smile lighting up his elfin features, and reaches his hands out carefully to pet the moist snouts of the two wolves – Baharam with a rich, crimson-brown coat and eyes sharp as glass, and Kayvan with a distinguish patch of white fur over one of its eyes and a cool, intelligent gaze – as the siblings sit quietly on their haunches, waiting for their master’s orders.
“There’s no helping it since you’ve so stubbornly rejected His Majesty’s offer,” the knight with troubled, golden irises and a slight frown along his brows sighs as he absentmindedly scratches the back of Kayvan’s triangular ear.
The canine gives a pleased, deep rumble that vibrates through its body.
“I’ve told you before,” Gieve glances upward and their eyes meet for a brief moment, “I work most efficiently when I go by myself. Towing along a troop – no matter how small the group or how elite the soldiers happen to be – will only slow me down.”
The words that fall so effortlessly from his delicate mouth is harsh – almost cold and uncaring – but his voice has always stirred up the sleeping beast in Isfan’s heart, and he still has yet to figure out what this means – what this will eventually lead up to.
“Then at least have Kayvan and Baharam accompany you on this trip,” he says instead, turning his head to the side when the musician’s gaze becomes too much. “They excel at tracking and should be able to aid you in this mission.”
“But ––” Gieve straightens up, a lock of hair falling haphazardly into his eyes, and he tucks it behind his ear, “–– You never stray far from the wolves, and I doubt these two are willing to part from their master for such a long time.”
“I don’t know what you’ve done to them, but it seems like they have taken a liking to you,” the knight pets the wolves’ heads with a small but affectionate smile, the usual golden sharpness in his irises momentarily softening, and they look up, blinking. “They’ve become quite used to your presence, I think.”
Isfan doesn’t tell him about the times when the wolves would get restless immediately after Gieve left the vicinity, prowling back and forth and whining softly as they paw against the soft soil of the ground.
“Will you not feel lonely without them?” There might be a trace of teasing in Gieve’s tone, but he knows – perhaps better than anyone else – how important the wolves are to him. Isfan adopted them when they were still cubs, and though the memories may have abandoned him, the warmth and care he had received from the mother wolf when he was still a toddler years ago must have seared his soul with a sense of familiarity; the wolves are a part of his family now, and this bond is unbreakable.
“I’ll survive,” Isfan flashes him a quick smile, but when the two canines crowd in close to nuzzle against the knight’s touch, a hint of melancholy is obvious in the slight down-pull of his mouth despite his absolute silence.
“Or, you are always welcome to join me on this journey,” Gieve grins bright with his suggestion, the exclamation too loud, too forced because they both know it’s impossible, “it’ll be a grand party – just you, me, and the pups on the road.”
“You know that’s an impractical idea,” Isfan rolls his eyes, but the musician’s ludicrous suggestion has done the trick: a tiny smile is tugging at the corner of his lips when he allows Gieve to pull him up.
Their fingers remain clasped together, and the warmth shared in between lingers a moment too long. Isfan lets go first.
“Ha, you’re right, of course. Arslan-heika will need you here in the capital, won’t he?”
The grin plastered firm on his mouth is self-deprecating, the jade green eyes too flat and lifeless, and it’s an expression seldom seen on Gieve’s usually vigorous visage. “I really need to cease these selfish demands; you’ve spoiled me too much, Isfan-kyou, and I think I might be enjoying taking advantage of that kind heart of yours just a little too much. It’s better for you to watch out…”
Though a few inches slighter in height, Gieve makes up for it with his boldness. A gentle hand reaches up to cradle the side of the knight’s heated face, his own head tilting up so that Isfan has nowhere to look but directly at him.
“Gieve…kyou?” The haze of confusion colored the whispered syllables of his name, and Gieve hopes – prays – that one day, Isfan will be able to say his name with a tone sturdier and with more trust and conviction, perhaps sighing it against the crook of his neck in a throw of passion but… It’s all too early for that, Gieve thinks.
“It’s all right, isn’t it? This ––” The musician leans in a degree closer, a thumb brushing Isfan’s cheekbone and their hot breaths mixing in the tepid summer air, moistening their lips and wrecking havoc to their hearts.
‘It’s not all right,’ Isfan wants to say but can’t, chanting the phrase over and over again in his head with his heart stuttering like a broken song; he feels as if the air flowing into his lungs has suddenly become a thick tar that causes him to suffocate from simply breathing.
When did breathing become such a difficult – such an impossible – task?
His mind goes white when their lips touch at last, and Isfan thinks he might have thrashed his arms a little because he doesn’t know what comes next – only notices how soft and warm Gieve’s mouth feels against his, how the little needy noise caught in the back of the musician’s throat is such a delightful sound that he doesn’t mind eliciting from him again in the near future, and how well Gieve fits in his arms, when he finally has the good sense to wind them around the other man’s slight waist.
They part from each other breathless, eyes half-mast, and mouth tasting bitter sweetness.
“Every departure from you feels like a last farewell ––” Gieve starts, but is immediately interrupted by Isfan’s unamused stare.
“Spare me your damn poetry and sweet words, Gieve-kyou. You should save them for the poor wenches who will undoubtedly become your pawns in your little spy games.”
Isfan has pulled away and puts some good distance between himself and the cackling musician, who seems to find the entire situation all too humorous.
“Is that jealousy I detect?” Gieve’s grin widens.
“You should stop your prattling before I change my mind about lending you my wolves,” he mutters, arms crossed before his chest, though the hint of blush growing on his cheeks is impossible to ignore.
Gieve knows his companion’s limit, however, and decides that that’s enough teasing for the day.
“In all honesty though,” Gieve steps back and for once, he’s wearing a face of solemnity when he continues in a lower tone, “Thank you for entrusting Kayvan and Baharam to me. I promise I’ll take good care of them, and I’ll bring them back home to you safe and sound.”
As if they can understand the musician’s declaration, Kayvan and Baharam trod up to Gieve’s side and turn around gracefully to face Isfan, their eyes twinkling and reflecting the brilliance of the mid-day sun.
“Then that’s good enough for me.”