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“I overheard something today,” the Viper—Ashur, Tarquin’s still trying to get used to knowing his name now—says as he comes up next to him out of nowhere.
“How’re you so sneaky for someone built like a bear?” Tarquin stops walking, glancing around the alley to check that they’re alone. Ashur’s just staring at him when he turns back, so he adds, “What did you hear?”
He expects Ashur to tell him about some serious Shadow Dragons business, but instead his eyes crinkle like he’s smiling behind the mask. “You,” Ashur says, “have admirers.”
Tarquin frowns. “What?”
Nothing about those words make sense in any context Tarquin can think up.
“Some of the younger Shadows were talking about you. Kasim, Levi, and Sai.”
Tarquin tenses up. There are a lot of new names to keep track of since he’s joined the Shadows, but he knows those well. They’re all still practically kids in his eyes, since none of them can be a day over twenty. Maevaris had first sent them his way for archery pointers, before taking Tarquin aside and letting him know the things they all have in common. Which is still absurd to him—Tarquin had been happily surprised to just meet Mae when he became a Shadow, to realize there was one other person here who truly gets it. He’d heard about her before, of course, knew that she too had to fight to be seen for who she is after growing up constantly being told something else. It’s still been surprising, though, to witness just how easily open she is about her past, so honest and unashamed about every part of herself.
To then also find that the rest of the Shadows are fucking filled with people who don’t fit the mold society wants to force them into has been close to incomprehensible.
“What do you mean they were talking about me?” Tarquin asks, squinting his eyes in suspicion. He’s had too many bad experiences with big groups of people before, is already waiting for a breaking point. When the Shadows will turn out to be just like any other place he’s tried to fit in only to realize people either hate him, or—maybe worse—no one cares whether he’s even there or not at all.
Ashur leans in a little closer, lowering his voice like they’re sharing a juicy secret. “They kept going on about how cool you are.”
Tarquin blinks, his mouth dropping open in surprise.
Out of all the things he was expecting, that wouldn’t even have crossed his mind.
“Seems like you’ve really impressed them with the archery lessons you’ve been giving,” Ashur continues when Tarquin stares at him dumbfounded.
“I’m pretty sure I told one of them his form is pathetic,” he says, “and that he wouldn’t make it two seconds in an actual fight.”
Ashur shrugs. “Your bluntness is part of your charm.” Then he adds, “They also, uh. Were talking about how nice it is. To see someone older, like themselves. Who’s doing so well for himself. And I think Levi said something about hoping the Maker blesses him with the ability to grow a beard even half as good as yours one day.”
“Oh.” Tarquin feels his cheeks heat as the words slowly sink in and he processes what Ashur’s telling him.
He huffs, letting out a little “teh” before a smile spreads on his face and he looks off, lost in thought. That’s… pretty nice. Kind of gross, the thought of anyone having such high thoughts about him, but—
Still.
Nice.
Something blooms in his chest, like a sudden crack somewhere is letting in a little bit of light. He remembers being young, way younger even than these Shadows when he was trying to figure shit out all on his own, and how badly he wished he had someone else to talk to about it. Especially someone older.
There had been a man in Ventus passing through, a burly soldier with a long and patchy white beard, who had stayed with their neighbours for the night. On his way to the market the next morning, Tarquin had seen him wash up his armpits in the yard—shirtless and with massive scars below his pecs, his bare chest hairy but the skin smooth without any nipples.
Tarquin had paused to stare. It’d been rude and he’d known that, but he couldn’t help himself.
Whatever the soldier had seen when catching him looking, Tarquin’s always been grateful for it, as it led to him hearing things finally get put into words that he didn’t think were possible before. It took years still after that until he dared to do anything about his own situation, but meeting that man had changed Tarquin’s life.
He’s always wondered what things would have been like if he’d had someone like that actually in his life, and not just around for a brief encounter.
Or, in a worse scenario, what would have happened if Tarquin hadn’t met him at all.
The thought of being that man to someone feels ridiculous. Unimaginable. But also great enough for him to keep smiling about it.
Tarquin flicks his gaze back to Ashur, only to notice Ashur’s staring at him under the brim of his hat. “What?” Tarquin says, quickly dropping his smile, realizing he’s been grinning like a goof to himself. His cheeks heat, embarrassment flooding his body over being caught acting so stupid.
“Nothing,” Ashur hurries out, and Tarquin can’t read the tone of his voice. It sounds unusually even for being Ashur, his expression more stoic than when he’s talking about the gravest of things. “I’ve just never seen you—”
He trails off, but Tarquin knows what he means, and suddenly he wants to crawl out of his skin.
Growing up, he was always told to smile more. Especially by his mother, only to be met with her lamenting what an ugly girl he was whenever he did as she asked. He quickly stopped doing it at all where most people could see him. Then he never got over the awkwardness he feels over it, how uncomfortable it makes him, even as he got older. His knee-jerk reaction to happiness is to bite down on the inside of his cheek to stop himself from letting it show.
But now he’s slipped up, and a guy running around in a snake outfit is judging him.
Wonderful.
Tarquin turns around, starting to walk off without a word.
Of course, if there is one thing he already knows about Ashur, it’s that he never leaves anything be. “Tarquin!” Ashur quickly comes up next to him again, touching his shoulder to make him stop.
Tarquin spins back to face him, staring him down.
“I didn’t—” Ashur stops, pauses, tries again. “I wasn’t—I mean, you—”
Tarquin’s never experienced him fumble so hard with his words before. Somehow Ashur always seems like he knows what the right thing to say is.
Then, to his absolute shock, Ashur lets out a frustrated noise before reaching up with a gloved hand and unclasping one side of his Viper mask.
It falls from where it always sits so securely in place across the top of his cheeks, to instead dangle by his left ear, leaving his face on full display.
“What the fuck?” Tarquin says, wide-eyed, because he has definitely never been good with words.
That makes Ashur laugh, a surprised noise barking out of him, and he shakes his head a little bashfully. “I, uh—I don’t know. I figured—I finally got to see you smile. So, now you get to see me smile, and we’re even? I’ll keep your secret if you keep mine.”
Tarquin keeps staring at him; partly in surprise, but maybe mostly because Ashur is ridiculously handsome.
Figures.
Like this guy doesn’t have enough going for him already.
Ashur continues smiling at him, his cheeks a little pink. It’s a really good smile, making Tarquin have to fight back his own from spreading on his face again.
“You show your face to every guy who flashes you a smile?” Tarquin finally says, because he can’t stand it—can’t stand just staring at Ashur’s beautiful and happy face on full display while he’s expected to act normal about it.
At that, Ashur does something so much worse than smile: he chuckles, warm and fond. Tarquin has the insane thought of wanting to chase after that sound for the rest of his life, to find new ways to draw it out of him. Then Ashur says, “Only the really cute ones.”
At least Tarquin doesn’t have to figure out what the fuck he’s supposed to say to that, as Ashur quickly clasps his mask in place again as soon as the words are out, then starts to back away.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Tarquin,” he says, clearly still smiling, before he turns around and runs down the alley to climb up the wall, disappearing out of sight.
Tarquin stares after him for a long moment even after he’s gone, only then hanging his head and popping up the collar of his cape, letting his own smile spread wide and carefree on his face when no one can see.
Over Ashur, over the Shadow Dragons and all the good Tarquin can do, over how much he enjoys waking up in the mornings nowadays—Tarquin doesn’t even know for sure where his happiness comes from.
And that, in itself—having multiple sources to choose from for once in his life—makes him smile too.