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Rlain had forgotten that this was supposed to be a chore.
Sharpening spearheads was tedious work that wore out the hands and caused aches in the neck if you didn't mind your posture. Bridge Four allotted dull, necessary work like this with rotating shifts, and Rlain lucked out by drawing the same lot with Renarin.
It was quiet in the armory, save for Rlain's soft humming and the sharp notes of metal grinding against whetstone. It was a good quiet, the kind they often shared together, neither of them stumbling over empty words when just each other's company was good enough.
Renarin bit his lip while he worked. He did that often, Rlain had noticed, worrying it until it bled sometimes. The dim, colored glow of sphere lamps cast harsh shadows on his face, bringing out the furrow in his brow and the way his nose scrunched up like a mink's while he concentrated.
Rlain looked back down at his work before he was caught staring. He hadn't meant to do that. His eyes just... wandered, sometimes. He was used to observing, making a mental catalog of the small details. Old habit from spying on the Alethi in the Shattered Plains. That was all.
He redoubled his focus at the whetstone. He was going to fall behind if he kept slacking, and then they'd both be late to stew with the rest of Bridge Four, because Renarin wouldn’t leave until he helped Rlain finish his allotment of spearheads.
Rlain warmed as he thought about that. Though, of course, Renarin would stay back for any other member of Bridge Four. He took on any work, no matter how menial, with zeal. Eager to prove himself.
Renarin had earned his new callouses from his effort, especially since training to use spear and Blade. Rlain’s eyes wandered again. Despite the new wear and tear, his hands still had a delicate look to them. Long, slender fingers, like a musician’s, or—
Rlain hissed sharply at the quick bite of pain as the spearhead he’d been working on slipped and glanced his unarmored palm. It was a shallow cut—his blood only welled up in a small line along it—but he attuned Irritation at himself for his carelessness. It was not like him to get distracted.
"Can I see?" Renarin asked. He breathed in, taking in some of the Stormlight from the lamps, dimming the room. He held out his hand, and it glowed faintly.
Rlain almost declined, out of a stubborn bad habit of trying to make himself unobtrusive. It was only a nick, after all, and it'd heal after a good night's rest or two in warform. Seemed like a frivolous use of Stormlight.
But Renarin had already taken it in and waited with outstretched hand and expectant eyes. It was impossible to turn him down.
Rlain gave him his palm, and Renarin took it with both hands. Cupping the backside of it with one and pressing with his fingertips with the other. He ran his thumb across the seam of the wound as it sealed shut from Stormlight.
“You can come to me anytime you injure yourself, you know,” said Renarin, examining Rlain’s hand, as if he was evaluating if such a minor cut was healed to his satisfaction. He’d always taken the responsibility of a healer very seriously. “You should.”
Feeling invigorated by the rush of cool Stormlight, Rlain attuned Appreciation. “I will remember that.” Then, remembering that Renarin wouldn’t fully understand the rhythm, he added, “Thank you.”
“My brother does it all the time,” Renarin said. “I think he tries to annoy me. He’ll act like a little kid and ask if I could kiss his ‘boo-boo’ better, or whatever, over a scrape.”
Rlain switched to attuning Curiosity, inviting Renarin to elaborate.
“It doesn’t though! I guess—that’s what I’m trying to say. Even if you think it’s something that’s too small you can still let me know, and I’ll heal it. Happily.” He looked away, seeming flustered.
He was still holding onto Rlain’s hand, and inadvertently clutched it tighter.
“Is that a thing?” Rlain started. He should’ve been more specific. “To kiss someone after tending to an injury? I don’t think I heard that before.” He certainly hadn’t seen it from Kaladin, Bridge Four’s best when it came to field medicine (and, well, Bridge Four’s best at a whole lot of other things).
For a human, Renarin didn’t typically show a lot of emotion in his face (which made him more familiar, to Rlain). But now he made all sorts of funny expressions as he let go of Rlain’s hand and started fiddling with his own coat sleeves.
“No, no! That was just part of Adolin joking around,” he said quickly.
That might’ve been a silly thing to fixate on. Rlain hummed to Consideration. “He seems to do that a lot, doesn’t he?”
Renarin sighed. “Shallan only made him worse.” He picked up his abandoned spearhead, and Rlain mirrored the action. They still had work to finish.
“Tell me more?” Rlain invited.
Renarin grinned, and that opened the rest of their time to some not-so-quiet family gossip.
The Rhythm of Joy didn’t leave Rlain for the rest of the evening. Renarin had that effect on him, even after they’d parted. And while he wished the other was here (Renarin had already made plans to spend time with his family), Rlain still found joy in the small company of Lopen, Teft, and Sigzil at evening stew.
He listened to them prattle while he nursed his bowl (still piping hot).
Then Teft looked pointedly at Rlain. “And what’s going on with you?”
Rlain checked side to side. Both Lopen and Sigzil had turned their stares to him as well. “Me?”
“You keep checking your hand, grinning and looking like you won a whole lot of emerald broams. What happened?”
“Oh, I’m just… In a good mood.” Rlain couldn’t help but say it to Anxiety. Had he been acting that out of the ordinary?
Thankfully, Lopen came to his rescue. “Well, I’ll tell you who isn’t having a good night.”
Sigzil rolled his eyes. “What cremling pinched your toe?”
“Renarin. He’s a menace, I’ll tell you that.”
Rlain switched to Irritation, grateful Lopen wouldn’t understand. Teft and Sigzil looked intrigued.
Lopen proceeded to detail a series of mishaps and flight accidents from experimenting with lashings that left him bruised up and depleted of Stormlight. Rlain was tempted to cut in and ask what any of it had to do with Renarin, but held himself back. And then, finally, Lopen got to the point, “…So there I was, no Stormlight, ready to keel over, I tell you,” he said, emphasizing where he could with his hands. “And I could swear Renarin was glowing with the stuff! So I ask him ‘Hey, gancho, can you spare some healing for the Lopen?’, and you know what he did?
“He just pointed at the spheres hanging on the wall and told me there was Stormlight right there! And then he kept walking!”
Rlain let out a laugh. It rose up from his belly and came out loud and full. He had to set down his bowl of stew so he wouldn’t spill it.
He barely heard the chatter that came after that, tuning out all but the Joy in his gemheart. He looked at his smooth palm and smiled to himself.
He’d keep this thing between him and Renarin—something just for him.