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Kabru is hallucinating.

At least he's pretty sure he is, because he was supposed to be alone tonight. As far as hallucinations go, it's not exactly an unwelcome one. If he were back in the dungeons, he would think this was a succubus targeting him.

Placing the mostly finished glass of mead on the end of the table closest to him, he doesn't find it in himself to do anything but stare. The dim light in the room makes it appear a bit fuzzy at the corners, forcing his eyes to focus on the other person—apparition?—in the house. He looks too real standing there, and his eyes briefly show equal surprise at Kabru's presence. Should Kabru say something? Will he speak back to him?

Kabru is starting to wonder where his tolerance went. Whittled away by all the stress from the dungeons, and now as a kingdom advisor, maybe. In his experience, though, the process usually takes the opposite form: some stressor occurs, and the individual's ability to depend on an outlet, particularly unhealthy ones, exponentiates. But then again, he was only seven when Utaya was destroyed, which would give anyone ample breeding ground to develop less than savory habits. He has probably always been operating on limited time before he had finally expended his alcohol tolerance.

Anyway, he was only halfway through his second glass. That was nothing, enough to have his movements become a little less graceful, maybe, but certainly not a hallucinatory amount. Around others, he likes to drink slowly, to a degree that keeps his drinking partner comfortable. Alone, he can admit he's a little less careful about pacing himself.

Being away from the center of the kingdom these past two days helped him relax some, but the empty house he was welcomed by did unsurprisingly little to lessen his worries. Sometimes when he was in a particularly somber mood, it felt like a promise that his future would be just that, an empty house. Or rather, no house to return to at all, no reason to leave the castle grounds other than for work.

Mithrun has been checking out a natural dungeon that appeared in the outer areas of Melini for a week now, and barring—anything, really—he is meant to return tomorrow. The house has proved to be an environment ripe for overthinking. Tonight, and yesterday night, Kabru's mind has been running with far too much information for him to simply close his eyes and sleep.

"Staring is rude, Kabru," the figure finally says from his position about ten feet ahead, next to the front door. He hadn't used it, though, having teleported in quietly to, presumably, avoid waking Kabru up. He had materialized in front of him, with the faint air of magic permeating the home. It settled on Kabru, and he had mistaken the feeling for the alcohol circulating through his body. Visual hallucinations he could chalk up to the tossing and turning he's been doing, mixed with the mead, but he's not so far gone to have auditory ones too, right?

Kabru mutters out a quick apology, but he still doesn't avert his gaze. Mithrun silently returns the stare as he pulls down his hood. Kabru swallows, still feeling like he willed Mithrun to appear in front of him. A memory of Mithrun warning him not to make too many wishes in the dungeon floats into his mind.

He squeezes his eyes shut briefly, and his sight adjusts in the low light of the lantern next to him. And yes, okay—Mithrun's here. Kabru looks more closely at him. He is dressed in the outfit he typically wears when entering the dungeon. It isn't too different from the uniform worn by the Canaries, the largest contrast being its more muted, blue palette. If this were a hallucination, Kabru thinks he would have imagined Mithrun in something else. Trade the dungeon look for the softer, intimate appearance he's privy to.

From here, he doesn't look incredibly worn out. Already, Kabru feels his body relax, though the alcohol he's been nursing for the past hour deserves credit too. He steps forward, meaning to greet Mithrun. Something stops him, though. Like if he moves any closer, Mithrun will disappear. Fade away right before his eyes. The man isn't disappearing, though, looking away to take his jacket off. He doesn't seem to notice Kabru's hesitation, either.

There are a lot of things Kabru wants to open with. He belatedly wishes he were fully sober so he could feel more in control of his words. The sheer relief he feels from Mithrun's arrival, though, makes him think he'd struggle to speak either way. It's a situation he finds himself in often despite his practiced eloquence. "You're home earlier than I expected, Captain," he says.

"Not a captain anymore," Mithrun replies, the same way he does whenever his former title is used. He places his jacket on the rack, right above Kabru's. Kabru quickly flits his eyes over it—no rips—then back to Mithrun. No signs of physical distress that would have him teleporting this late in the night.

"Hard to break the habit," Kabru says in response. It's only half true; he has long dropped formalities with the elf, but he likes the title, and Mithrun doesn't mind, not really.

Turning toward the kitchen where Kabru is standing, he asks, referring to his opening comment, "Earlier in what way?"

Kabru moves forward, stopping short of rounding the corner to stand in front of Mithrun. Instead, he reaches up to grab one of the rags hanging on the cabinet. He lightly wets the off-white rag and wrings it out, squeezing out the extra moisture. He's straying from routine in more ways than one tonight. "You were due for your return tomorrow, no?"

Mithrun watches him curiously, setting his bag down next to his feet. He travels light in general, but especially on his short trips into the nearby dungeons. It's practical, but it reminds Kabru that Mithrun could just disappear one day. Dead somewhere with no personal belongings on him to indicate his provenance. Well, not quite. There aren't many elves on Melini right now, so it'd be easy to figure out his identity.

But there'd be nothing to indicate Kabru, to tell others to let him know. Nothing to show for it but the house, these days accommodating a relatively equal ratio of his and Mithrun's belongings. A startlingly realistic vision of an elf telling him three years later, Oh, by the way, about Mithrun… appears in his mind.

"I finished up earlier today," Mithrun explains. The coast he was exploring was a four-hour journey away, so Mithrun likely set off once he had completed his work. He's alone, too, with no blonde, shorter elf in tow. Despite Kabru's protests, Fleki has made a point to stay with Pattadol after their expeditions and not return with Mithrun when she knows Kabru is either already at the house or will be there in a few days. She stays away for a week at most before she gets bored and comes home.

Kabru nods, wiping the counter before turning to the table. A ring of condensation has formed on the surface from his glass.

A thought comes to him. "Did you teleport all the way back?" He looks up to search over him again. No sign of overdoing it. But, as he's been accustomed to knowing since their first foray into a dungeon together, Mithrun is better at hiding symptoms of mana sickness longer than Kabru would like.

He shakes his head. "No, Pattadol ordered me a carriage back to town. I teleported from the center."

Kabru swallows back his lecture as Mithrun takes another step closer past the counter. "That's good."

Kabru makes no attempt to close the distance between the two. He wants to, and he usually would, but there's tension drumming inside him. Dissipating slowly since Mithrun appeared, but having spent too much time thinking about what Mithrun could come across in the dungeon, he almost can't believe he's here. It's like his body hasn't caught up with his mind and won't let him trust what's right in front of him.

He's here, though, and probably exhausted. His ever-present circles under his eyes aren't too prominent tonight, but they still suggest a less-than-optimal amount of sleep. "Do you want some water?"

Not waiting for Mithrun to respond, he turns and opens the cabinet, grabbing a glass identical to the one he used for his drink, now sitting atop a cloth on the table. Once filled halfway, he passes the glass over. "Here."

Mithrun's eyebrows furrow in response, blatantly staring despite his earlier remark. He's searching his face and eyes for—something. When he doesn't find it, he frowns. "Kabru."

Mithrun is waiting expectantly next to him, and the anxiety threatening to spill out of Kabru turns into something else: thrill. Mithrun is expecting something from him, wants something from him. Kabru places the glass next to his own and continues wiping the table, biding his time. He wants to encourage this, wants to foster this want, without looking like he's rejecting him. A careful line to toe.

A crumb of the walnut bread he had eaten earlier in the day catches his eye, and he swipes it onto the rag. He had brought it from the market yesterday and saved a piece for Mithrun to try when he came back. "Yes?"

When he turns, Mithrun's expression is this side of petulant, ears slightly downturned. The same man who was just exploring a dungeon, at an arm's length from death at all times. Cute all the same, though the thought makes Kabru's stomach curl. He looks him over once more, just to confirm. He's not in a dungeon, not at the whims of a monster.

Mithrun steps over quickly, his body becoming a barrier between Kabru and his task at hand. Kabru is forced to drop the rag on the table, now behind Mithrun's body as he blocks it. Kabru prefers this. He doesn't want anything in the way when he finally does what Mithrun wants. Mithrun crosses his arms, impatience clear on his face. "Are you going to kiss me 'hello' yet?"

He says it as if Kabru simply forgot and messed up their routine. Technically, he has. He knows Mithrun expected him to be sleeping. Not that he minds, though he's wondering. Evidently, he has other priorities. So does Kabru.

Kabru laughs, and finally, he feels something settle inside himself. The alcohol, maybe. He's playing catch-up here, telling his body, Okay, you can relax now. He's home. He's safe.

He will kiss him, but an important question first. The most important one, really. "Do you want me to?"

Mithrun breathes in like he always does when Kabru asks a variation of the same question. Do you want me to come with you this time? Do you want to eat this for dinner? Do you want me to touch you here? Or here? How do you want me?

Kabru watches Mithrun's shoulders relax, a small smile forming on his face as he responds, "Yes."

And well, Kabru is only human. He has no intention of starting to deny Mithrun anything, least of all when he wants the same thing. He's glad Mithrun came back when he did and that Kabru was only one and a half glasses into his drink. He has all his senses about him when he pulls Mithrun into his arms, the familiar feel of his body against his own grounding him. "Hi," he says softly.

Faintly, as he gets lost in the joy of being this close to Mithrun, he hopes he doesn't smell like he's drunk. Mithrun doesn't seem to take issue with it, even if he does, and pulls him closer, his hands falling comfortably on Kabru's midsection. "Hi."

This close, Kabru can see the exhaustion across Mithrun's face. He wonders if he feels momentarily energized by Kabru's embrace like Kabru does.

When he leans down to meet his lips with Mithrun's, slightly chilled from the air, the elf certainly feels awake as he runs his hands up Kabru's side. Kabru moves his own hand from Mithrun's back to his chin, guiding him to a deeper kiss. Mithrun obliges, and Kabru lets himself fully relax. Mithrun's not disappearing. The fresh smell of the soap he used at a public bath in the town center and the feel of his embrace completely engulf his senses.

Mithrun breaks the kiss, resting his head against Kabru's hand that had moved to hold his face. "Mead and…" he pauses, leaning back in to kiss him again, licking Kabru's lips. "Something sweet. Cherries?"

Kabru nods, distracted by the softness of Mithrun's lips. He's been staying hydrated while away, another comforting sign. "I had some earlier."

Mithrun kisses him once more as if to confirm the flavor. "I see."

They stand next to the table in each other's arms for a few more moments. Before Kabru can ask Mithrun if he wants to get ready for bed, Mithrun pulls his head back from Kabru's chest.

"Why aren't you sleeping?" It's a neutral question, but Kabru still feels guilty for some reason. It wasn't like he had expected Mithrun not to notice.

"I was working on the documents in preparation for a visit from some gnomes in Kahka Brud." The explanation he offers is not untrue, but that was two hours ago now, probably, when he was running through procedures he would have to do when he returned to the castle in two days. As usual, his mind had wandered to Mithrun.

Mithrun nods, eyes glancing toward the forgotten glasses on the table. "And the alcohol?"

"Couldn't sleep. Too many things to check off." More than preparations, he had been filing through the types of monsters Mithrun was most likely to encounter, going off Mithrun's prior reports.

"I see," he brushes his hand down Kabru's cheek, and Kabru can't help but lean into his touch.

"Let's go to bed now."

"Will you come to bed with me?"

They talk over each other with the same request: each other's company. Kabru smiles as he links their hands together. "Let's go then," he says.

He feels warm inside, partly the mead, partly the surprise of Mithrun being here. He had worried he'd miss Mithrun before he had to leave for the castle. They walk down the hallway in step with one another, and Kabru can't stop looking over at Mithrun. His anxieties have been pushed away now, but he feels them hovering at the back of his mind.

"Tell me about this dungeon," he says to him as they enter their room.

Mithrun recalls all that sits in some report in Mithrun's slanted but neat handwriting, rolled up in a scroll that is likely on its way to the castle, as they settle down for the night. Somehow, all the details that have left Kabru wide awake on nights alone are somewhat comforting when they're coming out of Mithrun's mouth as they lie side by side in the bed. He ignores the dread of this cycle of waiting and worrying that hangs over him, willing himself to appreciate each moment he has with the elf. Fortunately, focusing on Mithrun is one of the easiest things to do. This is the thought that he leaves on as he finally falls into the restful sleep he has been chasing.

He's being chased. He has some ground on the dragon behind him, but its frantic footsteps are getting increasingly louder.

Kabru searches his surroundings for something to hide under. The dungeon floor is mostly barren, with vines crawling up the walls and fallen stone lying around the ground. Kabru is careful to leap over wide cracks in the ground. They look like the consequence of an earthquake. More likely, the dungeon is changing. Something is wrong.

He's running out of stamina when he finally sees a large slab of stone twice his height blocking the entrance of a small alley. Weird. He doesn't question it any further and squats down to squeeze into the opening. It is only when he runs into the alley does he see that it's a dead end. Shit.

He turns back around, but when he reaches near where he had entered, the slab is missing. In its place are the looming eyes of the dragon, staring back at Kabru. He freezes. Why is he alone? Where is his party?

The dragon rises to its full height, its scales shining in the light of the dungeon. Kabru's feet feel like they have turned to stone, and he is planted at the spot. He watches it pull back, preparing to let out a breath of whatever its attack is. Regrettably, he had made a habit of zoning out during Laios' dragon lectures recently and has no idea which dragon this is.

Suddenly, the dragon's head morphs, becoming skinnier and slinking into the narrow alley, heading straight for Kabru. All he sees are the dragon's eyes as it approaches Kabru, who is shaking so much he could swear it's an earthquake. Kabru can only think, How did this happen? He squeezes his eyes shut, bracing for the impact of death, he supposes.

But he feels nothing. He hears something, a voice that sounds close and far all at once, but he can't make out the words. It all goes black.

Touch is the sense that comes back to him first. His hands blindly grab onto the thin cotton sheets he had thrown his body onto the night before.

For a moment, his eyes won't open. He can still see the dragon's menacing eyes, like a predator who knows it has its prey, in his mind. Then, slowly, the ceiling he has grown accustomed to staring at when Mithrun is away comes into view.

To his left, next to the bed, he feels a shift in the air. Once again, he's not alone. The familiar smell, one part citrus and two parts linen, that belongs to a familiar person, confirms this.

"Are you alright?" Mithrun asks, approaching the bed. He stares pointedly at Kabru's hands that are tightly gripping the bedsheets.

Kabru releases the sheets and feels his fingers tremble a bit, still feeling the aftershocks of the nightmare. "You're here," he says instead of responding to Mithrun's question. He hopes the half-dazed smile he gives as he props himself up on his elbows is enough of an answer.

"I was trying not to wake you," Mithrun says, still standing half a foot from the bed. Kabru looks behind him to see the slowly brightening sky peeking into the window. It's early in the morning, and the sun is just beginning to rise.

He glances back at the frowning elf, and Kabru can't help the smile that forms on his face. Mithrun is in his sleepwear. When Mithrun comes back before he usually wakes for the day, he prepares to go back to bed. He does this just to lie with Kabru, even though he usually doesn't go to sleep.

Based on his routine, Mithrun must have returned not thirty minutes ago. He has changed out of his clothes, so he has already put away his belongings. Kabru typically wakes up to Mithrun's return before this step, but the nightmare kept him sleeping longer than usual.

Still, he's glad he woke up. He could never complain about waking up to Mithrun's presence. This time, they haven't seen each other in three weeks. Overlapping schedules have kept Kabru at the castle even when Mithrun wasn't monitoring for monsters, and Mithrun has been away since Kabru returned two days ago.

"You didn't wake me," Kabru assures him, silently looking over Mithrun's outfit. No cuts or open wounds that he can see from here, but the fabric could be covering them up. He reaches his hand out, even though Mithrun doesn't need an invitation into his own bed. "And even if you did, I want you to."

Mithrun steps forward and takes Kabru's hand, one leg leaning over the bed. He pauses to look over Kabru's face. "You're alright?" He asks again.

"I'm fine," Kabru replies this time. He takes the opportunity to continue to examine Mithrun for any signs of pain he might subconsciously show.

Mithrun frowns slightly again. "So am I." With his other hand, he gently pushes Kabru back down, purposely interrupting his scan.

He's been caught. But Kabru doesn't back down, raising his eyebrow at the elf. A silent request. If he sweetens it with a pout, only Mithrun can confirm or deny. He returns a huff of his own, looking far too adorable for a man who could be secretly harboring, well, not mortal wounds, but wounds nonetheless.

"Okay," he relents, backing off the bed to give Kabru his other arm.

Immediately, Kabru sits back up, completely this time. The soft, flowy material of Mithrun's light green tunic makes it easier to pull up his sleeves. His eyes sweep over Mithrun's scarred skin, checking for any fresh wounds. When he's done, Mithrun wordlessly begins to pull up the bottom of his tunic. Kabru places his hand over Mithrun's, stilling him.

Mithrun glances back up at him, and this hesitation happens every time, in a way that makes Kabru's heart ache. That is, when, once in a while, the need to confirm Mithrun is genuinely okay eats at him, Kabru asks to check Mithrun over for any wounds. Mithrun always acquiesces, and he always assumes Kabru needs to look over him completely, a habit left behind from his years of rehabilitation and in the dungeons. But Kabru never wants a full-body scan. It feels too clinical, too detached, and too doubtful of Mithrun.

How paradoxical trust can be: yes, Kabru would trust Mithrun with his life, but no, he can't trust Mithrun to take care of his own. That's not how Kabru feels, though, and he assures him in case he has any doubts. "I just wanted to look at your arms. I trust you."

As quickly as he says it, he sees Mithrun's ears twitch just slightly. Kabru wants Mithrun closer now—and he gets to, how lucky the privilege, no matter what the elf would say on the contrary—so he closes their already small gap. He pulls Mithrun forward into his lap, hearing him let out a surprised breath.

"Welcome back," Kabru says as Mithrun immediately loops his arms around Kabru's neck, slotting himself more comfortably on his lap.

Mithrun doesn't say anything at first, only sitting back to run his hands across Kabru's shoulders, then lower, down his arms. He leans forward and kisses Kabru's jaw, surprising him. Over time, Mithrun has initiated physical affection with steadily increasing frequency. It remains as exciting for Kabru each time. And if Mithrun keeps touching him like this, he's—other parts of his body are really going to wake up.

Mithrun pauses his movement when his arms reach Kabru's waist, resting there. "This is my home after all. Where else would I go?"

Kabru hums, pushing silver hair that has fallen in front of his face behind his ear. "I could say the same."

Mithrun blinks. "The castle?"

"Yes, but you're not in the castle," Kabru says simply. The castle is work. He has a job he finds fulfilling and friends around him he loves, but it's not where he wants to be when he has days off. Not who he wants to be with.

Mithrun accepts the response, leaning forward to rest his forehead against Kabru's. The gentle pressure is comforting to Kabru. He closes his eyes, lazily circling his hand on Mithrun's back. He could get used to this. No, he has gotten used to it, and it makes their separations more difficult, their reunions all the more consuming.

A minute or two later, Mithrun breaks the silence. "Trouble sleeping?"

Kabru's eyes fly open at the question. The topic is unexpected. And in truth, save for the nightmare, he slept relatively fine last night. "What?"

"I can smell the alcohol on the clothes you toss on the floor." Kabru looks over to the ground, now noticing only two pairs of shoes sprawled across it. Mithrun had moved his clothes from the past two nights onto the dresser, folding them neatly. 

"Oh, right." Kabru cringes inwardly. Has he been that obvious? He has drunk around and with Mithrun, but he didn't think the association between his alcohol intake and sleep schedule, or lack thereof, was that clear. "No, Chilchuck came to Melini a few days ago. On his last night two days ago, he asked me to drink with him, so I indulged."

Mithrun runs his hand through Kabru's hair. "Did you have a nice time?"

"I did." He enjoyed catching up with Chilchuck and hearing about him becoming a grandfather. It softened the man.

"Are you going back to sleep?" Mithrun asks.

Kabru feels the tug of sleep pulling at him at the question. "Just another hour or so."

"Okay." Mithrun pulls himself out of Kabru's lap, one foot now on the cool floor as he steps out of the bed.

Kabru frowns at the loss of contact and scoots back a bit, giving just enough room for Mithrun to lie down next to him, before grabbing his arms gently. Mithrun lets him pull them down together so they are lying face to face.

"Lay with me." He knows it's more for him than the elf, who is unlikely to go to sleep at this time. But he sleeps more soundly when Mithrun is next to him, and Mithrun doesn't start his day until the sun is up anyway.

"Okay," Mithrun says again.

They quiet, and in the early morning, all that cracks through is the distant chirps of birds circling the garden behind the house. He caresses the hands entwined with his under the blanket. Up close once more, the comforting smell of Mithrun lulls him into a sleepier state. His vision begins to blur out as his eyelids feel heavier. All Kabru sees now is a face he has long since memorized. Mithrun's eyes are somehow gentle and intense at the same time. A stark contrast to what was staring him down in his mind when he woke up.

Before he finally lets his eyes close, he feels Mithrun move closer. The man pauses millimeters before his face, his breath and their lack of distance altogether warming it. Mithrun looks him over, eyes flickering down to his lips just once, and Kabru feels a surge of happiness pulse through him. The feeling that Mithrun wants this, wants him, is a feeling like no other. He could chase it for the rest of his life.

Mithrun leans over, pressing a kiss to his lips. It's quick and almost chaste. Kabru thinks he feels the dull taste of the rations the elves bring into the dungeons behind it, and he doesn't mind. All five senses are wholly Mithrun.

"What was that for?" Kabru asks, hearing the sleep clear in his own voice.

"Nothing." Mithrun shrugs. Then, slowly, like he's trying out the words, he adds, "I wanted to."

A sense of regularity, of how right this feels, blossoms in Kabru's chest. He pulls Mithrun into his chest and takes in the smell and feeling of his hair against his face. The elf relaxes against him.

Kabru is grateful that the most anticipated part of their routine, their reunion, is here. He only wishes it would last just a little longer this time. He comforts himself with the fact that with Mithrun around, for now, he is unlikely to have nightmares.

The next day has been one Kabru just might trade for a nightmare, though. Or a nightmare itself, he's not sure. It started out strange, off-kilter. A conversation he didn't ever envision happening marked the beginning of what should've been an otherwise normal day.

But yesterday was good. After Kabru woke up again and finally got out of bed, they spent the rest of the day together. They bought food at the market in the afternoon. Kabru suggested stopping by the pharmacy to visit Rin and share some of the pastries they had bought.

When they arrived, Rin was guarded like she always was around elves, but Mithrun unsurprisingly took no offense. He didn't acknowledge her slightly uncomfortable appearance, and she did her best to hide her discomfort on account of Kabru. Mithrun suggested she try the blueberry biscuit that Kabru liked first. Mithrun, on the other hand, thought the raspberry one had a richer flavor. Not better—he still didn't bother parsing between preferences on many things—just richer. Kabru followed the conversation with a brief exchange of updates on their former party members.

Afterward, they returned home, and Mithrun prepared dinner with Kabru, who assumed his role as a sous chef. They accompanied their baked fish and salad with a nice glass of wine. Mithrun kept offering him more wine, which Kabru found odd, considering Mithrun wasn't indulging himself. Kabru was content with one glass. Was it romantic or just dramatic to say he felt drunk enough on happiness, or something like that, just from spending time with Mithrun?

Kabru had expected the following day to be equally as relaxing. Instead, he is thrown entirely off guard by Mithrun. Sitting at his desk, he letters the last of his suggestions regarding the upcoming festival in Melini before they slipped his mind. Behind him, out of his view, Mithrun stands at their dresser to change for the day.

"Have you ever had an affair?" Mithrun asks suddenly, apropos of nothing.

"Uh—" The question is so random and asked so casually that Kabru presses the feather pen too hard, leaving a few ink drops on his personal notes. It is not unusual for conversations to occur with little preamble between the two of them. Mithrun often brings up topics that leave Kabru a mix of exasperation and affection, and Kabru's cheeks end up flushed with embarrassment or—something else.

"An affair?" He twists around in his chair, trying to see Mithrun's face. There is no accusation in his voice, so what has spurred this conversation? He has never entertained the thought, and the idea of Mithrun misunderstanding him in such a way turns his stomach.

Mithrun continues to sift through the clothes in the top drawer. The left side is Mithrun's clothes, but he's looking through Kabru's side of the drawer. Kabru pauses his slightly rising anxiety, mostly confusion, to be pleased that Mithrun feels the desire to help Kabru choose what to wear today.

He picks up a gray turtleneck and holds it up to Kabru from where he's standing. Nodding approvingly, he turns back to readjust the clothes in the drawer. "Sure. If someone caught your eye, and one thing led to another, maybe you'd take them home."

Often, Kabru tries to delineate the question Mithrun throws at him. Before, or after? For Mithrun, the question is usually "Before becoming the lord of a dungeon, or after?" And for himself, "Before Utaya or after?" or "Before coming to the island or after?"

More recently, and excitedly, it's a question of "Before you? Or after you?" Kabru likes demarcating moments of their lives this way the most. Some intangible but spoken proof that their appearance in each other's lives was and remains a significant moment, a clear turn where their paths might have diverged. Maybe he is a romantic.

"Do you mean before we met, when I was staying at the tavern?"

"Right. Hopefully, you weren't carelessly leaving your clothes lying around, reeking of your betrayal." He gestures toward the floor and then gently tosses the shirt toward him. Kabru blinks, catching it.

The smell of soap lingers on this shirt, unlike the alcohol that he knows faintly hangs around the pile of clothes waiting to be washed outside. This is about his less-than-stellar housekeeping skills? He's better about cleaning after himself these days, but he's less stringent when Mithrun is away. This, he blames on the lack of sleep. The floor is empty now, but it has been no stranger to Kabru's clothes being thrown on it, both on account of being tired (lazy, too, he can admit on some days) and—Mithrun-related reasons. There were no complaints from Mithrun in those instances, but of course, there were none from Kabru, either.

"The alcohol is from socializing with Chilchuck and others," Kabru reminds him, placing the shirt on the back of the chair.

Mithrun closes the drawer, turning to completely face Kabru, who now slowly straightens the papers on the desk as he stands up. Kabru thinks through his words. What is this about? It's clear to Kabru that it's not about him occasionally disregarding the perfectly clear surface on top of the dresser in favor of the floor to leave his sullied clothes. Mithrun doesn't seem upset, either. This conversation is surrounding the hypothetical, but why this hypothetical is being discussed is beyond Kabru at the moment.

"And, to be clear, if clothes are being tossed around these days," Kabru pauses, letting a teasing tone slip into his voice as he walks to the center of the room to stand in front of Mithrun. If Mithrun's question is as innocuous as he figures, then hopefully, he can make the conversation sound less serious. "You're usually in the room, too. Maybe that's why I'm so bad at the affairs I'm not having."

His attempt to lighten the atmosphere works, and he is rewarded with a faint blush that colors Mithrun's face, reaching his ears. It's a reward Kabru cherishes from a man who, generally speaking, carries few emotions on his face, let alone a blush. From Kabru's experience, though, you just need to know where to look to read Mithrun. Just from this, he can confirm Mithrun's question was born out of mainly curiosity, and something else.

Mithrun says as much. "I know. That's not—I'm not accusing you of anything." His fingers reach forward to link with Kabru's, almost shyly. "I was just thinking."

He doesn't elaborate. Before Kabru can ask for more clarification or at least a reason for the discussion, Mithrun moves on. "How do tall-men typically react when their partners are having affairs?"

Kabru doesn't think he could possibly get more confused. He can't follow Mithrun's train of thought, but he goes along with it anyway. "Hopefully not like any of the characters in the romance stories I've read. Revenge to some effect, murder even."

Mithrun is unfazed by this answer, which is what Kabru expected. Elven stories were as dramatic as tall-man ones, only made worse with the creative use of magic. He takes a moment to be grateful that, while what was appropriate for tall-men eluded Milsiril, she never limited his access to books, even if they sometimes left him unable to sleep. A pattern that has followed him into his adult years, though he has no horror story about elves and gnomes to blame for his lack of sleep now. "Murder. With intimate knowledge of your lover and magic at your disposal, it wouldn't take much to subdue them."

Spoken like a true strategist. "How would you subdue your lover?"

"I'd set a trap." He plays with Kabru's fingers, smirking when he looks up at him. "I know your type."

"Oh, do you?" Kabru laughs. Funny how completely uninterested Mithrun was in anything but taking down the winged lion when they first met, and now he's a self-proclaimed expert in Kabru's tastes. Kabru sees no reason to challenge that.

Mithrun schools his face, his expression like he's a Canary again, strategizing a tactic to control a dungeon. "Yes," he says decisively. "It would take you all of twenty minutes, probably less, to find someone pretty in the tavern to take home."

Kabru doesn't disagree with the assessment, and his past dalliances don't contradict it, either, but he can no longer fathom going out to find someone when he could simply be with Mithrun. "I already have someone pretty to look at when I am home."

Mithrun's ears redden slightly at Kabru's words. He definitely hadn't expected him to say that. When the demon cut his ears half off, to Mithrun, that meant it took away his claim to beauty. But Kabru could watch them forever. The way they curl upward slightly at Kabru's touch. Turn pale and almost snow-like in late winter. The way they redden when he takes him.

"Okay, then," Mithrun tugs Kabru's hand. "I guess I would have to poison you myself."

"How so?" Kabru squeezes back.

"Apply poison somewhere on my body and compel you to touch me there." Another tug. "Like my lips."

Kabru knows a request when he hears one. He gently grabs Mithrun's chin and leans down to peck his lips. When Kabru starts pulling back, Mithrun grabs his shirt collar, moving closer for another, longer kiss.

Kabru smiles against his lips. He likes it when Mithrun wants more of him. "Doesn't feel poisonous to me."

"No?" He punctuates the question with another kiss.

Kabru shakes his head. "Nor does it seem worth the hassle. Better to just toss someone out."

"It is a convoluted process, yes," Mithrun agrees, resting his hand on Kabru's chest. Then, he returns to his original question. "So, have you ever had to? Toss someone out, I mean."

Kabru considers the idea of an affair. He has never been in a relationship where infidelity, or fidelity, mattered. Betrayal in general, that he understands more. It dawns on him then that this kind of betrayal would be new. What he would stand to lose here, right now, is different from the half-hearted flings and one-night stands he's had with various people.

"No, I haven't," he answers honestly.

They've spoken some about their respective romantic experiences, so he knows Mithrun had no affairs of his own. He tells Kabru one more anyway, again joking about his own conception. "I haven't either. Though I am a bastard, so it's in my blood. It'd probably come naturally to me," he says sardonically.

It comes to Kabru then. He has not cheated on anyone, nor has anyone cheated on him, but that was more to the fact that what he had weren't relationships, not really, and the expectation of exclusivity didn't exist. It wasn't necessary because it presumed an eventual long-term commitment, which, no matter who he was with, was not going to be the outcome. But Mithrun? "Has anyone ever been unfaithful to you?"

"Maybe. I don't know." He shrugs. He looks unsure, like he didn't know what crosses lines and what constitutes a betrayal of his trust. "I never trusted anyone when I was being courted. Even if they legitimately betrayed me, I see it as more of a self-fulfilling prophecy. An inevitability."

Kabru feels a wave of anger and sadness for this Mithrun. Is this what he sees in their future, too? "Being interested in you results in betraying you?"

"No," Mithrun corrects. He says it simply, the way a teacher might to a student. Like Kabru somehow didn't receive the notice. "Being interested in me results in eventually losing interest and finding it in someone else."

Kabru bites back his knee-jerk response to tell Mithrun his conclusions aren't true. Instead, he opts for a different approach, one that forces Mithrun to examine the fallibility of his convictions, born out of insecurities that were long entrenched in him. "Do you feel like I'm losing interest in you?"

He pulls back a bit, the way he does whenever Kabru catches him in a thought incongruent with Kabru's actions, how Kabru makes him feel. "No, I don't feel that way at all."

"Good, because I'm not." He searches the elf's face for a response. His nod is almost imperceptible.

The small smile Mithrun usually gives doesn't come, and something about him looks dissatisfied despite Kabru's reassurance. Like the conversation has run away from him. Kabru gets the distinct feeling that he's missing something. He still doesn't know why they are talking about this. Has Kabru given him the wrong impression about how seriously he takes their relationship?

If that's the case, Kabru should nip this in the bud. He runs a finger across the back of Mithrun's hand and is about to lean forward to press a kiss to his cheek when he moves away.

He stares at him. For a moment, Kabru thinks he's reading through him. Past the skin, muscles, and nerves. Straight to the bone. What does he see? Something that looks like recognition flickers in Mithrun's eyes, and he announces emphatically, "You seem strange."

His hands move to cup his face, and Kabru shivers under the cool touch. Instinctively, he raises his own hand to cover one of Mithrun's, rubbing gently over it. He's always just a little cold, even in the warm room.

"Are you unwell?" He places his other hand, the one Kabru's isn't covering, on his forehead. A move so parental, Kabru unintentionally lets out a laugh.

When Mithrun doesn't return a look of amusement, Kabru coughs, trying to look more serious. "I feel fine."

Mithrun shifts forward, moving in front of Kabru so that he eclipses the rest of their room, taking up his entire view. "What does 'fine' mean?"

"It means that I'm not going to faint on you," Kabru replies.

"No, that's my job," Mithrun says.

Kabru lightly pokes his side. "Don't go and get mana sickness on me." It comes out lighthearted, but he means it.

Mithrun pokes him back. "You'd catch me if I did."

Kabru hums, pleasantly surprised. He would. He likes that Mithrun knows that. He recalls them falling down in the dungeon together, Mithrun teleporting repeatedly so they wouldn't fall to their deaths. "You'd catch me, too. But the landing might be a little rough."

Mithrun huffs before leaning in even more closely. He stares into Kabru's eyes with such intensity that Kabru doesn't think he could ever look away. He can't think of a reason why he'd want to in the first place. "Kabru, let me help you."

The change of topic yet again throws Kabru. "With what?"

"You can't sleep," Mithrun says matter-of-factly.

Kabru didn't think this would come up again after yesterday. He slept well last night next to Mithrun. "I'm fine—"

His attempt to placate the elf is cut short when he interrupts, "Let's go."

"Where?" They hadn't made any plans for the day.

"Outside." Mithrun heads toward Kabru's desk, grabbing the shirt off the chair. "Spar with me."

Kabru turns, following him. "W—What?" He catches the shirt again. For what feels like the tenth time this morning, he has no bearing on their conversation.

"You have trouble sleeping when you stay here." Well. Not exactly, not when Mithrun is here.

"Maybe you're not working out enough compared to when you're on your feet in the castle." He continues and pokes Kabru again between his ribs. "Too much energy pent up."

"Right, uh," Kabru pauses, rubbing his neck. That could bear some truth. When he's at the castle, easing conversations between Laios and diplomats, he has little time to think about Mithrun's adventures scoping areas with monster activity. They sit at the back of his mind, never far, but only migrate to the center when he's alone with his thoughts. "That could be it." He hopes he doesn't sound as unconvinced as he feels.

Kabru's doubt doesn't appear to seep into his words, because Mithrun only nods. "So, let's go then."

He appreciates Mithrun's concern. He's kind, and when you know how to look for it, like Kabru does, it's not hard to miss. He isn't the blank slate that many people assume he is when they hear about his past. Certainly not emotionless. But this isn't something Mithrun can help him with when Kabru himself doesn't know why he can't sleep. Or doesn't really want to know why.

"Mithrun," Kabru starts.

"Please. I want to." His insistence surprises Kabru.

"I want to help you," Mithrun says, his voice catching on the last word. Kabru gets it. Wanting is hard enough, but voicing those wants has proven even harder. His own wants get stuck and garbled in his throat. He finds it much more worthwhile to spend his time coaxing Mithrun's out of him than he does expressing his own.

All of Kabru's resolve goes out the window. Every time a new want, a new desire sprouts, Kabru only wants to help Mithrun fulfill that desire. A little exercise couldn't hurt. Milsiril would encourage it too. She practices all the time, and she has been retired for years. She would have something to say about Kabru's form.

He tosses the shirt on his shoulder and nods. "Where would we spar?"

This response gets him the small smile he wanted. "The hill behind the house has a patch of grass at the bottom that should suit our needs."

That was a prepared answer. Maybe Mithrun has been wanting to spar with Kabru for a while. He stores that information in the back of his mind and nods. "Okay, let's go."

Belatedly, he wonders if he will regret this. The only other elf he has sparred with is Milsiril, and her swordsmanship is second to none. He's seen Mithrun in action, too, and his skills aren't far behind those of his adoptive mother. It feels more likely that his swordsmanship will see improvement than his sleep routine, but he follows Mithrun's lead and gets ready anyway.

Mithrun leads the way, and it's only two wrong turns before they arrive at the base of the hill. They survey the area and make themselves comfortable in a patch about three times the size of their bedroom. Plenty of room.

The early afternoon sun beats down on them, and the trees sparsely distributed around them do little to dissuade the heat. The weather will probably have them breaking out in a sweat before their sparring does. A cool bath would be nice. A cool bath with Mithrun would be even better.

Kabru must look distracted, or his train of thought is that obvious, because he suddenly feels something nudging his foot. Standing to his left, Mithrun gives him a small smirk.

"Head in the game, Kabru. We can save whatever you're thinking of for later." Was there an emphasis on the word later or is Kabru imagining things?

His cheeks heat with embarrassment, and he can't stop the surprise from showing on his face. "What?" For half a second, he considers whether mind-reading is an elven ability he hasn't heard about.

Mithrun raises an eyebrow at him and laughs. No, there's no mind-reading here. Kabru just fell into a trap, an easy one at that. He giggles in return, half-charmed and half-embarrassed at the feeling of being known this well. It hasn't happened often for him. There are some parts of himself that he leaves right open for his party members, friends, and Milsiril, but others, he leaves locked right up. Even from himself, probably.

When he looks over at Mithrun again, he's no longer laughing. He tilts his head and hands Kabru his sword.

"So," Kabru swallows, taking the sword. "Is that a promise?"

Mithrun shrugs. "Depends on your performance." Kabru thinks most people would be startled by Mithrun's ability to make him laugh and breathless in such quick succession.

They get into position, standing a few meters apart in front of one another. "Ready?" Mithrun asks.

Kabru is getting flashbacks to his training with Milsiril. He was never quite ready then, and he's not sure he feels ready now, but he nods.

Mithrun moves forward, immediately opening with an attack from Kabru's right. Kabru steps back and easily parries. He usually has the advantage of height over his opponents, especially elves, and it helps him get enough force to fend off Mithrun's sword.

He hasn't gotten anywhere close to battle mode in months, short of a verbal one with other officials coming in and out of the castle. It's a nice change of pace. Parry, riposte. Rinse, repeat.

He almost lands his sword on the elf's leg, but he successfully dodges at the last moment. Kabru changes tactics, bobbing backward, avoiding each move.

Mithrun clicks his tongue, which sounds a little like disapproval to Kabru's ears. Without warning, Mithrun runs forward, closing the distance with a swing to Kabru's neck.

Kabru's heart races as he bends backward, narrowly missing it. The speed of the sword makes a menacing swish in the air. His grip tightens on his sword now. Too close.

There's no real danger—it's a wooden sword, and Mithrun would never hurt him—but horns go off in his head. His breathing feels shallow suddenly, and his vision tunnels out. He can't even see Mithrun. He only hears movement. He needs to retreat, but the ground no longer feels stable underneath him. He keeps moving backward while blindly parrying, feeling the force of the swords hitting each other, but his steps are too quick, too messy, and he leaves himself open for attack. His legs give out from under him as Mithrun finally returns into his view and hits him square in the chest.

"Oof." The short grass softens his landing somewhat. He blinks hard, trying to push down the rising panic coursing through him. Mithrun walks over to him. Kabru makes no attempt to get up, and the elf holds his sword against Kabru's neck with barely any pressure. He's won this round.

Kabru bites his cheek, blinking hard. He is going to need a moment. Maybe several, because what the hell was that? The shortness of breath and rapid heart rate—these symptoms aren't unfamiliar to him. But his body hasn't grown that weak. He was better before, and that was on irregular meals.

"Kabru." Mithrun gets his attention. He retracts his sword from where it was pinning Kabru's neck. "Are you hurt?

Kabru waves his hands on both sides of his head. "No, I'm alright. No injuries."

Mithrun accepts the answer, nodding before bunching his eyebrows together in slight frustration. He follows with a critique he could hear coming out of Milsiril's mouth. "You're not going to get tired from that."

By that, Kabru assumes he is referring to his strategy of staying on the defense, and not his—whatever cut their duel short. He felt like he wasn't in his body just now. In that moment, he wasn't him, not human. A panic attack? Why? There was no threat. But the feeling that everything was too close somehow sticks to him even as his breath returns to a normal speed.

"Is this not a useful technique to help you sleep? Should we try something else?" He flits his eyes back over to Mithrun at his question. His expression is too serious. This isn't Mithrun's problem to fix.

"Mithrun," Kabru lowers his voice even though they're the only people around. "I don't always have an issue sleeping."

Mithrun sticks his sword into the grass, leaning slightly on it. "No?"

Kabru shrugs, watching him closely for his reaction. "I sleep pretty well after I've made love to you."

Mithrun's face softens slightly before he smirks, taking the comment in stride, like the fact that it is. "I know."

Unfortunately, like he always is when he is set on something, he is not easily deterred. He reminds Kabru, "This is for when we're not together."

Kabru pushes himself further up on his elbows. "I would rather keep that at a minimum."

"So would I," Mithrun agrees. "Still, there are times when we are apart. It's…"

He pulls the sword back out from the grass, gathering his thoughts. "Easier to be away from you when I know you are taking care of yourself. If this works, I'm sure someone else on the island would spar with you, too." He says it like he's testing the words coming out of his mouth, to see if they're true and if they will convince Kabru.

Considering the fact that Kabru has made similar comments, he can't argue against it. "Alright." He pushes his sword off the ground and resigns himself to getting up once more.

This time, Kabru moves first. He makes an ambitious swing to Mithrun's side that he deftly avoids. Mithrun returns with his own attack, which Kabru cleanly hits off. Milsiril once told him that swordfighting is the closest she got to understanding the rituals that are elven dances. The fights have their own rhythm, their own push and pull, one who follows as the other leads. Dancing is similar, only without any bloodshed and a much lower mortality rate.

Kabru almost gets the comparison, feeling like he's in a dance of his own with Mithrun. Maybe this will assuage his overactive brain.

Then, suddenly, he sees an opening. He slips his sword closer in a maneuver to disarm Mithrun. The elf's sword doesn't fall, but he flinches back at the impact of the sword on his arm.

Too close. The words ring in Kabru's mind again, and he steps back. His brain decides to flood him with images of monsters on the island and in Utaya. Some real, some out of his worst nightmares. They feel as concrete as his real memories as they flicker unrelentingly in his mind. He doesn't want to think about this. He hasn't had to in so long, but he can't will his brain to shut off. He feels his breath speed up again as he thinks about the monsters Mithrun could be encountering. Kabru himself has been out of danger for a long time, especially with Laios' ability to dissuade monsters from nearing the castle. But Mithrun? His loved ones? Are they safe now that the winged lion is defeated? Is Kabru safe from all the loss, destruction, and grief that monsters have personally brought him? Will he ever stop feeling like he needs to run from it?

"Kabru." Mithrun's voice pulls him out of his spiral once again. Kabru breathes in deeply. It felt like an hour, but it was probably only a minute.

He looks over at Mithrun, who is clutching his arm. For a moment, Kabru is worried he has genuinely hurt him. He steps closer. "Are you okay?"

"Yes, I'm fine." To demonstrate, he mimics Kabru's earlier movements and flexes his arm with ease. No injuries for him either.

"What's wrong then?" Mithrun's face is stoic, almost expressionless. Kabru feels like they're both trying to read each other at the same time, stepping over each other.

Mithrun tilts his head, his ears following the direction. "I think you're holding yourself back."

Physically? For about ten seconds there, before his mind went sideways, he had the upper hand on Mithrun. Given that the combat he has engaged in since becoming the king's advisor has been largely, if not only, verbal, he thinks that was a pretty good job.

He lifts his sword over his shoulder as he steps forward again. "What do you mean?"

Mithrun sucks in a breath before he looks away from Kabru. Kabru follows his movements, looking up. The sky has gone gray as the rain clouds have moved in and covered the sun. He doesn't answer the question. Instead, he prevaricates, asking, "Shall we go wash up before dinner?"

"Sure." They're quiet as they walk home, the silence only breaking when Kabru reminds him to turn left at the tall oak tree. As he watches Mithrun walk ahead of him, Kabru is alone with his thoughts. Privately, he muses that if the goal was for him to feel fatigued or calm enough to lull into sleep tonight, he doesn't think he was very successful.

They spend the rest of the day in relative calmness. If Mithrun feels a strange tension from the sparring session, or from the whole day, really, he doesn't let on. To Kabru, though, it permeates the air and makes his skin itch. For some reason or another, it feels like every conversation he's had with Mithrun since he returned has been a test of some sort, and he's failing across the board.

He is considering how to bring up his feelings when Mithrun turns to him from the stove. Sweat has started forming on his forehead from standing over the pot of stew. "I think it's done. Are you ready to eat?"

Kabru nods. He grabs utensils for them and begins setting them on the table, moving to the right to give space for Mithrun to grab the bowls. They move in a semi-comfortable silence as Kabru switches positions with Mithrun, taking the bowls from the elf's hand so he can fill them. He hears Mithrun pull his chair out, but he doesn't hear him sit down.

The silence breaks as Mithrun speaks, his voice stable yet soft. "Before… I would turn to drinking."

This time, Kabru knows 'before' is referring to his life before becoming a dungeon lord. Kabru's pretty sure there's an unsaid 'too' at the end of the sentence. He tries to ignore it as he looks up from the tomato stew he's siphoning off into the two ceramic bowls. "For any particular reason?"

Mithrun leans against the table, pausing to consider the question. Simply and to the point, he responds, "I was sad."

"Did you get drunk?" Kabru has never seen Mithrun get drunk. He has probably lost the desire, and the people around him don't let him accidentally push his limits.

"Yes. Many times."

Kabru raises his eyebrow at that, setting down the ladle. "Really?"

Mithrun moves back toward the stove to grab his bowl. "When I got drunk, it didn't soothe me. Didn't help me sleep. It only worsened the thoughts I had."

Kabru's experiences don't disagree with Mithrun's, but sometimes the sleepiness wins over before his mind can do its worst. He checks that the fire is burning out slowly before transferring his own bowl to the table. "What thoughts?"

Mithrun sets his bowl down. "Not any good ones, of course. That I was incapable of being loved. That my brother should have been sent away. Instead, I was cast aside, confirming that my life was not one worth having."

These thoughts are ones Mithrun previously told Kabru about in the dungeon, but they sadden him every time he hears them. "I can't imagine drinking had a calming effect for you."

Mithrun blows on the spoonful of stew he's holding, smiling slightly. "No, I was awful when I was drunk."

Kabru nods as he takes a sip. It's good. Rich and kind of earthy with the blend of vegetables. He watches Mithrun take his own sip, and he knows from the upturn of his ears that he's satisfied with the stew but probably feels like something is off. Always trying to parse through likes and dislikes.

"Too salty?" Kabru suggests.

Mithrun looks over at him. He takes another sip. "Maybe."

Kabru remembers the last time he saw Mithrun have a drink. Pattadol had her eye on him the whole dinner, and she didn't let the Captain drink more than half a glass. That was months ago, though. "You don't really drink anymore."

Mithrun wipes his mouth with his cloth, pondering the comment. "I don't really have those thoughts anymore. And getting drunk doesn't seem worth the trouble without them."

A question spills out of Kabru's mind unbidden. "Am I?" He doesn't realize what he's asking until he does, and he doesn't realize he has said it out loud until Mithrun raises his eyebrows in confusion.

"Are you what?"

Kabru has no idea how to sidestep the question, and he decides to just ask it. "Am I… worth the trouble?" It comes out with the embarrassment Kabru feels. He feels childish and insecure. It's a stupid question, a self-serving one when Mithrun was being vulnerable with him. But he wants the reassurance just the same. And Mithrun, since he's met him, takes his words seriously.

"You're not trouble at all." He doesn't say it to placate Kabru. He is genuine when he says it, more so when he asks, "Even if you were, why wouldn't you be worth it?"

Kabru hums, swallowing the emotions bubbling inside him. He feels safe, but he doesn't know how to voice that accurately. Instead, he nods and takes another sip of his stew before replying, "My thoughts exactly."

They shift to other topics, mulling over the happenings on Melini and the castle as they clean up for the night.

As Kabru dries the last spoon with a rag, something compels him to revisit their conversation about drinking. He gently nudges Mithrun's shoulder as the elf brings his feet back down from tiptoeing to place a bowl on the shelf. "I'm glad you don't feel a need to get drunk anymore, even if you feel like that wasn't your own doing."

Mithrun turns toward him, a small smile ghosting his face. "Me too."

Kabru reaches for his glass of water and is about to ask Mithrun if he wants a sip when he makes an unexpected apology. "I'm sorry I accused you of an affair." Not for the first time, and certainly not the last, the conversation's turn feels like a carriage swerving on the road because a bunny ran out.

"What?" Kabru coughs back the sip of water he was taking. "You didn't."

"Yes, well," Mithrun shrugs, placing the rag he was using to dry the bowls down. "I was trying to bring up why you were drinking. Ask you about it. I strayed too far from the topic."

Kabru traces back the conversation they had earlier. He tries to pinpoint where the drinking and accusations of affairs converged. "If I were drinking to get someone in bed with me?"

"No. That's not something I'm concerned about." Kabru lets out a sigh of relief at that.

Mithrun steps closer to Kabru. "I was observing the drinking you do at home and when you're with others. It's different, isn't it?"

The answer is obvious to them both. "Yes."

Mithrun nods, reaching for Kabru's hand, and Kabru happily closes the distance. "Because of who you're with?"

Kabru runs his thumb over the back of Mithrun's hand, enjoying the repeated motion. "What do you mean?"

"When you're out with others, you drink for happy reasons. When you're alone at home, you're sad. Like I was."

Mithrun's observations are unfaltering astute. It can be admittedly annoying, but then, Kabru is the same way. They're probably equally annoying to others. Kabru sighs. "Yes."

Mithrun leans back a little to comb over Kabru's face. As Kabru examines Mithrun's own, he sees there is a question in there that Mithrun seems hesitant to ask. From Kabru's experience, that hesitation has only appeared when feelings were too personal. And anything being too personal was still a new development for Mithrun. In truth, his relationship with Mithrun has brought a whole new meaning to personal that Kabru had never experienced either.

"Is it our home that makes you sad? Something about our relationship that makes drinking here, alone, different?"

Kabru stops his motions. "No. It's not that. It's not our relationship that makes it different."

"So nothing about our relationship changes things?" Again, no accusation is behind Mithrun's words as he takes the time to parse through Kabru's responses.

"No, I mean, our relationship is different," he confesses, his blue eyes following Mithrun's black ones. "Other people I have been with—well, I wasn't really with them like I am with you. So, that changes things. You change things."

Mithrun blinks. "In what way?"

His relationship with alcohol didn't arise from meeting Mithrun. It emerged long before and was made much easier with his access when living in the tavern. Kabru thinks about how to most coherently convey that alcohol doesn't come to him when he's with Mithrun. He aims for concise. "When I'm with you, I don't feel like drinking much, or at all, really."

The elf nods, but then his face flashes with an uncomfortable expression, like an unpleasant thought came to him. "But I'm not… a balm," Mithrun says.

It's not a question, but Kabru affirms this. It wasn't an accurate description. "Not at all."

Mithrun nods, letting out his own relieved breath. "I was a balm for the winged lion, just another lord for him to toy with until he got his fill. I don't want to be another one for anyone. Especially not you." Another want. Kabru squeezes his hand, and Mithrun squeezes back.

"No. You help keep them at bay. But," he continues explaining, pausing to force himself to examine feelings he has been pushing aside. "No, those bad thoughts just hang back."

"Not always," Mithrun says, and Kabru looks over at him in surprise. Mithrun smiles softly. "You're not that hard to read sometimes. You seemed sad or preoccupied. I was trying to let you know that if you were having an affair or were interested in someone else, I wouldn't mind. It'd be understandable."

Before Kabru can reject this sentiment, Mithrun waves his hand, stopping him. "And anyway, it didn't work. You just ended up comforting me."

Kabru looks at him with, he hopes, as much seriousness as Mithrun does. "I wasn't trying to comfort you. I was telling you the truth, as I am now. I am not interested in anyone else, and if I did betray your trust, it would be my fault, not yours."

Mithrun glances down before looking back at Kabru. There's no convincing Mithrun of this tonight, even if, as Kabru suspects, he wants to believe Kabru. "Okay. Earlier, I was trying to talk about you, but we ended up talking about me. Just now, too. I want to talk about you."

"Is there something else you want to talk about?" But Kabru already knows. An increasing number of questions have been fighting to be the centerpiece in his head the entire day, which means Mithrun must have his own.

"When we were sparring, it didn't help. I thought your energy was pent up. But you were holding back," Mithrun says.

"I have to confess that I gave you my all." Kabru laughs, letting one of his hands drop to rest on Mithrun's waist. "I'm not as gifted as Milsiril."

Mithrun leans into the touch, but his tone remains serious. "No, I mean, you knew that having too much energy wasn't why you can't sleep. Your mind is running, yes, but it's because you're chasing something else. Something other than sleep."

Kabru was right. Straight to the bone, that's how Mithrun operates. Kabru doesn't deny it, and Mithrun seems to take his silence as agreement. His voice lowers, but it's loud enough in their quiet kitchen. "I chased something before. A person I didn't even trust. Someone I didn't even want. If my brother hadn't wanted her, if she hadn't chosen him, it wouldn't have meant anything."

They've talked about this before. Kabru nods, running his hand up Mithrun's back as he recalls these painful feelings that led to him becoming a dungeon lord. Privately, he's impressed with how Mithrun allows himself to be vulnerable first to encourage the other person to speak. It's a useful tactic that Kabru himself has employed many times. Maybe with others he'd find it easy to keep his mouth shut, but with Mithrun, he only wants to share more, even when he still feels like he is getting his teeth pulled.

"So," Mithrun continues. "What are you chasing, Kabru?"

Kabru stills. Before Laios defeated the winged lion, he had an answer ready to go. He wanted the answers to the dungeons, and he wanted to ensure that another Utaya wouldn't happen. There seemed to be nothing else he could chase. "Nothing."

"If you're not chasing, then you're hiding," Mithrun insists. Then, placing his hand on Kabru's shoulder, he whispers, "I was, too."

Kabru swallows, and the amount of vulnerability he feels could probably engulf him. "Maybe," he whispers back.

Mithrun's hand runs down Kabru's arm like Kabru had been doing with the hand on his back. "What do you think about when you can't sleep?"

Kabru squeezes his eyes shut briefly. He tells himself to choose honesty. Opening his eyes, he stares back into Mithrun's black ones. Like an abyss. He could get lost in them. "All sorts of things. You, a lot of the time."

Mithrun caresses the hand still holding onto Kabru's. "But it's not always about me."

"No," he admits. His mother. Utaya. He has a thrilling rotation of nightmares and anxieties to flip through.

"What are you hiding from?"

Kabru feels like his back tooth is being pulled out as he lays out his fears. "I worry that yet another person I care about will die due to monsters. Another person I couldn't save."

Mithrun shakes his head. "You are not responsible for my choices, Kabru. That line of thinking only creates a never-ending spiral."

One that Mithrun is intimately familiar with, Kabru is sure. Mithrun never stopped feeling like he was to blame for his parents pushing him to the Canaries. With the winged lion, he just wanted to be finished off. Yet, when he meets people going down a path similar to his, he does his best to convince them to avoid the worst pains he had to go through. It's not at all lost on Kabru how Utaya has served a similar purpose for him. He wonders sometimes if he was the uneaten meal of Utaya. The leftover scraps. Guilty for the crime of surviving.

"No, I know I'm not." Kabru leans down, wanting to make sure Mithrun hears him. "But I would… I am affected by them."

Mithrun looks surprised, like that was a new phenomenon for him. "You should trust me to make the best choices, Kabru. Dying in a dungeon serves me no benefit."

Mithrun says this easily, but Kabru knows it was anything but that. Mithrun has been fighting a long battle within himself to see a life worth living beyond getting revenge on the winged lion. Not so long ago, his greatest desire was for someone to finish eating him. To snuff out his ugly, undeserving life.

Something unlocks in the labyrinth that Kabru knows his own mind is, then. His worst memories, his undoing, and the source of his greatest heartbreak. They chase him now, after all this time. "It isn't you whom I don't trust, Mithrun."

"Then who?"

"Monsters. I don't trust monsters." His nightmare from yesterday rings in his mind. Like another piece has dislodged from the walls in his mind, the words suddenly become clear. A gnarly voice—distinctly monster-like, dragon-like maybe—asks him, What are you scared of?

"Because you have lost so much from them already," Mithrun says.

"Yes." Kabru's heart sounds like it is pounding in his chest, and he wonders if Mithrun can hear it. Reviewing his own grief is not only depressing but also makes him feel sick.

"You know, you can want things from me, too, Kabru." Once more, Mithrun finds use in Kabru's own words. These are the ones Kabru said to him when their relationship became romantic.

The thing is, Kabru is not a stranger to wanting. He wants all the time. A safe future for all the races, one far away from monsters. To foster Melini into a strong kingdom that will stand the test of time, long after he goes. But, and maybe this is the problem, his wants have grown more selfish, he thinks.

Previously, Kabru has never had an issue with baring his easiest hand: Utaya. I want to prevent this from happening again. And to others, he has voiced his wants. To Laios: I wanted to be your friend! To Milsiril, with the specific mix of conviction and petulance only a child could have: I want to learn about the dungeons! To Mithrun: I want you to live a life without revenge. The list has grown longer, though. I want you to live. Not for me, but with me. I want you to want me, too. I want—

In short, he wants too much.

He sighs. "I want…" He doesn't know how to say it. The way the tables have turned on him would almost make Kabru laugh if he didn't feel so uncomfortable.

He brings Mithrun closer, hugging him. "I want you to be safe. Always." This close, he knows the elf is in no danger.

Mithrun rests his head against Kabru's shoulder, musing. "You have never asked me not to go monitor the monsters around Melini."

Kabru's head relaxes against Mithrun's own. His silver hair is soft against Kabru's chin. "No. That's not what I'm asking for either."

Mithrun pulls his head back a little from their embrace. "It makes you… worried." Mithrun looks like he's fathoming the idea that Kabru cares about his well-being. A hard mindset to break. "Why didn't you ask?"

"Because you enjoy it. You want to do it." He cups Mithrun's cheek with his left hand. "How could I ask you to stop?"

"Then, if the problem isn't me going to the dungeons, what is?"

Me. His mind screams at him. I'm the problem. And then, the same voice in his dream: It's too close. You're running out of time.

Running out of time for what? What hasn't he done? His mind races. What hasn't he said that he's so afraid he won't get the chance to say? Mithrun, I care about you. He knows that, though.

Mithrun, I love you. Kabru startles. Does he know that? Mithrun watches him expectantly.

"The problem is me, Mithrun," Kabru whispers, trying to hold back the overwhelming desire to say I love you pulsating throughout him. He needs to say more first. "I just worry. A lot of people worry about you."

"Your friends worry about you, too," Mithrun replies. "So do I."

"You don't have to worry about me—" The expression Mithrun gives him is flat, but his message is clear. You sound like me.

"Okay, I hear it," Kabru laughs. Then, he pulls Mithrun closer. "I'm serious, though. Plenty of people care about you, just like me. Even when I'm—" he stops at the frown on Mithrun's face. It is the same one he gets with any mention or reference to Kabru's significantly shorter lifespan. They'll circle back to it another time. The topic looms over them like an unwelcome guest. But he needs to have this conversation now before he loses his nerve. He chooses his words carefully. "Even if I'm not around, people will care. If something happened to you, it wouldn't only devastate me."

Kabru pulls him in, and Mithrun sighs, tightening the embrace. "I would miss you a lot. I do miss you when we're apart, Mithrun. Part of me can't sleep because I'm worried that the monsters will take away the chance for me to tell you these things."

Then, whispering like it's a secret just between the two of them, he says into Mithrun's ear: "I love you." He hears his voice warble with emotion, and he feels like an overflow of emotion is coursing through him. It's thrilling and scary all the same.

Mithrun pulls back immediately, and like all of his other emotions, he makes no effort to hide his shock. For a moment, they're just staring into each other's eyes, two blue ones flitting over two black, equally hesitant ones.

Kabru didn't expect Mithrun to be ready to say the words back to him yet, but he echoes them to him in a way that Kabru feels the same emotion. "Even when I was a dungeon lord, I understood that to be loved, you have to give." He pauses, his hand caressing up Kabru's side. "Your worst fears will be there, and they can be realized. That's the price of loving and of letting yourself be loved."

Kabru nods, glancing down at the lips that are calling to him. He wants every part of his senses to be just Mithrun.

Mithrun pulls Kabru down, even closer. Whispering in the same way Kabru did, he adds, "I want to do that with you, Kabru."

Kabru bites his lips, heart still beating fast. Not out of anxiety, but love. I love you beats on and on, and he hopes Mithrun can hear it.

Maybe Mithrun does, because his lips trace the outline of Kabru's ears as he moves impossibly closer. "Why don't you show me how much you miss me?"

Kabru doesn't need to be asked twice. Sometime later, he will try out techniques to sleep. Mithrun thought he needed spells and potions. He just needed to relearn how to acknowledge his body's needs. Kabru imagines him acknowledging his own fears will help him sleep.

Right now, though, he doesn't want to sleep. He can. He doesn't struggle when Mithrun is around. No, when he doesn't get sleep sometimes, it's for a very different reason.

He lifts Mithrun up into his arms, and Mithrun quickly adjusts, their hot breaths chasing each other before Mithrun grabs Kabru's face. He kisses him with enough passion that Kabru thinks anyone could hear the love vibrating inside the house.

As they shuffle down the hallway, tumbling onto the bed, Kabru looks closely at the elf that slowly but surely, and then all at once with such force it took his breath away sometimes, wormed his way into his heart. Stole a piece right out from under him. But it wasn't stealing, not really. He wanted to give it to him.

"Kabru," Mithrun whispers. The prettiest sound in the world, no contest.

If he died now—here, next to Mithrun, listening to and best of all, being responsible for the sounds coming from his mouth—he should only be so lucky. The best drug. The best poison. It feels like he's drunk with no alcohol in his body. But this—Mithrun pulls Kabru down on top of him, hands untying Kabru's pants. This is distinctly better.

He gasps as Mithrun leans up to trail kisses down his neck. "Say it," he whispers.

Kabru likes it when Mithrun gives him instructions, but he pauses to gain back a little control, moving his hand down. Mithrun hisses in pleasure as Kabru touches him through the thin fabric of his pants.

He grabs Kabru's chin then, and their eyes meet. Kabru is certain his own blue eyes are as full of desire as Mithrun's black ones. More forcefully and yet simultaneously gently, he says, "Tell me again, Kabru."

Kabru thinks back on all of their conversations from earlier in the day. Affairs and poisons from his lips and kisses. He's selfish, he wants. He wants to be loved. He loves. Oh, does he love. "I love you."

Mithrun breathes out hard before kissing Kabru again, his long fingers dragging through Kabru's curls. He pulls back, panting, before leaning up again. He punctuates each of his words with a kiss along Kabru's jaw. "Careful, Kabru. Could be poisonous," he jokes, shifting higher to lick Kabru's lips.

"It's worth it," Kabru replies, smiling against his mouth, and then getting lost in everything that is Mithrun.

And really, all the worrying and vulnerability and wanting that comes with love—it's all worth it. And if it's poison, well, then he'll reap the consequences. Kabru will still pick Mithrun every time.