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Seregil smiled and nodded politely without absorbing a single word of the conversation. Focus eluded him, and he hated it. Being distracted wasn’t something he could afford in his line of work.
But his mind kept drifting upstairs, to where Alec had just reappeared after his … exploits at the Orëska. There had been a restlessness inside Seregil ever since he'd realised Alec was missing—a complicated tangle of emotions he wasn’t quite ready to examine.
He told himself it was concern, or bemusement, or something equally sensible, but the truth threatened to claw its way out from under the loose floorboards of his mind where he'd hurriedly shoved it for safekeeping.
Loose floorboards. What a sorry excuse for a hiding place that was. Every amateur would check there.
The chatter around him made his head ache. He wished everyone would simply leave. For once, uncovering his guests’ well-guarded secrets felt more like an unwelcome distraction than an exciting challenge.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the last guests left, and Seregil followed the urge to sneak upstairs. He inched open the door to Alec’s room, just far enough to peek through the gap, and tried to listen for clues. But the silence beyond the door betrayed nothing. He hesitated. He knew he should leave, but something inside him demanded to make sure Alec hadn’t disappeared again. It promised to be an easy job, in and out in no time.
He took a deep breath, pushed the door slightly ajar and tiptoed to the bed, placing his feet with practiced care. But his precaution proved unnecessary as he found Alec sound asleep, his chest rising and falling in a slow, steady rhythm beneath the blanket. Hardly surprising. He was still out cold from whatever spell Ylinestra had used on him. Seregil wrinkled his nose at the nauseating tang of magic still clinging to Alec.
By the Maker. If Magyana was right and Alec had been coerced into anything … Seregil might have teased Alec about his inexperience, and while Ylinestra was far from unattractive, it seemed far too dubious an encounter.
Alec deserved better than a first time overshadowed by spells and an uneasy sense that something wasn’t right.
Something you'd have happily given him if he'd ever asked for it, right, Seregil?
No.
Seregil firmly planted his feet on the loose floorboards, determined to keep any thought lurking there from escaping.
High time to leave. He’d only wanted to make sure Alec was alright. Clearly, he was. No need to linger. He turned abruptly, but an insistent tingling in his fingertips held him back. As if they demanded proof that Alec wasn’t some apparition Ylinestra had cast to lull him into a false sense of security.
For a moment, Seregil stood still, wavering, clenching and unclenching his fingers. But there was no harm in checking, was there? He extended his hand toward Alec, his fingertips hovering only inches from his shoulder and—
What, in Illior’s name, was he doing?
Seregil pulled back, annoyed with himself. The gesture would have served only his own reassurance, and there had already been enough questionable touches Alec had endured tonight. He wouldn’t add to that list. His insides coiled into a tight ball of guilt.
But could he really be blamed for feeling protective?
When he'd met Alec, the boy had been in a terrible state—helpless, imprisoned, tortured. Who wouldn't have wanted to help after seeing him like that?
But Alec wasn’t the frightened boy he’d found in Asengai's dungeons all these months ago. Seregil had seen to that himself. And with no small amount of success, he had to admit. Alec was anything but helpless.
There you have it, Seregil, no need to fuss over him. Alec was safe here with Nysander’s protective spells guarding him.
Then why did the thought of leaving stir an unexplainable anxiety in him, an anxiety that rooted him to the spot?
Maybe you wanted to be the one to teach him, whispered a much too honest voice in his head. To see his face brighten with that familiar eagerness to understand. Maybe you wanted to see his fascination at realising how good it can feel to be that close to another person, how—
Enough.
Maker’s Mercy, visiting the Street of Lights was a more urgent matter than he’d thought. He shook his head. He mustn't think about these things. Not with Alec, who trusted him so completely, who looked up to him as a mentor. And while Alec certainly liked him, there was no reason to believe that what he felt went beyond appreciative fondness. With his Dalnan upbringing, the thought that Alec would even consider it possible to fall for a man … Seregil suspected Alec might never have been taught he was allowed to want such a thing.
If it had been a purely physical desire, Seregil could have handled it. He knew himself and his body well enough to get his needs met without endangering the trust and friendship between them.
But—and the loose floorboards creaked dangerously at the admission—his feelings weren’t as simple as that.
Why was it that he always fell for the wrong person?
Micum, already firmly taken. Korathan, held back by duty and family ties. And Ilar—
No. Everything connected to Ilar was stored in that safely secured chest with countless, complex locks, and it would stay there.
Now Alec, eager to impress him with his inquisitive mind, who painfully reminded Seregil of a younger version of himself. The version that had fallen for Ilar, and Illior knew how that had turned out.
Seregil still remembered vividly the pull Ilar had exerted—older, more experienced, charismatic. He wouldn't risk Alec feeling taken advantage of by someone he trusted. Someone who was supposed to take care of him. Someone much older, no matter how differently age worked for Aurënfaie.
Aurënfaie. The guilt in Seregil’s chest gave a particularly painful twitch.
Alec still didn’t know. Seregil hadn’t wanted to create a bond between them by telling him early, but there had been a serious oversight in his plan: Seregil knew. That alone had been enough to grow attached to Alec in ways he hadn’t exactly planned. And now he wasn’t ready to lose that connection again.
Alec’s presence steadied something in him. As if he had found a home away from home in the familiarity of Alec’s features. The long stretch of time that was his life, which had always loomed before him, suddenly didn’t feel lonely anymore when he imagined sharing it with Alec. Not necessarily in a romantic way, but perhaps the bond between them would simply grow strong enough to keep them together.
If Alec ever spoke to him again once he learned how long Seregil had kept this knowledge to himself.
Seregil clenched his jaw. Enough with the daydreams and fantasies. He was much better off forgetting about all of this.
If only his chest didn’t tighten with longing every time he looked at Alec.
And then again …
Father. Brother. Friend.
Lover.
No. Love had never worked out for him. Why would this be any different?
He wouldn’t burden Alec with feelings that might make him feel obligated to return them out of a false sense of indebtedness. As long as he had a place in Alec’s life, that would have to be enough. And if keeping silent was the price he’d pay it.
Seregil tore himself away from Alec's sleeping form. Distance. Yes, distance was what he needed right now. He was already halfway to the door when he heard a rustle behind him. He froze, barely daring to breathe as he slowly turned back. Alec stirred. Hastily, Seregil retreated further into the shadows, hoping Alec wouldn’t—
“Seregil?”
Seregil stopped dead in his tracks. Bilairy’s Balls, that tone. Alec’s voice was rough with sleep, but carried a certainty that left no doubt he knew exactly who stood in his room
“What is it?” Seregil asked lightly, as if there wasn’t anything unusual about being caught fleeing from a room he had no business to be in in the first place. Surely Alec would ask what he was doing here. Seregil’s mind was blank, not a single evasive answer ready to distract from his unwarranted presence.
Alec raked a hand through his disheveled hair and frowned, clearly trying to make sense of something. Seregil’s fingers itched with the desire to sift through the messy strands as well. He shoved his hands into his pockets and clenched them into fists, bracing for the question that would undo him. It didn’t come.
“Stay?”
It was a quiet request trembling between them, waiting for possible ridicule or rejection. The tone made Seregil want to bolt—and give Alec anything he asked for at the same time.
“Just for a bit?” Alec added, as if sensing Seregil’s conflicting instincts and trying to soften his request into something more agreeable.
Seregil swallowed, but his mouth was dry. He should leave. He really should. It shouldn’t have been so impossibly hard to refuse. He’d walked away before with only a hint of a bad conscience. But now, with the way Alec was looking at him, he couldn’t. Not when the implicit trust behind the question sent a surge of warmth through him.
His biggest fear was that someday, Alec might stop looking at him like that.
Alec gripped the blanket with both hands when Seregil didn’t reply, as if bracing for the worst. Whatever that might be.
Seregil sighed, aiming for exasperation and missing by a mile. You don’t make things any easier, Alec, do you know that?
He glanced around the room, anywhere but the bed, until his eyes caught on the armchair he himself had fitted the room with. He crossed the distance and dragged it closer, the scrape of its legs against the floor sounding far too loud in the quiet.
Alec watched him the entire time. His face relaxed in an instant as Seregil sank into the armchair, as though Seregil’s presence alone was enough to ease the tension.
With a last look at Seregil, Alec sank back against the pillows, eyes already drifting shut, trusting Seregil to stay exactly where he was. His breathing slowed, evened out, and within moments he was asleep again.
Seregil didn’t move.
Moonlight spilled across the bed, catching in the honey-coloured strands of Alec’s hair, the familiar lines of his face softened by sleep. Seregil crossed his arms, tucking his hands under his armpits, just in case.
For one moment, Seregil allowed himself to imagine it—the unspoken closeness between them becoming something more. He leaned back in the armchair and fixed his gaze on the opposite wall until the longing dulled into something manageable. He’d already taken more than he should have by staying at all.
Seregil braced himself for an uncomfortable night as he shifted in the armchair and closed his eyes.
He’d have some deflection to do in the morning. And no matter how much experience he had at pretending, this promised to be one of his more challenging roles to play.