Archive of Our Own

Utowin received a mission. It's not an unusual event for Knight Moralis to receive a mission that requires them to leave the Great Hall for days. In fact, most probably have done it and it's quite a routine occurrence.

That, perhaps, was the most irritating part of it.

There was nothing unusual about a supply escort to the northern outpost. Convoys made the journey regularly, and the route itself was well established despite seasonal inconveniences. Supplies needed delivering, inventories needed updating, and occasionally someone had to travel with the shipment to ensure both tasks were completed without incident. It was not prestigious work, but it was necessary work, and there was no shortage of soldiers capable of handling it.

Utowin happened to be one of them.

The assignment had been delivered on Wednesday morning. Utowin had listened, accepted the orders without complaint, and responded with his usual, uncomplicated, “Yeah, alright.” By that afternoon, he was already preparing for departure, moving around the tent with the calm efficiency of someone approaching a task that required neither excitement nor concern.

Easthies was seated at his desk, attempting to work.

Unfortunately, attempting was proving more successful than actually working.

The reports spread before him concerned quartermaster records from the previous month. Under ordinary circumstances, he would have finished reviewing them hours ago. Instead, the same pages remained open while his attention drifted elsewhere. His eyes followed lines of text. His mind followed the sounds coming from across the tent where Utowin was packing.

The sounds were ordinary enough: the click of a buckle being fastened, the rustle of canvas, the dull thud of a pack being lifted and set back down on the floor. None of it should have been distracting. Easthies had worked through far worse conditions. He had drafted reports in command tents crowded with officers arguing over troop movements and reviewed logistics records while supply wagons rattled past a few feet away. Under normal circumstances, a man packing for a routine assignment would barely have registered.

Unfortunately, the man packing was Utowin.

Without consciously intending to, Easthies found himself tracking his movements through sound alone. He knew when Utowin crossed from one side of the tent to the other, when he crouched to sort through equipment, when he paused to inspect a strap before deciding it was satisfactory. The familiarity of it irritated him slightly. More irritating still was the fact that he continued listening, and none of the words on the page ever absorbed into his head.

What was much more irritating still was the realization that he would miss it.

The thought appeared suddenly enough that he frowned at the report in front of him.

Miss it. He shut the thought down as quickly as he could.

Instead, he looked at the report and said, “You're taking the northern route?”

Across the tent, Utowin did not even pause in what he was doing.

“That's the assignment, yeah.”
"The road past Ferrath is uneven this time of year.”
“I know.”
“The supply carts will slow you down considerably.”
“Yep.”

Easthies frowned at the page, lips pressed together tightly in small annoyance. The conversation was not going where he had intended. Admittedly, he had not actually known where he intended it to go either.

“You should account for that.”
“I did.” The sound of a strap being tightened followed a moment later. “Left an extra half day.”
“Good.”

His answer came out more abruptly than he intended. To disguise it, he turned the page and lowered his gaze to the next report. A few seconds later, he realized he had absorbed absolutely nothing from the previous one.

Three days.

The thought appeared again, unwelcome and stubborn.

Objectively, three days was not a meaningful length of time. Soldiers were reassigned for weeks at a time. Entire companies disappeared into the field for months. Some postings lasted long enough that people returned with different habits, different routines, occasionally even different accents. Compared to that, a three-day supply escort barely qualified as an absence at all.

Which made it particularly annoying that he kept thinking about it.

His eyes moved across the report without processing a word. Somewhere behind him, another buckle clicked into place, followed by the sound of Utowin shifting the pack's weight to test it. Easthies found himself listening despite every intention not to.

The realization made him scowl at the page as though the report itself had somehow become responsible.

The problem, he eventually decided, was not the assignment itself. The assignment was perfectly acceptable. The route was familiar. The staffing was adequate. The timing made sense. It's just that, personally speaking, the problem was that the tent would be empty and he would not like that.

Not literally, of course.

Easthies would still be there. The furniture would remain exactly where it had always been. The desk, the shelves, the storage chests, the maps pinned neatly against the wall; none of those things were going anywhere. The ten will not magically turn empty.

But the shape of the place would be different, and there would be fewer interruptions, Fewer conversations.

No one would wander in carrying a problem that somehow became Easthies's problem too within five minutes, no one would leave half-finished mugs in inconvenient places, no one would sit across from him in the evenings and talk while Easthies pretended not to be listening.

Those are all Utowin's roles to play. Acknowledging that, Easthies immediately returned his attention to the report with renewed determination. It didn't last for long.

Across the room, another buckle clicked into place, and Easthies's eyes drifted back to the same paragraph for the third time, rereading the same passage that meant nothing now because his head was occupied by a certain someone with certain loud noises he couldn't remove.

By evening, very little actual work had been accomplished.

The lantern hanging above the table cast a warm circle of light across the tent while dinner sat between them. Utowin was eating with the healthy appetite of someone who had spent the day moving around and expected to spend the next several days doing the same.

Easthies, meanwhile, was dividing his food into increasingly unnecessary pieces.

“The northern outpost.” Easthies break the silence.

Utowin glanced up, cocking his head to the side as he shoved a spoonful of Parasol Jelly Soup into his mouth, “Mm.”

“Their receiving log is inconsistent.” 
“I'll manage.”
"You should cross-reference the inventory list before handing anything over. They've claimed documentation errors before when inventory went missing.”
“I know.”
“I'm simply saying.”

The look Utowin gave him in response was immediate and deeply unhelpful. Easthies recognized it at once. It was the expression Utowin wore whenever he noticed something Easthies would rather keep unnoticed, a quiet sort of understanding that arrived without invitation and rarely left once it had settled in. Utowin did not even have the decency to announce his conclusions. He simply looked at people as though he had already reached them.

Easthies had never found that particularly endearing.

Nor had he ever discovered an effective defence against it.

Faced with the look now, he abandoned any attempt to maintain eye contact and directed his attention firmly toward his plate instead. The meal before him suddenly became worthy of detailed examination. He cut a piece of food into smaller pieces than was strictly necessary, adjusted the position of his fork, and generally behaved like a man who was very interested in dinner and not at all interested in the conversation threatening to develop across the table.

“I've done supply runs before,” Utowin said slowly as if he were luring him. It works.
“I'm aware.”
“I know how to count inventory.”
“I didn't say you didn't.”
“Easthies.”
“Eat your food.”

That earned him the faintest twitch at the corner of Utowin's mouth.

The movement was slight enough that he might have missed it entirely under normal circumstances. It was not quite a smile. Certainly not enough of one to justify commenting on it. The expression vanished almost immediately, but not before Easthies caught it.

Annoyance arrived with surprising speed.

Not because Utowin was amused. Utowin was frequently amused, often for reasons that made sense only to him. The irritation came from something else entirely. That brief expression had carried the unmistakable air of a man who had solved a problem and was now patiently waiting for everyone else to catch up. Worse, it suggested that Utowin knew exactly what had prompted Easthies' sudden fascination with his dinner, while Easthies himself was still making a determined effort not to examine the matter too closely.

The conversation ended there.

Utowin obeyed and ate the food silently while Easthies moved food around his plate and tried very hard not to think about the fact that in two days, the tent would be quieter.

Thursday morning found Utowin sitting at the small table near the tent wall, methodically working his way through the final round of equipment checks. The departure was scheduled for the following day, which meant every strap, buckle, and fastening was being inspected with the same steady thoroughness he applied to most things. Morning light filtered through the canvas overhead, bright enough to work by without a lantern.

He was checking a harness buckle when Easthies appeared in the doorway.

"I've been reviewing the assignment," he announced. The tone suggested the assignment had personally offended him.

Utowin did not look up immediately. "Yeah?"

"There are aspects of it that concern me."

That finally earned him a glance.

"Like."
"The staffing."

Easthies stepped fully into the tent, already sounding like a man presenting evidence before a tribunal.

"Corporal Henn is on the escort list."
"He's fine."
"He's adequate." Easthies grumbles.
"Same thing."
"It is not the same thing."

Easthies reached for a report resting on a nearby desk and picked it up with the confidence of someone about to support his argument with documentation. The report had absolutely nothing to do with staffing assignments, but that did not appear to discourage him.

"Adequate means functional under normal circumstances," he continued. "Fine implies a broader reliability that Henn has not demonstrated."

Utowin stared at him, and Easthies stared at the report. The silence stretched just long enough for Utowin to set down the buckle in his hands.

"The staffing is fine," he said at last. "Henn is fine. The route is fine."
"I'm simply raising—"
"Easthies."
"What?"

Utowin turned fully toward him. "Is there something you want to say?"

"I've been saying it."
"Something else."

The question landed with uncomfortable accuracy.

Easthies lowered his eyes to the report he was holding. For a brief moment, he considered the possibility of answering honestly. The possibility was immediately rejected.

Instead, he focused on the page.

It took him several seconds to realize the report was upside down. Unfortunately, by the time he noticed, it felt too late to correct it without drawing attention to the fact that he had been pretending to read an upside-down report.

So he continued looking at it.

"No," Easthies replied.

Utowin watched him for a long moment.

There was no challenge in the look. No frustration. If anything, that made it worse. He was simply waiting, with the patience of someone who clearly did not believe a word he had just heard.

However, Easthies maintained his attention on the report.

The report remained upside down. Utowin's eyes landed on the report and then back to his face. Eyebrows raised. Easthies's cheeks reddened, and he slowly brought the paper closer to his chest, hoping it would at least not provoke Utowin to check whether the upside-down paper was truly not a trick of his eyes.

Eventually, Utowin picked up the buckle again and returned to his gear inspection. The conversation, at least on the surface, appeared to be over.

Easthies remained where he was, still acutely aware of a tight, uncomfortable feeling somewhere beneath his ribs that had been following him around for the better part of two days now. He refused to examine it any more closely than that. Giving things names had a tendency to make them real, and he was not particularly interested in reality at the moment.

"I could review the manifest before you leave," Easthies said after a moment. The suggestion arrived with the air of someone discovering a perfectly reasonable solution to a perfectly reasonable concern. "To ensure accuracy."

"The inventory list is already accurate."
"A second review—"
"Easthies."
"Takes very little time and—"
"It's a three-day supply run."

Utowin's interruption was not sharp. If anything, that made it more difficult to argue with. There was no irritation in his voice, no impatience, only the steady evenness of someone refusing to be distracted.

"I'll be back by Friday."
"I know that."
"Do you?"

The question landed before Easthies could prepare for it.

Utowin leaned back slightly, one forearm resting across his knee. "Because you've mentioned the northern route twice, Henn at least once, the inventory list just now, and you're still holding that report upside down."

Easthies glanced down instinctively. He stared at it for a second before quietly turning it over.

"I'm reviewing it."
"You've been reviewing it for thirty seconds."
"Some reports require—"
"Easthies."

The interruption came again, gentler this time.

"What?"
"Just say it."

The tent fell silent.

For the first time since the conversation had begun, Easthies found himself with no immediate excuse prepared.

Slowly, he lowered the report onto the desk. His jaw tightened.

He looked at the edge of the table, at the maps pinned to the wall, at the tent flap stirring faintly in the morning breeze. His attention drifted from one object to another without settling anywhere for long. Every surface in the tent suddenly seemed worthy of examination.

Every surface except Utowin.

Because Utowin was watching him. Worse of all, it's not even with amusement or frustration. He's just waiting. The patience was unbearable.

If Utowin had laughed, Easthies could have been annoyed. If he had pressed harder, Easthies could have argued. If he had dismissed the entire matter, Easthies could have retreated with what remained of his dignity intact.

Instead, he simply sat there, saying nothing, waiting with the quiet certainty of someone who already knew the answer and was prepared to wait as long as necessary for Easthies to arrive at it himself.

Unfortunately, that made it very difficult to pretend there wasn't an answer.

"The timing is inconvenient," Easthies said finally.
"....The timing?" Utowin's eyebrows furrowed.
"Of the assignment. It falls across several things that require—" he paused "—continuity."
"What things?"
"Various."
"Easthies."
"Strategic things."
"Name one."

The silence that followed left him with remarkably few places to retreat. Easthies stared at the tent wall, following the line of a seam in the canvas rather than looking at the man who was making this unnecessarily difficult. It would have been preferable if the conversation had remained in the realm of staffing concerns and route conditions. Those were manageable subjects. Those were subjects a person could discuss without accidentally revealing anything. Unfortunately, Utowin had shown no interest in cooperating with that plan.

"The tent," he said, very quietly, "is different when you're not in it."

Utowin went very still.

"I have noted," he continued before he could stop himself, slipping instinctively into the formal cadence he used whenever he found himself discussing something uncomfortable, "that your absence affects the quality of the space."

Utowin simply looks.

Encouraged by the fact that he had already started and therefore could not make the situation significantly worse, Easthies pressed on, "that your absence affects the.... the quality of the space. It is quieter than is... optimal... For—" He stopped. "For function." He settled on it weakly.

"....For function," Utowin repeated. It landed flat.
"Yes."
"The tent being quiet affects.... your function?"
"Yes."
"Because I'm not in it?"

Easthies opened his mouth, fully intending to offer a clarification that would somehow make the statement less revealing than it already was. Nothing useful arrived. "Because the ambient—" He stopped, closed his eyes briefly, and abandoned the effort. "Yes. Because you're not in it."

For a moment, neither of them said anything. Easthies continued looking at the wall with all the composure of a man who had just delivered an embarrassingly personal confession disguised as a logistical observation and was hoping no one would notice. The hope was, predictably, unsuccessful.

"That's what this has been about." It was not phrased as a question.
"I've raised several valid concerns about the assignment."
"Easthies." It's much softer this time, an exasperated fondness that makes Easthies's stomach squeeze.
"The route conditions alone—"
"You don't want me to go."

The statement was delivered with such uncomplicated certainty that it immediately became impossible to argue with because he sounded as though he was merely pointing out an obvious fact. His warm intonation didn't help either. Easthies felt his jaw tighten.

"I didn't say that."
"You said the tent is different without me."
"I said the ambient—"
"You just don't want me to go."

Again, the conversation arrived at the same point, stripped of every qualification and unnecessary word. Easthies remained silent. He was aware that it was three days. He was aware that the assignment was routine. He was aware that there was no practical reason for any of this. The awareness did not seem to be helping.

"It's three days," he said. Very quietly. Like admitting something that cost him. "I'm aware it's three days. I'm aware that it is not a significant duration and that the assignment is routine and that there is no legitimate operational reason to raise objections." A pause. "I'm aware of all of that."

"But?" The single word landed gently enough that it almost hurt more.

Easthies looked down. The answer had been sitting underneath every complaint he had made for the last two days, hidden beneath manifests, staffing concerns, route conditions, and every other excuse he had constructed around it. There was nothing left to hide behind now.

"But I don't..." The words caught. Saying them felt strangely difficult, as though admitting them would make them more real than they already were. "I don't want you to go."

The movement made something tighten instinctively in Easthies' chest.

He had never particularly enjoyed saying things like that aloud. There was always a brief moment afterward where he found himself bracing for whatever came next, as though honesty itself were a tactical error whose consequences had yet to reveal themselves.

Utowin crossed the space between them while Easthies remained where he was.

When a hand settled against his jaw, the touch was familiar enough to make something inside him loosen despite himself. Utowin tilted his head up slightly, guiding his attention away from the wall and back where it belonged.

Their eyes met.

The expression looking back at him was not the one from earlier. There was no trace of amusement in it now, or the quiet satisfaction at finally solving the mystery. Whatever teasing had existed before had been set aside somewhere along the way. Instead, what remained was something simpler.

It was just the look of a man who had heard exactly what he needed to hear and was treating it with the care it deserved.

"You," Utowin said, looking at him with an expression that was equal parts fondness and exasperation, "are the most complicated person I have ever met."
"I—"
"You could have said that on Wednesday."
"I was—"
"You invented concerns about Henn."
"They were valid!"
"Easthies."

The quiet interruption stopped him more effectively than any argument could have. Utowin's thumb brushed lightly against his jaw, steady and familiar. "You could have just said it."

"I said it now." Easthies grumbles.
"After I made you."
"You didn't make me, I—"

The protest died halfway out of his mouth. Easthies felt heat creeping into his face and hated every second of it. His ears were probably red. They were definitely red. There was no point pretending otherwise.

"You were supposed to just know," he muttered.

Utowin blinked.

Having finally reached the point of honesty, Easthies found himself unable to retreat from it, much as he might have preferred to. "You were supposed to see it and just stay. The way you always just..." He struggled to find words for something he had never actually examined before. "You always know. You always just do the thing without me having to explain it."

His jaw tightened in frustration, partly at Utowin and mostly at himself. The complaint sounded ridiculous the moment it left his mouth. Unfortunately, that did not make it any less true.

"I know," Utowin said quietly. "I was going to."

For a moment, Easthies simply stared at him.

"I was going to request a reassignment this afternoon. Henn can lead it. He's adequate." There was a faint twitch at the corner of his mouth as he said it, small and warm and entirely aware of what he was doing, "I just wanted to hear you say it first."

The silence that followed lasted only a few seconds, but it was more than enough time for the implications to settle.

"That—," Easthies said at last, "is cruel." He wilts.
"Little bit." Utowin did not sound remotely apologetic.
"You let me raise concerns about the northern route for two days."
"The concerns were valid."
"Utowin."
"The road past Ferrath is genuinely uneven."

For one brief and deeply satisfying moment, Easthies considered biting him.

The thought passed, barely.

"I will—"
"You'll what?"

The laugh that escaped Utowin was low and rough with amusement. His hand had not left Easthies' jaw, and his eyes still held that infuriatingly calm certainty, the look of a man who had been right all along and knew it.

"You'll what, Eas?"

Easthies looked at him.

There was very little left to say. His face was still warm. His jaw was still tight. He had spent the better part of two days inventing increasingly transparent concerns about supply manifests, staffing assignments, inventory procedures, and road conditions because he had been unable to say three simple words. Utowin knew it. He knew it. At this point, any attempt to deny it would only make the situation worse.

Which was unfortunate, because being aware of that fact did not make standing here in it any less embarrassing.

"Stay." The word left Easthies' mouth before he could reconsider it.

For a moment, he simply stood there, feeling the weight of it settle between them. It was only the second time in his life he had said it without qualification, without disguising it as a suggestion or a practical concern. Just a simple request. Four letters. One syllable.

And somehow it felt more exposing than everything else he had admitted that morning.

"Just stay." Easthies say with more certainty.

Utowin looked at him.

The silence stretched, not uncomfortably, but long enough for Easthies to become aware of every possible outcome. Long enough to remember that asking for something always carried the possibility of hearing no.

Then Utowin nodded.

"Yeah," The answer came easily, "Okay."

Something in Easthies' chest loosened.

He let go of his jaw.

He went to send word about the reassignment.

Easthies stood in the middle of the tent and breathed and told himself this was fine, this was manageable, he had said a thing and the world had not ended.

"For the record," Utowin called from the doorway.
"What?"
"The tent is different without you, too."

Easthies intensely looked at the desk and didn't move his face away.

"Go send the message," he grumbles.
"Sending it," Utowin said cheerfully, and Easthies could hear the grin in it without seeing it, warm and gruff and entirely meant for him.

The tent was quiet for a moment. It didn't feel bad at all.