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Paimon began to suspect something when Mitya offered you the last pastry without even glancing at it himself.
Until then, she had been pleasantly occupied with the refreshments while the other three discussed the papers spread across the table. The conversation had finally wandered into something less tiresome, and Paimon had been preparing to claim the remaining pastry when Mitya quietly moved the plate toward you instead.
“You liked these last time, didn’t you?” he asked. “Although I should warn you that the baker seems to have become rather generous with the sugar. Apparently, the public complained.”
You glanced at the plate, then at him. “Were you the public?”
“I made a single observation. I can hardly be held responsible for what followed.” He smiled when you gave him a doubtful look, leaning forward a little as though you might be persuaded to continue the argument. “It was a very reasonable observation, too. There’s a difference between something being lightly sweetened and having to imagine the sweetness yourself.”
“Paimon doesn’t mind either way,” Paimon offered, watching the plate.
“Then perhaps you should have it,” you said, sliding it back toward the middle of the table. “I’ve had enough.”
Mitya drew his hand away at once. “Of course. I only remembered you mentioning them.” He reached for his cup, found it empty, and set it down again while Paimon rescued the pastry from any further discussion. Across the table, the Traveler noticed the small movement and wisely said nothing.
It might have passed without incident if Mitya had been able to leave the conversation there. Instead, when the Traveler mentioned the theatre, he remembered a production you had once criticized and turned toward you with renewed interest. He had apparently discovered a review that supported your opinion, although he remained determined to argue with both of them.
“The difficulty,” he explained, “is that you’re expecting everyone to make sensible decisions. If they did, the whole thing would be over before the interval. We’d have paid for an evening’s entertainment and received twenty minutes of people behaving responsibly.”
“I would have preferred that to the ending.”
“You see, that’s precisely the sort of remark that makes it difficult to discuss these things with anyone else.” He said it easily, still smiling, and only seemed to hear himself once your eyes lifted from your cup. “Because most people insist on being polite about it,” he added, a little too quickly. “You save a considerable amount of time.”
“Paimon can be impolite about a bad play,” Paimon said. “Especially if the tickets are expensive.”
“An excellent qualification. I’ll know whom to consult.”
But he was still looking at you, waiting to see whether you would say anything more. Paimon followed his gaze, then looked down at the plate, then back at his face. The Traveler recognized the expression forming on hers and slowly lowered their cup.
“Paimon,” they said under their breath.
She did not hear them. Or, more accurately, she heard them at exactly the moment something much more interesting occurred to her.
“Oh! Wait a minute! Mitya, do you like—”
The Traveler’s hand covered her mouth before she could finish. Paimon made an indignant sound and caught their wrist with both hands, hovering higher in an attempt to recover her dignity. Unfortunately, there was no graceful explanation for what had just happened, and the Traveler’s expression suggested they knew it.
Mitya had gone very still. For a moment, he looked almost impressed by how quickly the afternoon had escaped his control. His gaze flickered toward you, then away before you could catch him doing it, and a little color rose into his face.
“I see we’ve moved on to a different sort of discussion,” he said. “Was there an agenda I neglected to read?”
The Traveler released Paimon once she stopped trying to pull their hand away. She folded her arms immediately. “Hey! Paimon was only going to ask a question!”
“We noticed.”
“Well, he keeps trying to talk to her, and he remembered which food she likes, and every time she looks at him, he starts—” Paimon finally looked at Mitya properly. His expression brought her explanation to an uncertain halt. “Oh. Um.”
You set your cup down. The sound was quiet, but Mitya heard it clearly enough. You had straightened in your chair, and the little ease that had entered your expression during their argument was gone. He knew that careful composure; he had seen it settle over you just before a conversation became something you needed to escape.
“I was trying to make myself good company,” he said before Paimon could continue. He managed a lighter smile and turned toward you instead. “Though I’d appreciate the chance to finish the attempt before the results are announced to the room.”
Paimon’s shoulders rose toward her ears. “Paimon wasn’t trying to announce anything. She just thought—”
“Perhaps we could leave it there,” you said.
You were not angry, which somehow made Paimon look more uncomfortable. The little companion glanced between them once, then nodded. “Right. Sorry. Paimon got carried away.”
“You were telling us about the review,” the Traveler said to Mitya, giving the conversation somewhere else to go. “Was the ending really that bad?”
He accepted the rescue with visible gratitude. “According to Lady Innamorata, it was an offense against everyone who had remained in their seats. The reviewer was only slightly more forgiving, although I suspect that was because he was being paid to stay.”
“I said it was disappointing,” you corrected.
Mitya looked at you, caught between relief that you had answered and the need to avoid making too much of it. “You said the villain should have succeeded if those were the people opposing him.”
“They spent three acts ignoring the person who knew what was happening.”
“See?” Paimon said, grateful to have something safer to object to. “Paimon hates that! Someone tells everyone there’s a problem, and nobody listens until the whole place is falling apart. Then they all act surprised!”
The Traveler gave her a sideways look. “You do tend to announce things quite loudly.”
“That’s because some people keep trying to stop Paimon from talking!” She caught herself, glanced at you, and quickly added, “About dangerous things! Important things. Anyway, what happened to the villain?”
Mitya obliged her with an explanation, keeping his attention on both her and the Traveler this time. He was soon describing an escape so unlikely that Paimon interrupted twice to demand why nobody had simply locked the door. His hands began moving as he spoke, his usual enthusiasm gradually returning, and you found yourself watching him from behind your cup.
He had given you a way out without making you ask for one. You were grateful for that, although gratitude did nothing to settle the uneasy warmth left by Paimon’s unfinished question. It was much easier to manage his affection when nobody else appeared to notice it.
When he reached for the teapot a little later, he paused before touching your cup. “Would you like any more?” he asked, with none of the hopeful additions you had begun expecting.
“A little,” you said, and moved it toward him. He poured, careful to stop where you liked it, then returned to answering Paimon’s increasingly critical questions about the play.
Paimon noticed that, too. This time she leaned toward the Traveler and lowered her voice to what she clearly considered a whisper. “Okay, but Paimon wasn’t wrong, was she?”
The Traveler closed their eyes for a moment. Across the table, Mitya became deeply interested in setting the teapot down, while you quietly raised your cup to your mouth.
“Paimon,” the Traveler said, “everyone can still hear you.”