Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Reth is not everyone’s cup of tea.

In fact, he’s probably not a tea at all.

His spirit drink is probably one of those strange, state fair novelty concoctions that you flirt with on a dare with your friends. Like a pickle lemonade or a dirty pepper sodapop. He’s a drink that you either love or hate, but most people don’t want much of it either way. Nobody goes out of their way to find him, but he’s an interesting topic of conversation and garners a few laughs during the whole experience. After the originality wears off and reality sets in, he’s left to the next unsuspecting consumer and reviews are mixed.

Maybe humans actually really like dirty pepper sodapop and that’s why they’re so accepting of his otherness.

Small town majiri, on the other hand, are less adventurous when it comes to their choice of beverage. They like the tried-and-true: green tea, black coffee, ginger ale. They don’t like Reth’s checkered past nor his vibrancy.

He tries to make up for his follies by working hard and coloring inside the lines (as inside the lines as he can get while carting around illegal packages). But he can only be himself and that’s not enough for some tradition wielding Kilima folks who see him as a stain on their community. They would prefer a cool glass of water.

Reth Keita is not a cool glass of water.

So it’s a surprise when Kenyatta shows up to the inn one evening and asks for a sweet-root smash cocktail, a drink favored by the underground Grimalkin elite, before suddenly dropping the bombshell of all Kilima bombshells on him:

“I broke things off with Nai’o,” she announces. To her audience of one.

Reth, who is actively pouring her drink out of a shaker into an iced lowball, freezes in place.

“Whoa,” is all he can think to say, eyes wide.

The inn and tavern are empty just before the dinner rush. Fire crackles in the hearth as the last dregs of sun filter through the dining room curtains, half blocked by the shadow of City Hall. It’s an odd time to wander into the tavern for a drink alone. But Reth now understands Kenyatta’s reason: to vent without prying ears.

“Seriously? I mean—that sucks,” Reth rewords, stumbling over several opposing reactions as he slides the drink across the bar to her.

Slinging drinks and making soup is easy. The therapist part of being an innkeep? Challenging. He snaps his bar towel over his shoulder. “And I totally didn’t know about you two to begin with. Big reveal. So this is an absolute surprise to me.”

Kenyatta shoots him a wry, knowing look. “Uh-huh.”

“Honest.”

“There’s nothing honest about you, Reth.”

Ouch.

He’s used to jabs like that. He rolls with them, despite the sting.

“So…” It’s his job to know, he reasons. As a citizen who is invested in his community. “...What happened?” he asks.

She shrugs and stirs the straw in her drink, calm and resolved. “I think—I dunno—it just wasn’t gonna work out in the end, ya know?”

Reth frowns and his eyes dart back and forth. “I mean, not to undo your work or anything but it seemed like things were fine? Ya’ll are kind of like—objectively, don’t take this the wrong way—the hottest people in town. Seemed like a right fit. Besides your mom’s obvious disapproval.”

Reth feels a sense of accomplishment when he pulls a genuine laugh from Kenyatta. Open joy is a rare sight on her resting you’re-boring-me-to-death face.

“I’ll take it,” she says. “I’m just thinking about my path. It’s starting to take shape in my head, ya know. And…I get this feeling that it’s gonna take me away from Kilima Village. Not forever, but for a while.”

Reth holds up his hands. “Alright, you’ve dropped like three bug bombs on me in the last two minutes,” he says. “What about your mom? Public service? The whole family line?”

Kenyatta wrinkles her nose. “Screw that.”

Over the brief but impactful cycles Reth has lived in the valley, he’s discovered that, on an ideological level, he and Kenyatta are aligned on several fronts. Including, but not limited to: sticking it to the man. He holds up a flat palm and she grins, meeting his offer with a satisfying smack of a high-five.

“Hell yea,” Reth approves. “So, in all your big plans you just don’t see Nai’o as part of them?”

Kenyatta rests her jaw on her palm, waving her other hand out toward nothing in particular. “He’s gonna be here ‘til he dies. He’s tied to his family and that damn farm.” She catches herself. “Sorry, the farm is important, I get it. But, like, I wanna be important too. I want freedom and some adventure and rolling around in a hay bale a stone’s throw from my house at two in the morning is just not it, ya know?” Kenyatta sips through the straw, downing half of her drink in one go.

Rolling around in a hay bale at two in the morning sounds pretty fun to Reth, though.

She continues, “And, if I’m being honest, I started going with him only because I knew it would piss my mom off. I liked him after a while, really. I wasn’t totally using him. Gave it an honest try and it was fun. But I think he deserves better than being that.”

Reth nods throughout Kenyatta’s confession, like he should. He hasn’t heard stuff this good since Sifuu got drunk and regaled the whole tavern with a story about how she almost suffocated Hassian’s mother in the bedroom between her thighs. Reth had never seen Hassian so traumatized.

“He’s all muscles, but he’s actually really soft,” Kenyatta reveals, “He deserves that hometown sweetheart who will, like, make jam with him on the weekends and pop out three of his kids. That’s not me.”

Despite all her solid reasonings, she seems pretty torn about the whole affair. Reth doesn’t dare point out how kind and empathetic she’s being. Lest she snap back at him for being too sentimental.

She locks her amber eyes on him. “Tell me I did the right thing, Reth.”

Reth is a notoriously bad decision-maker. She should have sought out a level head like Ashura or an analytical mind like Jina for help in that department. But the damage has already been done and Reth is a people pleaser, so he figures it can’t hurt to give Kenyatta the approval she wants.

“You did the right thing,” he says. “Sounds like it just wasn’t meant to be. You’ve got your own thing and he’s got his own thing.”

“Right?”

“Yeah. Yeah, sure. Seems like it to me.”

She nods, then ducks her head to sip at her drink again. She looks sad. Reth knows that breakups—Dragon knows he’s had a few doozies—are hard no matter the circumstances. A loss is a loss.

“Do you want a hug?” Reth pitches, knowing he has a fifty-fifty chance of rejection, “I’ve been told that I give some pretty good hugs.”

Much to his surprise, Kenyatta nods.

Reth plants his hands and leaps over the bar counter to the other side. Ashura hates it when he does that—something about professionalism and food safety standards—but Reth does it all the time when no one is looking. Kenyatta stands from her stool and accepts Reth’s big embrace. He squeezes her small frame, pressing the sadness from her bones. She squeezes him right back.

Reth thinks to himself: Wow, what an unexpected start to a strange friendship.

SLAM!

A crate lands heavy on the bar counter.

Reth and Kenyatta fly apart. Partially out of shock and partially because they both know they’ll be the talk of the town if anyone misconstrues their budding affection.

It’s Nai’o. With dust on his chaps and splattered mud across his winter poncho, he looks…irritated, to put it mildly. It’s a stark contrast to the sunny, polite expression usually plastered on his handsome face. The sourness makes his cheeks more angular; his eyes are tired. He regards Reth with a particularly acidic disdain.

“For the dinner rush,” is all he says before turning on his heel and heading for the rear exit.

“T-thanks, man,” Reth manages, between heartbeats.

Kenyatta and him say nothing more until Nai’o has ambled out of the tavern, well out of earshot.

The mayor’s daughter grimaces. “Yikes. That was probably the worst timing ever.”

Reth rubs his face with both palms. “No kidding.” He goes for the crate, taking inventory of the napa cabbage and bok choy.

“He’s gonna hate you more than he already does.”

Reth makes an exasperated sound at the tavern’s vaulted ceilings. “He hates me?”

Reth is used to the townsfolk giving him sideways glances. Whispering about him behind his back. Especially the older folk. Reth had hoped the younger people in town would be more forgiving. But the moment he had met Nai’o, he had a feeling he was meeting an old man in a young man’s body. He was steeped in traditional family values and the proper majiri way of doing things. They were never destined to get along, like oil and water. But Reth never hated the guy.

Kenyatta shrugs, sitting back down to finish her drink. “I guess hate’s a strong word. Nai’o probably doesn’t have it in him to hate anything. Let alone a person.”

That doesn’t give Reth any peace of mind. He heaves the crate from the counter and heads for the kitchen. “Whatever. He can get in line.”

He takes the shipment of vegetables to the prep station and inspects and washes them in preparation for the influx of soup orders he’ll receive. The nights have been growing colder with each passing day.

“No one in town hates you, Reth,” Kenyatta calls from the bar.

“I think after Nai’o tells them I made a pass at you just after ya’ll broke up, they just might!” he says, loud enough to be heard over the running water in the sink.

That next morning, Reth goes foraging. With the cold weather pressing in on the valley, Reth can’t seem to keep spice sprouts in the pantry.

The air is snappy and low-lying mist hovers across the grassy plains; the ground warming as the sun barely peeks over the eastern mountain ridge. He’s tired, though. His underground shift was long and there’s only so many hours in the day for sleep. But, like the good brother he swears to be every day, he picks himself up by his bootstraps and keeps on going.

Trudging through the dewy grass, apron held aloft, he searches for the orange, budding herb. Reth has mixed feelings about solitude. On one hand, the quiet calms Reth’s restless soul and soothes his anxiety. It gives him the time to shuck the previous day from his shoulders. On the other hand, it allows too much space for thought and retrospection.

And there’s no greater enemy to Reth than Reth himself.

His mind wanders. To new recipes at first, starting with the most plausible and popular to the least plausible and likely repulsive. Then he thinks about his responsibilities for the day—the different shifts and the many deliveries he’s expected to make. Sometimes, he has something good to look forward to. Like dinner with Tish and Jel, or a rare free hour he can use to take a nap.

Then, he goes deeper. Into dangerous, anxiety-ridden territory.

He thinks about his place in the world. About his future. His path (or lack thereof). Tish’s future. His debt. His mistakes. Every embarrassing word that has come out of his mouth for the past two weeks. And it spirals and spirals and spirals, until the quiet field has become a roaring plane of insecurities and regret.

It’s really fun.

Reth pulls up a third, hearty cluster of spice sprouts from the earth. One more and he can head back for a much deserved mug of tea.

Suddenly, something hits the side of his head and explodes in a poof of sparkling dust. It smells weird—zesty and sweet—and makes him dizzy. He stumbles sideways, adjusts his headband, and sneezes. The cloud dissipates.

“Oh, geez, sorry ‘bout that, Reth!”

Auni, ever the bundle of energy, bounds up to him; light in his eyes and a gap in his teeth. Reth is astounded by his strength. How does he run on sticks for legs with that big pack on his back? That Daiya sturdiness and early morning energy certainly runs in the family.

“Good aim, bug man,” Reth greets, rubbing his nose.

“You alright? Get any in your eyes? I don’t think it’s good if it gets in your eyes,” Auni says.

“Nah, I think I’m good,” Reth shakes his head.

“I’m real sorry.”

He waves a hand. “S’okay, don’t sweat it. You’re up early. Somethin’ buggin’ you?”

Reth laughs at his little joke and Auni rolls his eyes.

“Ha-ha. Haven’t heard that one before,” he says, the memory of a million Badruu puns reflecting in his sarcasm. “Just trying to get one of those dragonflies. They’re so fast! What’re you doing out here?”

Reth shows him the contents of his apron.

“The usual,” they say in unison.

Auni points some finger guns and Reth laughs. If they had been born closer in age, Reth and Auni would have most definitely been best friends.

“Need some help?” Auni asks.

Reth shrugs, “Hey, I won’t say ‘no’!”

They search for spice sprouts together and it quiets the voices in Reth’s head. Mostly because Auni chatters on like a motor, unyielding and unstoppable. He’s got a lot to say. About the town, his family, his yearning for adventure, mostly bugs, and on and on. Reth appreciates the company, especially the company of the only person in town who doesn’t judge him for abandoning his path.

“And to top it all off,” Auni says, mid-rant, “Nai’o’s canceled our camping trip again! We were supposed to go two months ago! He kept putting it off. Now he says he’s got something going on and he isn’t up for it anymore. Which means we can’t go until next spring!”

“Yeah, that does blow,” Reth agrees, knowing the real reason why the camping trip has been postponed.

Auni kicks a rock on the ground and it goes skittering into a creek. “He’s been acting real weird.”

Reth, in his limited wisdom, thinks this might be a good time to divert the conversation to something else. But Auni’s got a lot to say on the matter and Reth reckons there aren’t many people who will listen and understand.

“Told me that instead of focusing on ‘fun stuff’ that I needed to be thinking about my path and the farm,” Auni says, “What’s there to think about? They don’t want me to choose anything other than the farm. So what’s the point of thinking about it?”

“Yeah…”

He really shouldn’t say anything. It’s none of his business. Not to mention, if anyone learned the path deserter gave a young, impressionable majiri any sort of life advice? Half the town would show up at the inn with pitchforks. Reth plays it safe for once and takes no side.

“Sorry it’s like that, bug man. Maybe winter won’t be so long and you’ll get to camp with your brother earlier than you think,” he says.

Auni shrugs. “I guess. Jackpot!”

He lights up when he spots a clump of spice sprouts and bounds to tear them from the ground. Auni returns them to Reth, dropping them into his apron.

“Anyway, I heard you were caught making out with Kenyatta yesterday,” he says, all of a sudden.

Reth chokes on his own spit.

“Ma says Eshe’s probably gonna string you up by your thumbs in the middle of the square today. So I’d lay low.”

Reth smacks a hand against his own face. “Dragon, word travels fast around here,” he says, “For the record, I didn’t make out with her.”

Auni makes a weird, knowing face. “Sure, Reth. Sure.”

“Hey, Auni!”

Still recovering from being tossed in the air by the rumor mill, Reth doesn’t dare look Nai’o’s way. But he knows it’s him by the self-righteous sound of his voice and the heavy thumping of his boots on the sod. The guy walks like he’s constantly trying to knock manure off his feet. He looks normal, as he climbs the hill coming toward them, less grim than the day before. But Reth gets the feeling he’s putting on an act for his little brother.

“Hey, uh, ma needs you back at the house,” Nai’o says when he finally reaches them.

Auni doesn’t move. His intelligent eyes shift back and forth from Reth to his brother. “What for?” he asks.

“I dunno. Something. Go,” Nai’o urges, jabbing his thumb over his shoulder. He has this unique quality of being able to give a command without it sounding harsh.

Auni scrutinizes the situation for a few moments. Silly as he can be, he’s also a smart kid. Then, he leans over to Reth and whispers, “If he murders you, I’ll testify on your behalf.”

Reth grins. “Thanks, man.”

Nai’o makes a face. “I’m not gonna—”

“I’ll testify!” Auni wildly shouts as he runs back down the hill.

That kid is the best.

And so Reth and Nai’o are left alone, with just the dragonflies and the wind as witnesses.

Nai’o hooks his hands on his hips and ticks his jaw, like he’s trying to find the words to say…but maybe in a nicer way. He has a presence that makes Reth nervous. Maybe it’s the perfect bone structure. Maybe it’s the strength behind his arms. Or in the way stares.

Reth stares back, with less confidence.

“Say what you’re gonna say, man. I got a kitchen to get back to,” Reth says, keeping his cool.

“What were you and Auni talking about?”

“What do you mean?”

“You know what.”

“Actually, I don’t,” Reth says. He adjusts his apron, holding one end in a fist. “For the record, Kenyatta and I aren’t—you know. We were just talking and she was sad and I just did what a friend would do. I gave her a hug. That’s it.”

It was not the right thing to say, apparently. Nai’o’s expression goes from relatively neutral to annoyed in the blink of an eye.

“That’s not—Whatever that was is between Kenyatta and you. It’s not my business,” he says, much to Reth’s surprise. “I’m talking about Auni. Did he talk about his path?”

Reth internally rolls his eyes. This town is obsessed with tradition—path this, path that.

He shifts his weight. “I mean, he mentioned it. But we talked mostly about camping.”

“What did you say?”

“About camping?”

“About his path.”

He says that like Reth is the stupid one.

“Nothing,” Reth swears.

Nai’o crosses his arms. “I don’t believe you.”

He’s heard that about a million times.

He throws up his one free hand. “Okay, well, that’s a you problem. But since you’re pressing me so damn hard, maybe you should like, I dunno, talk to him? He’s feeling real pressured and I get the sense that he feels very alone.”

“He’s my little brother. I know him better than you do,” Nai’o warns.

Reth’s eyebrows shoot up. “Do you?”

“Just—” Nai’o steps forward, then steps back, as if actively keeping himself at bay. Reth has never seen him as a violent sort, but he’s been in rare form for the past couple of days. “Stay away from him. Okay? We don’t need you putting bad ideas in his head.”

“Sure, man, whatever you say.”

He isn’t up for a fight this early in the morning.

Satisfied, Nai’o turns and stalks away—down the hill, onto the road, and heads back to his home. Reth watches every bow-legged step until the blonde is out of sight. Then, he sticks a thumb down and blows a raspberry. It makes him feel better.

Reth is elbow deep in minced chapaa for the meatball lunch special when Eshe arrives at the inn. He hears her cry from the kitchen.

“RETH!”

For a moment, he thinks he can just pretend not to hear her. He ducks his head into the big bowl of meat and stays perfectly still. But then she hits the bell at the register repeatedly.

Ding! Ding! Ding!

“RETH!!!”

Ding! Ding! Ding!

Ashura makes eye contact with him through the open archway, frowns and jerks his head as if to say ‘get your ass out here’. Reth winces. He sets the mixing bowl down and drags his body out to the bar, hands covered in meat and spices held aloft.

It’s busy—Chayne is lingering near the fireplace, Sifuu and Hassian are sharing a meal, Hodari is drinking at the bar with Badruu—and all eyes are on him. The jovial music wafting from the new jukebox stands in stark contrast to a wrathful Eshe, ruby faced and practically blowing smoke from her ears. Kenli cowers behind her, wringing the rim of his hat between thick fingers.

Reth beams, playing dumb. “Hey, Magistrate Bahari! The usual?”

She points a perfectly manicured nail at him. “Don’t you magistrate me, you—you—you knave!”

Reth grimaces. At least there’s a counter between them. If he stays an arm’s length away, he’s safe.

“Reth Keita, if you come near my daughter again, I swear on my ancestors that you will be shipped so far from this valley that not even the Great Dragon could find you!” the woman promises, a crazed look in her eyes. “With nothing but the clothes on your back and that stupid, arrogant grin on your ugly face! Do you understand me? I will not have my daughter consorting with the likes of—”

Kenyatta comes rushing through the front door.

“Mom! Geez, calm down! This is a misunderstanding!” she insists.

But Eshe is on a roll.

“—She is destined for greatness! You are destined for the compost pile! A dalliance with the local cook! Unheard of! Disgraceful!”

Huh. Compost pile. Reth hasn’t heard that one yet. He appreciates the originality.

Kenyatta shades her eyes with her hand, as if that would help her in a room full of people who absolutely know who she is. “Mom, you’re embarrassing me!”

“Tell me it isn’t true, Kenyatta!” The tall, lithe woman turns to her spitting image of a daughter. “Tell me you were not seen—” She lowers her voice, but it’s perfectly audible to everyone in the tavern. “—with your legs wrapped around this scoundrel.”

Badruu gasps. Hodari’s mouth drops open in shock. Sifuu guffaws and smacks the table with a big fist. Ashura looks like he wants to fly across the room and smack Reth soundly on the back of the head.

Kenyatta turns cherry from her shoulders to the tips of her ears. “What?!”

Reth’s eyes pop out of his head. He waves his meaty hands. “Where do these rumors even come from?! Who in town is doing this?!” he cries. “It was a hug! It was just a hug!”

“Now why in the thirteen provinces would you ever do that?”

“Because—”

Kenyatta looks at him, pleading.

Reth’s mother always told him: honesty is the best policy. Considering that evasion and misinformation have become Reth’s bread and butter, he’s forsaken her lessons entirely.

He searches for an answer in the air and comes up with, “The soup was bad.”

Eshe blinks.

Kenyatta shrinks. Shoulders up to her ears, head ducked in embarrassment.

Kenli frowns. “The soup was bad?”

It’s left his lips, so Reth has to go with it. One-hundred percent commitment:

“Yeah. She was eating dinner and she said the soup was bad. And I realized—I realized I had completely used the wrong broth. You can’t use…” This is going off the rails. “…a trout base for a sernuk noodle soup, it tastes terrible. So fishy and just totally clashes with the gamey steak. I felt so bad about it. A whole evening ruined, ya know! That’s the kind of thing that can ruin your whole weekend. It’s almost as bad as a breakup—”

Kenyatta flashes a panicked look. He pivots, waving his meat hands again.

“—Breakdown! A mental breakdown! I had a total mental breakdown yesterday and that is why I put trout broth in the sernuk noodle soup! Ruined my own weekend. I was just out of my mind. I was so upset. And she was so upset. So I…hugged her. Because the soup. Was bad.”

The inn is silent, except for the music drifting from the jukebox and Reth’s heavy panting. Everyone stares at him.

Ashura cradles his head in two hands, in shame.

Chayne steps forward, clasping his hands with that signature grace. “Are you quite well, Reth? After your…breakdown?”

Reth nods, “Oh yeah, I’m totally cool now. No worries, dude.”

After a few long moments of staring and confusion and awkwardness, Eshe points her manicured finger at Reth again. “I do not know what game you're playing, but do not forget my words. I will be watching.”

She twists on her heel, tosses the edge of her coat, and exits the Ormuu’s Horn with the weighty tap, tap of her cane. Kenli nips at her heels. Kenyatta mouths ‘thank you’ to Reth and follows after her parents.

Reth breathes out a sigh of relief, still standing there with his arms outstretched and covered in food.

“Hey,” Badruu gets his attention, from his seat at the bar. He smiles, “For the record, you’re not ugly. I think you’re a real cute-cumber!”

“Thanks, man. Thanks.”

Chapter Text

The entirety of Reth’s next week is certifiably bad—a Grade F, do not pass go, do not collect two-hundred gold kind of bad.

Eshe has him on constant watch. Ashura lectures him on innkeeping duties and protocols about twice a day. Zeki busts his balls about making drinks too strong, shipments late, and a missing piece of flow tech Reth was supposed to deliver. And Tish—of no fault of her own—has a flair up so all Reth can do is worry about her. On and on and on and on. He can’t catch a break.

So by Sunday afternoon, Reth is hanging on by a thread. He’s strung out, bags under his eyes, dragging so hard that he mistakens olive oil for dish washing liquid at the store room sink and ends up washing the same perpetually greasy plate over and over until he blearily realizes his error.

“Aw, man.”

As he scrubs the next plate—with soap this time—he wonders how long he can keep this up. He won’t stay young forever. Eventually, he’ll have to get more than four hours of sleep and a few spoonfuls of day-old stir fry for each hasty meal. But he’s done the math and, at the rate he’s going, he’ll stay indebted to the cartel for a long, long time.

“I can do this for the next, what, twenty years, right? Right. Yeah, no problem. I got this. Easy,” Reth says to himself. Pep talks to the mirror above the sink are not an uncommon occurrence. That’s why there’s a mirror above the sink in the first place.

He points a soapy fork at his reflection. “Next week is gonna be better. The thing with Kenyatta will blow over and Eshe will get off my back. Plus, Ashura is going into Bahari City for a couple days! I’ll do things my way around here for a bit. Yeah. Yeah. It’s gonna be totally great. You got this, Reth.”

As if on cue, the store room door slams open. Reth startles, splashing suds and water across the ground.

Nai’o bulldozes into the storeroom—panting and red faced, holding the crate Reth returned to the Daiya farm after the previous produce shipment. His hair is disheveled and his clothes look grimier than usual. He slams the door behind him.

Reth’s shoulders lift to his ears. “Geez, what’s the rush—”

“Look, I know you’re not good at your job—” Nai’o says, coming out swinging, “—But you really should check your crates next time.”

Reth makes a face. “Hey now, cowboy, no need for insults—”

The farmboy reaches into the wooden crate, tosses aside a limp potato sack, and removes a cylindrical, magenta liquid filled device. He drops it on the counter next to the sink. Its gears click and whirr. Reth stares. It’s Zeki’s missing piece of flow tech.

“Ah, shit.”

Nai’o tosses his hands up into the air, then hooks them onto his hips. He really looks like his mother when he’s angry. “That’s all you’ve got to say? Reth, I have never seen flow before but I’m not an idiot—this is flow. This stuff is illegal.”

Reth attempts to play dumb. “Sure is. Gosh, how on earth did that get in there—”

“You put my family in danger. If anyone from the Order came around and found this on the farm? They would shut us down!”

“C’mon, it’s not that bad. And hey, nothing happened? So no harm no foul.”

Nai’o steps forward. His eyes are bloodshot. “No harm no foul? Are you serious—”

Reth’s chest suddenly feels very tight. “Nothing happened! Everything’s good!”

“No, everything’s not good!” Nai’o yells.

Reth has never heard the cowboy raise his voice before, except for when hollering for his ormuus (and that was a delightfully ridiculous yodel). Come to think of it, Reth hasn’t heard himself yell in a long time either. Yet there they are, almost nose-to-nose and getting close to a volume that could be heard from the inn’s entryway.

Reth tosses a plate into a bucket of suds and water. The clay almost shatters with the impact. He shakes his head. “Nope. Nope, I am not gonna do this today—” He wipes his hands on a nearby towel and picks up a stack of plates, determined to get his work done.

Nai’o trails behind him. “Oh, sure, just running away—”

“You can come back another day and ream me—”

“Have you ever taken responsibility for your actions?—”

Reth knocks open a pantry with his foot and sets the plates on the shelf inside, sliding them toward the back. “Sure. Every damn day. But my quota for being the village bad egg is filled for the evening. So thank you for your complaint. I’ll file it along with all the others and I’ll get back to you with a response in two to three business days!”

He knocks shoulders with Nai’o on the way to the next pile of clean dishes. The farmboy gapes at him.

“What is your problem?” Nai’o asks.

Reth angrily stacks mugs in another pantry. “My problem is that I am running this inn on seven cups of coffee and three hours of sleep and you came down here to just lecture me like everyone else—”

“Auni could’ve gotten hurt. My family—”

The mention of Auni makes Reth upset. He’s done his best to separate his cartel work from the people he cares for the most. He doesn’t want them wrapped up in the mess he’s made, let alone hurt from it. The idea that his neglect could have ended with hurting Auni…it’s not acceptable. But he’s too tired to reflect inward on that guilt and disappointment, so he lashes out:

“There!” Reth points an accusatory finger, frenzy reaching its peak, “Just the same thing, over and over. Same with Ashura and Zeki and I am—I am so not in the mood for it anymore. You’ve come too late to the party today, dude. So let’s speed this up.”

He kicks the second pantry door closed and stands before Nai’o, shoulders square. Reth raises his arms out:

“Hit me.”

The blonde stares, gobsmacked. “What?”

“Just give me a good ol’ suckerpunch and let’s be done with it, yeah? Express lane style.”

Nai’o blinks. “You’re crazy.”

Reth raises a finger, an unhinged glint in his eye. “No, I’m just efficient. C’mon.”

“No.”

“C’mon.”

“No, Reth. No way.”

Bizarre as it is to admit, Reth wants to get his shit rocked. Worst case scenario? He’ll be knocked out cold and get to go home early. Maybe even be forced to take an entire day off to recover—what a treat. At best, it’ll hurt like the dickens but he’ll get a nice adrenaline rush to get him through the rest of the day.

Not once does it cross Reth’s mind that what he’s asking Nai’o to do is kind of…messed up. That maybe Reth is using him to punish himself for all the things he thinks are his fault. That maybe it has nothing to do with Nai’o or his family or a misplaced flow device at all—and actually has to do with what Reth thinks he deserves.

So—toeing the edge even further—Reth doubles down and slings an insult of his own.

“What? Too soft?” Reth accuses. “Let’s go, two-marbles-for-a-brain. Let me have it.”

Despite what the whole village might think, Reth has never picked a fight in his life. So he has no idea what to say. The ever respectful farmer’s son backs away, shaking his head. Without thinking, Reth does something very not okay… and shoves Nai’o. He steps back with the force, but doesn’t falter.

“No wonder Kenyatta left you. Too shy to get the job done?”

Uncalled for.

“Knock it off,” Nai’o threatens.

“And here I thought you were all muscles.”

Reth shoves him again, harder. It’s like pushing against a solid, brick wall. Nai’o stumbles, hip knocking against a counter.

He levels Reth with an austere brow. “Now, I’m warning you. Don’t touch me again.” It’s like a phrase that has been trained into him by his parents, for the day when he has to confront a bully on the schoolyard.

“What? Like this—”

Reth lifts his arms out for a third shove—and Nai’o grips his elbows with his big, gloved hands. He slams Reth into an adjacent pantry, dishes clattering against their shelves with the force. The back of Reth’s head bounces against the wood and the wind is knocked from his lungs. His vision spins before finally locking onto brilliant, blue eyes.

Nai’o’s eyes are so blue. Like a clear sky after torrential rain kind of blue. He smells like fresh cut grass and animals. The grass part is nice. The animal part, not so much.

“Get ahold of yourself, Reth,” the cowboy says, like he actually cares.

Between Nai’o’s firm body and a hard place is not a bad place to be. It kind of feels like a hug. Which is something Reth desperately needs. Nai’o’s hold on him is a kind of poor man’s substitute, but he’ll take it.

In a weak attempt to fight back, Reth presses his body forward. But Nai’o is strong. There’s pure, taught brawn there underneath Reth’s soft fingertips. It’s no sweat for Nai’o to just hold him there. Reth should have known this would be the outcome considering the cowboy hucked around haybales like they were small sacks of rice.

He thrashes and Nai’o shifts his hands to a shoulder and a hip, flattening Reth against the pantry.

“Just do it—”

Nai’o’s lips press against Reth’s, firm and insistent, and all the fight leaves his body.

Eyes open, staring at the fuzzy silhouette of Nai’o’s face, Reth thinks he must’ve passed out. Because this is some weird, wet dream he’s never had before. It’s never even been a passing fancy or an intrusive thought, because it was a non-starter. Nai’o Daiya the goody-two-shoes. The straightest arrow in the whole village. The guy who actively avoided Reth like he had a permanent case of the peki-pox… was kissing him.

A shockwave shoots up his spine when Nai’o’s lips slide into a second kiss.

It’s been so long, Reth forgot how good kissing felt. He surrenders, eyes fluttering closed.

The ability to discern the hows and whys of it all would require another two cups of extra-strong coffee, so Reth just accepts that it’s a much nicer alternative to getting socked in the face and kisses Nai’o back.

Reth has been told he’s wild, a little too bitey, and overeager. But the sudden reciprocation has Nai’o excited, matching Reth’s overeagerness with unhinged fervor. He presses Reth further into the pantry—up onto his tiptoes—knocking the piece of furniture onto its back legs and against the wall, holding it all there like it’s weightless. Unable to move, held in place by hands that actually want him—it feels so good. to be desired.

Nai’o wedges a sturdy leg between Reth’s knees, gasping against wet lips when Reth’s thigh naturally grinds up between his. In a moment of absolute clarity, Reth is stunned by the size of the growing bulge rubbing against him.

Kenyatta gave up that?

Suddenly, a mug tumbles from the pantry and smashes against the stone floor, pieces scattering in all directions.

The sound sucks them back to reality. Nai’o rips his body away. The pantry rocks back onto all fours with a clatter of dishes. They stare at one another, chests heaving; a wild charge still sizzling between them. Like they actually might just fly at one another again.

“Well, shit,” Reth breathes. What a way to learn that Nai'o Daiya is an actual majiri being. That he’s capable of messiness and making mistakes like the rest of them.

As the charge between them disperses, Nai’o’s expression shifts to guilt. And…nausea? Yeah, he looks like he’s about to throw up. Which doesn’t make Reth feel great.

“S-Sorry. I have to go,” he says. “Yeah, I—Sorry. ‘M sorry.”

During their recent interactions, Nai’o has been aggressive and ill-tempered and Reth chalked that all up to his break-up with Kenyatta. But right before his eyes, he’s become himself again. That boy-next-door; that soft country gentleman. Nai’o wipes his mouth and smooths his hands over his blonde hair as he backs away, never taking his bright, petrified eyes from Reth.

“I, um, yeah—I’m sorry.”

He dashes out the side door, abandoning Reth in the storeroom.

The clock on the wall ticks and chimes.

He looks around at the scattered mug shards and presses fingertips to his lips.

Well damn.

Chapter Text

Reth can deal with being someone’s rebound. He’s a good kisser, able to keep a secret, and not totally hideous—so that makes him pretty good rebound material, objectively.

Which is why it sucks so much that Nai’o is actively avoiding him. Not bringing shipments and sending Auni in his stead; forgoing his usual muujin steak dinner every friday night kind of avoiding him. The rejection makes Reth feel pretty crappy, honestly, even though there was nothing to feel rejected about. Nai’o kissed him. Not the other way around. If another majiri mother comes in accusing him of misconduct with their precious child, he’ll make sure to set the record straight.

But Delailah never says a word. No one says anything. So Reth just carries on like Nai’o didn’t rock his world in that little storeroom.

Carries on in the sense that he thinks about the kiss nonstop, even when he’s on the job. Even when he’s walking the dirt path around the Remembrance Garden hill and toward the dilapidated fishing shack to do a late night pick up. That kind of carrying on.

With his hands shoved into his pockets, he kicks a pebble in front of him a couple of yards before it rolls away and disappears into the tall grass. A chapaa scurries into a bush nearby.

Did his breath stink?

Was it because Reth laid his hands on him first? He should probably apologize for that.

Or did it have nothing to do with Reth, and it was actually Nai’o fighting with his conservative, sexually repressed mentalities?

Maybe a mixture of all three.

“Whatever,” Reth says aloud, to no one but himself and the chapaas, “Not like I care.”

He cares, more than he’d like to admit. Because he feels somewhat used by the whole ordeal; left with about a million questions—why him? Why that moment? Would anyone have done it for Nai’o? Or was there some weird love-hate-forbidden attraction thing going on in that hay-filled skull of his?

Reth shakes his head—probably not the latter. That’s just too ridiculous.

The valley is quiet at night. The world is asleep, but nature buzzes on in its own peaceful way. Moths flutter around the glow of sparse street lamps, sernuk quietly graze unbothered in a faraway field, and the grass shifts with the occasional beetle or centipede—busily making their way to an unknown destination. Reth too, is one such creature of the night. But his intentions are more criminal in nature.

Zeki informed him of a scheduled drop off at the fishing shack that afternoon—nothing out of the ordinary. Just a simple pick-up and delivery and Reth would be back in time to catch five whopping hours of sleep. Luxury.

He arrives at the shack with time to spare and settles in for a wait. He nestles himself on some less rotted dock planks, leaned up against a corner made by an algae-crusted crate and the shack wall. Reth crosses his legs and his arms, wrapping his chef’s tunic closer to his chest. Gentle, fresh water waves drum against the shack’s foundation and the structure creaks and sways with the wind and the current. It’s a bit hypnotic. Reth yawns and blinks away the sleep.

Seriously, what is Nai’o’s problem?

“Just because he’s the local goodie-two shoes. Can do stuff like that and get off scot free,” Reth grumbles to the empty shack. “I can’t hug someone without the village government comin’ after me with pitchforks. Double standard much.”

Somehow, Reth is always in the wrong. So it’s probably best that no one knows what happened in the storeroom. If they did, no matter what he said, it would probably be spun wildly out of proportion like the Kenyatta situation. Three people down the chain, the rumor would become a tall tale about how Reth seduced Nai’o with his bad boy wiles, tied him up with his own lasso, and tried to take advantage of him.

Reth will never win. His head lands against the shack wall with a thunk.

When was his contact supposed to arrive? Soon, probably.

The shack creaks.

A fish flaps out of the water and falls back in again with a splash.

Reth doesn’t know what prompts it but, against his will, an image flashes in his mind:

Tied up with his own lasso, kneeling, flushed, and big blue eyes staring up at Reth.

Huh. That’s kind of hot.

Reth smacks his forehead, knocking the unwanted fantasy away. Just an intrusive thought brought on by a desperate libido, he assures himself. His hours suck and the valley is small, so opportunities are hard to come by. That’s all it is.

Reth tries to distract himself. With soup. Maybe he’ll have a steaming bowl of dumpling and bok choy soup when he gets back—yeah. A nice light broth topped with some heat root oil and thinly sliced scallions. The perfect food for cold weather. For any weather, as far as Reth is concerned. Anyone who doesn’t like soup has obviously never lived.

Does Nai’o like soup?

He tries to remember if he’s ever ordered it, but Reth can’t recall. He feels like he’s seen Nai’o eat soup before; huddled in the tavern corner after a long day, slurping down noodles and sliced sernuk. Pretty lips hooked on the lip of the bowl, gulping down every drop of Reth’s hard work. Tipping his head back, adam’s apple bobbing, barely breathing through his nose because it tastes so good—

Reth comes to with a violent shake of his head.

“What is wrong with me?” he groans.

Maybe Nai’o was right.

Maybe he needs to get a grip. On reality.

Reth distracts himself with other things—anything. He fiddles with some netting, braiding some frayed strands and then unbraiding it again. He tosses bits of rock and wood into the water, just to see what kind of ripples and splashes they make. Pulling from the experience of his failed path, he pulls out his pocket knife and whittles away at a chunk of broken dock. Shaving skitter across the planks and the wood begins to take shape—an ormuu with a shaggy mane.

It’s the one woodworking skill Reth actually had down pat—making useless tchotchkes.

The hour grows late and his eyes grow tired.

Reth takes a break from the whittling, leaning his head back against the wall. He’ll let his eyes rest for just a moment, until his very tardy contact arrives.

Just a moment.

The moment stretches like taffy, slow and languid. Reth’s limbs grow heavy and his head droops.

The air grows colder.

Though, it can’t have been more than a few minutes.

No one has come yet, so Reth doesn’t stir.

The shack sways and creaks. The wind howls.

Reth shivers.

Then, he’s warm.

Hands lift his legs, cradling him. He feels heat, like a stone left out in the summer sun. He leans his head into it; breathes in the scent of grass and soap—clean and bright. Like linen and damp skin fresh from the bath. His body rocks with the rhythm of a deliberate, sure gait.

Through that hazy place between sleeping and awake, Reth assumes he’s dreaming.

His mind concocts a scenario to match what his body feels—it’s his father carrying him. Alive and healthy, with his strong and lean workman’s grip and a smile on his face. He’s wrapped Reth in a clean towel, snapped crisp from the laundry line in the backyard of their home in Bahari City. Of course, Reth isn’t an adult—no, he’s just nine and some change and this is a memory. Something a little fabricated and warped like dreams are, but true in spirit.

You’re like a little spring roll.

Spring roll. Spring roll.

Dip you in some spicy ginger and gobble you up!

That’s something his father would say. He had a silliness about him that Reth inherited. And a great love of food.

Reth wraps his arms around a strong neck. Hands pull him in tighter.

“I miss you,” he mumbles without fully waking. If he opens his eyes, the dream will end. It’s not often he dreams about his parents. Not so vividly anyway.

I know, my spring roll. I miss you too.

He’s carried up the back patio, through the kitchen, and into the living room preserved in time. With a big, grandfather clock in the corner and the ochre throw pillows and his mother’s prized collection of jasper coasters. Reth’s memory is perfect in that regard. Though he doesn’t remember having a fireplace so close to the couch. Even so, a fire crackles nearby.

Strong arms lay him down on the cushions, propping his head up on a pillow, and draping that fresh towel over his body. No, not a fresh towel. A scratchy, wool throw blanket. Reth has enough awareness to know the dream is ending. He tries to get one last look at his father, but he’s too late.

Reth’s eyes blearily crack open. He catches the sight of retreating boots and a leather hat.

Then, he falls asleep once more.

At the first crow of dawn, Reth startles. “Dad!”

He shoots straight up, flailing, legs swinging over…a familiar tavern couch.

The itchy, wool blanket covering half his legs slides to the floor. Eyes puffy and still crusted with sleep, Reth looks around him—at the inn, as it always is (and not his childhood home living room)—in a sluggish, barely-there sort of way. He rubs his face and digs the heels of his hands into his eyes.

“Have a nightmare there, son?”

Ashura, a man who is definitely not his father, looks at him from the inn’s front desk, a new morning paper in his robust hands.

Worse, Reth thinks to himself.

But what he actually says is, “No, no. I’m good.”

The air in the tavern is dewy and brisk. Frost dusts the railing outside and the crystals glitter as the morning sun kisses the top ridge of the mountains. The logs in the fire have reduced to smoldering embers, but he can still feel the heat of them on his skin. Reth feels strangely well rested.

Though, the events the previous night are fuzzy.

Reth retrieves a fallen throw pillow from the floor. “How did I—? Did you bring me back?”

Ashura flips a page in his Bahari Times with a shrug. “Nope,” he says, “One minute the couch is empty and I go upstairs to change some bed sheets. The next, I come back down and you’re sprawled out on it like it’s your own living room on Winterlight’s Eve. Figured I’d let you sleep until Sifuu comes in for her morning coffee and bacon.”

Reth rubs the back of his neck. “I was—I was out taking a walk last night,” he says, aloud so he can track his own nightly whereabouts. “And then I fell asleep, I think—crap, I fell asleep—” He sandwiches his head between two flat hands, a wide panic in his eyes, and scrambles for the kitchen pantry—for where he usually stashes things for quick job packages.

“Now, I know I’m not your guardian or anything,” Ashura calls from his desk. Reth can barely hear him over the pantry door being thrown open and flour sacks sliding over wood. “But you ought to be careful late at night. You drink too much, you can get yourself into some real trouble, son—You listening?”

“Yeah!” Reth knocks over a can of tomatoes. “Yeah, I’m listening—”

Ashura grumbles something to himself.

Reth’s pantry stash is nothing but cobwebs and crumbs. He goes for another spot underneath the curved bar, shoving away jars of pickled onions in hopes of finding what he needs. Still nothing.

Zeki is going to have his hide.

“By the way, Zeki came by late last night,” Ashura says. The timing of the information is suspicious.

Reth pops up from behind the bar like an alert chapaa, realizes how tense he looks, and leans a calm, totally not anxiety ridden arm against the bar. He tries to sound very casual. “Yeah? Everything good for the next stock up? We are in desperate need of some eggs, lemme tell ya.”

Ashura flips a page, unbothered. Mornings are usually very quiet for him and it appears he intends to keep it that way. “He left a note.”

Reth scans the area. He finds a folded piece of paper wedged under the corner of the till.

Hey kid,
Last minute change of plans.
No delivery tonight!
Take it easy!

Reth releases a sigh. He’s too relieved to be annoyed that his night was wasted at the fishing shack. Though, come to think of it, he’s not entirely sure how long he was there. He folds up the note and stashes it away in his apron.

“Yep. Yep! Looks like everything’s good! We’ll be in egg central soon” he says, and cringes at his own weird joke. What even is egg central? He imagines a train station—themed from floor to ceiling with egg motifs. Not a bad idea for a kitschy tourist trap, actually.

Reth ducks back into the kitchen to wash his face in the kitchen sink. A fresh start to a fresh day, he figures.

“Like I was saying,” Ashura continues. Again, Reth can barely hear him over the rush of water. “I just want you to be careful. You don’t even remember how you got back to the inn?”

Reth tosses his headband aside and splashes his cheeks with icy water. “Agh, I’m sure I just walked back and I don’t remember it,” he lies, “Probably too tired to make it down to the storeroom.” He rubs the sleep from his eyes and the oil from his forehead before grabbing a clean cloth. “But I won’t make a habit of it, swear—”

He spins and Ashura is right there, in the kitchen with him. His big arms are folded over his chest and he levels Reth with a gentle, but firm brow. “I’m being serious, Reth. I don’t want you burning yourself out or getting hurt. You understand?”

Reth doesn’t know how to deal with people caring about him. So he grins and makes a joke, “Is that an order, boss?”

“Whether you take advice from an old man is up to you,” the giant of an innkeeper says, “As an adult, it’s important you learn your own limits. That’s your sole responsibility.”

Maybe Ashura isn’t his actual dad, but he has a natural fatherly air. He’s a mentor, at least. The elder majiri has done a lot for Reth: offered him stable work, turned a blind eye to some bad behaviors, and given him more chances than Reth is worth. Ashura’s good word and advice carries weight.

Reth slaps a hand on Ashura’s shoulder. “Alright, alright, I hear ya. Now shoo.” He waves his hands outward, playfully. “Outta my kitchen before the breakfast rush. Unless you wanna help me brew coffee and prep two dozen scrambled eggs.”

He’s never been good at taking advice.

“A mysterious stranger carried you back to the inn?” Jel asks, chin perched between a slender forefinger and thumb, “How intriguing.”

Tish clasps her hands and sways. “That’s so romantic. Like a knight in shining armor.”

Reth mindlessly spins on a stool near one of Jel’s fabric racks. “Not, like, creepy?” he offers.

The trio have convened for their nightly session in the tailor shop. Usually, Jel waxes poetic on some new fabric or his muse of the week (it’s the duskwing butterfly this time) and Tish encourages this behavior with great enthusiasm, occasionally bouncing her own artistic thoughts off her best friend. Reth usually just…hangs out; a mildly quiet but content third wheel. But Reth had something this time, and retold his version of events from the night before in hopes that his sister and friend could shed some light on the situation.

He obviously lies about the purpose of his midnight lake shack visit: night fishing for the new seafood special, duh.

“Such a fine line between creepy and romantic,” Jel says, dreamily.

Reth’s face scrunches up and, with a cock of his head, challenges, “Is there? Really?”

Tish sits on the edge of Jel’s desk and her petticoated skirt swishes with every kick of her little legs. “I guess they should have come forward today. At least checked in on you or something. Who do you think it was, Reth?”

He shrugs and spins the stool around again. “I dunno. Thought it could’ve been Hassian but that guy would’ve ripped me five ways from Tuesday for being careless. But today, he just gave me a real—” Reth makes his best impression of Hassian’s curt nod and resting constipated expression. He is rewarded a giggle from his sister for his efforts. “—and then ordered the usual chapaa tacos. So I don’t think it was him... Though he did order extra hot sauce. Which is a little suspicious—”

“Perhaps it was Nai’o.”

Jel offers the most obvious answer. The answer that Reth himself had considered only to throw it away moments later because he’s pretty sure Nai’o might just let him die in that creaky old shack with his dirty little secret following behind.

“He wears that dusty, leather hat all the time,” Jel reasons, “Did it have a flat top with an orange band?”

Yep.

Reth clears his throat. “Nah. I don’t think so. Besides, I don’t think Nai’o would go out of his way to help me.”

Tish tilts her head. “Really? I feel like Nai’o would help just about anyone.”

Jel nods and clasps his hands behind his back. “Yes. Chivalry is quite alive with that one.”

If only they knew.

“Right.”

Reth’s brain chooses that exact moment to betray him. The image of Nai’o post kiss—hair mussed, bandana askew, panting like a race riffroc—flashes in his mind. He can still feel the shadow of those strong hands grasping him by the hips, the ghost of lips pressing against him hard and firm, devouring and demanding. Like he could inhale the weariness from Reth’s bones and make him whole again. It probably would have done plenty for Reth if they had kept going. If he had let Nai’o touch him—

“Are you alright, Reth? You look flushed.”

Reth locks eyes with his sister.

“What? Oh, yeah, totally. It’s just hot,” he panics because he didn’t mean that kind of hot—except he kind of did. Reth hooks a finger into the collar of his tunic and tugs, “Can we open a window in here or something? It’s stuffy. Don’t you think it’s stuffy?”

Jel looks at him from above his oval spectacles. “It’s supposed to snow tonight.”

Reth laughs nervously. “I mean, I dunno about you but I love to keep the windows open when it snows. Nice and brisk. Ammirite?”

There wasn’t a hole Reth couldn’t dig himself into.

But Jel is graceful and gives him an out. “I will open the upstairs window. Perhaps the heat is getting trapped,” he says, and mounts the stairs.

Tish doesn’t wait to shoot Reth a look.

“What?”

“I’ll find out what it is, you know,” Tish says, almost threatening (though she probably couldn’t threaten a plank of wood if her life depended on it), “Whatever you’re not telling.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

She crosses her arms, affirmatively. “You can’t hide from me, Reth Keita.”

Seeing Tish’s best attempt at a game face makes Reth chuckle. He’s lucky to have her in his life, for about a million reasons. The foremost being: she sees him. And to be seen and to see someone else is the highest form of love. Without her, Reth might just be invisible.

He abandons his rolling stool and goes to be with her at the desk. He hoists himself up onto the table top and sits with their shoulders pressed together—natural, innate even.

“I dreamt about dad,” he says, gaze in the middle distance. It’s not the thing that’s bothering him, obviously, but he’s been meaning to mention it.

Tish’s pretty eyes light up. “Yeah? Was it a good dream?”

“Yeah, I think so. He was doing the towel thing.”

“Spring roll?” Because of course she knows instantly. “Oh—spring roll, spring roll,” she sing-songs. “That was always so much fun. Though, come to think of it, it probably just immediately dirtied the towels again. Our clothes were always so dusty from running around.”

“Yeah. Probably.”

Reth rubs a palm with his thumb and only stops when Tish takes one of his hands in her own. Delicate as they are, her palms and fingers are calloused and worn.

“I miss them,” she admits.

“Me too,” Reth nods, “Every day. Wish I could get their advice on a few things.”

“You can always ask me for advice.”

“It’s big brother stuff. Head of the household stuff, ya know. You wouldn’t understand.”

He’s joking, of course, and Tish, also jokingly, gives him a shoulder shove for his insolence. “Head of the household my foot.”

They both know who the actual head of their household is.

Jel descends the stairs. “I might be mistaken—you two are the woodworking experts of course—but I’m quite sure that is a desk and not a sofa.” The warning is light and playful, but the Keita siblings take the hint and hop off.

“Sorry!” Tish brushes off the tabletop for good measure.

Eager to move the conversation away from himself and keep the mood light, Reth comes up with an idea. “Hey, why don’t we have a little late night dessert? I got some killer blueberry crumble that needs eating. But—” he points to Jel, “—you have to promise to eat it straight out of the pan. Like, spoon right to the center. It’s the best way to have it. That’s a scientific fact.”

Jel grimaces. “You are a heathen.”

Reth bows, honored. “Thank you.”

“But fine,” the tailor agrees, “As long as the spoon has a very long handle.”

“You got it!”

Reth jogs out of the tailor shop and hops the handful of steps leading into the square. A big, lumbering figure catches his attention as he passes the mouth of the north bridge.

Below the square, near the center stables, Nai’o leads one of his ormuu down the path. Reth doesn’t know which one. They all look the same to him—big, hairy, chewing cud. He stops to snoop.

The ormuu pauses, dips its head into a patch of grass, and Nai’o doesn’t try to pull the creature along, but allows it time to graze. He pets the creature with a heavy hand, smacking it several times on its backside (maybe he has to so it feels it under all that hair), and talks to his animal companion. He’s definitely saying something more than just “go ahead and have a snack, girl” or “who’s a good ormuu”. He’s having a full blown conversation, conflicted about something.

Aggressive pats aside, he’s always been gentle with the ormuu. Reth has seen it in passing when he’s gone to Daiya Farm for a shipment—the way Nai’o dotes on his beloved animals. It’s an attractive quality, no doubt. Behind all that strength is a tender heart.

A thought dawns on him: what ever happened to that little ormuu figurine?

Nai’o glances up and Reth is caught.

With a hand to his temple, he hides his eyes, scrambling back toward the tailor’s shop. Then, he remembers why he left in the first place, and doubles back for the inn, tripping over the stairs before he’s out of view and in the safety of the tavern. It’s a mess of an exit.

Reth has to stick his head in the kitchen icebox for a minute to get over it.

Chapter Text

Spring arrives early. Reth can tell because the valley’s vegetables taste tender and sweet from the longer days of sunshine and warmth. Gray begone, hello sunny days.

It’s a welcome change. As much as Reth loves soup season, he also likes not freezing when he has to trudge out to the Daiya Family Farm at the crack of dawn to return empty crates. He doesn’t have to do it at dawn. But Reth has discovered that it’s the perfect time. Nai’o is too busy with ormuu duty to notice him coming, and Badruu will accept the crates on the opposite side of the farm. Win, win.

Strangely, that’s not the case this morning.

When Reth arrives at the Daiya Stand, a stack of crates in his arms, there is no cheerful, punny farmer to greet him. He leaves the crates where they usually live anyways and a garden millipede—one of Auni’s favorites—climbs out of a crevice in the planks. It skitters back into the wild.

Come to think of it, Reth didn’t see Auni running around the town square that morning either.

Reth peers around the stand to check the fields: no one. The side of the house: no one. He follows the trail around the house, toward the barn and—ah, there’s Nai’o, raking out a big roll of hay. Maybe the rest of the family just slept in.

That should be it for Reth. He should pack it up, turn around, and get back to blending up that roasted pepper salsa he left halfway finished in the inn’s kitchen. But Nai’o… is distracting.

It’s been over a month since the storeroom incident that-shall-not-be-named. They’ve never spoken about it. Nai’o isn’t necessarily avoiding him anymore, but their interactions are brief. Reth eventually admitted to himself it was Nai’o who carried him back to the inn from the fishing shack. So he’s gotten over that. What he still doesn’t know is… why? Why would Nai’o even bother?

Reth spies on the farm boy from his hiding place at the back corner of the house. He still hasn’t been able to shake those sudden, inappropriate fantasies. Blue eyes, blonde hair, and the flash of a pretty smile just hit him out of nowhere sometimes.

Reth’s eyes narrow.

Maybe he’s under a spell.

Maybe Nai’o has been in cahoots with Tamala.

Maybe they’re slipping something into his soup.

Nah.

Probably not.

Nai’o trips over a feeding trough and Reth flinches. He stumbles and stabilizes himself with his rake. He looks tired, eyes rimmed with dark circles. Not like a missed-a-few-hours-of-sleep tired. A bones tired that Reth recognizes like an old friend. It’s the fatigue that seeps into your core, makes you feel like you’re trudging through swamp water; makes you feel cold and out of touch.

Nai’o rakes the leaves. He’s leaning. Why is he leaning? Oh—oh he’s falling.

The tool slips from the farmboy’s gloved hands and clatters to the dirt. He slumps over, out of Reth’s line of sight, and into a loose pile of hay. The ormuu lift their heads in alert.

“Whoa, whoa, hey!”

Reth runs to the animal pen, vaults over the fence, and shakes him by the shoulder. “Dude. Dude, you okay?” A stupid question, because no, obviously not.

Nai’o is passed out, eyes closed, and body slumped into the straw bed. He’s breathing, at least. His chest heaves with deep, lungfuls of air. He opens his eyes to slits and appears to recognize Reth through a lidded gaze.

Reth waves a hand in front of his face. “Nai’o? Palia to Nai’o?”

The cowboy smiles. Big and dopey and, actually, kind of alarming.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he coos.

Reth short circuits.

“Uh—I, uh—What?”

Nai’o’s head lulls to the side. “You’re… prettier than a Bahari Bay sunset in June.”

His face burns.

“Wow, you are out of it,” Reth laughs, nervously. There’s no time to unpack that bizarre pickup line when he’s got a half-dead majiri on his hands. “Can you get up? Or maybe—maybe you shouldn’t get up. Maybe I should go get Chayne. He’ll know what to do. Or Kenyatta.”

Nai’o’s signature lock of blonde hair sways with the shake of his head.

“Don’ want her. I wan’ you.”

Reth blinks. This is above his pay grade.

Loose straw flies into the air when Nai’o collapses back into the hay pile, eyes closed once more.

“Right. Okay.”

A large, wet snout presses against Reth’s elbow. Two of the ormuu have come to see what the ruckus is about. The other two stand at the gate in the secondary pen and, if Reth wasn’t mistaken, they all seem very concerned that their beloved cowboy is lying in a pile of their food. The one at Reth’s elbow moos.

“You got any suggestions, uh—” Reth catches a glimpse of a name on an ear tag, “—Butterball?”

She rolls her shaggy head, ears twitching to chase away a fly.

Reth rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah, me too.”

He runs to check inside the house: no one home. No one to help him or tell him what to do. When he returns, Butterball and the other ormuu hover beside Nai’o, protectively. He’s still out cold—limbs sprawled out in the straw, mouth parted, and lightly snoring. Out, out.

Reth sighs. “This is not how I expected my morning to go.”

Butterball flicks her tail, and moos.

With no one around to assist, Reth gets creative. He finds a sled in a nearby shed and awkwardly slides Nai’o’s prone form onto it. He’s deceptively heavy. But it turns out to be a good solution. Once Reth has Nai’o’s limp body mostly on the sled, he takes the reins and lugs him back to the house, dragging it ungracefully over the dirt and grass.

The ormuu supervise until he is out of sight.

“Dragon, you weigh a ton,” Reth huffs, lifting Nai’o up onto the Daiya family couch limb by limb. First the shoulders, then an arm, and another arm, then each leg—he has never manhandled Nai’o like this (he’s never manhandled anyone like this)—until he’s laying across the cushions in the least comfortable position Reth has ever seen.

He did his best.

Reth hooks his hands on his hips, panting. He looks around the living room and up the stairs. The empty farmhouse is quiet, with just the pendulum on the wall clock ticking away.

“Where is everyone?” he asks himself.

A note on the coffee table catches his eye:

‘Daily Duties:
Feed the ormuu
Keep pens clean
Keep water in troughs
Clean out troughs between waters
Brush the ormuu
Milk the ormuu
Morning milk deliveries
Let ormuu out for exercise
Feed pekis
Clean out peki coop
Water garden
Weed garden
Plow ready soil
Check on, add to compost
Pick ready vegetables and fruits
Grind wheat, package flour
Cook ripe fruits, package jam
Deliver inn shipments
Pick up spade delivery from Zeki
Repair broken fence parts
Construct more produce crates
Fill silo, as needed
Pay business tax at City Hall

Sorry to leave you with all this, dear. Hopefully Uncle Tuck will feel better soon and we’ll be back with two shakes of a peki’s tail!

Love, Ma, Da, and Auni’

Reth’s eyes widen. “They expect you to do all this?” he gawks, “In one day?” Ashura has put some impossible tasks on him before, but nothing like this. It’s the work of four people (the whole family, obviously).

Nai’o responds by itching his nose and rolling his body into a more comfortable position.

Reth looks at Nai’o.

Then at the list.

Then back at Nai’o.

The list.

Outside, the ormuu bay, hungrily.

“Why does this always happen to me?”

Despite what everyone thinks, Reth is smart. He’s savvy. He’s a city kid at the core and he’s learned a few things about how to do things more efficiently and with more successful outcomes. Hell, he manages the kitchen for a whole village. He holds his own against the Grimalkin cartel (to the best of his ability). He can make things happen. So, Reth formulates a plan as he walks back into town.

First, he stops by the apothecary shop and sends a concerned Chayne to check on Nai’o back at the house. Then, he loops Kenyatta in. It seems like the right thing to do. She doesn’t hesitate to put a ‘Back In Five’ sign on the City Hall front desk and rush out to the farm. Then, he tells Ashura.

Reth has this instinctual hesitancy to tell people bad news. Not because it’s emotionally taxing, but because, more often than not, the bad news is his fault. Or, even more frustrating, he gets to be the shot messenger—a role he assumes time and time again. So he half expects Ashura to be upset when he tells him the situation at the farm.

“I hope the boy will be okay,” Ashura says, taking an apron from a hook in the kitchen. “Of course I’ll take care of the inn today. You give them a hand out there, see what you can do to help. Maybe get your sister and Jel to give you a hand.”

The faith is… shocking, actually.

It’s a rag-tag team: Reth, Tish, Jel, Kenyatta, and Chayne all gathered around a passed out Nai’o in the Daiya living room sans any other member of the Daiya family. Chayne kneels in front of the couch, a thumb over Nai’o’s pulse as he counts the beats by the second hand on Jel’s wrist watch.

Satisfied, the monk stands. “Well, I can safely say Nai’o is going to be alright. He’s a little dehydrated but, as far as I can tell, exhaustion has simply worn him down. Poor boy. He probably couldn’t stay awake if he tried.”

Tish, ever sweet, still looks concerned. “Will he wake up soon?” she asks.

“Oh no, no, I’d be surprised if he even woke up by this evening.” Chayne gingerly lifts one of Nai’o’s eyelids and then releases it. His eye snaps closed and Nai’o breathes at a steady, uninterrupted pace.

“His body will tell him when it’s ready,” the healer says.

Jel frowns. “Goodness. That bad?”

Chayne clasps his hands. “I remember Delaila came by the shop two days ago to buy a tincture, mentioning Badruu’s sick brother. By the state of him, I’d say Nai’o has been taking care of the farm by himself for two whole days.”

With varying degrees of pity, the group turns to look at the blonde on the couch.

He snores, loud and clear.

“This is so like him,” Kenyatta sighs, with an attitude more lovingly exasperated than annoyed. She crosses her arms. “Always gotta suck it up and be the hero. Look at where it’s gotten you, dummy.” They’ve been broken up for some time, but her affection is still evident.

Don’ want her. I wan’ you.

Reth banishes the thought. He’s got other things to deal with first.

“They left him with this insane list of ‘daily duties’,” Reth says, picking up the letter from the coffee table. The party leans in, peering over his shoulder. “If he’s gonna be out for that long—I mean, this stuff still has to get done. There’s a herd of ravenous ormuu out there and I don’t like the way they’re looking at me every time I walk past the pen.”

“They’re herbivores, Reth,” Jel points out.

“I dunno what Butterball is capable of.”

“Do you have a suggestion, Reth?” Chayne asks.

The monk peers at him over his little round spectacles, a twinkle in his eye. Reth feels like he’s being clocked; though he’s not entirely sure why. Chayne is weird and mysterious like that. But then all attention turns to him and Reth has to find something to say.

“Well, I—”

He owes Nai’o. If he really brought Reth back to the inn from the fishing shack that night, he has a debt to repay. Reth hates debt. He really, really hates owing a debt.

Reth also knows how it feels when the stakes are stacked so high against you, that you think you’ll never come up for air again. Like you’re slowly getting crushed bit-by-bit and there’s no way to stop it. Sometimes he wishes there was someone there to help him. He’s sure Nai’o feels the same.

Reth regards the small gaggle of people he’s dragged into this mess. He feels a little guilty making them repay his debt, but he can’t do it all alone.

“I think we should help,” Reth declares, “I dunno how to do half of this stuff, but if we divide and conquer then maybe we can make it easier for him to get the other stuff done when he wakes up. Like Jel, you can water some plants, right? And Tish you can fix the holes in their fence with your eyes closed.”

Tish nods, emphatically. “And I can make those new crates in a jiffy!”

Kenyatta picks up an envelope from the coffee table. “Looks like this is for the business tax. I’ll put together all the paperwork at city hall. I can totally forge Nai’o’s signature.”

“I’m just gonna pretend I didn’t hear that. Plausible deniability,” Reth says.

Kenyatta shrugs with a quiet that’s fair.

“I will go back to my shop and make a draught for the poor boy,” Chayne says, “But I can be back to help once that is done.”

Reth reads down the list. “Okay. Let’s start there. Jel: you’re on garden duty.”

The tailor places a hand to his chest and nods.

“Tish: fence and crate extraordinaire.”

His sister claps her hands, excitedly.

“Kenyatta: you… do your thing and pick up that spade at Zeki’s on the way back.”

She nods, confident.

Reth points to himself. “And I’ll make sure the ormuu don’t turn into majiri-eating monsters in the meantime. We got this. That’s what community’s for, right? Looking out for one another?”

Tish has a weirdly proud smile on her face.

“Well said, Reth,” Chayne nods.

Ormuu are simple, charming creatures. They’re slow and gentle so the tasks surrounding them are easy: hay to eat, water to drink, and poop to shovel. But it just takes such a long time. By the time Reth has raked out four piles of food, cleaned and refilled the water troughs, shoveled out the pens, and thrown the refuse into the compost, it’s almost noon and Reth’s headband is soaked with sweat.

He has a new appreciation for Nai’o. He is a machine of a worker.

Reth checks in on the rest of the group from time to time. Tish is doing just fine doing what she knows best. Though she keeps getting distracted by the ormuu when they investigate her work on the fence.

“They’re just so cute, Reth. Look at their faces!”

Jel successfully waters the garden, but the weeding slows him down. He is determined not to get dirt on his trousers.

“This hat is so provincial,” he says about the wide-brimmed straw hat he found in the Daiya living room, “Perhaps a ribbon would elevate it. Maybe a little netting around the hem. A la fascinator.”

“Like a bee-keepers hat?” Reth asks.

Jel frowns. “Ah. Nevermind. Ribbon it is.”

Kenyatta returns from city hall with the packaged spade and Reth tries to put her on peki duty.

“Ew. Poop? No.”

So he teams her up with Jel instead. They talk about fashion among the corn stalks and the pumpkin vines, and seem mostly content.

Reth moves on to something on the list he knows: cooking.

Though not nearly as skilled as Delaila, he’s made jam before. He finds a well worn, fruit-stained recipe on a shelf in the kitchen and follows the directions as closely as possible. It takes time to find what he needs in the Daiya kitchen and familiarize himself with the layout. But once he figures out where the appropriate pots and knives are, the apple jam comes together nicely. He tests how well it sets on a cold plate from the icebox and, satisfied, boils another pot to sanitize the jam jars.

On his way back from the storage room, Reth checks on Nai’o. Chayne has been gone for some time. Whatever he’s concocting must be complicated. But Nai’o looks all right—sleeping soundly with his big arms folded across his chest. A breeze flows in through the side door and goosebumps prickle the pink skin on his neck.

Reth scans the living room for a blanket, but finds none. He climbs the stairs up to the bedrooms. He’ll be good—he won’t snoop too much.

Nai’o’s room is what Reth had imagined it to be. Folksy, countrified, and a little bit of clutter. Nothing out of the ordinary. Reth observes the pictures on the wall and the jam jars on the desk. A lot of books lie around, stacked on his bedside table and his desk:

Forbidden Love On The Ranch

Among The Fireflies and Starlilies

State Fair Romance

“You’re a real romantic, huh, cowboy?” Reth muses. Intrigued, he cracks open the last novel and reads a few lines.

He flushes from his nose to the tips of his pointed ears.

“Dude. I take that back. You’re just a closet freak.”

Reth snaps the book closed and tosses it on the bed like it’s aflame. Considering the contents, Nai’o likely uses it for… relaxing purposes. He wipes his hands on his pants, just in case. But he gets it. Reth is a young man too.

As he’s pulling a throw blanket off the back of a chair, he notices a small, familiar trinket up on a shelf: the tchotchke ormuu figure he whittled at the fishing shack. Reth picks it up, looks it over—yeah, definitely his work.

Why would Nai’o take it? Let alone keep it?

Although the figurine is technically his, Reth restores it to the shelf. Best to pretend he was never there.

Head swimming with confusing (and slightly aroused) thoughts, he swiftly goes back down to the living room. He’ll give the blonde a blanket and that will be it. He’ll go back to that big list of chores and get the work done and stop entertaining crazy ideas. But when he drapes the blanket over Nai’o’s sleeping form, the farmboy’s voice rings in his head:

Hey, sweetheart.

“What the heck is going on?” Reth asks no one in particular.

He rubs his temples. He paces across the living room a few times. Finally, he takes a seat on the coffee table across from Nai’o with a big, dramatic thump and stares at him. As if staring hard enough would open a psychic link and he could figure out what was going on in Nai’o’s thick skull.

The longer Reth stares, the more attractive Nai’o becomes. Strong jaw, head of thick blonde hair, and cheekbones that could cut granite. He’s storybook-prince handsome; leading man handsome. It makes Reth almost mad. Back in Bahari, Nai’o would have every opportunity at his fingertips with a face like that. But he stays hidden away in the valley, shoveling ormuu refuse and working himself to the bone.

Nai’o shuffles and his stray lock of hair falls out of place. Before he can stop himself, Reth reaches out and fixes it. His fingers graze against sun-spotted, pink skin.

Reth sighs. “Man, I’m already exhausted. How do you do it?”

“Dedication.”

Reth practically jumps to the ceiling—limbs flailing, stumbling over the coffee table like a fool.

It’s just Chayne.

He stands at the threshold of the farmhouse with a bottle in his hands. He smiles, something wise and knowing. He’s always got a secret up his robes. Sometimes spiritual people give Reth the heebie-jeebies.

“Nai’o’s a very dedicated young man. A strong sense of responsibility. You know what that’s like, Reth.”

Reth stutters. He wonders how much Chayne saw. “Uh, y-yeah. I mean. Kind of. But he’s, like, really working. Like manual labor. I’m already beat and I think the ormuu already need another round of hay.” He jabs his thumb toward the animal pen outside.

“True,” Chayne nods. He approaches the spot Reth just vacated and takes a dropper from the bottle, carefully administering a few rounds of remedy to Nai’o’s parted lips. “But it’s just different work. Just as you fare better in the kitchen, he fares better in the fields. We are all suited for our roles.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Reth shrugs. He watches on, curious about the monk’s work. “He really gonna be okay? He was seriously out of it when I found him. Said a bunch of weird stuff.”

“Oh? What did he say?”

“Just, uh, out of character things.”

“You will have to be more specific than that, Reth, so I may discern whether or not his delirium is a critical problem.”

Reth hesitates. But if it’s a matter of Nai’o’s well-being, he’ll fess up. “He, uh, called me ‘sweetheart’.”

“Did he now?” The monk’s eyebrows climb high on his smooth forehead, positively delighted. He returns the dropper to the bottle, capping the potion and setting it aside. “Ah, well, that’s nothing to be worried about.”

“Really? ‘Cause it sure freaked me out.”

“He likely feels comforted by your presence.”

Reth laughs, a little forced and affected. If only he knew about the storeroom incident. “No offense, Chayne, but there’s a lot of things you don’t know about me and Nai’o’s relationship. We don’t exactly get along.”

The monk stands. “That surprises me. You both have so much in common.”

Reth is flabberghast. Him and the perfect, lasso-wielding farmboy? Since when?

Suddenly, the front door of the house slams open. Tish stands just outside, looking like she just lost a fight with an army of pillows. Her charming green dress and leather apron are covered in peki feathers. She twists her hips, her skirt swishes, and some of the feathers float off. She’s panting hard, but smiling like her usual self.

“Okay!” she announces. Her eye twitches. “Pekis fed and coop is clean! What’s next!?”

After removing all the peki feathers from Tish’s hair, Reth makes a quick lunch of spring salad, fresh onion focaccia, and a beautiful, salted herb butter. The meal rejuvenates the dusty group of substitute farmers. They eat with zeal at the Daiya dining room table. Kenyatta complains about a broken nail. Chayne reminisces on his brief time working on a farm during his monkhood training. And Jel regales the saga of his run-in with a tomato worm he swears was the size of a seam ripper and sends them all into stitches.

They reevaluate the daily duties list, cross off completed tasks, and regroup to finish the workload.

Kenyatta taps out. Jel agrees to brush the ormuu if he can take their stray hair for ‘accessory experimentation’. Being the only one with milking experience, Chayne returns to the pen. And, determined to keep her from overexerting herself, Reth sits Tish at the kitchen table with a ten pound sack of wheat grain and the Daiya’s ancient hand crank grain mill.

“Are you babying me?” Tish asks.

“‘Course. You’re my baby sister.” Reth ruffles her bandana. “Also, I think you need a break after that coop escapade.”

“You have to believe me, Reth. That peki was so mean! I was targeted!”

“I believe you! But also this job is also super boring and I don’t want to do it. So. Tough luck.”

It’s nice, though. Getting to chat with his sister from the kitchen while he packages jars of apple jam. They rarely get to work side-by-side and, for once, she looks to him for pointers and guidance and not the other way around. Together, they’re a productive duo. Forty jars of apple jam and two small sacks of flour later, he sends Tish home to finish her work at the furniture store. She takes Jel back to town with her.

When Reth goes outside to check on Chayne, he finds the monk at the work sink at the back of the house, bottling the last of the milk.

“And there we go. Fresh farm milk, ready for delivery,” the monk says, capping the final bottle and placing it into its slot in the crate. “I have to say, this was quite a treat. I haven’t done this in years and spending time with those four gentle giants was delightful. I feel closer to the Dragon for it.”

At least someone enjoyed themselves.

Reth leans a hand against the side of the house. “Well, I’m glad someone enjoyed the work.”

Chayne bows his head. “Thank you for allowing me to be part of this little adventure.”

“Hey, no thanks needed. Thanks for coming to check in on Nai’o. Want me to take all that into town?”

Chayne picks up the two milk crates by the handles himself. He’s stronger than he looks. “I don’t mind taking it into town,” he says, “I should like to see the look on Zeki’s face when I make the delivery myself. It will give me quite a chuckle, I think. I can hear his raspy voice now: Here comes the milk-monk!”

Reth forces a little laugh, though the joke isn’t all that funny. “By all means.” He motions outward, toward the village center.

He walks with the other toward the edge of the road, gravel crunching beneath their feet.

“Check on Nai’o once more before you go?” Chayne implores, “I doubt he’ll wake but, you never know.”

Reth nods, “Sure. I’m gonna leave a note so he knows what we did. So that he knows someone didn’t rob him of that business tax money.”

“An excellent idea.”

The sun is well past its peak. It makes its way west, toward the mountain ridge in a wide arc, shadows growing longer and more extreme with the angle. A cool breeze sweeps through the valley and whistles through the oak branches. The evening draws close. One of the ormuu grunts. Reth mentally crosses the milk delivery off his list. The list of daily duties is complete.

The monk pauses where the farm meets the main path. “You’ve done very well, Reth.”

His brows knit together. “With what?”

Chayne motions toward the farm. “This. Rallying your peers to come and help a friend in need. You have a natural aptitude for managing people. Perhaps, in time, you will become a leader of the community here in the valley. Have you ever considered that?”

The entire subject has shocked Reth to his core. In what world?

“Literally has never crossed my mind,” he says.

Chayne chuckles. “Well, perhaps it should.”

“Huh. Sure. I’ll give it some thought.” He won’t. “See you around, Chayne. Thanks for the hand.”

The monk bows and heads for the direction of town. Reth watches him for a little while, until he’s almost up over the ridge and until he’s definitely out of earshot. He scoffs to himself.

“Community leader,” Reth mumbles, “Some of the old folks in this town are crazy.”

And then there were two.

The outskirts of town are quiet, almost eerily so. Less humans running around and less travelers passing through. Reth wonders how the inn has fared without him; though he’s sure Ashura handled it all just fine.

He writes the note he mentioned, detailing the events of the day.

The sky glows pink and, still, Nai’o sleeps.

Reth can’t sit around waiting for the guy to get up—Chayne said he might sleep until the next morning—so he decides on one last task before the evening is done. With the Daiya kitchen now familiar to him, it’s easy for him to whip up another meal.

Reth finds solace in cooking. Like anyone who strayed from their path (the unlucky few), he wishes he had found the right one sooner. Because it brings him joy and peace. It stretches his creative muscles and lets him use his hands in a way that doesn’t give him splinters. He turns the dial on the radio in the corner and chops vegetables to a buoyant melody; forms and pan sears some easy chapaa patties while his mind rests.

It’d be nice to have a big, ranch house like this, he idly thinks to himself. With a big kitchen. Maybe a skylight. Yeah, that’d be nice.

Reth plates the dish with leftover focaccia bread, carefully cleans the gravy on the edge of a plate with a cloth, and turns toward the dining room.

Nai’o is there, staring at him. Across the room, across the table—wide awake and a little dazed. He looks better.

“Oh, geez, scared the daylights outta me. But, hey. Good timing,” Reth says, “Got some dinner for ya.”

This is the first time they’ve been alone, face-to-face, and forced to speak to one another in weeks. It feels strange and stilted. Reth places the plate of food on the far end of the table, closest to Nai’o. The farm boy looks at the plate and then at Reth like he’s seeing a ghost.

Reth steps backward, lingering next to the dining room pantry. “How you feeling?” he tries.

It takes Nai’o a long time to speak.

The radio hums in the kitchen. The clock in the living room chimes.

“Am I… am I dead?” Nai’o asks.

Reth cocks his head. “...what?”

“Am I dead?”

Reth’s eyes dart around the room. “Well, you’re up and about so… I don’t think so? Unless we’re both dead and this is all some weird purgatory. Though I don’t think that’s likely.”

Nai’o points at him. “But you’re—”

“Reth?”

He points at himself. “And I’m—”

“Nai’o?”

“And we’re—”

“Okay, would you snap out of it? You’re starting to freak me out. Just eat your dinner, cowboy.”

That seems to shake Nai’o out of his funk. He hovers at the chair, like he’s not sure what he’s seeing is really a chair, but ultimately sits down. He looks at the food in front of him. The slow, halting movements are driving Reth insane. He needs to know if Nai’o likes his food. Like, yesterday.

“I didn’t poison it or anything, swear,” he jokes.

“That’s not—” Nai’o shakes his head. He rubs the heel of his palm against his temple. “Sorry, why are you here?”

So, Nai’o doesn’t remember ‘Hey, sweetheart’. It’s for the best. He’d probably spiral if he knew.

“Ah, right,” Reth nods. He snaps a hand towel over his shoulder. “You passed out this morning. Just keeled over right in front of me. I went and got Chayne. He said you’re going to be okay but you should take it easy. He left you this medicine—”

Reth retrieves said medicine from where it sits on the kitchen counter. He reads the label.

“—Says you should take two dropperfuls morning and night. Alongside, you know, a decent night’s rest. Which, ya know, who’s got time for that, huh?” Reth smiles, trying his best to please.

Nai’o is just about to take a bite of chapaa patty when his eyes go wide and he jumps from his seat.

“Oh! Butterball, poor gal, she’s probably starving—”

“It’s taken care of,” Reth assures him, “They’re all good. Fed several times—they can seriously eat—new water for the evening, brushed, and milked. All done. The whole chore list your parents left you is done.”

Nai’o blinks.

“The crops?”

“Weeded and watered.”

“The business tax?”

“Delivered. Though you should probably talk to Kenyatta about that.”

“The pekis?”

“Tish took care of them. Though she did say she almost lost her life to a yellow and brown speckled with feathered feet.”

“Popcorn Mama,” Nai’o nods in recognition, “She doesn’t like anyone besides Ma.”

“Ah, gotcha.”

Nai’o sits back down at the table. He finally takes a bite of the food, though is slow to bring the fork to his lips. He chews and then sighs, deep and satisfied—he likes it. It’s weird just standing there watching a guy who probably hates him eat. But Reth doesn’t know how to gracefully remove himself from the situation.

Nai’o wipes his mouth with a napkin. “You and Tish took care of the farm while I was out?” he asks.

Reth restores the medicine bottle from whence it came. “Me, Tish, Chayne, Jel, and… Kenyatta, surprisingly. She gardened, if you’d believe it.”

“Huh.” The farm boy’s brows furrow. “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why would you do that?”

Reth hooks his hands on his hips and kicks at a crumb on the floor.

“I owed you,” he says, “I know it was you that brought me back from the old fishing shack.” There’s recognition in Nai’o’s gaze. He doesn’t deny it. “You didn’t have to do that. So. Thanks.”

His fork clinks against the plate as Nai’o goes for another bite. “I wasn’t going to let you freeze to death.”

Reth shrugs. “Probably would have been fine. Got thick skin.”

“I wasn’t going to take that chance.”

That sounds… strangely protective? Reth doesn’t really know what to make of that, so he defaults to his usual response: suspicious and guarded.

“What were you doing out there, anyway?”

Nai’o can barely talk around a big mouthful of patty. “Oh, um. Walking.”

“Really? Walking?” Reth crosses his arms. “In the middle of the night? You gotta learn to come up with better alibis than that.”

“It’s the truth. I just needed to—” he swallows and clears his throat. Reth’s barkeep instincts kick in and he quickly pours a glass of water and gives it to Nai’o. “Thanks. Just needed to get out of the house.”

He’s defensive about something. But he folds surprisingly fast under Reth’s curious stare. He wipes his mouth with a napkin. “I had a fight with my mom, alright? It got a little heated and I just had to cool off before going to bed. Nothing crazy. I’m sure you fight with your parents all the time.”

Nai’o realizes what he’s done the moment the words leave his mouth. He looks up at Reth, blue eyes wide and remorseful. “Sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

“It’s cool, dude. I’m not that sensitive about my tragic, dead parents. You get used to it.” Making a joke about it makes Reth feel better.

The cowboy goes somewhere deep in his mind.

“I wouldn’t.”

Reth knows that look. It’s the look he sees on the face of everyone who sits down at the tavern bar, itching to talk to someone. At someone, usually. Reth sighs. He pulls the towel from his shoulder, drops it in a pile on the table, and slumps into the chair at the opposite end of the dining room. Nai’o’s blinks, surprised.

“You’re closer to your parents,” Reth offers, “You grew older with them. Work with them day in and day out. You got a strong relationship with them.”

Nai’o taps his fork against the edge of his plate.

He wants to talk.

“I mean—” The blonde hesitates. He shrugs. “You saw how much work it is to take care of this place. I thought I could do it on my own. One day I’ll have to. Unless Auni stays which… I dunno, seems like he’s getting further and further from us every cycle. I’m scared I won’t have him neither…why am I talking to you about this?” He shakes his head.

“‘Cus it’s on your mind. And you think I’m gonna be the one to convince Auni to fly the coop, right?”

Nai’o’s silence is an answer in itself.

“Look, I’m not trying to push Auni to do anything, Nai’o,” Reth assures, “I’m just listening to what he’s got to say. What he’s thinking. You’re the one who has all the influence on him. You’re his big brother. That counts for, like, a lot, man. When your parents are gone, all you’ll have is each other.” Although core to Reth’s own psyche, this seems like a bombshell to Nai’o.

Reth points to his own chest. “I was the one who convinced Tish to move out here,” he says, “Leave her career and friends in Bahari City? She changed her whole life ‘cus I asked her to. ‘Cus I convinced her it was the right move for us.”

He’s confiding some seriously personal information to Nai’o.

The farmboy looks at him from across the length of the table. “Was that… do you regret it?”

Reth shrugs. “Sometimes. But we’re happy here. No use regretting. I’d spend my whole life wallowing in my poor choices if I did. You just—you have to keep going.”

One day at a time. Even if that day is spent shoveling ormuu poop instead of finishing an amazing roasted pepper salsa. All those peppers are probably just sitting on the tavern kitchen counter going to waste. Damn.

“I don’t envy you. That’s for sure,” Reth says, “Running a farm is no joke. I’ve learned that first hand.”

Nai’o nods, a rueful smile on his lips. To Reth’s recollection, that’s the first time Nai’o has smiled at him since the storeroom fiasco. Thank the Dragon, the weird thing between them is healing.

“Thank you,” Nai’o says, sincerely, “For what you did today. I… I thought I could do it on my own. I guess I pushed too hard.”

“Your parents put you in a real tough spot. I think anyone would’ve had a hard time.”

“They’re supposed to be back tomorrow. So things here will go back to normal.”

“Oh, speaking of your parents,” Reth says and stands, pointing to a stack of crates in the kitchen, “I also got the apple jam done. It’s probably nowhere as good as what your mom makes, but I gave it a shot. Didn’t have time for the blueberry.”

A conflicted expression passes across Nai’o’s face. He looks around him at the crates of jam, the sacks of flour, and then down at his half-eaten dinner, guilty.

“You did a lot, Reth,” he says, “This is way more than—Look, I’ll find a way to pay you and the others back for all the work. We’ve got a fair coming up in a couple of months and I can give you some of Butterball’s winnings. She’s the best. She always wins—”

Reth tosses the used hand towel in a bucket near the sink. “It’s all good, man. Really.”

“Please. You just ran my family farm for a whole day.”

Without thinking, Reth says, “We both know I owed you for more than just the lift.”

A heavy silence settles over the dining room. He has broached an unspeakable subject. Reth looks everywhere but Nai’o’s face: the floor, the ceiling, the collection of salt and pepper shakers mounted on the kitchen wall. He wipes his hands on his apron.

“It’s also for—you know, the storeroom,” Reth says. He clears his throat into his fist. “For that flow tech being in your family’s stuff. That was totally my fault. I gotta own up to that.”

Nai’o is staring.

“I acted pretty crappy,” Reth adds, “You didn’t deserve that.”

Please don’t say anything please don’t say anything please don’t say anything.

The radio plays something slow and romantic.

Nai’o sets his fork down on the table. “Look, um—”

Reth waves his hands and laughs, nervous and just a little bit manic. “Let’s not talk about it. Unless you’re gonna hoist me up onto this table and make out with me for funsies right now, we can just let it go.”

“... what?”

“What? Hm?”

Why couldn’t he just be normal?

It had been going so well.

Reth clamors for the doorway, skirting around the edge of the room and as far from Nai’o as physically possible.

“Haha, gotcha. The look on your face. Priceless. I’m just kidding,” he lies. Reth jerks his thumb over his shoulder. “You know, I’m just gonna go. Just gonna—Yeah. Okay. See you round at the inn?”

His shoulder knocks hard against the archway wall during his graceless escape, forcing him to spin and play it off. Reth throws some finger guns at Nai’o. “Muujin steak with garlic potatoes? Your favorite? I don’t know your favorites. I don’t keep track of stuff like that.”

Nai’o just stares.

“Kay. Bye.”

Reth sprints back to town, tail between his legs, and his shame trailing close behind.

Chapter Text

“You have a crush on Nai’o?” Tish gasps, petite hands framing her cheeks in delight.

“Tish!” Reth hisses. He looks over both shoulders. Thankfully, the inn is empty between the morning and afternoon rush. It’s just him, his sister, and the afternoon breeze. “Geez, you don’t have to tell the whole valley!”

“Sorry!”

Reth shifts a candle votive from one table to another. He wipes down the round, wooden table with a damp rag. “I wouldn’t call it that. It’s not like a crush-crush. I just occasionally… have super detailed and sometimes inappropriate daydreams about him.” He winces at his own choice of words.

His fantasies have gotten worse, actually. He has daydreams about… dating Nai’o. Like holding hands and sharing drinks. Having dinner together and talking about the farm and new recipes Reth has been tinkering with (and dream Nai’o would go ‘wow, Reth, that’s so cool, you’re so innovative and talented’). He wonders what it would feel like to be the sole recipient of that big, bright Nai’o smile.

Gross stuff. Worse than dirty thoughts.

Kenyatta, his unexpected new bestie who comes around drink and yap every Wednesday and Saturday evening, would probably never speak to him again if she knew. Or would she care? Of course she would care—that’s her ex. And friends and exes are a no go in the Friendship 101 Guidebook.

Tish idles nearby. She clasps her hands behind her back and tilts her head. “Yeah, Reth, that sounds like a crush.”

“Does it?”

“Yeah.”

Reth drops the rag into the soapy bucket in his other hand and moves to the next table. “Damn.”

“What why?” his sister asks, replacing the votive and following him, “He’s a nice guy!”

He puts some elbow grease into a stain on the next table. “The dude literally hates me.”

“I’m sure that’s not true.” Tish has been, and will always be, Reth’s biggest supporter.

“Kenyatta told me so.”

“Well—maybe that’s changed,” she offers, “Maybe after the thing with the Daiya farm last week, he’s seeing you in a new light! Maybe the two of you are on the way to becoming friends! Something more! Gosh, that would be exciting.”

“What would be exciting?” asks a familiar, lilting voice.

Reth spins in a rush, sloshing the dirty bucket water onto the floor in a long arc. “Shit.” More for him to clean up.

It’s Delaila. The maternal homesteader stands at the threshold of the inn, two jars in her hands and a woven basket sitting in the crook of her arm. She regards the dirty water on the floor, then Reth with an unimpressed crook in the arch of her brow.

“Language, young man,” she chides.

Reth drops to his knees to clean up the mess. “Oops, yeah. Sorry, Mrs. Daiya.”

Delaila has always been lukewarm to Reth. She is a good woman and a stand up member of the community, by most accounts. But, as one of the town traditionalists, she stands in opposition of everything Reth is and will ever be. When Reth initially arrived in the valley and attempted to make polite conversation with her, he sensed her distaste for him on the edge of her words and in the sideways glances she gave her husband. Like mother, like son.

“Good afternoon, Delaila!” Tish chirps. Because, of course they’re on a first name basis. “How’s the farm today? How’s… Popcorn Mama?” She says the animal’s name with a pretend distaste. As if she—the four pound peki—is Tish’s sworn enemy.

The farmer’s disposition softens when she looks up at Reth’s sister. She chuckles at Tish’s joke, gentle and jovial. “Oh goodness, she’s right well. Have you recovered? She can be a nasty piece of work that one.”

Reth finishes wiping the floor and goes behind the bar to dump out the bucket. Delaila isn’t there to socialize with him. But he listens in as he washes dishes.

“I am determined to be friends with her,” Tish says, decisively, “Whether she wants it or not.”

“You’re in for the long haul then. Well, I’m not one to stop ya from coming by every so often to clean out the coop. Won’t look a gift riffroc in the mouth!” Delaila smiles, “You did a grand job with the farm. All of you. I already paid a visit to Jel and Chayne. Told them the same. Just marvelous.”

Tish raises to her tiptoes. “It was all Reth’s idea.”

The mixed look from Delaila makes Reth kind of wish Tish just kept him out of it. He offers a small, awkward wave.

The farmer nods. “Yes. So Nai’o told me.”

The mention of her son’s name makes Reth fumble with a glass between slippery hands. It tumbles into the sink with a clatter, but Reth recovers it. “All good. All good,” he announces to the inn. Nai’o vouched for him? That’s a first.

Delaila returns her attention to Tish. “I actually came to give the two of you a gift,” she says. She hands Tish one of the jars. “Just a small token of gratitude for what you all did for Nai’o while we were away. We are forever grateful.”

“That’s so nice! Wow, this looks beautiful. What a pretty, golden color!” Tish exclaims.

“It is. Feels a wee bit strange. Giving you something that you made.”

A shiny jar of apple jam (it settled really well, Reth is proud of himself for that) appears in front of him in an outstretched hand. He blinks and Delaila offers it further, giving a single, insistent nod. He wipes his hands on his apron and receives the gift.

“Thanks,” he says, “I mean, it is your blue ribbon-winning recipe.”

Reth had assumed the single jar Tish was holding was for the both of them. To have his own is a surprise.

Delaila shrugs. “I suppose. But it’s no easy task to make it,” she says, and moves back toward the entryway. “Enjoy the jam. And this fine afternoon. Such a blue sky today, isn’t it?”

Tish nods, emphatically. “Very. We’re lucky to be out here in the countryside to enjoy it.”

“That we are.”

Reth thinks that will be it. Awkward interaction over. But Delaila lingers, looking out at the so-called beautiful day, folding her hands one over the other and pressing her thumb to a palm.

“I was… very impressed by the jam, Reth,” she suddenly says. Slow, like it pains her to do so. Her eyes meet his across the inn. “Not even Nai’o—well, he does fine but… I do think… you are skilled. If you ever ran the fair circuit with your own, I’d say you’d give meself and Maize Martingale a run for our money.”

Huh.

An amazed, genuine smile spreads across Reth’s face. “Thanks.”

Thank yous for his culinary creations are common, but compliments are surprisingly rare. Coming from Delaila, it is particularly potent. His chest swells. He feels giddy.

With that, Delaila departs. Tish peeks her head out of the front arch to watch her go and waits until the farmer is well out into the town square to suddenly dart up to the bar. She presses her hands into the countertop and leans forward.

“Future mother-in-law?” she teases.

Reth rolls his eyes and playfully splashes his sister with faucet water. “Get outta here.”

With his stash running low, Reth is on the hunt for kopaa nuts.

The Elderwood is beautiful in its own way, Reth thinks. Caves glittering with pallium, rivers teeming with other-worldly creatures, groves sprinkled with bizarre fungi of all shapes and sizes; treading through the low-lying mist into the great chasms and canyons of ancient trees and violet growth. It brims with mystique and wonder—untold secrets of old magic and great history. It’s all kind of romantic, in a way.

Surprisingly elusive things, kopaa nuts. He’s already trekked through the Honeymiel Slope, climbed the cliffs of Jeunesse Pass, and has now doubled back north toward Mitana Grove with a loose plan to abandon his search if it proves fruitless. He treads the main path, hands shoved in his pockets, and observes the pebbles along the trail—some dull and ordinary, others opalescent and strangely patterned. He rants to no one in particular:

“Ridiculous,” Reth mutters to himself. “I’m being so ridiculous. I need to just face him, head on. Say: ‘Hey, you. Let’s just stop acting weird around each other. Let’s be chill.’ Yeah. I mean. I’m an adult. He’s an adult. We can be adults about this.”

As if Reth wasn’t the weird one, spouting things like ‘let’s make out on your family’s dining room table’.

A shimmering batterfly flutters into his path. It dances close and Reth addresses the insect as if speaking to a friend:

“Right? There’s, like, business that needs to happen between the inn and the farm.”

The batterfly zigzags in front of him.

“We can have a business relationship. Purely professional.”

The blue and gold insect swings around a rocky corner and Reth follows.

“That’s what I’m gonna do when I get back to the village. Just march right up to him and—”

The batterfly flies up to an ancient tree and lands on its trunk, stretching and relaxing its pretty wings… right above Nai’o’s head.

Reth freezes in the middle of the pathway, arms outstretched like he’s just encountered a feral animal in the deep woods.

But Nai’o doesn’t notice him. He’s engrossed in a book, sitting with his back leaned against the tree, a gingham blanket beneath him and a leather pack resting at his side. Even after a long moment of Reth standing there frozen like a fool, Nai’o just keeps on reading. Lost in the pages and words, blue eyes dancing across the page. He looks… peaceful. There is a content curve of his lips and an air of ease in his presence that Reth has never seen in him before. In fact, aside from eating, he’s pretty sure he’s never seen Nai’o just relaxing.

So he’s obviously not at liberty for that face-to-face talk Reth was so adamant about not a moment before. He turns on a heel and heads back up the slope.

His foot lands on a stray twig and snaps it in half. Reth winces.

“Oh. Oh, hey,” Nai’o says, “Hey, Reth.”

Caught.

He turns again, making a valiant effort to produce a pleasant, mildly surprised smile. Nai’o is looking at him with such, such… expectation? Not even a hint of irritation in his handsome face. The batterfly flutters away, up and over a cliff.

“Heyyyy,” Reth waves. “Didn’t see you there. Don’t mind me. Just passin’ through.”

Nai’o swiftly gets to his feet, dusting off his backside. “How—How’ve you been?” he asks.

The farmboy’s pleasantry is met with utter bewilderment.

“I’m sorry?”

Nai’o moves like he’s unsure what to do with every limb. “How have you been? Everything good at the inn?”

Reth stares.

Nai’o stares back.

“Yeah,” the cook nods, slowly, “Everything’s been… fine.”

Nai’o smiles. All civil and… charming. Maybe Auni was right. Maybe there was some monster in the woods and it stole Nai’o’s face.

“That’s great. Good to hear,” he says, “Haven’t seen you around much. At the farm. At the inn, too. Just been missing you, I reckon. Missing you around. Not like missing—like oh I miss you—but you know what I’m saying.”

Why is Reth’s heart pounding like that?

Nai’o just keeps going: “Ma said she really liked your jam. Though, she thinks you added something. I told her you probably wouldn’t have done that. Between you and me, I think she may be a little jealous of your jam-making skills.”

“I swear, I kept to the recipe.”

“That’s what I figured.” Nai’o clears his throat. “How’s Tish?”

What is happening?

“She’s… she’s good.” Reth answers, stupidly.

“That’s great. She’s—she’s great. Seems like the two of you are close.”

“We are…” Reth sets his hands on his hips. “Okay, this is weird. Does this not feel super weird to you?”

Nai’o shifts his weight to the other leg, a guilty or even embarrassed laugh escapes him. “Look, I—We don’t—I was thinking maybe, if you’re willing—” He rubs the back of his head, shyly. Cutely. “I was thinking we could try a clean slate.”

“A clean slate?” Reth parrots.

Nai’o takes a tasseled leather strip from his back pocket and places it between the pages of his book. “Yeah. I mean, I was thinking to myself: we have to work with each other, right? The inn and the farm? It’ll make our lives easier if we—you know—talk to one another.”

He wonders if Nai’o secretly has mind reading powers. Or if the thing that stole his face does. The creature has his mannerisms down at least. The other young man (or the creature) sways and wrings his hands in that signature Nai’o way.

“And, honestly, I really appreciate what you did the other week. I don’t know how that day would’ve gone without your help. Made me rethink some things.”

“Right.”

Nai’o glances at the ground, ashamed. “I get it if you hate me for some of the things I’ve said or—or some of things I’ve done—”

“I don’t hate you,” Reth blurts.

Nai’o has the nerve to look surprised. “You don’t?”

I have a big, fat crush on you, you dope.

“No,” Reth insists.

“Not even for… the thing in the storeroom?”

Reth’s fight or flight instinct flares up. He laughs, nervously. Almost manically. “I mean, that was—Pshhh. Water under the bridge, practically.”

Nai’o smooths his hand through his hair. “I feel so bad about it, Reth. You didn’t consent to that.”

Now that sort of sentiment is just too serious for Reth. Nai’o—taking ownership of his actions and confronting a questionable moment in genuine concern for Reth’s wellbeing—is doing the healthy, adult thing. And Reth? He’s not well versed in mature, reasonable reactions.

“It’s totally fine. Seriously,” Reth assures, “Not the first action that storeroom has seen.”

What the fuck.

“Oh.” Realization hits Nai’o in two stages. “Oh.”

“Yeah. If those walls had ears—the stories they’d tell. Ammirite?” Reth crosses his arms and makes an idiotic, self satisfied face. He immediately regrets it because Nai’o looks flustered—in a bad way. Reth has undercut his intentions; slapped the olive branch right out of Nai’o’s hand. For what? To save face?

Reth swallows the hard lump in his throat.

“I’m kidding, by the way,” Reth confesses. He wonders if he looks as small as he feels. “The only action that room has seen is me slipping on potato peels and bringing an entire cabinet worth of crockery down with me.”

“Oh geez.”

“Utter fiasco. Zero out of ten, would not recommend.”

Nai’o laughs at his joke, bright and airy. And maybe even mildly relieved? Reth’s heart flutters.

Whatever this is, it isn’t friendship. Reth isn’t that delusional. But it is something better than they’ve had for several years now. Certainly better than what they’ve had in the past few months.

Reth snorts out of his nose; a wry, amused turn on his lips.“Alright. I’ll bite,” he says. As if he didn’t literally have the same idea. “Clean slate.”

Nai’o nods. “It’s a deal.” He approaches and confidently outstretches a hand.

Not used to such formalities (and mildly afraid to touch the man he has a budding crush on), Reth accepts Nai’o’s hand with a loose shake. The farmboy grips back with a force that crushes Reth’s fingers. Not wanting to appear weak, Reth plays off his grimace with a smile. It’s comically simple, really. Three months later— a few words and a handshake is all it took.

Why the storeroom moment happened at all is still a mystery yet to be solved, but Reth is eager to move on. He said so himself: chill.

The moment after is… awkward. Their hands drop to their sides, ‘what now?’ sizzling between them. A chorus of rockhoppers creaks in the grove below, filling the silence.

“So.”

“Mm.”

Reth points to the book. “Reading?”

“Oh, yeah. I have the afternoon off. Which is…a real treat, honestly. I think Ma feels bad about the whole overworking and passing out into a hay bale thing.”

“That’s nice.” Reth points to himself, “Nuts.”

Nai’o tilts his head. “Sorry?”

It’s like Reth has never spoken to a person, ever, in his entire life.

“Kopaa nuts!” he exclaims. “I’ve been looking for kopaa nuts.” Reth hooks his hands on his hips. “Haven’t found a single one yet though. I’m about to give up.”

Nai’o’s face brightens. “Oh! I saw some!” He goes to his belongings at the base of the ancient tree and packs away his blanket and book. Hoisting his pack over his shoulder, he returns to Reth’s side. “I’ll show you. This way.”

His warmth is refreshing, but mildly alarming. Reth would have been content with Nai’o pointing a finger in the right direction. But the ink on the signatures to their truce haven’t even dried yet, so he won’t turn down the help.

Reth trails closely behind Nai’o, watching the orange-banded hat shift back and forth with his lumbering gait. He’s got incredible posture for someone who does so much manual labor. Not like Reth, who has a posture like a cooked noodle. Sometimes he catches himself hunching, straightens out, and hears his spine crack in several places. It’s a talent.

“What are you going to make with them?” Nai’o asks over his shoulder.

Again, the small talk feels weird.

“Desserts, mostly,” Reth says, “Cookies. Cakes. Nut breads. Maybe some experimentation.”

“Something new for the menu?”

“Maybe.” This is Reth’s chance to live out a recurring daydream. “I was thinking—tell me how this sounds—a kopaa nut crusted sea bass. Over a bed of mango and green papaya salad. With a coconut-lime cream drizzle.”

Nai’o raises his eyebrows. “Sounds pretty exotic.” Not the over-the-top, stellar response Reth was hoping for, but it's good enough.

“Yeah. I got a contact for the mangos, but papayas are harder to come buy.”

“My family knows someone who specializes in tropicals,” Nai’o offers, “I can ask if they’ve got any to send out to the valley, if you’d like.”

They’ve hiked down a slope and up another, stopping in a small outcropping of brush and three ancient trees.

“That’d be pretty cool of you.”

Nai’o smiles. “Sourcing some fruit is the least I can do. It’ll take some time. Until then: kopaa nuts.” He points up at the tree next to him and to a very sizable, prized kopaa nut underneath its leaves. Finally.

Nai’o scratches his head. “You don’t have a bow and arrows though.”

“Nah. I’ve got my trusty, state-of-the-art kopaa collecting method,” Reth says. He reaches into the grass below, picks up a rock, and expertly throws it at the nut high above their heads. It cracks off its stem and falls to the ground with a thump!

He retrieves the fruit, triumphant. “See, don’t even need Hassian.”

Nai’o seems at least a little amused, so it’s a win. He points to a tree in the grove below. “I saw another one down there.”

Reth spots it from their higher perch, off in the distance. He picks up another stone from the forest floor. “I think I can nail it from here.”

“No way.”

He tosses the cool stone in the air a couple of times, letting it land in his palm. “Wanna bet?”

Nai’o crosses his big arms. “Sure.”

Is this flirting? It could be. It could also be boys being boys.

“If I miss…” Reth thinks for a moment, “You get garlic cheese rolls next time you come to the inn. On the house.” Nai’o’s eyes light up. He loves those rolls, but he only ever orders them for special occasions.

“Sure,” he says, “And if you actually manage to hit it…”

You’ll kiss me.

“... I’ll fix that sink that’s been giving you trouble.”

The stone rests in Reth’s palm. “How did you know about that?” he asks. For weeks, the tavern’s kitchen sink has been backing up or the spigot won’t work—or sometimes it just sprays Reth right in the face. It’s an ongoing issue.

“You’ve mentioned it a lot,” Nai’o says, “To others. But I overheard.”

“Eavesdropping.”

“No, Reth, you’re just loud.”

Reth feigns offense. “How dare you. I am as quiet and demure as they come.”

That joke earns him a hearty laugh.

This could totally be flirting.

Feeling particularly playful, Reth squares up to throw, pretending to take stock of the wind and measuring his aim with a thumb. He winds back his arm and gives the little stone a good chuck. It goes sailing across the grove, toward the tree in question, and… goes straight through the top canopy, missing the kopaa nut by about a foot.

“OWW!!”

Sifuu stalks into view, holding a hand to her head, with a determined expression as she searches the ground.

“Oh shit.”

On instinct, Reth grabs a handful of Nai’o’s bandana and yanks him down. They seem to have a similar idea, however; because Nai’o offers little resistance as they hit the Elderwood forest floor in a flurry of panicked limbs and fierce whispering. Reth shuffles his body behind a bush and Nai’o rolls behind another on his stomach.

“Who was that?! Who’s there?!” Sifuu calls.

No matter the day, Reth can count on the universe to throw him a curveball. This one isn’t so bad. In fact, this one is pretty funny. Back to the grass and eyes to the sky, Reth tries his best to keep it together. He covers his face with both hands, trying to force the laughter back in. But it gets him anyway—-in hiccups, tiny snorts, and little gasps.

“Damn muujin,” Sifuu curses, and sends Reth into another fit.

Reth wipes the tears from his eyes, turns to look at Nai’o (who he expects will be very cross with him), and finds the farm boy staring at him. Staring like one might look out at a field of summer flowers, or a crystal, shimmering lake. In awe. Like what he sees is… beautiful. A tear escapes the corner of Reth’s eye and falls into the hollow shell of his pointed ear.

And before Reth can point out the bizarre stare, Nai’o turns his face. “You probably should apologize.”

“And risk my stellar track record of not being a public menace? No thank you,” Reth says between a cough or two, as he rolls onto his stomach, “It was a total accident. Even you have to admit it’s a little funny.”

“Maybe, but you should still apologize.”

“I can’t! Sifuu is already mad at me today.”

“What for?”

A colossal shadow looms over them. The two young men freeze.

“For putting salt into my coffee instead of sugar,” says the figure behind them. Sifuu grabs them by the scruff like puppies (Reth yelps, just a little) and hauls them back onto their feet with incredible ease. Reth even feels his legs dangle before his feet safely touch the ground.

“Which was a total accident!” Reth insists, “It was a busy morning! Sometimes the shakers look alike.”

The tall blacksmith crosses her arms. Her bulk is what makes her intimidating, but her entertained smirk undercuts the threat.

“Uh-huh, sure,” she nods, “You making a habit of throwing rocks around open spaces too?”

“That—That was me,” Nai’o interjects.

All eyes snap toward him.

The farmboy rubs the back of his head. “Sorry about that. I was just trying to knock that kopaa nut down. I should’ve just gotten closer and I would’ve seen you standing there. I’m sorry, that must’ve hurt.”

Reth gapes. It’s not every day someone takes the blame for him.

“Hurt? You kidding?” Sifuu guffaws, she slaps Nai’o on the shoulder with a giant paw. “Felt more like a tickle. I’m surprised, kid! Thought you’d have a stronger pitch than that.”

Reth can’t even be openly insulted. Nor can he be indignant with how easily Sifuu has taken Nai’o’s apology and moved on. The fallout to Reth’s mishaps never ends so gracefully, all tied up with a bow and an ‘alls fine’. Granted, he hasn’t mastered the art of the genuine apology like Nai’o. It’s those damn, big, blue eyes. No one can stay mad at him, looking like he does.

“Been a long day, I guess. Bit tired.”

“You’re a hardworking kid. That’s for sure,” Sifuu nods. The blacksmith’s eyes turn toward the tree below, fruit still hanging from its boughs. She squints at it, then reaches down for a stone. “That one, huh? Betcha ten coin I can knock it down in one throw.”

Nai’o and Reth knowingly glance sideways at each other.

“You’re on.”

Sifuu throws her stone and it bounces off the tree trunk.

“So, is that ten coin for me and Nai’o to split or ten coin apiece?” Reth teases.

The blacksmith grumbles. She picks up another stone. Her second attempt steers clear of the tree entirely, landing in the grass beyond. “One more go, I’ll get it this time,” she swears.

She throws a third stone.

“Ow.”

Hassian appears from behind the tree, brows stitched together and rubbing the side of his head with the heel of his palm. Tau trots by his side, eyes looking up into the canopy.

In unison, the guilty trio all drop to the forest floor, huddled behind the violet underbrush.

In the end—and after a long, long lecture in hunting and foraging safety practices to his own mother—it’s Hassian who retrieves the kopaa nut with an expert shot. With that, Reth’s task is finally done and he can return to the village. But never, in all of his years in the valley, did he expect for Nai’o to offer his company on the walk back.

It’s still weird, Reth thinks, a kopaa nut under each arm as they walk side-by-side on the main stretch of Bahari Bay path. He doesn’t know how to be around Nai’o normally. After years of avoiding one another, spending an entire afternoon with him feels like they’ve entered an alternate universe.

“Can I ask you something?” Nai’o suddenly speaks.

“Shoot.”

“Was there ever anything between you and Kenyatta?”

Ah.

Reth shakes his head and answers, honestly, “Sorry to burst your rumor bubble, but there’s never been anything between me and Kenyatta. Even now.”

“So, when she comes to the bar to hang out you guys are just… friends?”

“Yeah. We talk about music and magazines. About ways to annoy her mom. Stuff like that.”

“Oh. Okay.”

A pause stretches between them.

“You and Jel?” Nai’o asks, throwing Reth for a loop.

“What? No. No, no no. We’re just friends,” Reth says. Then, thinks more on it, “Well, it’s more like Tish is friends with him and I’m the designated third wheel. Though, between you and me, I think there might be something with Jel and Tish. Like some silly, you know, ships-in-the-night scenario where Jel thinks Tish is only into girls and Tish thinks Jel is only into guys so they keep just, you know—” Reth uses the two kopaa nuts to represent the two aforementioned ships in the night, passing each other with a low whistle.

“That’s—Why don’t they just talk to one another?” Nai’o asks.

Reth shrugs, hiking the kopaa nuts back under his arms. “Sometimes it’s easier to keep going with how things are, you know. Just keep to the status quo.”

“Even if they both like each other?”

“When you don’t know what’s waiting on the other side, it’s scary to be the one who takes the leap.”

“Yeah,” Nai’o says, distantly, “Guess so.”

They pass under the shadow of the ancient aqueduct, through the stone passageway, and emerge on the other side of Bahari Bay, overlooking the old lighthouse and its lagoon. Unlike the perilous, foggy forests of the Elderwood, Bahari Bay is bright and inviting. It calls to the adventurer in Reth like a sea shanty; fills his lungs with air both salty and sweet. He breathes in deep. Maybe, one day, he could build a little cottage out this way. Just a small thing, away from the prying eyes of the village folk.

“So… you’re not seeing anyone?” Nai’o asks.

“You’re suspiciously interested in my dating life, Nai’o,” Reth ribs. He’s not getting his hopes up or anything, especially when the blonde’s face twists in panic.

“Sorry. I just—I always thought—”

“That I’m the town casanova? Leaving a trail of heartbroken lovers everywhere I go?” Reth pauses on the bridge and, feeling emboldened by the ocean wind and the sunlight, he looks Nai’o up and down with hooded eyes. “Better watch out. Might be coming for you next.”

He winks and Nai’o’s cheeks turn from pink to red.

It’s all part of the act: the bravado. Pretending to be the charming, confident, bad boy Grimalkin cartel runner is easier than being the wildly insecure, well-meaning tavern chef. It’s the face he puts on so that the rumors hurt less. So he can protect himself. No one’s called him out on it before.

Until now.

“Why do you do that then?” Nai’o’s cheeks burn.

“‘Cause it’s fun,” Reth shrugs, “And it’s harmless. Makes me feel good. Brightens other people's day—most of the time. What’s the harm?”

“Don’t you want something real?”

Feeling the walls closing in on him, Reth scoffs, “Real? Like your sappy romance novels real? Or your break up with Kenyatta kind of real?”

The moment the words leave Reth’s mouth, he knows he’s stepped in it. Nai’o’s expression drops and the color in his cheeks fades. The wind whistles through the birch trees around them. Then, Nai’o continues toward the lighthouse. For a second, Reth thinks the cowboy is mad enough to just shove him off the bridge.

“Hey, wait—”

Nai’o knocks Reth’s shoulder softly as he stalks passed.

“Nai’o—crap, I’m sorry. I’m sorry!”

His apology bounces off the limestone walls, echoing through the canyon below. Nai’o stops in his tracks, his back to Reth.

Reth sighs. “Sometimes I just say—stupid things. I’m sorry things didn’t work out between you guys.”

It’s not the worst apology he’s ever made. But it’s also definitely not the best.

Nai’o casts his gaze down at the bridge planks. He speaks small and wistful. “It wasn’t going to last. I think I knew that, deep down. What made it worse was that I thought she left me for you which… turns out she didn’t. So there’s no one to be mad at. Just didn’t work out. Which also sucks. But… I’ve moved on. It doesn’t matter.”

Reth believes him. It’s been almost three months, after all.

Nai’o shifts his weight and turns, looking over his shoulder. “One of these days, you’re gonna find someone, Reth,” Nai’o says, “Someone that gets you and makes you happy. Just by being around. And you’re gonna have to figure out how to deal with that. Not, like, sabotage it with whatever it is you’ve got going on.”

Reth almost crushes the kopaa nuts under his arms. He feels just a little too seen.

Nai’o shrugs. “But what do I know about love?”

A gust of wind sweeps through the canyon, ruffling Nai’o’s blonde locks. He smooths it back again.

“A lot more than me, I think,” Reth concedes. He closes the gap between them, lingering a yard or so away from Nai’o. Just to give them some space. “I mean, you’ve probably learned a thing or two from those books.”

“Don’t—”

“I’m not making fun,” Reth promises.

He didn’t expect for his relationship with Nai’o to be perfect right out the gate. There was too much history there; too much judgement. And Reth is not good at difficult or painful things. He’d rather just avoid them. But there’s something about Nai’o (at least, within these last few months) that makes Reth want to try. It’s not just the budding crush or that steamy, storeroom kiss. It’s something more. Something Reth still can’t define.

Nai’o adjusts the backpack on his shoulder. “Some of the novels are… more realistic than others,” he admits.

“Yeah? What about State Fair Romance?”

“Oh dragon, you went in my room?!” Nai’o turns and heads toward the village. Reth clips at his heels.

“What?! I had to get you a blanket!”

Nai’o’s face is red again.

“I haven’t read that one yet,” he mutters.

“Well, what are you reading now?”

“... Forbidden Love On The Ranch.”

Reth snorts.

“Hey.”

“It’s just the title! The name is really—really something,” Reth chuckles, “What, uh, makes the love so forbidden, huh?”

Nai’o sighs, big and dramatic. “... it’s about a ranch hand and a farmer’s daughter. She’s engaged to marry someone else from a neighboring farm.”

“Scandalous.”

“She thinks that’s what she wants, but there’s no chemistry with the fiancé. And, well, the ranch hand is a little rough around the edges but he treats her right. He wants to show her the world outside of their township. And she wants to show him how comforting it is to have a home and a community.”

“Huh. Complementary couple.”

“Yeah. I guess they do compliment each other a lot.”

Reth looks sideways at Nai’o and he blinks back, earnestly.

“What?”

Chapter Text

The saying goes: if you can’t stand the heat, stay out of the kitchen. This is one of those days where Reth regrets ever stepping foot in a kitchen.

The Verdant Viperins, a popular roundball team, have rolled into town with their entire entourage—athletes, managers, physical therapists, et al—stopping over in Kilima for the evening before continuing their journey to their next match in a further city. Caravans line the river with banners of green and blue—an asp coiled into an infinity symbol stitched to the center—and the streets thrum with life. It feels like Maji Market… with macho vibes. It’s more than the little village can handle, really.

But the townsfolk are abuzz from the celebrity visit. Zeki practically foams at the mouth for the business and Jel is delighted to have fashionable, city folk to commission his work. Eshe is in rare form, designating several of the northern fields as official roundball practice areas and assigning Hassian to herd the chapaa away for the time being (“But please, for the love of dragon, do not shoot them in front of our guests. I can’t have them thinking we’re barbarians!”).

And Reth, head of the only eatery in town, can barely keep up.

He’s got all burners going, the oven hot, and every surface of the inn’s meager kitchen is a chopping board for vegetables, meats, and herbs. Reth has always been a tidy chef, but it’s been four hours of nonstop sernuk noodle stews, dumplings, and fried rice. The sink is full of dishes; he’s hungry, dehydrated, and sweating like a sinner at shrine. He flits from stove to counter to sink to bar, trying to make his one man operation as efficient as possible while Ashura acts as host, waiter, and water boy. He’s had nothing but compliments on the food, but the pressure mounts as the tavern fills with the dinner crowd.

And Jina—well meaning, oblivious, sweet as the leaf itself—comes to the kitchen archway without an inkling of awareness.

“Hello, Reth!” she chirps, eyes big and hopeful behind her round glasses. “I hope this isn’t a bad time.”

He flips a pan of dumplings onto a plate. “Heya, Jina. Oh, yeah, this is a great time,” Reth says. He ladles a sauce into a little cup on the plate and slides the order onto a free counter, dinging the bell. “Order up!”

As smart as she is, her skill of perceiving sarcasm lacks. She watches him work, oblivious. “While this is all very exciting, to be honest, I never understood the appeal of watching people play a sport,” she muses. “Why not just play it yourself? I’ve never understood.”

Reth slides a tray of dough rolls into the oven. He hooks his hands on his hips.

“Jina.”

“Yes?”

“I’m on the front lines here. Just tell me what you need.” He notices the folder cradled in her arms.

She adjusts her glasses. “Oh! Right! My research paper! It’s done.”

Ashura appears at the doorway. “Pardon my reach, Jina.”

She scoots to the side. “Sorry! Sorry!”

The innkeeper takes the finished plate. “Reth, two more orders of dumplings,” he says before running off again.

Reth throws his hands in the air. “Dragon above, how do they house all these dumplings? It’s, like, unnatural.” He pulls a bowl of filling from the icebox. Thank the dragon he made an extra large batch.

Jina lingers. “You said you were interested in maybe reading it? Spell checking it, maybe?”

Reth takes the bowl to his dumpling station and heavily sets it down. He sighs.

Realization dawns on her face and Jina scrunches up her nose in anguish. He raises on her tiptoes and rocks back on her heels, slapping her forehead with the heel of her hand. “Oh, gosh. Oh, no. Oh, I’ve done it again, haven’t I? My father always said I had the worst timing. I shouldn’t have bothered you with this. I’m so sorry.”

She turns to leave.

“Wait, it’s okay, it’s okay,” Reth calls. He presses a hand to her shoulder and gently eases the thick folder from her grasp. “I want to read it. I swear I’ll read it. I just gotta get through this evening… And maybe this morning if our ravenous visitors don’t cause a valley-wide famine.” He smiles and jokes to lighten the mood. Recently, he’s learned a thing or two about projecting his anger and frustration on the wrong target.

“Can you give me a few days?” he asks.

The young academic glows. “Take all the time you need! I always get my papers done far in advance, so there’s no rush. Thank you, Reth. No one besides Caleri ever offers to look at my work.” She glances over his shoulder at the kitchen mess and grimaces. “I wish there was some way I could help. But I’m an absolute rubbish cook. Hekla can attest to that.”

Reth chuckles. He places the folder on a shelf for safe keeping. “It’s okay, I’ve got this.” If he says it enough, maybe it’ll become true. An idea strikes him:

“Buuut, if you wanna do me a huge favor—You are this valley’s certified mushroom enthusiast. Can you help me restock some morels real fast? I’m running dangerously low.”

Reth expects a begrudging ‘yes’, or a ‘I’m sorry, I’m so busy with my studies right now’. Instead, he’s met with enthusiasm. “Oh, of course! I’d be happy to help. How many do you need?”

“As many as you can get me in, like, the next hour.”

“I’m on it!”

Jina takes her mission to heart and rushes from the kitchen and out the back inn archway, nearly bowling someone over in her haste.

“Sorry, Nai’o! So sorry!”

Reth’s instinct is to panic.

It’s been a week or two since their Elderwood escapade. The terms and conditions of their cease fire are unwritten, still. It’s not due to neglect, but just a lack of opportunity. After all those months of actively avoiding one another, suddenly, it’s a hard task to cross paths. When Reth visits the farm, Nai’o is away at the stables. And when Nai’o visits the inn, Reth has been out running errands or delivering suspicious packages.

Naturally, there is plenty left unspoken between them. And this is the worst time possible.

Nai’o rounds the corner and smiles, “Howdy.”

He looks particularly handsome. A fresh haircut? Did he take the time to wash his face after the afternoon ormuu round up? Does Reth smell cologne? Or is he just delirious from hunger and dehydration?

Reth wipes his hands on his apron, willing the heat away from his cheeks. “Hey.”

Nai’o places a crate of goods on the floor in the corner of the kitchen. “My dad said things were crazy down here and he wasn’t lying,” he says, “Brought some more of the popular stuff: flour, apples, onions—”

“Please tell me you brought carrots.”

Nai’o reaches into the bottom of the crate and pulls out two full bunches—dirt and all—of the most beautiful, robust carrots Reth has ever seen. “Is this enough?”

He takes the bunches by the greens. “Ugh, I love you.”

One day, he’ll get it right.

One day, Reth will say all the right words in the right order and, with no embarrassing interactions to plague his evening, he’ll get a perfect night’s sleep. One day.

Until then, he has to live with himself.

Reth can’t look Nai’o in the eye. He pretends he didn’t clock what he said. He pretends it’s a slip of the tongue; said out of habit to anyone and everyone when they do something nice for him. Reth takes the carrots to the sink and tosses them into a colander for washing and processing.

“Reth—” Ashura passes through the side archway and heads for the bar, “—oh, hello, Nai’o. Goodness, so many kitchen visitors!”

“Evening, Ashura.”

The innkeeper leans back, craning his neck to speak to Reth while pouring a mug of beer from the tavern cask. “Are we still out of carrot soup?”

Reth breaks the carrot greens from the root and hastily scrubs the vegetables. “Yep. Working on it.”

“That’s alright. Can I get a bowl of lettuce soup real quick?”

“I got it.”

Nai’o moves before Reth can even dry off his hands. He takes a bowl from the shelf—of course he knows which ones are the soup bowls, he’s eaten soup at the inn before—and ladles a generous helping of green soup from a large pot on the stove. He hands it to Ashura.

“Thanks, son.”

“You need a hand with anything? I’m handy in the kitchen,” Nai’o says.

Reth has two voices on the offer:

Please, no, anything but that.

And:

Please, yes, I’ll marry you if you do.

Ashura jumps at the offer, “I’ll even pay you for it. With dinner to boot.”

“I’ll just take the dinner.” Nai’o hikes up his belt and looks to Reth, “Is that alright with you?” He’s asking because he’s not totally dense. They aren’t friends. But he looks hopeful. Even excited. Reth will feel like an asshole if he says no.

Reth nods. “Yeah. ‘Course, we definitely need the help. Can you fold dumplings?”

A smile spreads across Nai’o’s face. “Does an ormuu shed its horns?” he asks. Reth steps back to give him access to the sink as he rolls up his sleeves and washes his hands.

Reth blinks. “Ormuus shed their horns?”

“Yep. Every three years. How do you think the inn got those horns for the fireplace?”

“Dead ormuu?”

Ashura flashes Reth the usual look as he passes through the kitchen once more, leaving the two young men alone.

“Those are Cherrytail’s,” Nai’o reveals, grabbing a clean towel from the shelf above. “And she’s right as rain last I saw. Sink working better?”

Reth resumes his work with the carrots. “Absolutely,” he says, “And the garlic rolls?”

“Good as always,” Nai’o smiles, like they’ve never had an altercation in their lives. “How many dumplings do you need?”

“Two orders of nine but, honestly, just crank them out ‘cause I think these guys are gonna keep ordering ‘em.”

“You got it.”

Outside the kitchen, the crowd roars and the jukebox music rolls on. But the kitchen feels like a pocket outside of that. Like a sliver of the universe outside of reality because, honestly, brushing elbows with Nai’o as they work feels like a fever dream. They stand side-by-side, working together without any distaste, and the domesticity of the moment is not lost on Reth.

Nai’o smells incredible.

“Pretty exciting, huh?” the blonde suddenly asks.

Reth chokes, “W-what is?”

Nai’o nods his chin out toward the bar. “These guys are the real deal. Professional roundball players. In Kilima.”

Reth should have known Nai’o would be excited—he talks about saving up for game tickets every cycle. Nai’o cranes his neck to look out at the line of players sitting at the bar. “Never saw this team in a match but I hear they’re pretty fierce. Their captain is at the top of the S League.”

Reth has no idea what that means.

“You’re really into roundball, aren’t you?” he asks, filling a pot with water and moving the now clean carrots to a chopping block.

Nai’o nods. “Sure am. Always wanted to play in those school leagues when I was younger. But being homeschooled and so far away from it all… But going to the games in the city is great. Wasn’t like roundball was gonna be my path.”

Reth glances sideways. There’s no regret there, but a wistfulness. Maybe a quiet fantasy of another life. He looks down at Nai’o’s work. It’s slower going, but the pockets look neat and pretty. His calloused fingers are more agile than they look.

“You any good?” Reth asks.

“In terms of small town talent? I’m decent,” Nai’o says, in that humble way that makes Reth think he’s actually really good at the sport. “Did you ever play?”

“This might surprise you given my incredibly athletic build—” The farmboy laughs at Reth’s self-deprecating joke. He moves the water pot to the stove. “—but I was not a big sports kid.”

“No?”

“Nah. I did a lot more… arts and crafts. Dodged bein’ a theatre kid just barely,” he says. He attests that doing only two school plays does not make him a theatre kid. “Even being from Bahari, I didn’t go to any games.”

“Seriously? You should go. They’re really fun. There’s a big stadium. Lots of energy—it’s a blast.”

“I believe it.”

Reth dumps the roughly chopped carrots into the pot, caps it, and leaves it to do its thing. He checks the oven and slides out a ready cast iron pan of bacon-stuffed mushrooms. He sets it on the stove and searches for a trivet.

“Maybe you could go with us sometime,” Nai’o suggests.

Reth tries not to freak out, but he definitely loses some motor functions in that moment and has to retrieve the wooden trivet he dropped to the floor.

“That’d be cool,” he says, trying to act casual.

“I think—I think Auni would be excited if you came.”

Nai’o’s back is turned, so Reth can only stare at the back of his head. He doesn’t immediately grasp why Nai’o would say something like that. Months ago, he told Reth to stay away from Auni. He saw Reth as a bad influence—a risk to his family’s stability and Auni’s future. It takes Reth a few moments to recognize the offer for what it is:

An olive branch.

“Yeah,” he says, “I’d like that.”

“Cool.”

A giddy feeling rises in Reth’s throat. Thank the dragon he can leave the kitchen to deliver food.

Careful of the hot iron, Reth takes the pan of mushrooms out to the bar. A full tavern is a lovely sight: occupied tables, extra armchairs from storage at the hearth lounge, and people standing in the lobby with mugs in hand. They’re a lively, city bunch and it makes Reth nostalgic to see some more metropolitan folk roaming around.

“Who ordered the mushrooms?” he asks aloud. A woman at the bar raises her hand and he delivers the dish. “Hot pan, be careful! Enjoy.”

“Oi, is your name Reth?”

He turns toward the unfamiliar voice and, from the looks of the jersey underneath a jacket, the majiri who spoke is one of the players themselves. Black hair styled sleek and fashionable, a strong nose, long face, and very pronounced, pointed ears—he looks familiar to Reth. It’s only when he smiles and flashes a silver cap on an incisor does Reth make the connection.

“It is you!” the roundballer exclaims, “Remember me?”

It’s not a wildly pleasant reunion. But Reth works in customer service, so he can’t avoid it. He approaches the other side of the bar, arms spread wide and smiling.

“Ori Mamane! I should have known you would go pro,” Reth says, warmly. The other majiri puffs up. He was only the richest, most popular classmate from his final years in school. From the looks of the flashy entourage flanking either side of him and his schmoozy expression, he’s as insufferable as Reth remembers.

“You know it,” Ori says, “How’d you end up all the way out in the boonies? Is your sister around? She still as pretty as she was back in Bahari?”

Ugh.

“Aw, Tish and I needed some fresh air away from the city so we came out here. She took on the family legacy and runs the furniture shop across the square.”

“She married?”

“She’s focused on the business right now.”

“Well, I’ll have to pay her a visit.”

“I’m sure she’d love to see ya.”

Reth isn’t worried. Tish will reject Ori’s advances, slyly land a dig at him, and sell him an expensive cabinet by the time she’s done with him. All with a smile on her face.

Ori’s beady little eyes take stock of Reth. “And you’re the town cook. Fun.”

Reth crosses his arms. “I enjoy it.”

“And small town living is alright with you? Doesn’t seem like there’s much here.”

“There’s pros and cons to living anywhere. Price of housing is pretty appealing, though.”

Ori shrugs. “Fair enough.”

Desperate to wrap up their conversation and return to the kitchen, Reth says, “Well, it’s good to see you again. Would chat more but, as you can see, we got our hands full. Can I get you anything else?”

The roundballer looks to his friends and holds up three fingers. “‘Nother round of beers wouldn’t hurt.”

“Sure thing.”

Reth retrieves mugs from the shelf on the other side, carefully pouring the servings of ale. He likes pouring drinks. It’s the easier part of his job. He doesn’t have to think.

From over the bar, Ashura waves for his attention. “Two more bowls of lettuce soup.”

He leans back. “Hey, Nai’o!”

“Yeah?”

“Can you bring out two more soups?”

“Got it!”

It’s loud, but Reth has perfected the art of isolating conversations and snooping like a good barkeep. He watches the flow of bubbles and barley, pierced ears perking up:

“Is his sister as good looking as he is? They must’ve been popular,” says someone near Ori.

“She was real cute,” Ori says, “Not sure about him. Didn’t pay much attention. He was a lot scrawnier back then. Barely recognized him with that long hair.”

“That tattoo is pretty cool. I like the bad boy vibe.”

Ori chuckles. “Tattoo or not, these days, I doubt anyone would touch him.”

Nai’o comes out of the kitchen with two bowls.

“Why?”

“Reth Keita left his path. He’s a total loser.”

Words, in Reth’s opinion, are not just words. They have weight and meaning. Ori’s words are a gut punch and hurt deeper than they should; deeper than he should let them. Because Ori doesn’t matter to him–-Reth hasn’t given a single thought to that pompous bully for years.

So why does it hurt so much?

He fills the next mug. They don’t let up:

“Really?”

“Yeah. Whole family of carpenters—pretty well known—and he couldn’t cut it. I imagine Tish felt sorry for him and followed him out here, even though she could do well for herself in Bahari. Probably a big disappointment to his folks.”

Reth finishes the last of the beers. He turns with all three in his hands—and Nai’o is just standing there, in the barkeep area, looking… upset. He’s already passed off the soup, so there’s no reason for him to be there.

Reth performs like a circus monkey, forcing a smile and his signature cheerful demeanor as carries the beer mugs to Ori and his friends. “Here ya go.”

“Thanks, man,” Ori says, pretending like he didn’t just drag Reth’s name through the mud. “Can we also get a couple bowls of that sernuk noodle stew? Spicy for mine.”

“Sure, boss.”

With that, Reth escapes to the kitchen. He checks on the carrots—not soft enough yet—and pulls a slab of sernuk from the icebox for slicing. He feels Nai’o before he sees him.

“Reth—”

He blinks back tears as he preps the meat. “Those dumplings ready?” he asks.

“Yeah.”

“Great. Fire up a big pan and get some oil going.”

Reth multi-tasks. He preps the stew toppings. He helps Nai’o gauge when the oil is ready for frying. He adds ingredients to the carrot soup and checks on his prized sernuk bone broth simmering on the back burner. As long as he can keep his hands moving, he’ll make it through.

He chops.

Stirs.

Minces.

Blends.

Flips.

Salty and savory, meat browned, noodles lovingly folded into the bowl—he creates two of the most beautiful servings of sernuk noodle stew he’s ever made. But as he’s dicing some green onion for garnish, Reth nicks his finger in the rush. He quickly backs away from the counter and checks the wound. It bleeds quick, dripping over his knuckle and onto the floor.

“Shit.”

Nai’o is by his side in a flash. “Is it bad? I’ll go get a first aid kit.”

Reth is already moving for the sink. “No, it’s fine. I’ll take care of it,” he insists and sticks his hand under the running water. He wants the stew out of his kitchen immediately. “Can you add the green onion and top one with chili oil? A spoonful.”

The cut hurts worse when Nai’o looks at him like that—like some kicked puppy dog. But he obediently goes to the chopping board and does as Reth says anyways.

Reth cleans the wound and grabs a napkin to momentarily wrap around his finger. When he turns, Nai’o is spooning a second mound of crunchy chili oil into the bowl.

“Whoa, whoa, too much—”

He ignores Reth and puts in a third spoonful. Then a fourth and a fifth.

“What the heck, Nai’o—”

Then, the farm boy takes both bowls without a word and heads for the bar. With his finger still bleeding, Reth can’t even try to stop him. He flails his restricted arms around in a panic, realizes how crazy he looks to the people sitting at the bar, and quickly hides from sight.

Well, there goes his cooking reputation. He listens from the kitchen:

“Here ya go: one regular and one spicy,” Nai’o says. “Give it a taste. Let me know how it is.”

There’s a pause.

Then, Ori coughs and heaves. “Oh, oh geez—this is—”

“Spicy? That’s how we like it out here in Kilima. The spicier the better, we say. It really reflects how—how manly you are. I eat peppers straight from the garden sometimes. Just to feel the burn,” Nai’o says, lying through his pretty teeth. “I feel like city folk are usually pretty wimpy when it comes to spice. But you’re doing well!”

“Dragon, ugh—”

“Of course, if it’s too much, I can take it back—”

“No! No, no, it’s great. Really good. This is totally—” Ori coughs.

“Do you want some more?” Nai’o asks, “That's level three. I usually do level five.”

The panicked hesitation almost sends Reth over the edge. He slaps a hand over his mouth to keep a laugh from escaping.

“Yeah, bring it on,” Ori wheezes.

Nai’o appears at the archway. They lock eyes and the mischievous sparkle in Nai’o’s gaze has Reth almost swooning against the kitchen counter. He didn’t even know Nai’o was capable of being… bad. It’s a revelation. It’s sexy. It’s the most attracted to Nai’o he’s been since they met. Dinner rush be damned—they could go down to the storeroom for five minutes. Surely no one would notice?

But then Nai’o swipes the jar of chili oil from the counter and retreats.

“Here ya go.”

“—yeah, I love spicy. This is—” Ori hiccups. “—just what I wanted.”

Reth sneaks a peek from the corner of the archway. After a small taste of an even more volcanic broth, Ori is fighting for his life. His large forehead beads with sweat as he clamors for a napkin to wipe his dripping nose. One of his friends claps him on the back.

Nai’o smiles that debonair smile. “Great. Well, enjoy.”

He returns to the kitchen with a guilty, yet pleased air about him. Reth watches as Nai’o goes to the stove, continuing his other task at hand and flipping a pan full of dumplings onto a plate. Like he didn’t just pull off the prank of the century and win Reth’s heart.

“I can’t take credit for that trick,” Nai’o admits over his shoulder, “I watched Kenyatta pull that on her sexist uncle once. He cried through dinner and then spent the rest of the night in the bathroom.”

“That’s diabolical.”

Nai’o shrugs. “He started it.”

Ashura pokes his head through the archway. “Did you… order mushrooms?”

Expecting an appropriately sized collection of mushrooms, Reth steps out of the kitchen with a small, empty crate… and knocks a morel with his foot. He looks up:

Unable to enter the tavern due to her large size, Hekla idles at the very entrance of the Ormuu’s Horn with an impressive mound of morels gathered in her purple scarf like a basket. Another mushroom falls out and rolls across the floor.

The Galdur’s eyes gleam. “From my Jina!”

Two trays of garlic rolls, seven steaks, ten bowls of soup, forty-five dumplings, and one heated discussion about the efficacy of dumpling folds later, they make it through without anything terrible happening. And Reth feels satisfied when he places the ‘Closed’ sign on the bar.

“Why don’t you boys go out and enjoy the rest of the daylight?” Ashura suggests, as they dry the last of the dishes, “You deserve it. I hear the practices down on the fields are a fun watch.”

And that’s how Reth ends up spending that precious extra hour of free time: watching the Verdant Viperins practice in the chapaa-less fields, from the hill of City Hall, with Nai’o standing by his side. The sun has barely begun to set over the mountainside and the valley glows with warmth, insects buzzing awake as the animals retreat for sleep. The wind is crisp and sweet and the breeze carries away the smell of oil and garlic on Reth’s clothes. After such a hot and stifling shift, the fresh air is a blessing.

Most of the town has shown up for the spectacle, lingering in family or friend clusters nearby or on the lower fields. Even the Daiyas have made a full appearance and Reth doesn’t know why Nai’o decides to stay with him and not join his family. Reth tries to ignore the sour, strange look Delaila gives him from across the field.

The Viperins play in small matches of three-on-three. It’s a physical, fast paced sport and Reth knows none of the rules. So Nai’o attempts to explain it to him.

“So, you have to stay out of the ring around the goalie when you go for a point?” Reth asks, watching a team of three regroup and sprint across the field, one with a ball under their arm.

“Your feet can’t be touching the ground inside the ring,” Nai’o clarifies, “So, watch, he’s about to jump. There! Yes!”

The player with the ball does exactly as Nai’o said he would and leaps from the grass, flying into the marked zone around the goal. While suspended in mid-air, he pitches the ball. It slams into the net of a goal.

“And that’s ten points, right? So they win the game?”

“The set. There’s five sets to a game.”

Reth whistles. “Long.”

“It goes super fast. These guys are playing for practice, so they’re not going all out.”

“Hm.”

Reth watches as the six players meet on their section of the field and shake hands. One of them—a broad shouldered, rosy complexioned majiri with a high ponytail—appears to give notes to the other players. She uses pebbles on the field to explain a formation. When she’s done, the group takes a water break.

A lightbulb blinks on in Reth’s head:

“Why don’t you offer to practice with them?” he asks Nai’o.

Nai’o looks at Reth like he’s grown a second head. “What? No, I c-can’t—” he stammers, “I’m not that good. They’re working. It’s their job. I don’t want to bother them.”

Reth motions to the field. “Dude. You said it yourself. Pro roundballers in Kilima? When is that opportunity going to come around again?”

“Sure, but—”

Reth brackets his hands around his mouth and calls down to the field, “Hey!”

Ask for forgiveness. Not permission.

The majiri with the high ponytail turns, waves.

Nai’o shrinks. He turns his back to the fields and hides his face. “Reth. No, no—”

“What? I’ve got no shame.”

“I’m not even wearing the right shoes. I’ve got holes in my trousers.” His shyness is endearing. And while he’s mortified right now, Reth knows he’ll be thanking him later.

“What’s that matter if you’re good?”

The player on the field calls up to them, “What’s up?”

Reth turns out. “You got room for another player?!” The surrounding townsfolk rise to attention, watching Reth with curiosity. They murmur amongst one another with a collective air of ‘what is that boy up to now?’

The Viperin grins. “Sure! If you can keep up!”

Nai’o is, to put it lightly, having a meltdown. “Oh my dragon,” he gasps. “That’s Chyra Rizal. She’s the team captain. Reth, I can’t play with or against someone in the S League. She’s incredible. What if I make a fool of myself?” He looks at Reth with wide, youthful eyes.

Reth grasps Nai’o’s shoulder. “Sometimes you gotta step outta your comfort zone, cowboy,” he says.

Reth’s approach to life is wild, free, living without apology and with abandon. It may be rootless, but it’s fulfilling and he can find joy wherever he lands. Nai’o’s approach is conservative, living along the lines of propriety so that he can carve out his place in the world. He knows who he is and those borders are specific. Maybe that’s why it would never work out. Standing at opposite poles of lifelong philosophy is a long gap to bridge.

But there is value in every philosophy. So maybe, with one step at a time, they can find one another at the middle of the bridge.

“C’mon. Show ‘em what Kilima’s made of.”

Nai’o glances down at Reth’s lips like he’s about to do something crazy.

Instead, he removes the hat hanging on his neck by a string and hands it over. Both frightened and excited, he jumps down to the field below and jogs toward the playing area. Reth’s chest swells with… pride? Is that what that is?

One-by-one the villagers realize what is about to transpire. They clap and cheer for their hometown boy, gravitating toward that section of the field. Hodari places two fingers into his mouth and whistles, loud enough to be heard in the next valley. The Daiya family is beside themselves, with Auni climbing to get a better view from atop a tree branch. Even Eshe, from her perch at City Hall, lightly taps her fingers to her palm with a smile.

Reth feels a pair of eyes on him: Chayne. Standing atop another section of the hill, the monk grins at him, a knowing glint in his eye.

Down in the field below, Nai’o politely introduces himself to the players. He’s a natural at making friends and it’s clear from all the firm shakes of hands and the big smiles that made a good first impression. Nai’o practically glows as the group takes their starting positions. Other than his clothes, he doesn’t look out of place at all.

Reth sits, his legs dangling over the low wall. Jel and Tish join him.

“Out here causing trouble I see,” Jel says.

“What? I just made a suggestion,” Reth defends.

The tailor peers at Reth over his spectacles. “Trying to tempt him to the dark side and leave his path?”

“Nah. He's incorruptible. He just... deserves some fun.”

Tish throws two fists into the air and startles both her best friend and her brother with a passionate, full body yell, “Knock ‘em dead, Nai’o!!”

“Dragon, Tish.”

The game starts.

Nai’o is good at roundball.

He isn’t Verdant Viperins good, but he holds his own. Even in his riding boots, he’s swift on his feet and decisive with his movements. His biggest asset is his strength. One of the opposing players attempts to sack him the first time Nai’o gets the ball under his arm and Nai’o plants himself into the grass so securely that the opposing player bounces off Nai’o’s body like a rubber ball and ragdolls to the ground. Sometimes he gets left in the dust; even turned around or a little confused. But Nai’o is a good sport and just keeps trying.

Auni cheers and hollers the loudest. Seconded by Tish who has just discovered a new, aggressive, sports-loving side of herself. The others are acceptably excited, united on a single front for the first time in Reth’s memory. He’s never seen Caleri and Elouisa smiling together, side-by-side. Hassian, Hodari, and Kenli rarely speak but now they are huddled together, avidly discussing formations and strategies. Even introverted Najuma has shown up, hovering near the ever approachable Jina for support.

Better yet, Reth can stare at Nai’o’s sweaty face and strong, running legs without anyone noticing. It’s his reward for a shift well worked.

When Nai’o manages to score a point mid-game, the crowd goes wild. As wild as a small gaggle of country folk can get.

“Atta boy!” he hears Badruu exclaim.

And maybe Reth’s tired, affection-addled brain is being too optimistic, but he swears Nai’o looks his way. He swears that, in his moment of triumph, big ocean eyes look to him for approval. But the field is far away and it’s impossible to say for sure.

The last rays of sun disappear over the mountain ridge and a coolness settles over the fields. The shift reminds Reth of the night ahead. Zeki will have his hide if he’s late to the underground on a busy night.

“I gotta dash,” he says, handing Nai’o’s hat to Tish, “Give this back to him when the game’s done?”

As he jogs toward the general store, he watches Nai’o’s silhouette for as long as he can. The farmboy high-fives a Viperin and sets up for the next bout, a palpable joy radiating from his very being. Reth loses sight of him as he descends the hill back into the village.

Reth is beat. Satisfied, but beat.

Instead of taking his usual route home through the storeroom, he decides to detour through the Remembrance Garden. His head feels like a well-used cocktail shaker; the calm and serenity of the garden will do him good before he sleeps like the dead.

The garden is somber and cool. No sweltering hotpot tables or trilling fortune wheels. Just quiet statues, flickering candles, and wisps of incense on the wind. It feels haunted. Not in a frightening way—not by ghosts or anything malicious— but by memories. By history and ancestral weight. Reth can’t quite put his finger on the feeling that overcomes him when he passes under the boughs of the ancient tree in the center of the garden, but it shakes his soul. The width of the trunk and its map of strong branches make him feel small in the scheme of things.

And it makes him think of his parents.

A large figure shifts in the corner of his vision and Reth stops, thinking some stray sernuk has come to graze on the tender, untouched grass of the plateau in the dead of night. But when Reth peers around the corner of a marker, he recognizes a familiar shape:

Ashura.

The innkeeper stands at the shrine of his late wife, a solemn sentinel. He holds a bouquet in still hands and breathes steadily, purposefully, like he might forget if he doesn’t make a conscious effort.

It’s public knowledge that the innkeeper spends many an afternoon in the Remembrance Garden. But the hour is late and Ashura has had just as long a day as Reth so he should be asleep. Reth longingly gazes out at the silhouette of his home, then back to his mentor.

Sleep is for the weak, anyway.

Reth approaches, dragging his tired legs and limp arms up the stairs and to the garden's center platform.

The innkeeper straightens, holding the bouquet closer to his sturdy chest. “Reth,” he breathes, “What are you doing out this late?”

“Could be asking you the same thing."

Ashura falters. Usually, he would press for Reth to answer first—saying something about manners and respecting elders—but he is unusually timid. His shoulders sag, eyes cast down on the inscription on his wife’s marker. “It is the anniversary of Sabine’s passing,” he says, with an echoing emptiness.

“Oh.”

In all the excitement of the day, Reth forgot. He is not equipped for this. Ashura needs someone like Chayne or Hassian—someone with a keen eye and a wise disposition. But it’s too late to call for help.

Carefully, Reth takes a spot next to the innkeeper. He faces Sabine’s marker and loosely clasps his hands.

Ashura says nothing. Reth says nothing. The innkeep places the bouquet of vibrant sundrop lilies at the base of the marker. The vermillion cups glow like paper lanterns in the candlelight.

“Every year, I think I will forget the date,” Ashura says, “I think, perhaps, my grief has gotten a little smaller. That the details of the day she left us have gotten too fuzzy to remember. But every year, on this day, I remember everything.” He sighs, a deep and historied exhale of sorrow.

Then, suddenly, the large man is smiling. That’s the funny thing with grief: it comes in waves and spurts, then disappears suddenly, and reappears, sparked by something mundane. A whirligig of emotions for which there is no pattern or solution. One moment is brutal and the next—nostalgic rapture.

“But I also remember her smile,” Ashura reminisces, “I remember her laugh. I remember her standing in the bare bones of a foundation—that could maybe one day be an inn—with a hammer in her hand and her saying, ‘My love… we’re home’.”

Reth rends his bottom lip between his teeth. These kinds of things make him feel too many emotions; make him feel too vulnerable.

“She would have loved today,” the innkeep continues, “All those new folks to meet. All that chaos and energy at the inn. I think that’s what she always imagined it could be. Not just sleepy days and quiet nights. But a cornerstone of the community.”

“It is,” Reth says, perhaps a little too eager. “I think it is. I mean, there have been a few crazy, Friday nights lately. When that herd of chapaa came through, chasing that grasshopper? That was an activity for everyone—everyone running, food flying? That was pretty exciting.”

Ashura chuckles. “Raucous.”

The Ormuu’s Horn holds plenty of memories. For Reth, most are good. For Ashura—Reth glances sideways—he thinks there are some bad ones. The day he lost Sabine. Fights with his son. Lonely, lonely days where no one even passed through.

“I’m sorry, Ashura.”

“Thank you.”

Ashura takes a rag out of his apron, kneels down, and cleans out the curves in the stone where Sabine’s name is printed. He takes exquisite care.

“Have you ever been in love, Reth?” he asks.

A handsome face and blonde hair flashes in his mind.

“No.”

“Mm. I hope you are one day,” Ashura says, “It’s one of the greatest joys on this plane.”

Reth crosses his arms. “The butterflies? The crazy infatuation?”

The innkeep glances over his shoulder. “Goodness no,” he chuckles. “No, no. That’s all well and good—very fun, of course—but…”

His gaze goes distant. He traces Sabine’s name with a feather touch. The candle at the base of her marker flickers.

“It takes time. You’ll think you’ll know. Because your brain and your heart have never felt such passion, such conviction. This is the height of love, you’ll think. I couldn’t possibly be more in love than I am at this moment. And while that is true, something even more marvelous happens—you wake up next to them one morning, long into your days together, and they are… sunlight.”

His words carry on the air and rustle in the leaves of the giant tree like magic.

“They have become your true constant. The beginning and the end of your day. As the moon chases the sun, you long for them at every hour and your good traits are made all the better by their glow. The shadows of your life feel less abundant, less frightening, when they are near. And, like the sun, you can’t imagine a world without them.”

Ashura stands, resolved. He folds the cloth with care and pockets it in his apron.

Ghostly laughter echoes in the recessives of Reth’s memory. He remembers creeping down the stairs to floating music; of shadows stretched across the floor in a square of kitchen light—dancing, arms wrapped around one another. He remembers tools passing between hands without asking and knowing looks and days of tension always resolved. He remembers love.

Reth stares at the headstone.

“How do you—? When you loved her so much?” he asks.

“My son,” Ashura says, “And, later…I’m not so sure. One day at a time, I think.”

“She’s up on the—”

“The wellspring.”

“Do you ever go there?”

“No. There is no need.” The older man breathes in deep through his nose. “I feel her here. In the valley.”

Reth doesn’t feel them anywhere. Maybe something is wrong with him.

As if he’s read Reth’s mind, Ashura asks, “Your parents—do they have a memorial site in Bahari?” He is one of the few people who can speak about Reth’s parents without him clamming up.

Reth shakes his head. “Didn’t know how to do it. There’s this plaque at their guild that their friends and colleagues put up. I was too young. Needed to figure out other things first. Orphan essentials, ya know.” At the time, he wasn’t even sure if he was allowed to do anything without the bodies.

He goes quiet. Distant. Drifting somewhere far away in the ocean of his long stretched grief and scattered memories. Out at sea where not even the gulls can reach.

“I try not to think about it? How terrible it probably was?” Reth says, “That they got eaten away by fish or got scavenged by birds? Sorry. That’s morbid. You just said a lot of really nice things about your wife and—here I am ruining the vibe.”

But Ashura is still as stone and Reth takes that as permission to keep talking.

“Instead, I think of the ocean like, like a bed? Like, they floated to the bottom… and laid their heads on a pillow of sand and the water rolled over them like a blanket. Cool and dark. One last sleep. And that’s where they were until—” His voice cracks. “—until they also became sand and just… drifted away. Together.”

The branches above them creak and sway. A bell on the other side of the garden chimes.

“Oh, Reth.”

He wipes a tear away from his cheek. “It’s okay. I’m okay,” he assures, coming back to himself. It’s been too long of a day to think about things like this. He can feel Ashura’s pity.

“Have you thought about making a shrine for them here in the garden?”

“No. Not really. By villager standards we’re still, you know, transplants.”

“I think you’ve been here long enough, Reth. You should go to City Hall and file a petition. Kenli would never reject that.”

“Maybe.”

“It could help.”

“Nothing helps.”

“I know.”

Chapter Text

Reth holds a small poster at arm’s length. He turns it this way and that, trying to make the illustration make sense. Is it an insect? A diseased chapaa? A couple of mushrooms growing out of each other? He’s not totally sure. What is clear is the ‘If seen, please contact Elouisa immediately!’ scrawled at the bottom of the paper.

“Isn’t it just marvelous?” Elouisa exclaims with her usual, energized mysticism. “That is one of the best depictions of a carnetoph I have ever seen.”

Reth nods, eyes squinting and head tilted. “Right, yeah, totally.”

He’s been in the village long enough to not ask Elouisa about her superstitions and cryptids, lest she launch into a sermon. He doesn’t judge her for her odd behaviors—everyone’s got some level of weird in them.

“I was hoping you would display that poster here in the tavern. Others may see one and I must be the first to know!”

“Totally. Are you, uh, still looking for that one too—”

He looks at an existing poster of a similarly amorphous creature on the bulletin board.

Elouisa laughs with her full belly. “Oh, goodness no. The chromatic shrimp have all migrated north for cooler waters. They will surely be back! But I will bring a more updated illustration when that season begins.” She takes the “shrimp” poster from the bulletin board and Reth replaces it with the new wanted poster.

“There ya go,” he says, “Hope you get some luck with this one.”

Cheerful, wide eyes stare into his soul. “Oh, I certainly hope so! In fact, I know so! I feel it.” Elouisa flutters away, to an open chair in the back corner of the inn near the Patels and further away from her own sister, who lingers near the fireplace. Caleri settles in with her quill and ink, ready to take notes as the official town secretary and notary.

It’s the first Tuesday of the month which means: town hall meeting.

Upon moving to the valley, Reth quickly learned that Kilima town hall meetings are, quite frankly, boring. Small town business is limited to two genres: town maintenance and interpersonal issues thinly disguised as political action. Suffice to say, Reth only enjoys town hall meetings when something mildly scandalous or interesting happens. Most of the time, he just sits on a stool behind the bar and pretends to look engaged per Ashura’s instructions.

From the looks of it, it’s a full house. Ashura idles at his desk, accompanied by Chayne. Tish, Jel, and Zeki have taken up their usual space at the bar. The Daiyas sit front and center: Badruu, Delaila, and Auni on the fireplace sofa, with Nai’o pulling up an extra chair. Even the two resident Galdur have come. Einar and Hekla linger together at the wide entryway, sitting silent, likely conversing through their mysterious Galdur mindmeld. The villagers chat, gossip, and sip the communal spiced apple iced tea Reth has brewed for the occasion.

As Reth heads toward the kitchen, he and Nai’o catch eyes. They nod, stiff and weirdly formal. But not wholly unfriendly.

Reth pulls out a stool from behind the bar and settles in across from his sister. “So. Bets on what will be the hot topic of the month?” he asks, resting his head on a fist, elbow to the countertop.

Tish tilts her head. “Maybe a heat advisory? For the summertime?”

“Noise ordinance,” Jel says, “Sifuu has been working late into the night to finish and ship out commissions from that roundball team. Undoubtedly, such disruption has sent Eshe into a spiral.”

Zeki conspiratorially leans in toward the trio, “Betcha she’s going to get on me for the mismatched roof tiles on the store. Ain’t my fault they don’t make that color any more!”

Eshe and Kenli arrive. The magistrate carries her trusty ledger and confidently takes her place in front of the fire, resigning her mayor husband to his usual chair in the corner. Out of the ordinary, Kenli carries a small chest in his hands.

Eshe makes her usual opening remarks, offers her opinion on all three topics Reth’s companions had suggested (among others), and facilitates two procedural town wide votes to release funds for a bridge repair and a pothole repair. Usual stuff. All the while, the entire village eyes the container in Kenli’s hands.

The magistrate marks her ledger. “That concludes our votes for this evening—”

Auni’s hand shoots up. Delaila elbows her son.

The magistrate arches a perfectly manicured eyebrow, “—yes?”

“What’s in the box?” Auni blurts.

Eshe rolls her eyes. Reth hides a low chuckle behind his hand.

Auni crosses his arms, “What? I’m just asking what everyone else is thinking!”

“That,” Eshe says, “Is for our next order of business. But to answer your question directly: there is nothing in the box.”

Auni slumps into the sofa, disappointed.

The magistrate regroups her thoughts. “Our visit from the Viperins, while unexpected, was very successful. Every business saw more financial gain from that one day than our last Maji Market. While we hope our roundball friends enjoyed their stay and will return—or perhaps tell their friends and family to visit—we are considering new events to draw visitors to the valley. And—”

Kenli kicks his short legs in excitement and Eshe’s tone grows terse, “—while I do not think it is necessary, Mayor Kenli has insisted upon a suggestion box so that you all may offer some insights.”

The mayor hops to his feet and stands near his wife. She leans away.

“Events! Holidays! Food festivals!” he exclaims. It’s the first time Reth has seen Kenli enjoy his job. “Just write your suggestions down and put them in the slot right there. Put your name to the idea or—leave it anonymous! Fun, isn’t it? We’ll leave this box at the front desk at City Hall until the next town meeting.”

Titters roll across the tavern. A low lying excitement hums among the crowd.

“Nothing vulgar or gaudy,” Eshe warns. “We will review all proposals prior to the next town hall and select the most promising to discuss and consider.”

Auni raises his hand, again.

Eshe sighs. “Yes?”

“Is there a prize for the winning idea?” Auni asks.

“No.”

“Dang.”

Eshe closes her ledger. “Meeting adjourned. Thank you.”

With that, another boring Tuesday meeting is complete. Villagers gather their belongings and begin their staggered shuffle out the door. Reth keeps to his stool, watching Nai’o thoughtfully restore his chair to its home. He strikes up a conversation with Sifuu. Reth isn’t interested in the topic, but he likes watching the way Nai’o smiles and chuckles between words.

Jel taps his pointed chin. “I wonder if the town would be open to a fashion show?”

Ever agreeable, Tish nods, “That’s so classy and sophisticated! Eshe would love that idea! You should definitely put it in the suggestion box.”

“I say we have a Prismbeard Day,” Zeki says, “Some sailin’, sword fighten’, some drunken brawls—folks love a good bad guy… ain’t that right, Reth?”

With his one unpatched eye, Zeki has caught him staring at the back of Nai’o’s head. Reth flounders, practically diving for the used cups the townsfolk have dropped by the counter on their way out.

“Yeah, ‘course,” Reth nods, unsure of what he’s agreed to as he rinses the cups in the bar sink.

“Uh-huh,” the Grimalkin muses. If there’s one person he doesn’t want knowing about his stupid crush on Nai’o, it’s Zeki. He’d never hear the end of it. Reth can imagine the cackling, maniacal laughter echoing in his skull already.

“That sounds so exciting,” Tish says, “But I don’t think that would ever get approved.”

Reth can still feel the attention of Zeki’s eye on him. “That’s because this town is run by Queen Buzzkill herself,” his underground boss says. “I’m sure something as novel as that would pull in loads of visitors. But what do I know about good business?” He slaps the counter with a palm and hops from his stool. “Speaking of good business—I got places to be. Excuse me.”

Reth understands the ‘don’t be late’ Zeki secretly flashes his way. He quickly finishes cleaning the cups and sets to drying them.

Tish clasps her hands together wistfully. “I wonder if anyone would like the idea of a craft fair! We could invite artisans from around the province!” Her attention turns to Reth. “You’re rather quiet, Reth. Do you have any ideas? You always have ideas.”

He rubs a glass until it sparkles; until he can see the Nai’o’s reflection in it from across the room. “Nah,” Reth says, shaking his head, “I’ll leave the creativity to other folks.” Any idea that came from him would be shot down faster than a chapaa on Hassian’s front porch. Sometimes it’s best not to try.

Reth stacks the cups on their home shelf and tosses the hand towel into a hamper beneath the bar. “Gotta run. I’ll see ya’ll later.”

It’s a quiet night in the Underground. The lonely hotpot tables bubble and simmer. The occasional fish flops out of the central well and disappears back into the deep. A few humans float in and out, check Zeki’s nightly wares and then depart. The drink and food orders are slow going and it’s a nice respite from the recent flurry of chaos and mayhem. While Zeki half-heartedly chides Reth for looking idle, there isn’t much for him to do. Which is a blessing because Reth has Jina’s twenty-five page research paper to read through.

With his back against the counter and research paper in his hands, Reth has settled in for the long haul. Under the warmth and twinkle of string lights, he reads about the ruins on the other side of the valley. A lot of Jina’s intensely collegiate wordage goes over Reth’s head, but he gets the gist. She is one smart cookie.

The bell on the bar counter rings.

Reth marks his spot in the folder with a recipe card and sets it aside. “Hiya, what can I get—”

The words die on Reth’s lips as Nai’o smiles at him from across the bar counter. All six feet of handsome perfection…with his boots on the Underground stone.

“So, this is where you run off to every night,” the blonde says.

In Reth’s mind, Nai’o and the Underground do not mix. They are two separate parts of Kilima Village that never cross—and should never cross for good reason. The Daiya family is about as upstanding and goody-two-shoes as they come. If word got out through them to Eshe? It could bring the whole operation down.

“Oh dragon. What are you doing here?” Reth hisses, like there’s anyone within earshot.

Nai’o blinks, completely innocent. “What’s wrong with me being here?”

Reth glances over at Zeki’s stall. “You’re not supposed to know about this place.”

“I’m not?”

“No!” Reth insists, “How’d you even find it?”

“I followed you. Took me a little while to get the courage to come in, but I mustered it.”

“Seriously? What—why?”

“Sometimes I just have to psyche myself up a bit to do something new—”

Reth sighs, exasperated. “No, no. Why did you follow me?”

“Oh. Well,” Nai’o hesitates, “You’re always running off. Every night. During the roundball game. After every town hall meeting. You just disappear. Like you’re hiding something.”

Well—

“Reth? Hiding something? That’s nothin’ new,” says a gruff, forcibly jolly voice.

Zeki approaches the bar, a subtle panic in his one eye that flits back and forth from Nai’o to Reth. After so many years of working side by side, navigating the unforgiving Grimalkin cartel together, and one life threatening situation involving unstable flow tech, he and Reth know how to communicate without words.

A quirk of an eyebrow: The hell is he doin’ here?!

A tense shrug: No idea!

Narrowed eyes: This ain’t good for business.

The series of quick facial expressions goes right over Nai’o’s head.

The Grimalkin grasps the lapels of his jacket, puffs out his chest, and beams a fanged smile. “Heya, Nai’o! Didn’t ever expect to see you down in these parts.”

“Didn’t even know these parts existed,” Nai’o says, looking around, “Has this always been here?”

Zeki dodges, “I’ll be honest with ya, kid, there’s a reason why this here’s the best kept secret in the valley. It’s an… exclusive place. Don’t need just anyone waltzing in here.”

“Oh.”

“But you’re Reth’s friend, of course!” Zeki exclaims, arms wide. He knows about the history between them; he knows the uncomfortable position he’s put Reth in by labeling Nai’o as a ‘friend’. “And you’re just the sort we like down here. A strapping, good lookin’ fellow. Hardworking, industrious sort. I like that in a majiri. So you get a membership right from the get go.”

“Oh. Okay, thanks!” Nai’o smiles.

The farmboy’s trusting nature buys it: hook, line, and sinker. Reth marvels at his simpleness.

“Get this kid a drink. On the house,” Zeki says and ushers Nai’o to sit on one of the stools. “There’s just one rule here.”

“What’s that?” the blonde asks.

Zeki points finger guns. “Keep it exclusive. Got it?”

Nai’o nods, “Can do.”

“Good kid.”

Zeki pats him hard on the back. He flashes a frown to Reth and his ears twitch in the direction of the Crystal Lake exit: Don’t muck this up and get him outta here quick.

Reth thought his night was going to be so easy. He was going to read Jina’s paper, organize the cocktail umbrellas by color, and maybe attempt a new cocktail recipe. Relaxed, uncomplicated, maybe even—dare he say it—mundane. Instead, he’s yet again faced with the impossible task of being in close proximity to Nai’o Daiya for some bizarre reason. The Dragon is laughing at him.

“So. What’ll it be?” Reth asks, trying to play it cool.

“Oh. Um.” Nai’o fumbles with a narrow drink menu on the bartop. He chooses quickly. “A summer stripe, please.”

“Coming right up.”

Reth doesn’t think too deeply into the fact that Nai’o’s just chosen the frou-frou-iest drink on the menu—he’s past that kind of ridiculous judgement. What he does think about is how soft Nai’o’s features are underneath the glow of the fairy lights. How out of place he looks sitting at the bar, removing his mucked up gloves out of respect and trying to find an appropriate place to put them. He settles on laying them across his lap.

Reth scoops ice into a shaker. “But seriously. Why did you follow me?” He feels entitled to a proper answer.

Nai’o clasps his calloused hands together on the countertop and twiddles his thumbs. He shrugs. “You’re always beat, Reth. From one overworked person to another, I know what it looks like. I’ve never seen you not tired. I figured something was the cause of that.”

Reth loads the cocktail shaker with the final ingredient, caps it, and gives the canister a hearty shake. “While I appreciate your thoughtfulness, there’s gotta be another reason,” he doubts.

”What do you mean?”

”You came down here to check up on me? Since when does my wellbeing matter that much to you?”

“Since I thought we were…starting to become friends,” Nai’o says, big blue eyes wide and earnest.

Reth halts, mid-bartend; container held aloft near his ear. The ice shifts and clinks against the metal as it settles. He stares at Nai’o. The idea that someone would look for him because they cared? Earthshattering development.

“Well, now I feel like an ass,” he says. He clears his throat, trying to play off how emotional he feels about Nai’o’s concern.

Nai’o sits to attention. He speaks a mile a minute, “Don’t! Sorry, I—I mean, you got every right to wonder why I’d stalk—follow you to your second job. I was just curious, you know. Thought I’d make sure things were okay. With how crazy things were that other day.” He waves his hands. “Not like you need me to check on you. Or something. Gosh, now that I say it all outloud, it actually sounds pretty creepy.”

It’s delightful to be on the receiving end of word vomit. It’s only half as painful to watch as it is to experience first hand. In fact, there’s something endearing about Nai’o losing his cool.

“Yeah, I’ll say,” Reth grins. He pulls a martini glass from a shelf above and pours the drink. “That’s how I’d describe you to strangers. Nai’o the Creep.”

The blonde is mortified. “Really?”

Reth decorates the drink with an umbrella, a bendy straw, and an orchid. “No, dude. You’re, like, the most respectful guy I know.”

Like a flash of lightning, the feeling of Nai’o’s hands forcibly holding his body against a cupboard comes to the forefront of Reth’s mind. Maybe respectful isn’t the word.

Reth slides the cocktail forward. “Here ya go. One summer stripe.”

Nai’o smiles. “Thanks.”

“Look,” Reth presses his hands to the edge of the bar and leans his weight into it, “Without telling you too much: this is a second gig because I need the money.”

“Why?”

“What part of ‘without telling you too much’ do you not get?”

“Oh. Right.” Nai’o sips from his straw in a way that reminds Reth of a kid with a juicebox. “Does it have to do with that flow device you left in my family’s crates?”

Reth doesn’t expect for him to hit the bullseye on the first pitch, so he can’t help the shock slapped across his face. He goes through several emotions: surprise, denial, bargaining. Reth snaps his towel over his shoulder, taps the side of his nose, and brandishes an accusatory finger at Nai’o.

“You are a lot sharper than you let on, cowboy.”

Nai’o grins.

Reth retreats to his container of drink umbrellas. “It’s a long story.”

“I drink slow.”

Is divulging his deepest secrets to Nai’o something Reth thought he would ever do? No, absolutely not. But is it suddenly appealing because he looks so cute, sitting there with his little blue flower drink and that guileless, expectant look on his face? Yes, absolutely.

“You don’t have to tell me everything. It’s just—” Nai’o searches for words. “I’m sure you’ve figured out that I’m not that… well, smart.”

“I literally just said—”

Nai’o shakes an open hand. “No, no, I’m not fishing for compliments. What I mean to say is that I think with my gut.”

“And I got a feeling that I’ve been misunderstanding you for some time. I have a feeling it has to do with this place. And that flow device. And maybe even you leaving your Path. That’s what my gut says, anyway,” Nai’o says, “I was hoping you might share. If you think you can trust me, that is.”

Reth doesn’t share the intimate parts of his life to protect himself. Then again, it’s not like anyone asks. It’s not like anyone else in town ever wanted to pry the cause of his great failures into the light. Reth imagines it’s easier to take those failures at face value; to use him as an example. To have someone reach out a hand—Nai’o of all people—it feels foreign. But welcome. Like a life preserver on the open ocean.

Reth crosses his arms and shakes his head, incredulous. “Nai’o, I’ve trusted you from the moment I met you,” he reveals, “That’s just the kind of guy you are.”

Nai’o glows. “Thanks.”

“I shouldn’t tell you.”

“You don’t have to.”

“No, I feel like I owe it to you. It’ll explain a lot,” Reth admits, drawing closer and leaning over the bar. “But you have to swear to keep a secret.”

“I swear.”

“Okay.”

Without sharing every nitty-gritty detail, he tells Nai’o about the circumstances of his situation. About Tish and her illness. About the medicine that indebted him to the Grimalkin cartel and put him under the watchful eye of another debtor, Zeki. He tells Nai’o that he’s tired because he’s running not one, not two, but three jobs. With illegal cartel deliveries being his third specialty, explaining the flow device Nai’o found and why Reth was out at the old fishing shack so late at night. It’s freeing to finally get to tell someone.

Nai’o listens, wordlessly. He barely sips his drink. He soaks in the information and Reth can see the gears in his head turning; he can see Nai’o connect the dots.

“As for leaving my Path—that was all me,” Reth reveals, shamelessly, “Try as a might, I just don’t have the knack like my parents or Tish. Talent skipped me, I guess. But that’s the way the cookie crumbles and now I gotta live with that damn broken cookie.”

He makes a joke because Nai’o looks intensely serious. He’s almost frowning, which is very unlike him. Reth worries that maybe he’s shared too much.

“So,” he attempts a big, easy smile, “Now that you know I’m a hardened criminal, you still wanna be friends?”

Nai’o spins his glass by the stem as the seconds tick by so slowly Reth thinks time must’ve stopped. But across the room, a prize wheel spins—complete with flares, fireworks, and a jingle. Nausea rises into Reth’s throat. As if struck by a revelation, Nai’o leans back, breathes in deep, and shakes his head:

“You’re not a loser.”

It’s not what Reth expects him to say—at all.

“What?”

“What that guy at the bar said. You’re not a loser,” Nai’o says, a fierce conviction in his gaze, “Only good men take care of their family.”

Oh.

Oh.

Reth didn’t expect the waterworks to turn on so fast. The bile in his throat turns into a stone. He swallows it down along with a thousand pound emotion called relief.

“Huh,” he shrugs, playing off the seriousness of what Nai’o has just done for him, “Never thought of myself as a man before.”

“My dad says it happens slow,” Nai’o says, “So you don’t even realize it’s happening until you’re on the other side; staring back at the boy you once were, shaking your head in embarrassment.”

“Mr. Daiya comin’ in with some wisdom.”

“My mom says what my dad says is a load of crock,” the farmboy grins, “She says she became a woman the day she realized the men in her family did everything half as fast and half as consistent as the women. When she was eight.”

Reth nods with a ‘that’s fair’ sort of expression.

“She says that’s why she raised me and Auni like she would daughters. Kenyatta says that’s why I have so much anxiety.”

“Your mom is one intimidating lady.”

“She can be,” Nai’o nods.

There have been a million instances where Reth wished he could step through the veil and speak to his father or mother: about his life, about love, about family. With their passing, he feels cheated out of the familial knowledge and enlightenment that most majiri kids get. His life could have been so different. Easier; less painful.

“I’m not old enough and wise enough to be considered a man,” Reth says. He puts some distance between him and Nai’o, leaning the back of his hips against the rear bar counter. “I was just a kid, like, yesterday. Pretending to know what I’m doing. Now I sling alcoholic beverages in a cartel owned club and gopher illegal packages. I don’t think that’s necessarily the pinnacle of manhood.”

He rubs the tracking tattoo on his arm, then crosses them to hide the marking under his sleeve. “I’ve always envied you, Nai’o,” Reth confesses. “You have it all laid out. You know exactly where you’re going and you’re heading for it in a straight line. Right out the gate. Committed. Stable.”

“Barely scraping by? Scared that I’m gonna mess it all up and make my whole family go under?”

A curtain has been drawn open. Their eyes meet across the space and souls recognize one another for the first time.

“Guess we had more in common than I thought,” Reth says.

It’s hard to find something to say after all that. The pause between them stretches, not wholly uncomfortable. But freeing.

“Your secret’s safe with me,” Nai’o finally says.

“Much appreciated.”

He moves the straw and orchid in his glass aside and downs the rest of the drink straight from the rim, sliding the empty glass toward Reth when he’s finished. “I should probably head back to the farm. Ormuus are due for their next round of feed.”

“‘Course. Yeah. Lemme walk you out.”

Maybe him walking Nai’o out like a gentleman while he’s supposed to be manning the bar isn’t what his boss had in mind, but it feels like the right thing to do after their heavy conversation.

Reth takes Nai’o through the Crystal Lake tunnel access, under the rusted grate and down the dark, narrow channel. Their shoes slosh through the shallow drain water; every sound echoing off hollow, metal curves as they approach the dim, evening light at the end of the tunnel.

When they emerge lakeside, the lake is still. Sluggish, languid waves lap the algae ridden shoreline as the moon rises over a faraway peak. The light dances off the water, ending in a beam at Reth’s feet. A patch of six-petal flowers near the sharp cliffside gleam in the night, pollen glittering in the breeze.

“Man, those things are so cool,” Reth says, off-handedly.

“Starlilies?”

“Yeah. Never seen anything like ‘em until I came out here to the valley.”

Nai’o’s eyebrows rise high on his forehead. “Really?”

“Yeah. They look crazy. And they’re only blooming for—what? Two weeks? That plain over east just gets covered in ‘em. It’s the coolest thing I’ve ever seen.” Sometimes he goes out of his way to see them at night after a drop off or a pick up—a field of wild magic.

A spark of an idea takes form in Reth’s head.

“I didn’t know you liked flowers,” Nai’o says.

Reth makes a face. “Who doesn’t like flowers? I don’t trust anyone who doesn’t like flowers.” He may not have the carpenter’s touch, but he knows a vase of flowers or a potted plant goes a long way in interior decorating.

Nai’o chuckles. “Yeah, that’s true.”

He pulls on his gloves; an indication of his departure. But then something over Reth’s shoulder catches his eye. Reth turns: the old fishing shack, creaking away in all its dilapidated glory just a stone’s throw away.

“When I carried you home that night—why were you singing about spring rolls?” Nai’o asks.

Reth presses a hand to his eyes. “Ugh, embarrassing.”

“It was mostly mumbling but, yeah, spring rolls.”

What’s one more intimate fact about himself out there in the world?

“It was a thing we had with my dad. On laundry day he’d take clean sheets or towels off the line and wrap me and Tish in them. Called us spring rolls,” he explains and knocks a pebble with his shoe. “He’d carry us into the house while wrapped in them. I think, um. Well, I think my brain sort of conflated that memory with, you know…what was happening in reality. Funny, huh?”

“It’s sweet,” Nai’o smiles, “By how close you and Tish are, I can tell your parents were good folks.”

“They were,” Reth agrees. Then, he crosses his arms, feigning suspicion, “You know, usually, people sit at the bar and tell me about their woes and regrets and not the other way around. You got anything you have to get off your chest? Guilt? Secrets?”

If there’s one thing he’s learned all night, it’s that Nai’o is a terrible liar. The blonde’s eyes shift to the side as he licks his lips, boots shuffling in the clay with a hand rubbing the back of his neck. He could never work for the cartel.

“Naw, nothing like that.”

He’s been so nice all night that Reth won’t pry. Not yet, at least.

“Well, after everything I’ve told you,” Reth says, “You owe me a secret. So that we’re even.”

A nervous laugh makes him even more suspicious.

“I’ll try to think of something,” Nai’o says, “Thanks for the drink. See you later?”

“See you ‘round, cowboy.”

He watches Nai’o go—wondering how on earth things have developed between them as they have. He also may or may not have been admiring the rancher’s backside. Just a little bit. Before he rounds the corner of the Remembrance Garden mesa, Nai’o turns back and waves. Reth returns the gesture. Then, he’s gone.

Weird.

It’s all weird.

Reth admires the patch of starlilies once more before ducking back into the Underground tunnel.

Zeki is waiting for him by the bar when he returns. Reth expects a jab or two about being careless or for leaving the bar unattended. But Zeki is oddly… smiling. Reth goes to his station, swiping the empty glass from the counter for washing.

“So,” Zeki says, “What was that all about?”

Reth plays dumb. “I got rid of him like you asked.”

“I meant the goo-goo-gah-gah eyes you were making the whole time.”

Even though there’s no mirror to check, Reth can feel the flush in his cheeks. Zeki can sniff out a lie faster than a can of tuna, so Reth doesn’t even bother trying to get himself off the hook and lets his silence confirm Zeki’s suspicions.

“You and Nai’o, huh? Can’t say it’s the strangest pairing in the village,” Zeki muses. At least he isn’t laughing in Reth’s face.

Reth wipes down the bar counter. “It’s not—It’s not a thing. It won’t ever be a thing.”

There’s a pause on Zeki’s end.

“But do you want it to be?” his boss asks.

“We’re… friends. That’s all.”

“Man. What’s that human saying?” Zeki snaps his fingers a few times to find the words he’s looking for, “Ah, youth is wasted on the young—that’s it. Well, if ya ever get the balls to act on that urge: I whole-heartedly approve. Something like that would turn the whole village on its head. It’d be damn good fun.”

Chapter Text

Reth never understood the term ‘summer love’.

What is so special about summer that it has its own version of love? Is it that summer love is just a fling—a more fickle thing than other kinds of love? Or was it the idealness of it? Perhaps the warm nights of social events and community BBQs are where romance can blossom easier among the dancing glowbugs and over bowls of refreshing bingsu? Perhaps that static hovering over the fields before a summer lightning storm was actually a spell.

A spell to which Reth has fallen victim.

He doesn’t know how it happened, but his July becomes saturated with Nai’o. No longer avoiding one another, they meet often. It’s a nice routine. Nai’o brings the Daiya nightly shipments of fresh vegetables to the inn. He comes to the tavern for dinner on Friday nights. Twice a week, Reth brings his kitchen scraps to the farm compost pile. He climbs up on the edge of the corral, watches Nai’o rake hay for the ormuu, and they chat about whatever comes to mind.

“That’s a lot of poop.”

“Yeah, after she was sick for a bit, Cottonbean’s been eating a ton.”

“Making up the calories, I guess. She better now?”

“Yeah, a lot better. Thanks for asking.”

They are… friends.

They talk about food and music; city versus provincial living. They make jokes. They laugh together. Reth learns that they are very unalike in some ways, yet surprisingly compatible in others. He also learns the little things:

That Nai’o prefers white bean paste desserts over red. He is mildly allergic to shellfish. He loves the smell of fresh brewed coffee and warm apple pie (preferably together). His least favorite chore is weeding the garden. He has a dream of taking Auni to the Roundball World Championship Game one day.

And these little things fill in the outline Reth once knew as Nai’o. He begins to have shape and definition; color and specificity. Reth begins to recognize mannerisms and word patterns and even adopts one on accident (“Howdy!”). He fully appreciates Nai’o’s warm spirit, generosity, and tireless efforts to make everyone around him happy—a trait they undoubtedly share.

In all of that: Reth’s feelings for Nai’o take a new form. A vibrant, swirling, electrified shape that he refuses to name out loud. Even though he knows what it is.

“Summer Love,” Kenyatta says, flipping through her magazine.

Reth freezes just as he heaves a large jug of lemonade onto the bar counter. “What?” He lost track of their conversation the moment the Daiya family stepped through the tavern’s front archway.

“Summer Love?” She turns the magazine for him to see. “The Bahari Boyz new single? It’s such a bop. You have to listen to it. I’ll bring my speaker after the town hall.”

“Oh, yeah, definitely, yeah.” Reth does genuinely love a good Bahari Boyz song.

The Daiya family lingers at the threshold, chatting with the Patels. A vase of sundrop lilies is cradled in the crook Nai’o’s arm. He sees Reth and waves. Reth waves back. Butterflies.

Kenyatta pretends not to notice and flips the next page of her magazine. “You two are certainly chummy these days,” she says.

In all of the ups and downs and complicated feelings, Reth hasn’t been able to broach the subject of his and Nai’o’s relationship (platonic or hopeful otherwise) with Kenyatta. He had been hoping for the right time, maybe when they were yapping and a little tipsy—when Kenyatta was less likely to judge him harshly. No time like the present.

“Crazy, right? I mean, you sat right there and told me about how much he hated me. Now we have plans to hike Jenesse Pass and search for batterflies with Auni this Friday.”

“Totally weird.”

He pours a glass of lemonade for her—a peace offering—and hovers.

“...is it okay?”

“Is what okay?” she asks.

“That I’m friends with your ex.”

Her nose scrunches up and she lifts an eyebrow. “The fact that you even think you have to ask that is tacky,” she says. Then smiles and flips a hand. “‘Course it’s okay. Me and Nai’o are all good.”

Reth’s shoulders sag with a sigh of relief. “Cool.”

Kenyatta turns another page. “Now if you told me you had kissed him or made out with him or something—that would be another story.” She laughs at what she thinks is the absurdity of her joke.

Reth stares at her like a sernuk in headlights.

Kenyatta’s laughter dies fast.

Her hands press against the countertop.

“Reth.”

He blinks out of his stupor and guiltily retreats to the other side of the bar area, hurriedly scooping ice into a bucket as his brain shuffles through a turnstile of excuses for a way out.

“Reth!”

Caleri—perched at her secretary station not too far away—whips her head around and frowns. Reth shakes his hands in a panic, trying to discreetly shush his friend, and returns to her side.

Her stare is just as venomous as her mother’s. Reth rubs his itchy palms against his apron and looks everywhere but into the direct line of that gaze. He opens his mouth like he’s about to say something, then closes it. Kenyatta keeps on staring. Reth does that twice before he steeples his hands together and discreetly asks:

“What do you—what do you define as a kiss?”

“Oh my Dragon!” Kenyatta hisses.

The outburst makes other heads turn and Kenyatta has the sense to pull it back. Reth is grateful she’s self-conscious. The argument that follows is made in hushed, tense, and furious whispers across the bar counter:

“Let me explain—”

“What the heck is there to explain? A kiss is a kiss!”

“I didn’t ask for it!”

“Only prudes ask for permission for a kiss, you dunce!”

“He did it out of blue! I was defenseless!”

“Oh, yeah, I’m sure that’s how it went down—”

“Just let me explain the whole situation—”

She levels him. “How many times?”

“Once.”

“When did it happen?”

Oof.

“Okay. This part is gonna sound bad,” Reth winces. “Like…a week after you guys broke up?”

Kenyatta’s jaw drops to the floor.

“You shifty, horny bastard—”

Completely unaware, Nai’o steps right in the middle of the mess. He smiles from ear to ear, placing the vase of sundrop lilies on the counter.

“Hey, Reth. I got these for you—for the tavern. They’re not starlilies but, yeah, they were too pretty to pass up,” he says, then notices his ex-girlfriend, “Oh, hey, Kenyatta.”

At any other time, Reth would have been over the moon to receive flowers from Nai’o (confused as it also makes him). Instead, he wants to drop into the floor.

Kenyatta sucks in a breath like she’s about to blow the roof right off the tavern walls.

Reth holds out his hands, “Just let me explain—”

Betrayal in her eyes, the young healer purses her lips, and hucks her magazine at Reth’s chest with a thwack! before storming out of the tavern. It doesn’t physically hurt, but it leaves him heartbroken.

“Kenyatta—”

Reth follows, vaulting over the bar, and rushing through the main exit. He runs smack into Einar on the patio, spins and stumbles over himself, and barely catches his footing as he clamors onto the plaza pathway. Kenyatta is already past the forge, sprinting toward her house in the twilight. She clearly doesn’t want to be followed.

Reth presses the heels of his palms into his temples. “Shit. Dammit. You’ve done it again, Reth.” Why can’t he do anything right?

Nai’o appears on the patio, concern creased on his brow. “Is everything okay?”

“No, obviously,” Reth answers, motioning toward the mayor’s mansion. He hooks his hands on his hips and paces. “She—I told her…I told her about the storeroom. About, you know.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Nai’o steps forward. “I made that mess, Reth. I can talk to her. I can clear things up.” Chivalrous to the core.

Reth holds up a hand. “No. No, I should do it. I think she’ll want to hear it from me. Hurting the people I care about with my lack of communication—like the humans say: this ain’t my first rodeo.” He shrugs. It’s such a sad sack thing to say, but it’s the truth.

A whirring, mechanical sound catches their attention: Einar. The Galdur lingers at the corner of the patio, noodle arms hanging loosely at his sides.

He cocks his head, “The workings of Majiri interpersonal connection appear very complicated.”

Reth sighs. “Buddy, you got no idea.”

He can barely pay attention to the town hall meeting. Reth sits on his stool, leg jumping, staring at the vase of flowers he can’t even let himself enjoy, while Eshe announces the monthly business: another heat advisory for the coming weeks, a vote to approve the paving of a new pathway, and a pointed reminder to library patrons about increased book fines. Occasionally, Nai’o looks over his shoulder to check on him— a nice gesture. Reth forces a smile each time.

Eshe taps a manicured finger to a page on her ledger. “Now for the part I’m sure many of you are curious about: our event suggestion box.”

The room re-engages, with villagers sitting up straighter in their seats or even scooting forward. If Reth was in a better mood, he might be more responsive too. But they won’t pick the idea he dared to submit, so it doesn’t even matter. He’ll just sit in misery, trying to think of ways to win Kenyatta’s friendship back.

Kenli hops to his feet and reads from a separate page. “We had some very, very good ideas,” he says, “Our daughter—not sure where she’s gone off to—”

Reth rests his face in his hands.

“—she had a wonderful idea for a music festival. And Sifuu submitted a very unique concept for a sparring competition called—” Kenli looks at his page.

Sifuu raises a proud fist. “Kilima Ninja Warrior.”

“Yes! Very interesting. And our resident tailor,” Kenli gestures to Jel, “Suggested a fashion week.”

Eshe shakes her shoulders. “Which I adored,” she oozes, “Unfortunately, many of these ideas are beyond our regrettably provincial budget. Still, regardless of the bottom line, there was one submission that caught the attention of myself and our hand-picked selection committee.” The magistrate motions to Ashura, Caleri, and, surprisingly, Delaila Daiya.

“Despite its simplicity and pastoral nature.”

Zeki leans over the bar and whispers, “Since when was there a selection committee? Feels like bureaucratic censorship bullshit to me.”

Tish playfully knocks the Grimalkin with the back of her hand.

Kenli offers Eshe a folded page of familiar cream colored paper. Not unlike the paper Reth used to submit his idea.

“It is a surprisingly well examined idea called the ‘Kilima Bloom’.”

Reth’s eyes bug out of his head.

Eshe continues to read words Reth wrote himself directly from the page:

“A week-long celebration of Kilima’s most valuable asset: its natural beauty and natural resources. With the rare and brief starlily bloom as its central event.”

Eager for acceptance, Reth scans the tavern. Hodari thoughtfully nods his head. Elouisa pulls to the edge of her seat. Tish clasps her hands together in quiet delight. “That sounds perfect,” she whispers to those near her. A warmth takes root in Reth’s chest.

The magistrate regards the submission page. “There is a list here of suggested occasions for the week, specifying members of our community as docents. For example: with his knowledge of the valley, it is suggested that Ashura could facilitate themed nature walks and nightly starlily bloom viewings. And that Jina and Hekla could lead mushroom foraging workshops.”

Behind her round glasses, Jina’s eyes are aflame. “Oh, that sounds like so much fun! Two workshops! Edible and poisonous!”

Eshe motions to the couch of Daiyas. “Garden talks about native plants and sustainability at the Daiya family farm.”

Badruu thoughtfully rubs his beard. “I do love talkin’ compost.”

“A Kilima herbal tea ceremony hosted by our local apothecary,” Eshe reads, “Our submitter actually had several suggestions for you Chayne, including a hillside guided meditation and stargazing parties.”

“So many excellent ideas,” the monk praises, gesturing wide. “May I ask: who envisioned them?”

Eshe looks out at the tavern crowd. “I was hoping to find that out myself tonight, as this submission was entirely anonymous.”

Furniture shifts and heads turn as the villagers scan the faces amongst them. Obviously, no one raises a hand. Nai’o looks directly back at Reth—damn that pesky gut instinct.

“Well?” Eshe prompts, “Who’s submission was this?”

Just like anyone accustomed to disappointment and trauma, Reth is terrified to take ownership. He could let it stay anonymous; let his golden idea remain untainted by his bad reputation. Because who’s to say the town will want to go through with his proposal after they learn he is the mastermind of it? Eshe could pull the rug from underneath his feet in a heartbeat. A second ago, he didn’t care whether or not his idea saw the light of day. Now, it is a source of pride.

Nai’o subtly nods toward Eshe, urging him to speak up.

That’s all it takes it seems, because Reth’s hand slowly rises without his permission.

Eshe’s narrow eyes flash in his direction and she rolls them, “Reth, whatever it is, it can wait.”

“It was my idea,” he says, small.

Every face turns toward him. Some sport shocked expressions. A few, confused. Others—like Ashura and Tish—quietly proud.

“You?” the magistrate guffaws, like it’s the most preposterous thing she’s heard all day. “This proposal had a budget and schedule of events submitted with it. Are you suggesting you—”

Nai’o is still smiling at him and that gives Reth the courage he needs.

“I gotta balance the budget for tavern supplies,” he reveals, “And I gotta know what stuff to prep ahead of time and how to plan my day so everything gets done around here. That’s what I do on the daily. It’s… not so out of my scope.”

Eshe taps her nails against her ledger.

“Well.” She folds his proposal paper in half. “This is a surprise. I thought your submission was the Noodle Festival.”

Discreetly, Kenli leans toward his wife. “That was mine.”

She swats him away.

“Regardless, we have not yet officially chosen this proposal,” Eshe says, a hint of warning, “As the author, can you speak more to the intention of this event?”

Dragon, there are so many people looking at him. He’s never shied away from a crowd before. His extroverted nature loves that kind of attention. But more judgement and potential criticism from people who have kept him at an arm’s distance? Nervewracking.

Reth stands, awkwardly knocking his stool off to the side.

“Sure, um—I just think,” Reth starts, “I just think, instead of pretending like Kilima is, ya know, this culture center or artsy town or crafter’s metropolis—which, there’s some real talented folks out here of course—but I think we should show people the things that make Kilima Valley… Kilima Valley.”

The room is motionless. Reth continues, hoping for the best:

“After living in Bahari City—don’t get me wrong, it’s a busy and fun place with loads to do—but when me and Tish drove our wagon through this valley for the first time,” he glances at his sister, “When we first got here, I thought the air was sweet. Literally sweet; like sugar in the wind. But that’s just how it is. The rivers are so clear. The grass is soft.”

Reth had thought they’d honestly found paradise.

“There are things that bloom here that don’t grow anywhere else in the province. There’s, like, magic here. A gentleness. Like…silken tofu.”

From the corner, Najuma giggles. Then, slaps her hand over her mouth, mortified.

Reth laughs with her so she feels less self conscious, “I’m totally serious. Kilima Valley is silken tofu. Bahari City is like bouillabaisse. Harvest Meadows… is like one of those low quality cream puffs that leaves a weird film in your mouth? You know the ones?”

Kenli solemnly nods.

Ashura crosses his tattooed arms. “I think you’re getting off track, Reth.”

Reth points a couple of finger guns, “Right, yeah, totally. Silken tofu—”

Eshe groans.

“—is a wildly underrepresented and underappreciated food. It can be savory. It can be sweet. Used on its own or as an ingredient alternative. But most importantly: it’s nutritious. It’s really, really nourishing.”

He gestures wide. “You feel good after eating it. Fresh. Ready for the rest of the day. That’s the feeling I get every morning when I step outside and breathe in the sweet, valley air. I feel…well-nourished.” Reth pats his chest.

The silence is broken by a tiny, impressed ‘damn’ from Zeki.

“Kilima doesn’t need roundball fields or fancy festivals to get on the map. It’s special already. I think people coming from other places will think that too, if we lean into what makes this place so beautiful. Just like I did. Like we did,” Reth says, looking again toward his sister.

Tish’s eyes water. Why is she on the verge of tears? Did he say something that bad?

“Sooo yeah. I’m talking too much. I think, uh, yeah, it’s up to you all if this is something you wanna do.” He goes to sit and then suddenly shoots back up, “If you want. You don’t have to. It’s okay. Just, yeah, thanks.”

Reth plops down on his seat. The whole tavern stares at him. He can’t tell if it’s a good or bad thing.

Tish leans as close to her brother as she can get, grasps his forearm, and whispers, “That was amazing.”

He nearly melts into a puddle on his stool. If Reth gets no reward other than his younger sister’s adoration, that would be just fine with him. He pats her hand in thanks.

Eshe regains her composure and stores Reth’s proposal page between the pages of her ledger. “Well. I think we must take a vote,” she says, “All those in favor of forming a planning committee for the Kilima Bloom, please raise your hand.”

The ‘yes’ vote is nearly unanimous—all hands raised (including Eshe)—with one hold out: Delaila Daiya.

Reth can’t decide if he’s more surprised by her public hesitation, or more surprised when she concedes and raises an arm to join the majority vote. She pointedly refuses to look his way.

“A passing vote. The Kilima Bloom will be this village’s next large-scale event. Make a note of that please, Caleri,” the magistrate dictates to the local librarian. “We will elect members of the planning committee in the coming weeks. Speak to me if you have interest. Otherwise, this meeting is adjourned. Thank you all.”

So that’s what a win feels like.

Reth is floating, like his head is a cloud and his shoes have wings. Jel reaches over and gives him a sound pat on the shoulder and the quiet compliment feels like a gold medal around his neck. Never, in all of his years of living in Kilima, has he ever felt village-wide support.

Jina rushes up to the bar. “Mushroom foraging workshops? Absolutely brilliant!”

Ashura comes up behind her. “That was quite a proposal. Good job, Reth.”

“I can’t wait to talk ideas, Reth!” Badruu waves at him as he passes, “It’s gonna be un-be-LEAF-ably fun!”

Reth is going to ride this high forever.

But, despite all the sudden attention, there is one person he wants to hear most from:

Nai’o approaches the bar, returning two used glasses to the lemonade station. “I knew it was you,” he says. His dimples are so cute.

“Did the starlilies give me away?” Reth asks.

“They did.” Nai’o jabs his thumb over his shoulder. “My ma told me about the idea last night at dinner. Said it was the best one of the lot and she was eager to know who made it. I knew who it was but I don’t kiss and—I, uh, didn’t tell her.”

The farmboy catches his slip of the tongue a little too late, but no one else seems to think anything of it. Delaila stands near the fireplace, speaking with Eshe. She catches Reth’s glance, but avoids an interaction. Her coldness is particularly frigid.

“I actually had my bets on you, Nai’o,” Ashura reveals.

“Really?”

“The proposal felt like a love letter to the valley,” the innkeeper says. “I was so sure it came from someone who grew up here.”

A love letter? Reth thinks that’s a little dramatic, considering it’s just a quick idea he jotted down on the fly. But he takes the compliment as gracefully as he can…by shrugging and moving to wash the lemonade cups in the nearby sink.

There’s a deep pride in the way Ashura looks at Reth. “Didn’t know you felt that way about this place, son.”

Reth and Tish share a brief, knowing moment.

“Guess it grew on me.”

Reth doesn’t make a habit of visiting the mayor’s house. In fact, he’s surprised his body doesn’t burst into flame the moment he steps foot on the property.

Nevertheless, he knows better than to just waltz right through the front door and incur Eshe’s wrath. Everyone has retired for the evening after the town hall and Reth figures the magistrate is somewhere in the building. No, he’ll have to be a little more subtle.

Reth sneaks around the side of the manor, through the garden gate, and into the well-manicured Bahari back courtyard. He tiptoes along the pathways, between the hydrangea bushes, and toward the bubbling center fountain, careful not to loudly shuffle the pebbles beneath his feet. He peers up at the second story, noting the several lit windows. A Bahari Boyz poster pinned to the wall in one of the rooms marks his target.

But first, Reth has to psyche himself up.

He’s never been good at apologies. He is the king of excuses, a master of avoidance, and a skilled distractor. ‘I’m sorry’ doesn’t cut it with Zeki and the Grimalkin Cartel, so he’s learned other ways of skirting around his problems.

But ever since the kopaa nut incident with Sifuu and Nai’o, Reth has rethought his approach to accountability. He didn’t know conflict could be ended so…smoothly. Maybe he could learn a new way of mending things.

Reth sucks in a deep breath, plucks a pebble from the ground, and tosses it toward the lit window.

Tink! The stone bounces off the window.

Reth waits.

Nothing.

He tries another.

Tink!

Nothing.

Then, a third.

Tink!

Kenyatta appears at the window, headphones looped around her neck. She looks around, spots Reth, and frowns.

She opens the window. “Are you crazy?”

Reth’s shoulders rise to his ears. “I know, I know.”

“My mom is gonna kill you.”

“I have to talk to you, Kenyatta.”

“I don’t want to talk to you. So just get lost.”

Kenyatta begins to pull the window closed.

“I’m sorry!” he exclaims, in a desperate and risky attempt to keep her from leaving. She pauses. He glances toward the other windows in the house. So far, so good.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, sincere, “Please, just—five minutes. Five minutes. Let me at least give this back to you.”

He holds up Kenyatta’s magazine. There’s a few seconds where Kenyatta is just staring at Reth, deciding what to do. Her micro expressions are hard to read from so far away. She closes the window and disappears.

Reth waits, hoping she hasn’t just decided to ignore him.

A minute later, she stalks through the rear foyer of the house wearing lounging clothes and a Grimalkin music device on her hip. She stops on the back patio, crossing her arms and standing a few feet taller because of the platform. Not unlike the body language of her mother, Kenyatta motions for him to speak.

Reth’s palms are sweaty. He’s never had to tell anyone the details of the storeroom incident to anyone.

“When it happened, I had no idea what was going on,” he begins, “Sort of just happened out of the blue. Like all of a sudden like, whoa.”

The attempt at a joke lands flat as Kenyatta stares him down.

Reth rubs his hands against his apron. “I didn’t instigate it. Not knowingly, anyway. Me and Nai’o were arguing about something stupid I had done. So stupid. He was angry and I was tired and fed up and—I still don’t really understand what happened. What it was all about, you know. But it doesn’t change the fact that it did happen. And that I was a… willing participant.”

He can’t lie about that. Despite the flurry of confusion, he’d kissed Nai’o back.

“I’m sorry,” he apologises again, “I didn’t mean to hurt you, but I did. And I’m sorry.”

The words come easier than Reth had imagined they would. Kenyatta ticks her jaw and taps her foot against the patio planks. She looks up at the sky.

“It’s not that you can’t like him,” she says, “It’s not even that you can’t date him. It’s that you never told me. It feels like you hid it from me. And that’s what bothers me.”

Reth nods. “Yeah. Yeah, that makes sense.”

Her arms shift from crossed and closed off to a self soothing hug.

Reth is bad at saying what he means to say. It takes him about ten sentences to wind around the point and then, eventually, spout it out on accident when he finally stops paying attention to what he’s saying. But this time, with a bit of Nai’o observation under his belt, Reth finds exactly what he wants to say:

“I care about you, Kenyatta,” he says, “You’re my friend. I don’t want to lose you. I want to make this right.”

It’s too direct it seems and Kenyatta makes a waving motion for him to stop.

“Ugh, this is too sappy. It’s fine, alright?” She shifts her weight to one hip like she usually does and smiles. “We’re cool.”

Reth blinks.

“Really?”

“Yeah. I’m over it. Nai’o and I were done a long time ago now,” Kenyatta shrugs, “Apology accepted. Or whatever.”

Reth wonders if there’s a catch because winning her back was too easy. But she hops down the steps without another word, mannerisms relaxed and loose, and loops her arm through the crook of Reth’s elbow as she takes the magazine from his other hand. Kenyatta’s changeable nature is both a blessing and a curse.

“You’re my friend, too,” she says, quietly.

Wow, this was a really, really good day.

Stepping in time, the two of them stroll around the fountain and toward a corner of the garden that houses a suspended, swinging bench.

“So are you guys a thing or something?” she asks.

Reth startles. “No. No way. Haha. That’s funny. You’re funny.”

Kenyatta makes a dubious face. “That was way too big of a reaction for it not to be a thing,” she laughs, “Tell me more about the weird hate kiss or whatever. It’s kind of the most interesting piece of gossip I’ve heard in years.”

He hasn’t thought too hard about the storeroom incident for a long time. For days—weeks—after, Reth would lie awake at night and try to make heads or tails of the whys and hows. But the more distant the memory gets, the less he cares and the more he chalks it up to post-break up desperation.

“Honestly, I think I was just a rebound. That’s the only thing I can come up with,” he shrugs, “We were yelling at each other and I thought we were just gonna start throwing fists or something—then he pins me up against a cupboard and just—yeah.”

Heat creeps up the back of his neck. Maybe the memory isn’t so distant.

“He pinned you against a cupboard?”

“Yeah.”

“He never pinned me against a cupboard,” Kenyatta gripes. “Honestly… sounds hot.”

Reth makes a face of pretend guilt and the two of them giggle like schoolgirls. He can tell she’s not hiding any true feelings about the matter and that brings him comfort. They sit on the rocking bench together, Kenyatta pulling her legs up and crossing them and Reth using his toes to occasionally swing them.

“And that was it?” she asks.

Reth tilts his head right and left. “It was really weird for a while. But I guess enough time has passed where we’ve gotten over it and now we’re also friends? Which I never thought I’d say about Nai’o. A lot’s changed. I’ve gotten to know him better. He’s different from what I imagined.” He gazes up at the clear night sky and exhales, tracing a familiar constellation with his eyes.

Kenyatta’s mouth drops open.

“Oh my dragon. You’re in love with him.”

He stops swinging the bench.

“What? No. Whoa. No.”

“Sure. Uh-huh. Rapt, wistful sighs are not for crushes.”

Love?

No, he can’t be. Reth waves the impossible idea away.

“It doesn’t matter. That’ll never be a thing,” he insists. His brain betrays him and he thinks of Nai’o’s cute dimples. “Right?”

“Dude. In a state of heightened emotion he pushed you against a cupboard and kissed you. In what world do you think that’s a thing that uninterested people do?” Kenyatta asks. Then, she cocks her head and looks off toward the corner of the garden. “Actually, I’m pissed at him now. Only one week out and he’s got his eyes on someone else? Rude.”

Reth has to laugh because otherwise he might spiral. “Yeah, that is pretty rude.”

Kenyatta holds up a finger. “This is actually starting to make a lot of sense.”

“What does?”

“He’d talk about you a lot. Even before we were dating.”

The implication is absurd. “What?”

She crosses her arms. “Yeah. I always chalked it up to him really disliking you or jealousy or something but now it’s got me second guessing. Ooh, now I’m really pissed at him.” She reaches over and places a hand on his arm and jokingly assures, “Not at you. You’ve never done anything wrong, ever.”

He laughs. “Wrong is my middle name.”

Reth has always appreciated Kenyatta’s candor, but late evening after a long day and a friend almost-break-up is not the time to dive back into the past and dissect Kenyatta and Nai’o’s relationship. Even Reth knows when to call it a night. He’s there for Kenyatta. Not for Nai’o.

“Let’s talk about something else,” he says.

Kenyatta catches on quick. She smiles.

“Mm. Bahari Boyz?”

“Hell yeah.”

Kenyatta takes the headphones from around her neck, detaches one of the ear cups, and offers it to Reth. He holds it up to his ear as she dials through the Grimalkin device to find a song she wants. A cricket hops through the garden and stops near the moonlit fountain.

“Hey, would you be willing to help me file a petition at City Hall?” he asks, trying to be as casual as possible.

“Need me to forge a signature? Get my mother’s stamp? Send a glitter bomb to the capital?” She waggles her eyebrows.

How he scored her as his friend, Reth will never know.

“Nah, just a good old fashioned petition. For the Remembrance Garden.”

She seems to understand without him saying the words explicitly. “Course, Reth. I can totally help with that.”

She presses play.

The Bahari Boyz are upbeat and electric, romantic and sappy. Everything that Kenyatta really isn’t. But maybe that’s why she likes them so much, Reth thinks: she can channel all the things she’s afraid of being into their music. He pretends not to notice how she dances with her shoulders and subtle nods; how she already can mouth the words to their new song. She’s particularly beautiful when she lets her walls down.

“So what boring idea did my mom end up picking?” she asks, to the buoyant sounds of acoustic guitar and a copy-and-paste drumbeat.

“Mine.”

“Seriously?”

“Crazy right?”

“That probably frosted her.” She grins. “Sick.”

Chapter Text

With a crate of food scraps cradled in his arms and the tune of ‘Summer Love’ playing on repeat in his head, Reth heads down the main path toward the Daiya farm. He’s buoyant, with a skip in his step and bounce in his spirits. He’s just come from the preliminary meeting for the Kilima Bloom where everything went surprisingly well. Eshe actually listened to his ideas, Jina seconded one of his riskier suggestions, and no one gave him any weird, sideways glances.

For the first time, he feels part of the community.

So Reth figured, why not make the day even better with a drive-by to see his favorite cowboy?

He hears Nai’o before he sees him—voice floating on the breeze in a loop-de-loop melody. Reth rounds the corner of the shed and Nai’o is in the corral, coiling a length of rope, and singing. It’s an unfamiliar song—calming and nostalgic, soft and pastoral. The tune is something from another time and sounds nothing like the popular, contemporary music Reth prefers. Whatever the song, Nai’o has a nice singing voice.

Reth had caught him in the act before—leaning against a hay bale with a six-string in his hands, singing out into the ormuu pen. As far as Reth could tell, it was an enrichment activity. For the ormuu. Maybe also for Nai’o.

He’s acapella this time but the scruffy creatures in the pen seem to enjoy the performance all the same, pausing their cud chewing to lift their big, shaggy heads and listen to their rancher. Reth lingers by the fence edge, crate of potato peelings and broccoli stalks in his arms.

Down in the valley where the riffroc graze
Tender grass and buttercups sway
Gonna rest ‘til the sun is gone
And sleep all my worries away

Then, he yodels. Like singing in figure eights—that’s the only way Reth can describe it. It’s both strange and impressive and rather…charming. In that lonesome cowboy-by-the-fireside kind of way.

Nai’o turns and nearly jumps out of his skin at the sight of Reth. He hiccups and laughs his nerves out with a smile bright as the noon sun and presses a hand to his heart.

“Gosh, Reth,” he sighs, “Where’d you come from?”

“Sorry, sorry,” Reth finds himself smiling back, “Didn’t want to interrupt your performance.”

The cowboy closes the distance, slinging the hefty rope coil onto a fencepost. It’s a warm, summer day and he’s sweating something fierce. “Hardly much of an audience all the way out here. Besides you and ol’ Butterball.”

“I’d say the whole pen was pretty invested,” Reth says, “Where did you even learn to sing like that? That yodel-y thing.”

Nai’o cocks his head and hooks his hands on his hips. “Oh, y’know, I’m not sure. Just been doing it so long… can’t remember when I started. You wanna learn how?”

Now that is one crazy offer.

Reth shakes his head. “Oh no. No, no. I think I’ll pass on embarrassing myself.”

“There’s no one around. It’s fun! You should give it a try!”

“I’m not much of a singer—”

“Don’t hafta be. Here, I’ll teach you.” Nai’o vaults over the corral fence with ease. Which shouldn’t be that hot but Reth is way more into athleticism these days. He takes the crate of vegetable trimmings from Reth and sets it on the ground. “Sing a low note. Anything.”

“Nai’o. Seriously, I don’t know what sound is gonna come out of my mouth—”

“That’s okay! Everyone starts somewhere.”

His optimism and good mood is infectious. Ever since Reth has been able to admit he has more than just a passing fancy for Nai’o, he’s fallen victim to that smile time and time again. He tries to stay vigilant; tries not to turn into a pile of mush whenever the blonde is nearby, but he’s too weak to Nai’o’s wiles. The wiles Nai’o is completely unaware of. Because that’s not how things are between them, no matter how friendly. Reth isn’t delusional.

“C’mon. Just give it a go,” Nai’o encourages.

Reth glances around. The farmyard is empty. He clears his throat and makes an awkward, low ‘ahh’ sound.

Nai’o beams. “Okay, now make a high sound. Like the highest note you can get.”

Reth does as he says and his voice cracks. “This feels ridiculous,” he giggles.

Dragon, being into someone makes you do really stupid, silly things.

“It does feel a little funny at first,” the cowboy admits, “Now slide between those notes. Like, start low and then go high. You’re looking for where you hit your head voice. That’s what my Pa calls it.”

“Head voice? What does that mean?”

“It’s like when the note gets so high you gotta sing from your nose and not your chest?”

He’s never been a singer. His theatre background was in comedy plays, not musicals. He has no idea what he’s doing. But when doing something embarrassing is going to buy him more time with Nai’o, he’ll take it.

Reth makes the low note. Then, slowly takes his voice higher and higher, until he’s practically squeaking. Nai’o purses his lips together, trying not to laugh. Reth stops abruptly, gulping in air. He playfully smacks a hand against Nai’o’s firm shoulder.

“Are you pulling my leg? Is this a prank?” he asks.

Nai’o laughter breaks free. “No, I swear. I’m bein’ honest. This is how you do it,” he says, “It feels silly but like—yodeling is where you start low and then go high fast. Switching from your chest to your head voice real quick.”

Reth narrows his eyes. “I think you’re just trying to make me look like an idiot.”

“I’m not! I’m not. You’re also not getting enough air. Here—”

Without much warning, Nai’o places a gloved hand to Reth’s diaphragm.

The touch is shocking. It sends an electric signal through Reth’s body and he straightens his notoriously bad posture in an instant, heart racing. There’s nothing particularly sensuous or sexy about the touch, but it is intimate—overly familiar, even. He probably did it without thinking and Reth shouldn’t read into it.

But he does.

“Breathe in deep,” the cowboy says.

Nervous and wanting to impress, Reth does what he’s told—sucking in the biggest gulp of air he can muster with his whole chest.

“Not into your shoulders,” Nai’o gently corrects, “Into your stomach.”

A dubious turn of Reth’s lips reveals skepticism. “You can breathe in your stomach?”

“Imagine you’re filling up the lower part of your lungs. Don’t heave your shoulders up and down—keep them level. Through your nose, not your mouth.”

To further drive his point, Nai’o places his other hand on Reth’s shoulder. It’s a whole lot of touching. They probably look super weird. It feels super weird.

Reth takes in a long breath through his nose, letting his chest and soft stomach rise with the air. Admittedly, he can feel the difference.

“Oh. Whoa. Guess you can.”

“Yeah! Like that!”

Reth glances sideways, hoping that Nai’o doesn’t notice his burning ears.

“Since when are you an expert on singing techniques?”

The blonde shrugs. “My Da taught me. But good breathing is important for exercise too. Helps maximize the work out. Muscles need oxygen, especially if they’re working overtime. It’s important for cardio too obviously—”

Nai’o’s hand subtly shifts across Reth’s stomach, as if aiming to hook his fingers around Reth’s hip and—

“Nai’o.”

Gloved hands fly away from his body like he’s suddenly caught fire and Reth releases a breath he didn’t even know he was holding.

Delaila stands at the edge of the house, mouth pulled into a grim, taut line. She’s certainly seen something she doesn’t like.

“Wouldja help me with the grain, son?” she asks.

Nai’o skips into a jog. “‘Course, Ma.”

His voice is its normal, friendly tone. But a manicness edges his words. “See ya ‘round, Reth!” He’s quick to leave, rounding the corner of the house and out of sight, leaving Reth with whiplash.

Beneath the linen fabric of Reth’s tunic, his skin tingles where Nai’o touched him.

The stern, unfriendly way Delaila regards him is hard to ignore. Her positively glacial demeanor towards him has been worse lately. For a long time—years even—she hadn’t given him the time of day. He kind of preferred it that way. Instead of the sour, third-degree he gets from her now.

Their stand-off is…uncomfortable.

“Reth.”

“Hey, Mrs. Daiya.” Reth picks up his crate, shaking off his nerves. “Just dropping off some compost.”

She puts her hands to her wide hips. “‘Course. Better do it fast. I’m sure you’ve plenty to get done down at the inn. What with today’s meetin’ and all.”

She wasn’t at the Kilima Bloom meeting, yet she knows about it.

“That’s an understatement,” Reth says.

The joke lands flat with her.

Reth rallies with a smile and hikes the heavy crate up to his hips, “Well, back to it! Have a good day!”

“Likewise.”

Delaila will never like him. No matter how hard he tries.

Reth hurries to the back of the Daiya farm—out of Delaila’s line of sight and following the corral, behind the barn, and toward the cliffside where the farmers have penned off a large pile of mulch and rotten vegetables. A few months back, Eshe attempted to remove the compost pile, calling it an ‘eyesore’. But the villagers unanimously overturned that petition and environmentalism won in the end.

He dumps the contents of his crate onto the pile, shaking it to dislodge the last of the potato peelings from between the slats.

Reth looks at the pile of dirt, broken eggshells, lettuce bottoms, apple cores, and remembers something Eshe said to him months back: You are destined for the compost pile.

A horrible thing to say to a person, in retrospect; to suggest someone is essentially trash. She said it because she was scared—scared for her daughter’s reputation should she couple herself with the town disgrace. Which, in some horrible way, Reth understands. He wouldn’t want that kind of baggage for his own kin. Maybe that’s what Delaila is afraid of too—though her son’s friendship with him is a little less damning.

A worm crawls out between some carrot greens and disappears again into the deep. Maybe I am the town compost pile, Reth thinks, maybe that’s not so bad.

While compost is an eyesore, it is valuable. Badruu calls it ‘black gold’ for a reason. It is a resource put together by bits and pieces of nothing that ultimately help the valley. The crops are heartier, sweeter, and healthier for it. Maybe, despite the rotten optics, compost is not the worst thing to be.

Reth gathers up his pity-party and takes the longer way back, choosing to cut across the grove toward the main pathway rather than walk back through the Daiya homestead. The exercise will boost his mood. Maybe he’ll pick up some morels or spice sprouts along the way.

But just before he passes the farmer’s stand, he catches a voice that makes him stop in his tracks, hidden by a large oak.

He recognizes Delaila speak first:

“I don’t know what’s gotten into you, boy,” she says, “But you know better than to be hangin’ around his lot. Such a bad example.”

A heavy grain sack hits the floor of the stand. Then another.

“Trouble is all he’ll bring ‘round here, mark my words.”

Another grain sack hits the pile with a heavy thud.

“Ma. I love you. But you’re wrong,” says Nai’o’s voice.

Reth’s heart jumps into his throat. He flattens his back against the big oak, waiting out the long silence that follows with bated breath. The pause in conversation is so long, Reth wonders if Delaila just killed her son on the spot.

“Excuse me?” she finally asks.

He’s less sure when he repeats himself, “You’re wrong.”

“Nai’o Daiya, you’ve got some nerve talkin’ to your mother like that.”

“Ma, he practically saved the farm. Don’t you remember?”

“That might be so, and Popcorn Mama is still traumatized from the event.” She is defensive, deflecting.

Nai’o slings another grain sack.

“He won’t ever do anything right in your eyes, will he?”

Reth hugs the empty, soiled crate to his chest. Why is Nai’o doing this? Why would he stand up for him like this? Against his mother, of all people? He doesn’t have to do that.

“He chose his fate, Nai’o. The moment he turned his back on his path, he knew what it would mean. Knew how it would look. Now I feel sorry for the lot he’s been dealt—what with his parents and all—but that’s no excuse to make a mistake like that. Dishonored their memory is what it did.”

“But how long does he have to suffer for it?” Nai’o passionately asks, “Years? Until he proves himself? His whole life?”

“You’ve been talking to too many humans!” Delaila guffaws.

“Would you hate me that much? If I did the same thing?”

Reth doesn’t have to see Delaila’s face to know the expression that has struck her. Her tone shifts to grave:

“Now don’t you start talking like that.”

“I’m not going to, Ma. I know the farm is right for me. But just… imagine it. For a second.”

The silence stretches.

Maybe she’s crying. Maybe she quietly walked away. But Reth remains. Rooted to the spot, he couldn’t move and reveal himself if he tried.

“Goodness. What has gotten into you?” Delaila marvels, “You’ve never been this headstrong.”

A breeze rustles the branches above Reth’s head. The sun crests over the highest point in the sky and the valley cools with wind glancing off the lake.

“Dragons, it would break my heart. Split it right in two, it would, to see you go that way with your life. Nothing good would come of it. And the farm…” The thought seems to upset her too much to finish. “But I would love ya still, my stars. You and Auni are my reason for bein’, Nai’o. I will love ya long after I join the ancestors, no matter what’cha did.”

It’s a rare occasion to witness a crack in Delaila Daiya. She is the strongest woman in the valley, only equaled by Eshe herself. But her weakness is family. Reth risks a glance, peeking around the tree trunk. Mother and son embrace one another tight. When they pull away, Delaila presses a palm to Nai’o’s cheek. Reth can only see the back of his blonde head.

“Reth doesn’t even have a mom or dad to disappoint,” he says.

Delaila steps back to pat her son on the chest, fondly. “So soft. Yer just like yer father. Blubberin’ creative types and all their emotions and their way of understandin’ others feelin’s. More trouble than it's worth.”

Despite her weepiness, she’s smiling, proud.

“You’re all grown up. I see that now. You make your own choices, my love. But you just be careful. That heart of gold can getcha hurt.”

A week later, in the earliest waking hours of the morning, Reth organizes a recent shipment of goods in the boathouse below the tavern. Jel’s imported textiles, Eshe’s exotic vegetables, and an order of medicines for the apothecary—all arrived by boat that morning. Reth tucks the shipping crates against the stone walls, away from the water. He pauses his work to knock his forehead against one of the wooden crates.

“Get a grip, Reth. Don’t get your hopes up,” he mumbles to himself.

The conversation he overheard between Nai’o and Delaila weighs on him. Nai’o had nothing to gain from standing up to his mother, except his respect. And since he didn’t even know Reth was present, respect wasn’t what he was after. So the only conclusion Reth could draw was that…Nai’o cared about him.

And between that revelation and Kenyatta’s insane hypothesis that Nai’o has had a longstanding, distant interest in him, Reth is more confused about where he stands with Nai’o more than ever before.

Reth shakes out his anxiety through his hands and continues his work. The boathouse creaks. A thin, dawn mist creeps through the open dock and through the wooden floor planks like smoke. He’s always been more of a night person, but Reth can appreciate the early morning’s peace.

A peace that is suddenly interrupted by familiar boots barreling down the stairs from the floor above.

Nai’o, dressed in his winter poncho and a satchel slung over one shoulder, rushes into the boathouse like it’s an emergency, almost tumbling over himself in his haste.

Reth whistles. “Whoa, easy there, cowboy.”

Nai’o calms at the sight of him. “You’re here,” he breathes. “Thought I’d missed you.”

Matching Nai’o’s urgency, Reth leaves the task at hand and goes to meet his friend at the base of the stairs. “This place is purgatory. Couldn’t leave if I tried,” he jokes, “Did you need something?”

“No, nothing. It’s just—” Nai’o glances up the flight of stairs, “I never got the chance to tell you this, but me and my family are leaving for the fair circuit today. Like, right now.”

“Right, fair season,” Reth nods. It’s not a particularly big surprise. To Reth’s memory, the Daiyas always head out for the Bahari Fair around this time of the year. In a few days time, they’ll return with a stack of blue ribbons and the journey will have re-ignited Auni’s adventurous spirit.

“You need something for the road? I can brew up a pot of coffee—”

Nai’o shakes his head. “No, um, I just wanted to tell you. Let you know that you’ll be picking up the produce and eggs from my Uncle Tuck for a little while.”

Reth blinks.

“How long are you gone?” he asks.

Nai’o grips the strap of his backpack. “We’re making a full circuit this year: Akwinduu, Barafuu, Bahari—It’ll be a whole month ‘til we’re back in the valley.”

The news is devastating. Reth has gotten used to seeing Nai’o regularly; he looks forward to their chats and hangouts. A whole month without him will feel like an eternity. What’s more, a lot can go wrong on a Palia-wide journey. Reth knows the risks all too well. But he tries to play down his distress; tries to act normal about it:

“Oh, whoa, okay. That’s a long time. So your Uncle Tuck—?”

“The ormuu are coming with, obviously, for competitions. But he’s coming in to watch the house, the garden, and the pekis. You’ll like him, he’s a hoot.”

“Right. Yeah. Eggs,” he says, taking a towel from his shoulder and wringing it in his hands, “Glad he’s feeling better.”

“Me too.”

They stare at one another.

“Well, happy trails.”

“Thanks.”

Nai’o is frozen at the bottom of the stairs. He looks like he wants to say something, but can’t quite muster the courage. Reth does them both a favor, and moves. He goes to the next crate that needs storing.

“Hopefully, you get to do a bunch of really cool stuff and not just work, work, work like always—”

“I can write to you,” Nai’o blurts out.

The smile that cracks across Reth’s face is wholly conspicuous.

The rancher rubs the back of his neck, shyly. “I guess that’s more of a question actually. Can I write to you? I’d like to. A postcard, at least. Postcards are fun to get, right?”

Reth crosses his arms and leans his weight to one side. “That the next level of this weird friendship of ours? Letter writing?”

“Only if you want it to be.”

When he looks that cute, how could Reth say no?

“Sure. Yeah. I’d…I’d like that. A postcard or two. That would spice up my life in this sleepy little town.”

“I can manage that,” Nai’o agrees. He adjusts his satchel and that seems to remind him of something. “Oh, also, before I left, I wanted to give you this.”

Reth moves far too eagerly to be casual. A stupid part of his brain hopes it's a box of chocolates or a heart-lily. Nai’o pulls a book out of his bag. Unexpected.

Reth grins. “Nai’o. One of your smut books?” he teases, “You shouldn’t have.”

The cowboy’s cheeks turn a shade pinker. “Okay, listen—I hadn’t even read that one yet. I didn’t know how… graphic it was. This one—it’s very tame.”

“That’s almost more disappointing.”

“I just thought you might like it. Because of the theme.”

Reth makes a show of taking the book with a hesitant hand. He reads the title:

“For Better Or For Wurst?”

Nai’o gestures wide. “It’s about two chefs who meet at a cooking competition! Lots of food related stuff. It’s cute!”

Reth turns the book over in hand, glancing over the description on the back cover. “Is the sausage thing a double entendre?”

“What sausage thing?”

No recognition. No awareness. Right over his pretty, blonde head.

Reth stores the book into his apron with an amused grin. “I’ll read it when I get a slow shift.”

“Great!” The blonde tightens the strap on his backpack, hiking it higher on his back. “Well. I guess that’s it. I’ll see you in a month.”

“Have a good trip. Eat lots of corndogs for me.”

Again, Nai’o doesn’t move immediately. He just stares at Reth with an foreign, unreadable look. Like he’s making his mind up about something.

“Will do,” he says. Then, turns on his heel and heads back up the stairs. He pauses to wave one last time—Reth returns the awkward goodbye—and then ascends to the inn’s main floor.

Reth waits an appropriate amount of time before bounding up the stairs after him. He dashes through the inn’s empty foyer, up to the second story, and out to the west-facing balcony. From there he can see Nai’o regrouping with his family in the town square. Delaila openly scolds her son for taking so long, but seems to accept whatever excuse he makes.

Together, the family of four—alongside their ormuu and a full wagon—depart for their month-long journey. Reth watches Nai’o from his perch until the caravan is out of sight.

Reth misses Nai’o something fierce. Certainly much more than he thought was possible. How did Nai’o worm his way into being an integral part of Reth’s life?

By the end of the first week, he’s feeling what he can only describe as withdrawal. When he drops off compost at the Daiya farm, he lingers a little too long at the empty ormuu pen. When Friday’s dinnertime comes around, he has to remind himself not to pre-emptively make Nai’o’s muujin steak. What’s more, there’s been no mail. He’s a real sad sap about it all. Even Tish notices.

“I’m sure he’s just been really busy,” she says, to comfort him.

Thankfully, he has Nai’o’s book to keep him distracted. A book where the sausage thing is definitely a double entendre.

For Better Or For Wurst is about two rival chefs, both of whom happen to be men, who hate one another at first sight. They come from differing philosophies: one rambunctious and free as the wind, and one who is technically skilled and trained to follow recipes like the law. It is cute in a dorky, completely improbable way. But most of Reth’s enjoyment of the book is in the cooking and food descriptions—where the author is clearly not a chef themselves.

He reads the climax of the story as he sits behind the bar and shucks a bushel of corn. Wiping his hands down every time he turns the page on his recipe book stand, he reads a particularly dramatic passage and accidentally groans aloud.

Ashura lifts his head from his work at the front desk. “That book seems to be causing you quite a bit of distress, Reth.”

The cook throws a handful of husk into the crate between his legs. “I’m at that part, you know, the running part.”

“The running part?”

“Yeah, the part where person A has to make this grand gesture to person B and prove they care about them. You know, the—” Reth holds up a naked ear of corn and his free hand, “—‘Stop the wedding, I’m in love with you’ moment.”

Ashura chuckles, writing something into the inn’s ledger. “Sabine always called that ‘the train station scene’. Because someone was always running to the train station to stop their love from leaving.”

Reth reads two more sentences, but stops short of a paragraph. He rests a hand on his knee.

“It’s kinda unrealistic, don’t you think?”

The innkeep adjusts the reading glasses on the tip of his broad nose. “You don’t find it romantic?”

Reth shrugs. “I mean, sure, but do people really act like that? Can anyone just stop what they’re doing and just run across town to confess their feelings? Don’t people have jobs?”

“I suppose that’s what makes it fiction.”

“I guess.” Reth takes another ear of corn, shucks it, and tosses it into the barrel of cleaned corn. Maybe he’s just not very romantic. Maybe he’s just in a bad mood because Nai’o’s gone.

“I think everyone likes the idea of the grand gesture,” Ashura says, flipping a page in his ledger, “Perhaps what you mean to say is that everyone’s version of a grand gesture is different.”

“I guess,” Reth hesitantly agrees. Then asks, “Did you ever do a grand gesture for Sabine?”

The question stops the innkeeper in his tracks. “Gosh. Did I ever—” he says to himself, removing his glasses completely and looking out into the town square. He suddenly laughs, big and hearty. “Actually, I’m man enough to admit this now–-but she did a grand gesture to secure me.”

Reth puts a pause on his corn shucking and leans his forearms on the bar to give Ashura his full attention. He likes it when Ashura talks about the happy memories with Sabine. It gives him a glimpse into true love.

“Did she really?”

“Oh, yes. You see, I was in… a bad place after the war. She was my light. A light I thought I didn’t deserve. One day—Oh, afternoon, Hodari.”

Suddenly, the grizzled miner lumbers through the front entry. He holds up a modest stack of twined letters:

“Mail’s here.”

Reth forgets about Ashura’s story. He watches the stack of letters pass from Hodari’s hand to Ashura’s like a hawk. He barely blinks as Ashura shuffles through the stack, slotting the appropriate recipient’s mail into the boxes behind him.

“You bringing the mail from the bay is a real help, Hodari, I hope you know that.”

The gruff, square-chinned man shrugs. “Not a problem. Makes a lotta sense since I’m already headin’ this way.”

“Reth, pour him a pint wouldja?”

He does as he’s told, sliding a frothing mug across the bar as Hodari takes a seat at the bar. Reth watches as Ashura puts the last of the letters into the boxes and turns to look at his own mail. Nothing still. Nai’o didn’t necessarily promise a letter. But he seemed so eager. Maybe it got lost. Maybe they got lost.

To stop himself from spiraling and thinking about Nai’o drowning in a shipwreck, Reth turns to Hodari. “Hey, I’ve got a question. About rocks. Er, gems. Not rocks.”

As much time as the miner spends at the inn, he and Reth don’t socialize all that much. Usually they just nod to one another, exchange tankards for gold and that’s it. So Hodari’s eyes widen with pleasant surprise when Reth addresses him directly.

“Sure, kid. Shoot.”

“How hard is it to get a hold of some jasper? Is it expensive?”

Hodari takes a gulp of his beer. “Not expensive at all. Pretty affordable stone. Easy to source here in Kilima. Why?”

“I, um, have this petition out to maybe—and this could totally backfire on me and that’s cool—to add some markers to the Remembrance Garden.” He’s trying to act very casual about it, so he doesn’t get disappointed when Eshe serves him his petition with a big ‘REJECTED’ stamp across it.

Hodari’s bushy eyebrows rise. “That so? Well, it’d be mighty hard to make an entire marker out of jasper—”

Reth waves his hands. “I was just thinking of a decoration. A shape or a plate or—I dunno, my mom liked jasper so I was hoping to incorporate it in some way. Haven’t totally thought it through.” Hodari’s steady, sure gaze and voice makes Reth even less sure of himself.

“That’s certainly doable. How’s about I’ll give it some thought and when your petition goes through we’ll talk more?”

“Sure. Yeah. Sounds great.”

Reth feels oddly unmanly after that conversation.

“You have mail, Reth. Got mixed in with my things.”

Ashura holds up a colorful postcard.

Reth knows better than to climb over the bar in front of Hodari and Ashura. He goes the long way, through the kitchen and the living area, receiving the card as calmly as he’s able. Inside, alarm bells are ringing in his head.

“Thanks. I’ll just—Outside. To read this. If that’s cool. Thanks.”

Ashura nods, simply. It’s hard to say if he’s already seen the message inscribed. It is an open postcard, after all.

Reth squirrels away to the balcony overlooking the river. He looks at the postcard. The watercolor illustration depicts a rocky landscape with green outcroppings and sharp, jagged mountains near a coastline. Written across the gray sky in block letters is: ‘From the volcanic mountains of Barafuu’. Reth flips it over:

Hi Reth,
After a bumpy journey (they really need to repave the Appani Highway), we’ve made it to Barafuu. Between competitions and manning the jam stand, I hope me and Auni have time to visit the volcanic hot springs. I’ll bring back some famous smoked trout for you! Heading to the big Bahari Fair next.
Wish you were here.
Miss you,
Nai’o

Reth stares at the last two lines.

Mostly the last two words:

Miss you.

Suddenly, the grand gesture doesn’t seem so insane.

Suddenly, Reth envisions himself as the one running through the train station.

“Ashura?” he calls, eyes still glued to the postcard in his hands.

“Yup?”

“How crazy would it be for me to take a few days off?”

Chapter Text

For many years, Reth’s parents helped man the Bahari Woodworking Guild booth.

They’d sell their smaller wares—bowls, trays, cutlery, clocks, etcetera—and demonstrate woodworking techniques for curious passerbys. Reth has many fond memories of that booth, as well as many fond memories of dodging crowds with Tish, going on rides and sharing oversized, oversweet lemonades that would keep them wired late into the night.

He also remembers crying in the petting zoo when a hungry trufflet cornered him in the pen, eagerly awaiting a treat. Reth thought that treat was going to be him, until he appeased the creature with a slice of apple. Tish didn’t let him live it down for years.

That being said, he is less familiar with the livestock portion of the fair.

“This is last call for ormuu, adult division. Last call!” calls an announcer through tinny speakers.

Livestock judging is a big question mark in Reth’s head. What is it? What’s its purpose? Who cares? What makes a brown peki stand out from another brown peki? It’s all a mystery he hopes Nai’o will eventually unravel for him. For now, he’s got to suss it out for himself.

Reth sits in the spectator speckled bleachers surrounding the main corral, eyes peeled for anyone he knows. His leg jumps, heel pounding against the wooden slat below. He didn’t think this through entirely; he certainly doesn’t have a plan. The plan ended with him getting off at the Bahari train station and his lovesick brain made up all the scenarios that would happen thereafter. But that was just fantasy and this is reality.

The reality is that he has no idea how Nai’o is going to react. He could be ecstatic. He could also be totally weirded out at Reth’s unprompted appearance. Reth has an excuse, of course, in case of the latter. But the excuse won’t cover up the heartbreak Reth will feel if Nai’o isn’t happy to see him.

What’s more, the situation feels less dreamy and daring than he imagined. It’s probably the potent smell of animals and the screaming, tantrum ridden child that are bringing down the mood.

“You should show up with a gift,” Jel told him before he left town, “Flowers, at least.”

“You think?” Reth didn’t know the first thing about old-fashioned courting. “That’s not…coming on too strong?”

“Reth,” Tish had chided, flitting around their home to pack an unnecessary overnight bag with ‘essentials’. “You’re about to travel across the province to see him! Strong is what you’re aiming for. Oh my dragon, this is so romantic!”

“You’ll look like a dunce if you don’t show up with flowers.”

Reth had chickened out and Jel was right: he feels empty handed. Maybe he could find something last minute. Like a giant bag of kettle corn or a big mound of Dragon’s beard candy—

“And here they come, folks,” the announcer says, “Ain’t they just beautiful? Look at those coats.”

Reth startles, stands up to clap, but when no one else does, he quickly drops back to his seat, mortified. He tries not to make eye contact with anyone around him.

One-by-one the ormuu to be judged are paraded in by their handlers through a gate on the far side. Nai’o has told Reth how this all goes: how he escorts Butterball into the corral to show her off, how they walk around the edge of the fence a couple of times before lining up for the judging to begin.

Three contestants in, he hasn’t seen Nai’o yet, and Reth’s leg threatens to shake right off his hip. He could run back to Kilima, tail between his legs, and Nai’o would never be the wiser. He’d left Ashura purposefully ignorant of his intentions, so only Tish and Jel would know of his failure.

Nai’o files through the gate with Butterball and Reth nearly shoots off the bench again.

Two weeks on paper doesn’t seem like much, but in the day-to-day monotony of Kilima Valley, it feels like an eternity. Nai’o is a sight for sore eyes. He looks good, maybe even more well rested and a little less sunburnt than usual. He sports a crisp, new shirt and bandana (it’s red, Reth kind of misses the sunflower yellow one). He’s smiling, focused on Butterball on the lead to his side, making sure she knows where she’s going. She, of course, looks impeccably well groomed: shiny coat, hooves trimmed, horns buffed.

The ormuu parade is…slow. Very, very slow. There’s no music to cover, so it feels like an age and a half as the six ormuu and their handlers promenade around the edge of the pen. It’s almost hysterical how long it takes, but no one seems to be bothered besides Reth. It only adds to the non-romantic, non-fantastical reality of the grand gesture.

With how hot he burns, Reth feels like a neon sign. But Nai’o still hasn’t spotted him.

“Look at those beauts, folks. From Harvest Meadows Ranch, we’ve got our big boy Berryhorn! Then, all the way from the tropical Isles, please welcome—Clover! Our youngest contender—Lil’ Dumplin’!”

Supporters politely cheer for each ormuu as they’re named. Reth gears up to do his part. Nai’o and Butterball round the far corner and move toward the middle of the corral, falling in line with the others.

“From Greenacre Farms, the graceful Rosalee! You know him, you love him—our hometown boy, Hot-Hooves Frank! And, our reigning champion who needs little introduction…from the Daiya Farm in Kilima—Butterball!”

All the other ormuu had received an appropriate amount of recognition and applause. It’s boring and low energy and it makes Reth wonder if half the spectators are asleep. Reth makes sure Butterball’s reception is not that. He hollers at the top of his lungs, clapping his hands loud enough to be heard throughout the entire corral.

“Yeah, Butterball! Woo!”

Nai’o’s head snaps up. Eyes widening at the sight of Reth, he sucks in a breath and holds it. Honestly, Reth can’t tell if his shock is good or bad. Reth waves hesitantly, and Nai’o breaks into a smile wider than Crystal Lake. He glows. Reth’s heart beats out of his chest.

The announcer laughs, “Looks like we have a Butterball fan out there. Alright, Celeste, let’s take a look at these ormuu—”

Nai’o appears to be…vibrating. Like he’s suddenly downed three cups of coffee and it takes every ounce of his self-control to remain in his and Butterball’s assigned place in the lineup. He barely has the wherewithal to address the judge as she passes by. Pleasant surprise would have been enough, but Nai’o looks like he’s ready to vault over the corral edge to get to him.

For what purpose, Reth can only speculate. Rather, he doesn’t want to dare give himself hope. But when Nai’o looks at him like that, like he’s the only person sitting in those stands—

‘What are you doing here?’ Nai’o mouths.

‘To see—’ Reth points to his eye and then to the cowboy, ‘—you.’

Nai’o’s eyebrows raise high on his forehead. ‘Me?’

‘And Butterball.’

‘Of course.’

They grin and share a giddiness that feels like an inside joke. Like the rest of the crowd can’t clearly see them making eyes and signs at one another.

The judge—Celeste, Reth assumes—begins her work. She starts at the further end, evaluating each ormuu with intense focus. She checks their ears, hooves, the texture of their coat, their behind—everything. Occasionally, she explains what she’s looking for, citing breed standards and ormuu health guidelines. It’s all way more in depth than Reth thought it would be. And a little extra judgy. It’s a good thing ormuu understand limited language, or else Reth would worry about their hurt feelings.

When she finally approaches Nai’o and Butterball, Reth sits to attention. Nai’o flashes a nervous smile and Reth gives him two, confident thumbs up across the corral.

“Hello, Butterball, dear. You’re looking good today, yes you are,” says the judge, patting the ormuu’s solid rear end.

Reth feels oddly proud.

“Excellent coat, fine hair but a lot of it. Good, robust shape to her body. She’s getting a little older, so her hind legs are getting a bit tad short and one of her hooves is showing some discoloration—”

“You’re a tad bit short,” Reth mutters to himself, weirdly defensive and bitter over an animal that is technically not his own. As far as he’s concerned, Butterball is a picture perfect ormuu. She’s the best girl.

“—But her stature is impeccable nonetheless. Butterball is still one of the finest ormuu I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

Nai’o’s chest swells. Reth silently pumps a fist into the air. He gets a laugh out of Nai’o for that, so the strange looks from the family next to him are worth it.

Then, there’s an ormuu shuffle. Celeste tells them where to go and who to line up between, and because Butterball is immediately instructed to go to the far left, Reth deduces that this must be how they award places. There’s a last minute switch in the middle of the line, with Lil’ Dumplin’ taking third instead of Hot-Hooves Frank (a real upset for the Bahari locals), but Butterball’s position never moves. It’s all kind of anticlimactic. Reth had always imagined a big drumroll with cheering and maybe some confetti cannons (that’s how he’d do livestock judging anyway). But an attendant just comes out with a basket of ribbons and pins them to the corresponding ormuu.

“In third place: Lil’ Dumplin’. Second place: Berryhorn. And, for the fourth year running: Butterball from Kilima Valley in first place!”

Nai’o crouches and hugs his beloved ormuu, careful of her horns. He says something to her—a promise of treats, no doubt, and that signature Nai’o praise that he offers so effortlessly. Reth does a reasonable amount of clapping alongside the crowd so he doesn’t seem like a poor sport, but inside he’s screaming at the top of his lungs. He feels an odd sense of community pride over Butterball’s win.

The judge addresses the crowd, “Thank you to everyone who came out today, have a great rest of the fair, and travel home safe.”

Reth remains as the spectators begin to dissipate. Now that he’s here, in the very moment he fantasized about over and over on the train, he’s not entirely sure what to do. Maybe there’s other business that needs to happen when you win a blue ribbon. Maybe Nai’o won’t even have time for him. The doubt creeps in closer when Nai’o is suddenly swarmed by a group of people. Fellow competitors, corral attendants, other young, alarmingly fit ranch folk—people much more Nai’o’s ilk than Reth will ever be.

A pretty majiri with a blonde braid touches Nai’o by the bicep, clearly interested. Before Reth can have any feelings about it, Nai’o side steps the touch, takes Butterball’s reins, and heads for the edge of the corral, politely thanking everyone for their support and congratulations.

Reth rises to meet him from the other side of the wooden barrier. He’s twice as handsome as Reth remembers; strong jaw, high cheekbones, and eyes sparkling.

“What are you doing here?” he asks.

Reth slings his forearms over one of the fence slats like some careless renegade. Casual, act casual.

“You know, for a coupla years now I kept hearing you talk about how Butterball always wins,” Reth says, “But I’ve never seen one of those blue ribbons so I was beginning to doubt it.”

Nai’o grins from ear to ear. “You think I was fibbing this whole time?”

“I just had to come and see for myself. So I can report back to the village, first person.”

Reth reaches for Butterball’s big shaggy head, pushing away her fringe to unobstruct her vision, and her ears perk up at the sight of him. She nudges her big snout through a space in the corral to playfully nibble at the corner of Reth’s tunic.

“I see,” Nai’o nods, “...that all you came here for?”

Reth has perfected the art of harmless flirting. But genuinely expressing his interest in someone? Terrifying.

“No,” he says, more quiet and intimate than he intended.

Whether or not he understands the gravity of Reth’s one word answer, Nai’o is captivated.

“You’re such a sight for sore eyes. Do you, um, wanna go grab something to eat? With me?” he asks, he glances around and over his shoulder. Reth is shocked at how quickly this is all coming together. “I’ve got a bit of a break. The rest of my family’s at the jam-off.”

Reth cocks his head. “That’s either a beatboxing competition or a fruit preserves thing.”

The cowboy laughs. “Fruit preserves.”

“Damn. I was hoping to see your dad throw down some sick beats.” He waits. Nai’o blinks. “Get it? Beets? And beats?”

“Oh. Oh! Gosh, you’re so clever, Reth.”

He blushes. “I try.”

The soy-glazed barbecue and fried mochi wafting on the wind ignite Reth’s childhood nostalgia. With his skillset, he could make himself any treat he wanted in the tavern kitchen. But there’s something so special about fair food. It’s probably all psychological—the colorful lanterns, the glossy food samples, the folks standing off to the side shoving corndogs in their mouths—such an atmosphere makes his brain assume the food is extra scrumptious.

Maybe, the Bahari Fair is probably where began to cultivate his palate and love of food.

Reth and Nai’o walk shoulder to shoulder down a wide lane of food and drink booths: takoyaki, waffles, meat skewers, moon cakes, steamed dumplings, curry buns, sweetleaf juice, tapioca tea—it’s all there for the tasting. The train ride was a long one and Reth is practically drooling. But he maintains a certain modicum of restraint to look normal in front of the boy he likes. The boy, who further wins him over by offering:

“Alright, get whatever you want. It’s on me.”

Reth pulls off to the side of the pathway. “What? No, no—”

“I’ve got Butterball’s winnings! Well, half of them. The other half is going toward a couple new water troughs and apple seeds for next season,” Nai’o says, “You came all this way. Let me treat you.”

“Look, I know how tight money can get—”

Nai’o rests a hand at Reth’s elbow, insistent. “Please?”

Damn those earnest, sky blue eyes.

“Alright, twist my arm.” When it comes to food, Reth easily gives in, much to Nai’o’s delight.

Together, they take inventory of what is available to them. Nai’o gravitates toward grilled meats and spiraled potatoes, whereas Reth leans toward a full barbecued squid and dango. They meet in the middle, deciding to share a variety of skewers—meat and vegetables—all ceremoniously dunked in rice wine and charred and caramelized over burning coals.

And as they stand huddled off to the side, sharing their spoils, Reth wonders at the strangeness of the universe. Months ago, he would have never gone out of his way to share a meal with Nai’o. Now, he’s biting a tender chunk of sernuk off a bamboo stick between Nai’o’s fingers.

Just a couple of bros enjoying each other’s skewers.

Reth snorts and a piece of scallion threatens to shoot out his nose. Nai’o heartily pats him on the back to help him cough it out.

Reth is attracted to the way Nai’o appreciates food. He may be someone who wants the tried and true, but the farmboy isn’t afraid of something he doesn’t know. He’ll take a bite of almost anything and when a vendor asks what he wants with his roti, he responds with ‘whatever the house recommends’. The chef in Reth swoons.

After the third booth gives them something for free because of Nai’o’s debonair smile, Reth can’t help but comment.

“Is this what it’s always like for you?” Reth asks, sitting down at a miraculously free table under the boughs of a large oak tree. Nai’o sits across from him with two small paper trays, looking puzzled. “Like, you smile and people just hand you stuff?”

“It comes with the dish,” he answers, with a humbleness that lets Reth know he doesn’t understand what he’s implying.

“I’m pretty sure dumplings don’t come with a side of fried pickles.”

“They don’t? Huh.”

“...you have no idea how good looking you are, do you?”

Nai’o freezes, a full gyoza in his mouth; eyes wide as saucers and cheeks puffed up like a chipmunk. He covers his mouth with his hand to garble out a noise that sounds a little like a surprised ‘What?’

If he speaks from the point of view of others, Reth can talk about how good looking Nai’o is and not have his face light up like a fireball.

“Seriously?” he laughs, “Dude, you’re like crazy handsome.”

Nai’o shrinks, sheepish. He swallows and wipes his mouth with a napkin. “You think so?”

“It’s not that I think so. It’s just facts, man. You’ve got this prince charming thing going on. It’s why Eshe was so dead set on you being Mudan in that pageant thing.”

What a weird escapade that was.

“You’re just being nice—”

“No, it’s true! It’s so true! You even have Sugarfoot—your trusty steed,” Reth says, “I think it’s mostly the hair though. And your, um, very impressive jawline.”

“...thanks.”

Reth keeps talking so he doesn’t have to stew in the awkward break nor the words coming out of his mouth. “And it’s the way you talk to people. You got this sorta boy-next-door, well-mannered, charismatic way about you. So people give you free stuff because of it.”

“That’s funny you say that, ‘cause I used to be real shy,” Nai’o admits.

“Seriously?”

“Yeah. Couldn’t even look at strangers, let alone talk to them.”

Reth snags a fried pickle chip and pops it into his mouth. “What changed?”

“Um, well, there was this—” Nai’o pauses suddenly, shakes something off, and reroutes his train of thought, “Well, mostly I just practiced.”

“How?”

“Don’t laugh.”

Reth immediately laughs. He slaps a hand over his mouth. “Sorry, nervous habit. Go ‘head.”

Nai’o leans in, like he’s afraid someone will hear him over the chattering crowd and the carnival music. “I practiced with the ormuu. And the pekis. I’d pretend they were people who were coming to the farm that I needed to talk to. Other farmers or vendors, you know. Or I’d pretend to order food from them. I had issues with that as a kid.”

The vision of a shy, little rosy-cheeked Nai’o pretend ordering dumplings from a peki half his size is almost too adorable to handle.

“Cute.”

“Not pathetic?”

Reth shrugs. The corners of his lips hurt from smiling. “No, man. I mean, you still talk to them now so maybe I think it’s just normal at this point…But, no, not pathetic at all. Pretty smart, actually. A little kooky, but creative.”

Appreciative of Reth’s leniency, Nai’o nods thoughtfully and returns his attention to his food. He takes another dumpling and sets the trays between them so Reth has better access. Ever since the Viperins visit, Reth is a little scarred by the sight of dumplings. So he takes another pickle chip and looks around him at the nearby booths for his next snack.

Nai’o says something intelligible.

Reth’s focus snaps back to him. “Sorry?”

“I said…” Blue eyes lined with hope stare across the table at him, “...you’re pretty handsome yourself.”

Reth holds his breath.

“Actually, you’re…”

He doesn’t know what his body is doing, but Reth is equal parts thrilled, scared, and nauseous—a maddening combination that makes him feel like he’s about to rocket out of his seat like a flare.

Nai’o clears his throat and suddenly jumps to his feet. “Gosh, I need something to drink. ‘Scuse me, I’ll be right back.”

Reth watches him go, until he’s lost in the milling crowd.

He hides his giggling face in his hands, biting back a smile that would make the fairgoers near him think he’s a lunatic. It takes a lot of self control not to kick his feet under the table like a little schoolboy. Is there something in the Bahari wind? Have they both gone mad? The forwardness, the brazenness of what they’re hurdling toward—

All it took was to get out from the watchful eye of Kilima Valley and just be two unknowns at a state fair.

Now the new question is: what is Reth going to do about it?

Nai’o returns a minute later, to a man having a quiet but joyful existential crisis. He appears to have cooled off from his risky compliment, but says nothing more about it and returns to his seat with a smile.

Reth eyes the yellow-green drink Nai’o sets on the table. “Is that…pickle lemonade?”

“Hm? Oh, yeah. I thought: pickle chips, pickle drink. I love these.”

“No kidding.”

“I know some people think they’re really weird but pickle lemonade is an awesome post workout drink. Sugar, sodium, electrolytes, vitamin C—it’s perfect hydration.” Nai’o offers the straw. “Want some?”

It’s suddenly so obvious.

As they walk the vendor stacks, he clocks Nai’o’s every move: how close he lingers from Reth’s shoulder, his nervous gesticulating…how often he breaks his intense eye contact to glance down at Reth’s lips. He’s so thoughtful in his focus, so aware of when Reth is interested in something they pass. He’s eager to please, waiting at Reth’s hand for something—a smile, another compliment, perhaps permission for something more—anything Reth will give him.

The feeling of being wanted is intoxicating and the bold, flirty part of Reth plays hard-to-get.

He pretends not to notice when Nai’o’s hand lingers over the small of his back while he’s perusing a collection of kitchen gadgetry. And when he turns to get Nai’o’s approval on a ravioli wheel, Reth again plays ignorant not to notice the ungraceful way Nai’o feigns his innocence, hand flying to nervously rub the back of his own neck. Reth moves on to look through a rack of kitchen aprons at the front of the booth and Nai’o nips so close to his heels, one might think he was under a spell.

“Come to think of it,” Nai’o says, observing Reth’s clothes, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you without an apron. Ever.”

Reth flashes a smile. “Scandalous, isn’t it? I can flash a bit of ankle too, if that does something for ya.”

Nai’o can barely string two words together in the wake of that flirtation.

The sound of a buzzsaw pulls Reth back to reality. He turns to look across the pathway and a familiar, carved wood sign hangs above the opposite booth:

Bahari Woodworking Guild

A crowd has gathered around a demonstration, with someone Reth doesn’t recognize. Why would he? It’s been nearly a decade since his parents were part of the guild. Things change. He certainly has. The carpenter turns off the saw and shows the spectators the piece she’s working on—just the bare beginnings of a project.

“Everything okay?” Nai’o asks.

Reth uncreases his brow and rubs the tattoo on his arm, softening his expression. “Yeah. Yeah! I’m good. Just, um, memories. My family used to be pretty involved with the guild booth.”

“Really? That’s—that’s pretty cool.”

“Yeah.”

“...do you want to check it out? See how it’s changed?” Nai’o reads Reth’s hesitation in an instant and gracefully offers an out. “Or maybe not. There’s a lot to see and—”

“No. I should—”

There’s nothing to be scared of. It’s just a booth. Tents aren’t known to be haunted by ghosts.

“—I should take a look. So I can tell Tish about it later. She’d like to hear how it’s grown.” With the crowd focused on the demonstration, the open entryway into the booth is free and clear.

The inside smells like sawdust and teak oil, varnish and tannin chemical. Just as Reth remembers. Tables and shelves are laden with goods: bowls, utensils, jewelry boxes, even clocks—some plain and simple and others crafted with great detail and care. A few larger pieces stand for sale, like cabinets and armchairs. The items are new, of course, with product being cycled out often and new artisans joining the ranks.

Reth lingers at the till. It sits on the counter toward the front, with the ‘5’ number cap conspicuously missing and green paint chipping from its body. He stares until he sees himself—eight years old, sitting behind the counter on a tall stool, pouring over the ‘difficult’ arithmetic in the guild ledger. His mother comes to check his numbers. She approves and pays him with a ride ticket.

Good memories.

“Reth?” Nai’o calls from a far corner of the booth, tone soft and sensitive.

“Hm?”

The cowboy beckons him over and Reth goes.

“She looks like you.” Nai’o motions to a framed portrait.

The picture of his parents must have been added after their passing because Reth doesn’t remember it. He’s not saddened by it, nor joyful. It just is.

The depiction is two pencil sketched portraits side by side in one frame, lined by a double cut oval mat, and hung by a long wire on a tent post. Tish has a similar set of portraits she keeps in her room. His father is on the right, and his mother is on the left. Their names are etched on a plaque below: Taty Keita and Kassa Keita.

“Good eye, Nai’o.”

Reth stares at the pencil lines of his mother—her crafty and charming smirk, intelligent eyes, big head of curls; a sparkling personality even in two dimensions. “You really think I look like her?”

“Pretty darn close. ‘Specially her eyes.”

Whether he does it consciously or not, Nai’o has this uncanny talent of saying things that instantly make Reth emotional.

Reth wrings his hands. “I’ll take it as a compliment.”

“She’s very beautiful.”

They both stare at the portraits for some time. For Nai’o, out of respect. His body is stiff and formal and Reth doesn’t understand because there’s nothing sacred about that space. Somewhere nearby, a vendor rings a cowbell with enthusiasm, calling for customers. And on the other side of the tent canvas, a woman comments on a nice smelling block of artisan soap. No, there’s nothing somber or sacred at all.

Reth looks from his mother to his father: a strong square chin, high cheekbones, and auburn hair pulled back in a low bun. Though Reth always thought he looked more like his father, now that he’s older he can acknowledge the subtle grace and poise Tish undoubtedly inherited from him. He’d been an optimistic, even tempered counterpart to their mother’s more vivacious and anxious nature.

Nai’o’s knuckles brush against the back of Reth’s hand.

“They were so talented,” Reth suddenly blurts. “Like, you’ve got no idea. My dad was a wardrobe and armoire master. My mom was, as some called her, the Lady of the Trim. Beautiful, detailed—around windows and doors and crown moulding. When I was five, I had this obsession with pumpkins. It’s all I would eat: pumpkin stew, pumpkin soup, pumpkin bread, pumpkin noodles—”

Nai’o and Reth both chuckle at the peculiarity.

“So she made this pumpkin trim that went around my bedroom door. All sorts of shapes: tall pumpkins, squat little things, pumpkin blossoms—all the way around,” Reth reminisces. He pauses, cocks his head. “That was probably a lot of work for her. Didn’t consider that ‘til just now.”

It likely took several days worth of handcarving, sanding, and polishing. That’s love, Reth supposes. He shakes the heavy sentiment away:

“They’d do the bigger projects together. Fireplaces. Staircases. Really incredible stuff. And here I am—couldn’t do a miter joint to save my life,” Reth jokingly laments.

Trying to be helpful, Nai’o offers, “You make a great pot pie though.”

“That I do,” he smiles, “I’m not…being self-deprecating for the pity or the compliments or whatever. It’s just. It’s weird that the gene skipped me.”

“Sure, yeah.”

Another pause stretches between them.

“My dad has a real green thumb about carrots,” Nai’o says, out-of-the-blue. Reth regards him quizzically, wondering what that has to do with anything. “Every time he plants ‘em or pulls ‘em outta the ground, they’re the prettiest things you’ve ever seen. All I get are stubs. Like, less than a couple centimeters. One was so round, I thought it was a radish.”

Nai’o’s tangent does what it’s supposed to: it makes Reth laugh. He laughs, bright and hearty, lightening his soul. Nai’o knocks shoulders with him.

“Don’t laugh, it’s a serious problem!” The cowboy is smiling though; wholly unserious.

Reth wipes a little tear at the corner of his eye. “Thanks for that.”

A couple walks into the booth to browse the goods and, without the privacy, Reth feels uncomfortable with continued rumination over his parents. He catches sight of the till again and moves toward it.

“I was, however, very good at being in charge of the admin part of it all.”

“Really?”

“Oh, yeah.” Reth slaps an open palm down on the oak countertop. “While Tish helped my parents with the demonstrations, I was the master of this counter right here. This is where I learned to count gold, balance books, keep inventory—even upsell, if you can believe it. People love buying stuff from cute kids. You shoulda heard my pitch. Immaculate.”

They’d given him the job out of necessity, but it became a standing tradition after he pulled in more revenue for the guild than anyone else. As a child, he loved the praise and attention from his parents and from guild members. He felt part of them; valued by them. Even if it wasn’t at the end of a chisel, his lifelong knowledge of carpentry counted for something—

“Um, Reth? Were you—”

Before he gets too deep in his head, Reth courageously grasps Nai’o’s hand, tightening his fingers around a calloused palm.

“Let’s get outta here, huh? I saw a ‘test your strength’ game earlier. Wanna see what you’re made of, cowboy.”

With one mighty hammer swing, Nai’o knocks the bell at the top of the post clean off its hinges. Nai’o is so embarrassed about the whole affair, he refuses a stuffed prize from the attendant and insists upon helping a fairgrounds repairman with the fix by holding his ladder in place.

Reth watches on, thoroughly amused.

When the Bahari sky darkens, the fair comes to life in a different way. The fairground lights blink on one by one; string lights stretching across tent peaks, bright signs posted above popular rides, lanterns with vibrantly colored flames—magic that everyone willfully ignores for the sake of the event. The livestock retreat to the barns, families retire for the evening, and the real nightlife begins. Nai’o and Reth are just one couple in a crowd of hundreds, emboldened by the darkness and the anonymity of the bustling masses.

They hold hands on and off, testing the waters; taking one another’s temperature with just a pinky or two hooked fingers. Neither are brave enough to interlock, fingers threaded together one over the other.

After Reth made the first move in the guild shop, Nai’o initiates more. Each time they separate—to either play a carnival game or to grasp the rails of a grimalkin tech ride—he’s eager to reconnect. He’s respectful, checking Reth’s expression to make sure the touch is reciprocal. But Reth knows he wants more. Nothing inappropriate, nothing truly scandalous. Just more.

While waiting in line for the next activity, Reth takes Nai’o’s hand from where it grips a stanchion post and guides it to his lower back. They’re silent as Nai’o’s fingers curl around Reth’s hip, too flustered to even look one another in the eye.

The touch recalls a memory: a musty storeroom, a pointless argument, and a kiss.

“Gosh, I’ve always wanted to go on this,” Nai’o says, as they hand their tickets to an operator and slide into the seat of a majiri-powered ferris wheel. “Never got the chance.”

“Why not?” Reth asks.

Nai’o shrugs, bashful. “Never had anyone to go on it with.”

The wheel turns, lifting their two-person seat high above the carnival noise and into the sky. City lights sparkle in the distance, making up for the lack of stars. Kilima is much better for star gazing. They stop, almost at the top.

“I rode this with Tish a coupla times,” Reth says, a little too loud because he’s been practically screaming over the fair for several hours. “We got kicked off once ‘cause we were swinging the seat too much. Well, it was me swinging the seat while she told me to stop.”

“So much for the responsible older brother.”

“I was a real rascal, even then.”

Nai’o just grins, slides his hand across the safety bar, and overlaps two of his fingers with Reth. The wheel begins to spin again.

The quiet at the apex of the wheel’s arc is what gets Reth flustered. Without the hustle and bustle to distract him, the intimacy of a tight fitted seat is obvious. He knows what ferris wheels are for. Everyone does. But when he glances sideways and sees Nai’o peering down at the Bahari fair glow with a big, goofy smile on his face, Reth gets the feeling he doesn’t know what ferris wheels are for. Which is…rather funny. Reth never thought he’d be into the whole ‘wide-eyed and innocent’ thing.

The wheel makes a full rotation, passes the loading dock, and climbs a second loop before stopping again to let another couple on.

Reth lifts his pinky, sliding it up between Nai’o’s fingers.

“Why did you kiss me?”

The blonde swallows hard and licks his lips.

Reth can’t take the silence, so he speaks again, “I mean. I figure I was some sort of rebound for Kenyatta but, like, there’s other options. There’s, you know, I’m sure you know lots of people from other farms—” He’s rambling. “—Or are you interested because it’ll piss off your parents? That would make a lot of sense and, you know, I’m totally down for shaking things up—”

“Reth.”

His mouth snaps shut. He stares at Nai’o’s silhouette against a backdrop of an inky sky.

“I kissed you because I wanted to,” he says, “Because…I like you.”

The blood pounding in Reth’s ears is louder than everything else.

“I didn’t have my head on straight that day,” Nai’o explains, “I don’t know what came over me. I just—it was kind of like my body moved on its own. Which isn’t an excuse and I know that was the wrong way to go about it—”

“I liked it.”

Nai’o meets his stare.

“Even then?”

“I mean, you caught the part where I kissed you back, right?”

Nai’o chuckles out something akin to relief. “I blacked out a little bit.”

Reth matches with a smile. “That bad, huh?”

“No! No, good. Very good…very…” He’s looking at Reth’s lips. “But do you…?”

“Hm?”

“Do you like me, too?”

“After coming here to see you and holding hands and—after all that you think I don’t?”

A magnetism pulls Reth forward, toward Nai’o, until their noses touch. Warm breath ghosts over his lips and the blue in Nai’o’s eyes is an ocean he could get lost in. Outside, he’s charismatic; composed. Inside, trepidation.

Reth grins, “You’re pretty dense, cowboy.”

Suddenly, the ferris wheel cab jerks to a halt. Music, chatter, and the smell of sweets flood back in a rush.

They’ve come full circle back to the loading platform, with one seat ahead of them and a pair of riders climbing out. Reth pulls back to his corner, gathers himself, and nervously smiles at the attendant on his side as they descend to a final stop. Once the safety bar is unlocked, Reth jumps from the seat and jogs down the exit ramp.

He’s not running away. But Nai’o seems to think he is.

“Reth! Wait, wait!”

He turns, workman’s hands take either side of his face, and Reth sucks in gasp as Nai’o kisses him—right in the middle of a busy thoroughfare.

The sensation is familiar. Despite the storeroom incident being months ago, Nai’o’s lips are seared into Reth’s consciousness like a brand. The press is firm and true, heavy with intent. His hold is strong, with one hand slipping from Reth’s jaw to rest on his lower back, pulling him closer. He is a young man of action; of all-ins and full commitment. If Reth is right and Nai’o doesn’t half-ass anything in life, he’s going to be one heck of a lover.

Their meeting isn’t as unhinged as last time, however; with a soft day behind them, uncharged attitudes, and an awareness of the public spectacle they make. Still, Reth fearlessly deepens the kiss, fisting the front of Nai’o’s shirt and bandana in both hands to yank him down. He’s waited a long time for this. He’s going to make that train ticket down to Bahari worthwhile.

“Whoa,” Nai’o sighs, when they part.

Maybe it’s a trick of the fairground lights, but Reth swears the blonde has hearts in his eyes.

“Whoa.”

Their heads turn in sync.

Auni stands a stone’s throw away, unladen by his usual backpack, a giant taiyaki in his hands. Nai’o’s little brother looks more surprised than scarred. But he says nothing, just stands frozen with his mouth agape, and maybe that’s what makes Nai’o react the way he does.

Nai’o shoves Reth away from his chest. Reth stumbles a few dusty steps before catching his balance and Nai’o appears… unsorry.

“H-Hey, Auni,” he smiles, avoiding Reth’s eyes.

Like they hadn’t just kissed. Like they hadn’t just spent an entire day together, laughing and playing and holding hands like—like—But Reth understands. The picture is crystal clear when Delaila and Badruu come into view through the crowd.

He’s no one’s sweetheart. Just their dirty little secret.

Reth’s head swims with mocking laughter, carnival bells, and shrill screams from distant rides. A horrible, cacophonous sound that deafens his own thudding heartbeat. He breathes in deep, presses his eyes shut, and bottles it up and pulls it back like he’s learned to do. A switch flips and he lifts his head with a smile, waving to Nai’o’s parents just as they realize who he is. Badruu looks delighted. Delaila’s expression sinks.

“Heya, Reth!” Badruu calls, “Never expected to see a friendly Kilima Valley face out here!”

“Nai’o, where have you been this whole time? You were supposed to meet us at the jam fest hours ago,” Delaila demands, glancing at Reth. “Have you—”

The cowboy fumbles, fidgeting with his suspenders to occupy his jittery hands. “Oh, um, well. After the ribbon ceremony—It’s a funny story—I, um—”

His inability to lie is painful and, quite frankly, downright unattractive.

Reth steps forward. “Good to see ya, Mr. and Mrs. Daiya! Auni. Just chatting with Nai’o ‘bout Butterball’s win today. Big congrats!”

Delaila’s eyes narrow. “What are you doing all the way out here, Reth?”

The lies practically weave themselves. He gestures wide. “Cooking competition! Came to wipe out this guy I don’t like off the roster, but he surprised me. Walked away empty handed.” Rather, he takes the plotline from For Better Or For Wurst. He can’t tell if Nai’o notices or not.

“That’s a shame,” Delaila says, “Better luck next time.”

Auni is still noticeably quiet, eyes darting between Reth and his older brother.

“Was just gonna head home on the next train when I ran into him,” Reth says, patting Nai’o on the shoulder in a harsh, fake friendly way. He scans the immediate area, pretending to look for someone. “Sorry, seemed to have scared off the rest of your friends. Well, I’m sure you’ll find them. Nice seeing you all!”

“See ya back at the ranch! Haha, literally!” Badruu says.

With another congenial wave, Reth turns on his heel and departs. He doesn’t know where the exit nor the train station is and he doesn’t care. Whichever direction will take him the furthest from humiliation will do. He doesn’t dare look back, not even to see the look on Nai’o’s face. There’s no point.

A hand—too small to be Nai’o’s—grabs him by the arm. Auni.

The honest, albeit naive compassion in his youthful eyes is a balm to Reth’s hurt soul. Likely unknowing of why he saw what he saw or why things transpired as they did, Auni doesn’t seem to know what to say. He opens his mouth and closes it, unsure of his own intentions; of what he’s trying to achieve by stopping Reth from leaving. But Auni runs on heart and intuition. That’s what makes him so special.

“It’s all good, dude,” Reth assures, “It’s okay.”

Auni shakes his head, vehemently and yanks at his tattooed forearm with both hands. “But it’s not. It’s not—”

Reth ruffles the cap on the boy’s head. “Thanks for looking out for me, bug man. Go hang with your family.”

Auni doesn’t have the physical strength to keep him there, but Reth is gentle as he eases out of his grip. In all of this nonsense, the last person he wants to hurt is Auni.

“I’ll see you at home, kiddo,” he promises.

He leaves the boy in the crowd, with no one witness to their moment.

Reth goes past the vendors, past the woodworker’s guild, and past the last tent in the row. He runs across an open field, only slowing down as he maneuvers through the cluster of artisan and carnival caravans on the outskirts of the fair. He follows the river leading to a sleepy train station, where he buys his ticket home and waits on the platform with a handful of others. Only later, when he’s tucked into the back corner of a rocking train car, does he digest the events of the day. Nearly an hour later.

And after all that, he still feels the warmth of lips pressed against his own.

Chapter Text

The next morning, the events of the Bahari Fair feel like a fever dream. The livestock judging, the pickle lemonade, the kiss—when Reth opens his bleary eyes to the bare walls of his bedroom, he wonders if he dreamt it all. As he slowly blinks awake, details come in waves. He reaches into the pocket of the pants he didn’t bother to shed the previous night and finds a ticket stub for the train: Bahari Outskirts to Kilima Region

So not a dream. But still a nightmare.

“So…nothing happened?” Tish asks, lingering near the bar countertop.

Reth shrugs, stacking clean cups into a cupboard. “Yup. Couldn’t find him.”

Tish crosses her arms and shakes her head in disbelief. “But you went to the ormuu judging. He had to be there!” She’s more upset than Reth expected her to be, considering she doesn’t have much stock in the situation.

“Schedule switched up last minute. Butterball had already had her spotlight by the time I got there,” he lies. If he tells the truth, she’ll hate Nai’o. If he tells half a truth, she’ll persist. So an ineffectual out is the best way to go. “I dunno, it just didn’t work out. Maybe that’s for the best.”

That’s the lie he keeps telling himself. Since arriving back to Kilima to a mountain of inn chores, he hasn’t had the chance to linger on what he’d do when Nai’o came back into town; what he’d do about the opening ended question of their tenuous relationship. His brain says to leave Nai’o in the dust after what he did. His heart is stuck.

Reth stacks plates from a drying rack. “I did a lot of thinking on the train ride there and the train ride back. Me and Nai’o? It’s just too crazy. There’s no way—” He clears his throat. “—It’ll be over it before ya know it. Just a phase. Hey, I stopped by the woodworker’s guild! They had some great pieces there. Saw this tankard made out of flow wood and inlaid with pink shell—really neat stuff. Gosh, I shoulda picked something up for ya.”

“Sounds pretty.” Tish’s tone is uninterested, tense. He tries not to meet her eyes and keeps himself moving.

“Yeah and they put up pictures of Mom and Dad. I thought it was a nice gesture.”

“Sure. That is nice.”

She isn’t buying his act.

With the last of the dishes stored away, Reth dusts his hands. “I gotta dash. Errands to run.”

Reth is barely in through the door to the underground, descending down the creaking wooden platform to the main floor, when Zeki pounces. He blocks Reth’s path, clawed fists on his hips and whiskered muzzle scrunched. Despite his gruff nature, it’s rare to see Zeki genuinely upset.

“Well, well, well,” the Grimalkin sneers, “Look who decided to show up.”

Reth’s heart drops into the pit of his stomach. In making sure the inn was taken care of, Reth forgot to tell Zeki he was leaving town. He freezes, arms raised; a cornered animal.

“Shit.”

Zeki’s one eye narrows. “Shit’s right you little asshole. Office. Now.”

The bright side of the situation is that if Zeki or the cartel kill him, he won’t have to figure out how to face Nai’o again. The downside is that Tish will never find his body.

He treads like a man headed for the gallows, through the damp stone hallway, and into Zeki’s office—a place Reth rarely spends any of his time. It’s a storage room, mostly. Occasionally, Reth has seen other members of the cartel meet there with Zeki for some unsavory business and a private drink away from the gambling pots and the trading stations. So it’s not necessarily an inviting room. Reth swears he once saw three Grimalkin walk in, and only two walk out.

A single, rough cut table is the centerpiece of the room. Lit by only one large chandelier above, the dark corners of the space press in on him, like an interrogation room. Reth doesn’t dare sit. He stands on the guest side of the table, a sweaty hand clasped around his own wrist.

“Now, imagine my surprise when I get a little visit from Zed’s associates, askin’ ‘bout you,” Zeki begins, gravel voice low and fake casual. He rounds the desk, hooks a paw underneath the ledger before him, and slaps it shut with a mighty clap! Reth flinches.

“I sez to them, ‘He’s probably upstairs, making his famous lettuce soup. You should pop up and give it a try.’ And they sez, ‘Uh-uh-uh, we got it on good authority that he ain’t upstairs’. How do you suppose they knew you weren’t upstairs, Reth?”

Reth isn’t sure if the question is rhetorical so he hesitates, scared to open his mouth.

“How do you suppose?” Zeki asks again.

“They… checked?” Reth gulps.

The Grimalkin slams his claws on the table, rattling its contents.

“The tattoo! The damn tracking tattoo on your damn arm! Are ya dense?!” Zeki jabs his finger at his own head. “What in Dunya is wrong with ya?! They threatened me! They threatened your sister!”

A different flavor of terror runs cold through Reth’s veins.

“What?”

“Yeah! Newsflash, ignoramus: Actions. Have. Consequences.”

“They didn’t—she seemed—”

Maybe that’s why Tish had been acting so strange. Maybe cartel members had shown up at their door and told her all about Reth’s debt and the medicine and they’d hurt her somehow and blackmailed her—all because Reth selfishly went to see a boy.

“I didn’t let ‘em touch her,” Zeki assures, acidically. Reth breathes a sigh of relief.

“But you owe me your damn left leg for the lie I told them to get you off the hook.”

“What did you tell them?”

Zeki slumps into his armchair. “Said I sent you there myself. Just forgot to report it ‘cus I didn’t think the mileage was enough for them to care. Told ‘em the Bahari Fair was a perfect place to do business—noisy, busy, no one payin’ attention ‘cus they got their snouts deep in fried treats. They let it slide. But if you hadn’a walked through that door just now, I woulda gone up there to hog tie ya and drag you back to the valley myself.”

Reth’s body threatens to collapse. He leans forward, hands clasped toward his boss. “Thank you. Thank you for helping me. For Tish. I owe you one. I wasn’t thinking—”

“Clearly not.” The Grimalkin shakes his head. His anger remains. “And stop thankin’ me. I ain’t your pal. I ain’t your buddy. You screw me again…?”

Zeki raises a finger. Reth has never seen such vitriol in his eye.

“That’ll be the last time. Got it?”

Reth had never called Zeki a friend. He knew what their relationship was; what it needed to be. But in their time together, he thought something else had sprouted—a fondness, perhaps. He thought Zeki liked him, maybe even favored him over others.

Reth was wrong.

“Yes.”

“Good. Now get outta my sight. Take that package on the way out. Fishing shack. Drop it by midnight. Told my contacts they could sink ya to the bottom of the lake if you were late.”

For the next two weeks, Reth runs himself into the ground. He’s too scared and beaten down to do anything else but work and be on his best behavior. He knows he only has to hustle in his second and third jobs—that Ashura is far more understanding and lenient—but Reth dedicates himself wholly.

He cleans the tavern until it sparkles, washes the linens despite it being Ashura’s job, and creates two new dishes on the menu for the coming winter. In the underground, he’s even more thorough. He goes out of his way to scrub the hotpot tubs extra hard at the end of each day and won’t rest until every cocktail glass shines with his reflection. Every delivery is on time. Every whim of Zeki’s is fulfilled without question. It’s his version of punishment, Reth figures, to make him trek out to the bay and back three times in one night…conveniently forgetting about each subsequent package.

Work is a good thing. Being busy means he doesn’t have time to think about Nai’o. Nai’o, who doesn’t send him any more postcards. Reth isn’t looking for them in the mail, of course, but he notices nothing comes from Bahari or Akwinduu. Not that it matters.

And it still doesn’t matter when the Daiya family’s caravan rolls back into town one morning.

Reth is on his way back to the tavern, face stinging in the crisp, autumn air. He hoists Einar’s morning catch—a large, downright fragrant crate—up the hill and toward the main stables. The shipment is unusually heavy in his shaking arms. He distracts himself with making a mental to-do list for the rest of the day: prep and set lunch soups, finish morning time dishes, pull autumn decor from storage, make another pot of coffee—

He’s only a few yards away by the time he realizes the Daiya’s wagon is sitting at the top of the hill between the tables and the Bahari estate. And Nai’o is right there in front of him, talking to Kenyatta.

Reth thought he would be more resilient for their reunion, more prepared. He thought his pride and sensibility would protect him from the spell. But Nai’o looks like Nai’o—not the self-centered jerk Reth’s tired imagination had played on repeat for two weeks—and Reth’s heart races like it did at the Bahari Fair corral.

Stunned to the spot, Reth is frozen as their eyes turn. Kenyatta’s expression is worried, guilty even. Nai’o’s brows rise high on his forehead; he steps forward.

“Hey, lemme help you with that—”

Out of habit, Reth nervously laughs.

“Nah, I’ve got it.” He stumbles backwards, donning the mask, “Good to see you back in town! Would stop to chat but—lotta stuff to get done today. Catch ya later!”

The cowboy stares. “Yeah. Of course.”

The agonizingly long walk from the stables to the town square stairs makes Reth want to scream in a jar. He can feel their eyes on his back. They no doubt see a trout flop out of the crate and onto the ground, the graceless way Reth picks it up, and how he almost tips his entire shipment of fish all over the stone pathway. He’s thankful for the moment he’s up the stairs and out of sight.

Reth sucks down two more cups of coffee by the time one o’clock rolls around. He ignores the jittery agitation in his fingers, stuffs down his emotions about seeing Nai’o into the pit of his stomach, and barrels his way through the lunch rush. He keeps the menu simple for his own sake: two soups, two salads, and two sandwiches. It’s all he can stand to handle and no one seems to notice.

He holes up in the kitchen as much as possible, avoiding chatting to folks at the bar like he usually would. He’s distracted and unsettled; nerves afire with a tension that threatens to snap at any moment.

What were Kenyatta and Nai’o talking about?

Were they talking about him?

Were they rekindling their relationship?

Or were they just saying ‘hello’ after Nai’o’s long absence and Reth is blowing everything out of proportion?

“Hey.”

Reth jumps out of his skin when Kenyatta appears at the bar. He smiles, delivering a bowl of loaded potato soup to Hodari, who sits at the opposite end of the counter. The miner huffs a thanks.

“How’s it going?” Reth asks her, slinging a towel over his shoulder. “The usual carrot soup?”

Her body language is uncharacteristic, sitting stiff and formal in the way she folds her hands. “Yeah. That sounds great. Thanks.”

Reth goes to the kitchen, ladles a bowl of soup and plates a few pieces of buttered toast. He delivers it with half the usual verve.

“Order up.”

She smiles, sweetly. “Thanks.” Kenyatta is never sweet.

He turns his back to pour her a glass of water.

“Reth? Um, there’s something I have to tell you.”

Reth’s shoulders seize up and his sweaty palm grips the pitcher’s handle. They’re getting back together, he thinks.

In the wake of what happened at the Bahari Fair, Nai’o probably realized how socially suicidal it would be to commit himself to Reth. His mom talked him through it. His dad talked him through it. And Nai’o—people pleaser, traditional, family man—decided to try and win back Kenyatta. Because who wouldn’t want Kenyatta? Her beauty, her spunk, her connections, her status, her money—Dragon, Reth feels like a chump.

But he can’t cry on the job.

“Shoot,” he says, putting the pitcher aside and offering his friend the glass.

Kenyatta hasn’t touched her food. She pushes the hot liquid around the bowl with her spoon. “It’s about your plot petition? For the Remembrance Garden?”

“Oh. Sure.”

“I’m really sorry to tell you this. But it got denied.”

Huh.

No pain. No disappointment. No anger. Just—nothing.

“‘Course it did,” he mutters. His feet take him to the drinkware shelf for no reason. He pretends to see a dirty mug and wipes it down with the corner of his apron, purposefully avoiding Kenyatta’s pitying eyes. “Did Eshe say why?”

“It actually wasn’t up to her. Stuff with the garden… that’s higher than my mom or my dad, weirdly enough. The Bahari Province Department of Cultural and National Monuments—Dragon, that’s a mouthful—they’re the ones who oversee it.”

Hodari—usually never one for eavesdropping or inserting himself into a conversation unwanted—pipes in, “Now that seems…What’d they say about it?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t see the official letter. I’m sorry, Reth. I’m really sorry. I know it would mean a lot to you to put markers for your parents—”

Reth returns the mug to its place on the shelf. He shrugs. “No sweat. Was just a… fun idea.” He ducks into the kitchen, retreating to the unseen sanctuary of the kitchen sink.

Reth stares at the dirtied bowls, plates, and utensils. He opens the faucet line and lets the water run; lets it spill over the stacks of dishes until it’s just a cascade of water and food particles. The water level in the basin rises and Reth thinks… he probably deserved the rejection. He flew too high; dreamt too much. He had begun to get some crazy ideas about being part of the Kilima simply because a handful of people liked his silly little idea at a town hall meeting.

But this is a wake up call. Time to stop entertaining the fantasy of a comfortable, debtless, rural life with community approval and a partner like Nai’o. Reth made his bed when he left his path and now he has to lay in it. For the rest of his days. And any variation from that fate is just… a delusion.

Reth’s hands move without his consent.

He grabs a plate.

Lifts it high.

And smashes it into the ground.

The center pulverizes on impact and sturdier, edge pieces go skittering across the kitchen floor, traveling as far as the furthest corner of the room.

The violence doesn’t make him feel any better.

“Reth? Everything okay?” Kenyatta calls.

He says nothing, just stares at the broken pieces of pottery and the dust cloud it created.

“Reth?”

Why does he care so much?

Why would he ever want to settle here; plant his parents’ memory in a garden no one wants them in?

What has this podunk little town ever given him?

A large hand reaches across Reth’s vision and twists the faucet knob, stopping the flow.

“Reth?”

A palm rests on his shoulder. Ashura.

Reth snaps back to life.

He drops to his knees, careful of the clay shards and collects the pieces with shaking hands. “Sorry. Sorry, clumsy. I’ll have Tish make another. Sorry. I wasn’t—I’m just so tired, hah. I’ll do better. I promise. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

He apologizes for more than a broken plate. He apologizes for his lifetime of mistakes. For being a disappointment. For daring to find happiness and belonging after such shame.

The palm that never leaves his shoulder sends him into a spiral. “How ‘bout you take a break, son?”

“No, no, I’ve gotta clean this up. Then, I gotta start on the bread for tonight and we’re running out of pickles—”

Fingers press against his collar. “It can wait,” Ashura entreats, “Here, give me those. I’ll take care of it.”

Reth knows he’ll start weeping at the sight of his boss’s thoughtful, sensitive gaze, so he avoids looking at him at all costs. Head bowed, he quietly passes over the couple of fragments he managed to collect. Ashura helps him to his feet. He feels so small in comparison to a man like Ashura. Literally and figuratively.

“Get some fresh air, son. You’ve been working hard.”

Reth nods, stiffly, and escapes through the back door of the inn.

The beauty of the valley makes him ill. Sharp, cold autumn hurts Reth’s lungs and the foliage on the trees across the river is too carnelian vibrant for his tired eyes. The babbling brook a few yards down is deafening and every step Reth takes on the dock is one creak away from shattering his fragile heart. The whistle on the wind—cavernous and lonely and sad—makes him long for the noise of the city. A city where few knew his business; where he could come and go from places as he pleased and most people would regard him with indifference.

Maybe moving to Kilima was a mistake. Almost two cycles in and he’s still an outsider. How long would it take for his shame to fade? Decades? A lifetime? Will he remain as he is now, a stain on the community?

In the chaos of his mind, Reth recalls a strange, distant conversation had in the shadow of an early evening sun and the clink of milk bottles.

He runs.

Down, across the dock, behind the forge, and across the bridge.

Up the stairs… to the apothecary.

The sage’s shop has always made Reth uncomfortable. It feels sacred. Ghostly, even. It makes him feel guilty for his lack of spiritualism—yet another way in which he deviates from good majiri society. As he passes through the blue gilded doors and presses into the space, Reth hates the way the Dragon peers at him from atop its shrine, eyes narrow and whiskers curled in judgement.

Incense and the tang of herbs fill the air, intensified by the heat simmering in the central cauldron. Clusters of unknown weeds and buds hang drying, tied to racks above his head. Chayne stands at a countertop, focus and hands occupied with a mortar and pestle.

The monk turns, eyes alight with surprise.

“Welcome—”

“You said something—” Reth interrupts. He’s planted himself at the door, panting from his run and eyes burning with accusation. “—Back on the farm when Nai’o was sick. You said that maybe one day, I’d be a leader here in Kilima. Why—why’d you say that?”

Chayne abandons his task. And, just like everyone else that day, he regards Reth with pity.

“Reth, my child, are you quite alright?”

“Don’t—” Reth catches his anger and pulls it back. “Like, I’m not trying to be rude or ungrateful but, like, who are you kidding? Were you trying to—to manipulate me or something? Make me feel better about myself? I’m no leader. Half the town wouldn’t care if I dropped dead tomorrow. I—I got debt up to my ears. I deserted my path. Can’t go a day without making a catastrophic mistake. I’m—I’m such a—a—”

Suddenly, he can barely breathe. His vision narrows and his chest grows tight. He sucks in quick, stuttering gasps.

Chayne rushes to his side, gently takes him by the shoulders, and guides him toward the heated, stone steps at the cauldron’s base. Reth sits without protest, grasping the canvas fabric of his pants to steady his trembling hands.

“Shh. Shh,” Chayne coos, sitting beside him. “There. You’re alright. You’re going to be okay. Breathe.”

“I—” Reth chokes.

“Breathe with me.”

He watches Chayne take air through his nose and out through his mouth. It takes Reth a few tries to match, forcing his shoulders to heave upwards as if that would help his lungs take in a full breath.

Not into your shoulders, says Nai’o’s voice, into your stomach.

Reth pulls his shoulders down and focuses on his abdomen. It helps. His second inhale is deeper, cutting through the shaking and the stuttered gasps to give his brain a much needed full breath of air.

“Very good. Very good,” Chayne says, rising to his feet. “You stay right here. I have some fresh tea for you.”

For the few moments Chayne isn’t by his side, Reth continues to breathe as instructed. Some are successful. He feels a pressure at his temple—the Dragon’s gaze boring into him. He chances a sideways glance. The ceramic figure is stoic; unmoving.

The sage returns, offering Reth a steaming cup. “Here. It’s warm. Feel it in your palms. Let it ground you.”

He holds the cup between two hands. It is warm. Hot, even. Almost too hot to cradle, but the sting actually helps distract Reth from the other things his body is involuntarily doing. He sips, carefully. The brew is strong and he doesn’t have the brain power to deduce what it’s made from, but it’s potent enough to clear his sinuses. Warmth trails down his throat and through his body, pooling in his stomach.

For some time, they sit in the quiet. The hearth behind them crackles. A few stray leaves roll through the open doorway, guided by a gust of wind.

Chayne pushes his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. “I would care if you dropped dead tomorrow,” he says, with the softness of fresh, morning grass, “I would care very much, Reth.”

Reth turns his face away, lips trembling and pursed. His eyes water. He hasn’t cried in front of anyone for years. He won’t start now.

“I did not realize you took my comment to such heart. I never meant for it to cause you distress.”

Reth shakes his head.

The sage adjusts his stance, crossing his legs loosely and clasping his one long fingered hand over the other. He looks out through the open apothecary shop door, toward the village center.

“As a sage of Rite and Ritual,” he says, “It is my duty to aid the health and wellbeing of the community I serve. Present, past, and future. That is the oath I have sworn.”

Reth listens.

“And, perhaps, while it is not my duty nor my place to decide anyone’s fate, I have been… ruminating on what the future holds for the valley. Who might leave. Who might stay. How this little village will change with the coming times. How it might grow under the influence of those who already love it so.”

Right now, Reth might actually hate the valley. So clearly this doesn’t apply to him.

“I’ve given this matter quite a bit of thought. It is my opinion—mind the word opinion—that the valley will enter a new generation with either you or Auni at its lead.”

Surprise turns his head.

“Auni?”

“Oh yes,” Chayne smiles, “I am sure you’ve noticed how the two of you are quite alike. Like two beans from the same batterfly pod.”

“Not… Hassian? Or Nai’o? I mean, he’s—”

The sage meets Reth’s eyes. “This isn’t an appointed position, Reth. It is something… organic. It is received. By someone who earns the respect of their peers without force or popular vote.”

Reth still doesn’t think he fits the bill.

“You and Auni think bigger than the valley. Young as you are, you have a worldly perspective. Auni will garner that too, I’m sure.” Chayne chuckles to himself. “I’m waiting for the day that boy fervently packs his rucksack, runs away, and swears to never return. He will come back, Maji knows. But I think it will do him good to get that out of his system. He’ll discover himself out there. Some people need that.”

The Daiyas would be in shambles if Auni ran away. That Chayne thinks such an event will happen for the better, shocks Reth.

Chayne peers at Reth from above his spectacles. “Tell me, who do you think leads our community now?”

He doesn’t have to think hard about his answer.

“...Ashura.”

Chayne nods.

“Ashura is a man scarred by war. He has seen such loss. He knows the peace that is at stake; where to set one’s priorities and where to show leniency. He is empathetic. Strong yet vulnerable. Capable of seeing his own weaknesses and admitting to his mistakes. Which… I think is the mark of a very strong man.”

The implication that Chayne thinks Reth is one of those strong men is laughable.

“He is your mentor. Whether you like it or not, you’ve learned a thing or two from him. And your life experiences—while not a soldier’s life—give you a unique perspective on hardship.”

Reth sets the half finished teacup aside. “But I’m not him.”

“He’s thirty-five cycles your senior, Reth. Give yourself some grace and time.”

Chayne rises to his feet, plucking the teacup from the ground. He goes to the nearby countertop and tops up the vessel from a kettle. “I have been very impressed by your actions of late,” he says, “Serving those in need. Pushing people out of their comfort zone.” Reth knows he’s referencing Nai’o and the roundball scrimmage session.

He returns with the cup and places it directly in Reth’s hands, gently forcing him to accept.

“You shoulder the worries and responsibility of others. Not just your sister. You cover for Kenyatta’s indiscretions. You support Jina’s work. Meet Auni where he yearns to be met,” Chayne cites, resting at Reth’s side once more. “You do right by others, Reth. Consciously or otherwise. Some people’s judgement of you has been unfair—I acknowledge that. But you have proven yourself time and time again. Your resilience in the face of adversity is admirable. No one can deny that. Even your harshest critics.”

The genuine compliment is a hard pill to swallow, considering Reth’s state of self-hatred and misery. But Chayne has never been false to him, so there must be some truth to it. He takes another sip of his tea. It doesn’t burn his tongue this time so he can taste the licorice and sweetleaf. Through the open door, Reth sees Auni bound through the town square with his enormous backpack, toward home.

“Leadership isn’t government. Or muscles. Or even law-abiding,” Chayne says, “It is patient. Creative. Tolerant. It is the ability to look at a person and see the magic they bring to the community. Helping that magic flourish.”

“I can’t do all that,” Reth croaks.

“You do it already, my child. You just need the confidence to see the impact you make.”

Reth sits in the revelation of what Chayne has just told him; processes it in a way he was never taught to do. The progress is slow. He fights with himself, tells himself all the reasons why Chayne is wrong and why he’ll never amount to anything. But for the first time in several weeks, Reth feels a glimmer of something hopeful. Something that lightens the load on his soul.

But his body feels like it’s run a marathon.

“Do you mind if I—?” Reth motions to one of the two cots nearby.

“By all means.”

He gulps down the rest of the tea and stumbles to the safety of the cot on jellied legs. It’s almost comical how he collapses into it, but he doesn’t even have the strength to laugh at himself. The bed is bare bones—not particularly comfortable but better than the flour sacks Reth occasionally naps against in the storeroom.

He rolls to face the wall, curling his arms against his chest.

“I just need to catch five minutes. Then I gotta get back to the inn. Can you wake me up in five minutes?”

“Five minutes. Of course.”

The cauldron crackles. Reth hears Chayne stand, return to his work, and the gentle clinking of a pestle against mortar.

“Chayne?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Chayne doesn’t wake him up in five minutes. He doesn’t even wake him up in ten minutes. Instead, he sends word to Ashura that Reth is ill with a fever and needs the night to rest. So, obviously, the rest of the town knows. Zeki leaves Reth a note at the apothecary, granting him the night off.

Reth is pretty sure lying is against some sort of sage’s creed, but when he finally does wake up of his own accord feeling like the world will keep on turning, he appreciates Chayne’s transgression. He feels a strange flavor of shame when he finally does leave—thinking back on his behavior with a clearer mind, he certainly came to Chayne to pick a fight. But all is already forgiven when the sage sends him home with a small satchel of tea and a warm, knowing smile.

The town is quiet post-dinner, with villagers retiring to their homes and settling in for the night. A warm glow from the tavern windows and doors reflects off the river, water dancing with a sheen of golden light. The fishing dock below aches and creaks as the wood shrinks under a cool moon. The walk home is short. Just a few steps along the river, past the twins’ home, and Reth is home free.

The door to Elouisa’s house opens. Reth expects the well-meaning conspiracy theorist herself, or her sister.

It’s Nai’o.

His focus is directed at a stack of papers in his hands. He reads one page, then flips to the next in the pile. The dirt pathway meets cobblestone and he turns, facing Reth head on. When he lifts his head, they both freeze.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

Reth tries to sound normal; tries to give his greeting some life and verve.

Nai’o lets his arms drop, hiding the papers from Reth’s line of sight. They’re too far away to be read anyhow—whatever they are. Probably produce inventory lists or invoices.

“How are you feeling?” Nai’o asks, expression fraught with worry. “I—I heard you went to see Chayne.”

Reth smiles. “Man, news travels fast around here. Good. Fine.” He holds up the small tea satchel. “Lot better with a few cups of his magical brew.”

“I’m really glad to hear that. Sometimes his remedies can pack a real wallop. He made this knapweed paste when I cut myself real bad and it stung like you wouldn’t believe.”

Reth has a choice to make. The small talk makes him want to scream. But the thought of having a heart-to-heart conversation in his weakened state is even worse. Especially when Nai’o looks at Reth like he’s made of porcelain.

“Reth, I—”

He sidesteps.

“We don’t have to talk about it,” Reth blurts. Nai’o’s big, blue eyes widen.

Reth needs to have some power over his life. He was stupid enough to let Nai’o hurt him once. He can’t afford to let it happen again.

“I get it,” Reth nods, “Trust me. I live with myself. I get it. No hard feelings. No need for apologies. I just had to sorta reroute my brain, ya know. Had this crazy idea that we’d—forget it. Doesn’t matter.” Sadness is for people who can afford it.

Reth shrugs, playing nonchalant. “We can be casual. I’m cool with that.”

Nai’o looks like he’s been slapped across the face. The thin, mean streak in Reth feels vindicated. The nerve.

“What?”

“Yeah. I mean, it is what it is, right? You—upstanding majiri with a traditional family. Me—an orphaned bad boy with a checkered past… and present,” he chuckles, forcing lightness out of his heavy chest. “That’s complicated. We can both agree on that. Why don’t we do the responsible thing and hash out details later. Not like I haven’t done this before.”

“You have?”

“Yeah, sure,” Reth lies. Casual encounters? Barely. Official friends-with-benefits? Never. “What’s it called? Oh, terms of engagement.”

It isn’t what Reth wants. He’d rather have Nai’o completely, or nothing at all. Harmless flirting aside, he doesn’t have the time or energy for a messy, risky affair. But his pride needs protecting and he refuses to play the fool. So he’ll pretend they never mattered in the first place and keep up the charade for however long it takes to stop caring.

He just wishes Nai’o wasn’t so damn sensitive, looking at him with kicked puppy eyes.

“That’s—”

“Let’s talk shop later,” Reth presses, “I gotta lie down again. My head’s killing me.”

“Oh. Yeah. Okay.”

Then, Reth makes a mistake.

Instead of giving Nai’o a wide berth, he passes near his shoulder. Close enough to smell the dirt and hay on his person. Reth thinks he can handle it; he thinks it will hurt Nai’o more than it will hurt him. But as the back of Reth’s hand brushes against the Nai’o’s, the spark between them ignites. The candle—cold and charred since the Bahari Fair—flashes to life.

Reth pulls his arm back toward his body, singed.

“See ya later, cowboy.”

If Nai’o says anything after that, Reth doesn’t hear it. He walks swiftly; just a few more steps up to the pathway leading to his house and into the front door. Only once the door is closed behind him does he breathe.

Reth himself doesn’t often understand the motivations behind his own actions. He’s an ‘act now, think later’ sort of person. Sometimes, in trying to fix a problem, he makes it monumentally worse. Maybe that’s what he’s just done with Nai’o. But there’s no taking it back now.

“Oh, Dragon, I didn’t think you’d wake up so soon!”

Tish stands at the threshold of the kitchen, a smear of flour across her forehead, and her usual leather workman’s apron exchanged for a blue checkered smock. More flour covers her arms all the way up to her elbows and she holds a stray egg aloft in one hand.

For a moment, Reth’s woes evaporate.

He blinks.

“Are you… baking?” he asks, alarmed.

Tish doesn’t bake. For a reason.

He goes to the kitchen to assess the damage: mixing bowls strewn about, butter smeared on the countertop, utensils scattered, the oven set to boiling. For someone who keeps their workshop immaculate, her skills do not translate to the kitchen. Just as Reth is impossible with carpentry, Tish is impossible in the culinary arts. It’s out of the ordinary for her to even try.

“What are you making?” he asks. Tish nervously laughs, twisting her fingers together.

Small, colorful candles sit in a ramekin on the dining room table. Reth gasps.

“Is it my birthday?” For a moment, he doesn’t even remember what day it is. “No? No. Is it— Oh no. Oh no.”

Tish, perfect and forgiving, shrugs sweetly.

The realization is painful. Reth clutches his head in his hands, gripping his headband. “It’s your birthday! I don’t have a gift! I don’t—! I was gonna make you a cake! It was gonna be pink and strawberry-flavored and look like an armchair! I was gonna frost it so you could see the detail in the upholstery! You were gonna love it!”

Reth slumps against the nearby wall in a fit of dramatics, purposefully banging his forehead against the plaster as punishment. Just one debacle after another.

“It’s okay, Reth! It’s okay!” Tish cries, peeling him away from the wall. “Although, I do have to say: that does sound like a pretty spectacular cake and I would love to see it one day.”

“I’m so sorry. Things have been so—”

“You were lying on a medic’s cot half the day so I forgive you,” she says, patting his chest. Her gaze turns toward the chaotic mess. “As you can see, I have attempted to make a cake for us to share but I’ve been… having some trouble. Would you help me?”

Finally. Something Reth can do right. Something he can fix and change with his own two hands where he has all the skills, ingredients, and environment necessary to accomplish the task well. He suddenly has a full battery and a spring in his step, unhooking his father’s apron from the wall with a grin.

“Say no more,” he says, “Big brother to the rescue.”

It dawns on him later, as he sifts flour into a bowl and Tish carefully measures baking powder next to him (“Measure twice, pour once”), that maybe she made a mess on purpose. After all, even at her worst, she’s never crushed an entire stick of butter into a countertop. Maybe she knew this would help him. Maybe she is the architect of an elaborate cake-making scheme aimed to bolster his spirits and make him feel whole again. Unconventional, but brilliant.

And so full of love.

Chapter Text

After years of being the subject of town gossip, Reth is wary of his return to work the next day. He assumes everyone knows about his trip to the apothecary, that they’ve drawn their own conclusions on the purpose of his visit, and he expects the worst.

Thankfully, no one says anything. Just a few inane inquiries into his health and how he slept, and the subject is put to rest.

Day-by-day, he heals. Life returns to normal, Zeki eases up on his demands, and Reth fills the empty void Nai’o left with hangouts at Jel’s shop and tavern meetups with Kenyatta. He can tell they’re all waiting for him to broach delicate subjects—what happened at the Bahari Fair, what he and Chayne talked about, why he smashed a plate against the kitchen floor in his crashout—never asking him directly but lightly steering conversations, reminding him the door is open. He never walks through it.

Interactions with Nai’o are minimal and muted. The color and spark between them grows duller by the day, with Nai’o waiting on Reth’s word for their… terms of engagement. Reth keeps putting it off, receiving farm shipments with a quick, “Thanks! I’m swamped, I’ll catch up with you in a few!”

Anyone with a little more discernment would have detected Reth’s evasion, but Nai’o is no such person. Instead, he always shows up at the inn’s back door with a smile, waiting on Reth like a loyal plumehound for table scraps that never come. Every time Reth shoos him away, his heart aches for more—a second lesson in yodeling, a chat about Nai’o’s current romance novel; even an immature joke about ormuu poop would suffice.

But Nai’o just smiles. He bows his head and walks away respectfully. And Reth’s wall remains intact—because that’s how it has to be.

In preparation for a town hall meeting, Reth pulls the tavern drink dispenser from a higher shelf. A book, hidden flat against the wood, tumbles to the ground. Reth had forgotten about it, haphazardly thrown out of view before leaving for Bahari: For Better Or Wurst.

He stares at the book on the floor. He thought the novel was silly then, and finds it even sillier now. Now that he’d tried his grand gesture and failed; now that he and Nai’o are barely speaking. He should return it next time the cowboy comes around, and get the bad memory of it out of his kitchen.

He hauls the heavy dispenser out to the bar countertop just as Ashura limps down the stairs, a basket of linens in his arms. The rest of the inn is empty and quiet.

“Hey, you never finished your story about Sabine’s grand gesture,” Reth says.

The innkeeper’s ears and shoulders perk up, as if the mere mention of wife’s name is a jolt to his senses. “Oh. I suppose I didn’t.” He brings his basket to the sofa, dumping out the contents to begin folding.

“I still wanna hear it.” Despite his own love problems, Reth is an optimist at heart. He needs to know love still exists after heartbreak. “I imagine it was pretty darn romantic.”

Ashura chuckles and shakes some lint from a blanket. “It was actually a disaster.”

“Really?”

With how Ashura adored Sabine, Reth assumed everything had gone perfectly from the moment they met. Like a fairytale.

“I was still in a dark place after the war,” Ashura begins, choosing his words carefully, “As wonderful as our relationship was, I thought she deserved better. Someone who could give her more. So, I found myself a job far up north. To be a deckhand on a fishing trawler. I left her a letter. Told her to move on. It was all very dramatic.”

Reth leans over the bar countertop, elbows against the wood, and head propped up on his hands. He tries to imagine a younger Ashura, slinging fish in big nets. He probably had a full head of hair back then.

The innkeep looks up at the beams stretched across the ceiling, remembering the bygone memory. “On my first day at the job, we pulled away from the dock… and I saw this figure sprinting down the pier waving their hands. I thought: they must be trying to stop us for a reason—warning us about a storm or something. It was Sabine. Red in the face like she’d run all the way from the station. She called to me. Couldn’t quite make out what she was saying, but I yelled back to her, told her to wait until we came back. If she’d been a minute or two earlier, she would’ve stopped that boat.”

“Damn.”

“Instead, she jumped in the water. Started swimming toward the trawler.”

Reth taps a fist against the countertop. “Badass.”

Ashura sets another folded blanket atop his pile. “The captain cut the engine, she caught up with us, and it made such a commotion with the crew when we pulled her aboard.”

“What did she say when she got to you?”

“‘Thought you could get away that easy, huh?’” he quotes. Reth is smiling so wide his cheeks hurt. “I was… struck dumb.”

“The captain refused to turn back and take her ashore. He had to make his quota. So we both worked that day—me and Sabine—casting out nets, pulling them in, sorting through the catch. She was something. At the end of the day, the bos’n wanted to hire her and fire me,” Ashura laughs, “Told me I’d be a damn fool to let a woman like that slip away. I realized the mistake I’d made and came home with her.”

Reth cracks an incredulous expression. “How—how is that a disaster? That’s the single most romantic story I’ve ever heard in my life.”

The innkeeper shrugs, finishing the last of the linens and patting the pile. “In retrospect, maybe. But, it certainly wasn’t what either of us had planned.”

“Makes for a pretty good story, though,” Reth shrugs. He gathers ingredients for the punch he planned for the town hall meeting: lemons, oranges, and his own housemade cranberry syrup. He pulls out a cutting board and slices rounds of citrus.

Ashura appears at the counter and rests his basket on a stool. “What I think I’m trying to say is that the path to happiness isn’t always linear. Especially when there’s two people—two individuals—involved. Everyone has their own expectations and perspectives and quirks and… baggage. It’s how two people navigate all that—that’s what matters most.”

Reth thinks of Nai’o—of the heavy weight he bears as the Daiya Farm successor, of his peculiarities and sheltered ways, and of all the expectations put upon him. By his family. By himself. By the same community that boxes Reth into his assigned role. Reth can be empathetic to all those things, but he has his own set of baggage he has to lug around. Chayne is right—Reth bites off more than he can chew in the name of kindness.

He simply has none left for himself. Or for Nai’o.

“Guess so,” he shrugs, masking the uncomfortable feeling of being known with a grin.

Ashura knows better than to push and he turns the subject back to Sabine and himself. “I suppose there is a charm to plans going awry. Though I could have done without us smelling like fish the entire train ride home.”

“Did I hear someone say fish?”

Zeki saunters through the tavern door, gold tooth glinting with his signature fanged grin. Reth knows that look of fake charisma from a mile away and the town hall meeting is still an hour out—he’s come to talk shop. Reth ducks his head and keeps chopping the orange in hand, the threat of cartel violence hanging over his head.

“Was just telling Reth here a story from my past,” Ashura says.

“What—back when drakus gigantis roamed the earth?” Zeki leans an arm against the bar and laughs heartily at his own joke.

The innkeeper picks up his basket. “Haha,” he says, dryly, and walks away.

Leaving Reth and Zeki alone.

The air between them is strange; charged, yet stale. Reth waits for Zeki to say something but the Grimalkin is surprisingly short of words. He hops up into a stool, watching Reth drop rounds of citrus into the drink dispenser.

“Something… I can help you with, boss?” Reth asks.

Zeki shakes his head, ears pulled back. “Nah. Just got everythin’ done at the shop. Figured I’d come enjoy a little R&R before the hall.”

Reth is surprised. Ulterior motives are Zeki’s thing, not social calls. He pours his second boss a pint of his usual, guard up. But he tries being friendly to win back favor. “That’s a first,” he comments, inanely.

Zeki chuckles, “Right? Not every day one gets a full hour to themselves.”

“Don’t I know it.”

It was a knee jerk response, not a pointed remark to the back breaking work Zeki has been throwing at him. But Reth is afraid it will be taken that way. He quickly delivers the ale mug to Zeki, who mumbles a small thanks, and Reth sidesteps back to his cutting board.

The wall clock ticks, uneven with the sound of Reth’s blade on the chopping board.

“So,” Zeki says suddenly, “Howya been, kid?”

Reth’s eyes wide as saucers when he looks up and stutters, “Oh, um. Good?”

Zeki nods, approving. “Good.”

“Yeah.”

“Good’s good.”

“Yeah.”

“Better than bad.”

“Sure is.”

Reth isn’t sure what is going on, but he hates it.

“You?”

“Hm?”

“How’re you? Doing?”

“Can’t complain.”

“Cool.”

He waits for more to happen—for his boss to finally say what he’s clearly come to tell him, but Zeki just stares into his beer mug. The string of bad news has Reth prepped for the worst, so he can’t help but blurt out exactly what he’s thinking:

“Why am I getting this vibe that I’m gonna get knocked out cold and stuffed into a potato sack?”

Zeki starts, ears perked up and brows scrunched. He recovers quickly and laughs, “You got a wild imagination, kid. If the Adders wanted you gone, they got cleaner ways of doing it than a smack to the noggin’.”

That doesn’t necessarily put Reth’s troubled mind at ease, but he figures he at least stands a fighting chance with a knife in his hand.

Zeki takes a big swig of his ale before smacking the mug down on the bar. “Grimalkin don’t do apologies, okay? Not in our vocab,” he says.

Now Reth is really confused.

“Too feeling-y, ya know? We just move on. Maybe, if we’re feelin’ real generous, we might do someone a favor or two. Most of the time, the wronged cat will just get even and the other party will say fair ‘nough the matter’s settled.”

Reth’s eyes dart around the room. “Sounds… emotionally regulated.”

Zeki shrugs. “Makes sense right? I know that ain’t how majiri do it though. Certainly not humans neither—buncha softies.” He looks wildly uncomfortable, fidgeting with his claws and squirming in his seat. “Look, a lot has happened recently with all the extra jobs and the Bahari thing and—you’re holding your own. I admire ya for that, kid.”

In Reth’s head, a lightbulb blinks on: he’s trying to say sorry.

Zeki—gruff, prideful, impenetrable, merciless—came to the tavern early so he could work up the courage to apologize. It almost makes him teary eyed, how Zeki stumbles over his words and fights with the no-nonsense culture ingrained in him. All to make amends.

“Things should relax downstairs for a while. I made a few calls and deals and… Look, what I’m tryin’ to say is—”

Reth is relieved to know he wasn’t wrong; that some part of Zeki is fond of him. That maybe he reacted to Reth’s disappearance out of fear—for himself, for Tish, and for Reth, too. Maybe scaring Reth straight was just part of that ‘tough love’ philosophy Zeki had mentioned time and time again.

“Thanks, man,” Reth smiles.

Affronted, the Grimalkin clutches his mug and scowls. “Whatcha thankin’ me for? Stop lookin’ at me like that.”

“You don’t have to actually say it, if it pains you that much. I’m picking up what you’re putting down.”

“I ain’t puttin’ down nothin’!” Zeki huffs, crossing his arms. But the smallest lift at the corner of his mouth betrays him. “And I got no idea what you’re yappin’ about.”

Reth casually continues his task by dumping a jar of cranberry syrup into the container. “Maybe I’ll do the Grimalkin thing and get even somehow,” he offers playfully, “Switch out your fish oil nightcap for corn syrup.”

Zeki’s eye twinkles. “Now you’re talkin’.”

They talk for some time. About everything and nothing at all. They dive head first, bad blood forgotten; laughing like old friends and co-conspirators. Zeki tells Reth a story about a heist involving a lollipop, a pair of tweezers, and a hot air balloon that has him in stitches.

Reth wonders if Chayne was just a little off the mark. Because Reth’s scrappiness and risk-taking behavior came from somewhere. It isn’t the innkeeper, and it certainly isn’t his own parents. There's a part of Reth that has an edge—not unlike Grimalkin claws.

In the excitement of their reunion, the punch is almost forgotten. Reth finishes it just in time for the town hall meeting, as the last of the villagers arrive and Tish and Jel take their usual town hall meeting seats at the bar. He’s grateful to Zeki for the distraction, as he hadn’t even noticed the Daiya family arrive. By the time he notices the small vase of sundrop lilies on his counter, Nai’o is already seated on the fireplace couch.

Reth stares at flowers.

“I think… I think those are from Nai’o?” Tish offers, “They’re really lovely.”

“Yeah.”

Tish, Jel, and Zeki all look at him, expectantly.

Expressionless, Reth takes the vase of flowers and puts it in the corner of the kitchen. Out of sight. He can’t deal with it today. Not with everyone gawking at him. He returns to the bar, takes out his stool from underneath, and sits down.

Eshe, standing in her usual spot in front of the fireplace, taps her ledger with a hand. “This meeting will now come to order. Caleri, please make note of all those in attendance.”

For once, Reth likes the monotony of town hall. A conversation on wordage and intention of a new Bahari province law regarding fencing practices? Snooze. A vote on the winter’s budget for pavement salt? Nap worthy. A small, tense dispute between Hassian and Kenli regarding the mounting chapaa crisis? Mildly entertaining. But boring is exactly what the doctor ordered.

Reth leans toward his companions. “Not sure if I should put more or less chapaa on the menu next week.”

“I think it depends on whose favor you’re trying to win,” Jel suggests.

“I’d put chapaa on the menu for the next month,” Zeki says, “Hassian kinda scares me.”

They titter in agreement.

“Our final matter of business for the evening: an unusual item. Directly from the capital,” Eshe announces, as if reading a direct proclamation. She pulls a piece of parchment from her ledger. The back of it bears an intricate, government insignia. “Last month, there was a request for an addition to the Remembrance Garden on behalf of the Keita Family.”

Reth nearly falls out of his seat.

Tish turns to him with big, surprised eyes. Once the petition went through, he’d intended to tell her. But, when it didn’t, he wanted to save her from heartbreak. His petition being publicized to everyone in the village makes his stomach turn. He holds his head in his hands, fingers pressed into the fabric of his headband.

“In accordance with Bahari Province requirements, the request was denied,” Eshe says, reading directly from the paper in her hands, “It was determined that the Keita Family has not yet made significant enough contributions to our community. This was, word for word, the decree of the Bahari Province Department of Cultural and National Monuments.”

Why did Eshe have to do this? Public humiliation is far, even for her.

“However—”

Reth’s head snaps up. He watches the magistrate fold the verdict and file it away.

“—due to an overwhelming number of letters written to the office by upstanding members of the community, the previous determination has been officially rescinded.”

He holds his breath.

“The Bahari Province Department of Cultural and National Monuments has therefore allowed this petition a secondary consideration, to be granted by popular vote among all eligible citizens of Kilima Village. Tish and Reth, as you are the petitioners, you are excluded from this vote.”

It won’t pass. If the vote had been private, maybe. But publicly accepting Reth into the community? He knows who will be on his side and who won’t. Tish reaches out and takes his hand. Her hope and excitement terrifies him.

Eshe continues, “We vote to add the following to the Kilima Township Constitution: Section 15, Item J22. If approved, this amendment grants one Remembrance Garden plot to the Keita Family.”

In that moment, Reth could hear a pin drop.

“All those opposed?”

No one moves.

Not a single person.

Not even Delaila.

Reth is bewildered.

“All those in favor?”

Without hesitation, hands rise. Every majiri in attendance. Chayne softly smiles at him. Kenli giddily kicks his short legs against his chair. Sifuu raises a confident fist. Hassian appears content. Even Auni and Najuma, excluded from the vote by their age, raise their hands. Even Delaila.

Nai’o, arm reached toward the sky, glances over his shoulder.

And for the first time in his life, the young man who says too much—is without words.

“Motion unanimously approved,” Eshe declares, “The Keita Family will from henceforth and forever be entitled to Kilima Remembrance Garden Plot 45 for all past, present, and future generations.”

Tish clutches his arm as her eyes fill with happy tears. When he entertained the idea of creating a memorial for his parents, Reth figured she would like the idea. He didn’t imagine it would mean as much to her as it meant to him.

“Reth?” Eshe calls.

He clears throat and stands, rising for the occasion.

The magistrate regards him plainly. “The plot allows for six markers. No more, no less. Any further markers will require a secondary petition. Understood?”

“Yeah,” he croaks, “Yeah, totally.”

“One representative from your family must come to my office and sign as primary caretaker of the plot. Preferably sooner rather than later. Understood?”

“Consider it signed.”

“Very good. That concludes our meeting.”

The event leaves Reth in a daze as the villagers mingle and file out of the tavern in family clusters. Tish is over the moon, talking to everyone who approaches with their congratulations on Reth’s behalf. Zeki leans over the counter and shakes him.

“You gonna recover?”

“Maybe?”

“Don’t go givin’ anyone else credit for this. This was all you, kid.”

Just like Bahari Manor, Reth doesn’t make it a habit to visit City Hall. Occasionally, he’ll brave it to see Kenyatta when she’s dying for a distraction at work, but he doesn’t stay long in case he runs into Eshe. This time, he’s there for Eshe.

It’s the same evening, some hours after the town hall meeting (after Tish and him had celebrated and shared their ideas on how to create their parent’s markers) and before his underground shift. He’s eager to sign a document and make it official—make sure Eshe doesn’t change her mind and pull the win out from under his feet.

City Hall is always quiet, but it’s eerie at night. The dim chandeliers give just enough light to see around the building and cold, marble floors and cavernous high ceilings echo Reth’s footsteps back at him. He goes past the reception desk, up the grand staircase, and heads for the single open door that emits a glow. Eshe sits at her desk, notating something in her ledger when he knocks on the doorframe.

“Ah. You are keen,” she says, with mild annoyance. She taps her quill into an ink jar. “I just barely finished the plot deed. Allow it to dry for a few moments.”

“Great. No rush.”

The document in question lays on her desk, away from everything else. Reth stands at the threshold, rocking back on his heels, waiting. He peers into the office, admiring the decor. Eshe is a little old fashioned, but she has taste.

“Will you stop ogling?” The magistrate snaps, “Sit down or something. Your lingering is uncouth.”

Wordlessly, Reth steps inside and slides into an armchair opposite Eshe’s desk. He’s close enough that he can hear the scratch of her quill tip on paper. He thinks small and clasps his hands together to keep them from fidgeting or touching anything he isn’t supposed to.

The silence is awkward.

He admires the lamp on the desk. Then, an intricate box near the window. Then, the ceiling.

“Tish seemed taken aback,” Eshe suddenly says. She continues to write. “I had assumed the garden plot had been her idea. Come to find, it was yours.”

“It was Ashura’s, actually.”

“Hm. Sentimental man.”

Reth can’t tell if Eshe intends it as a compliment or an insult.

She picks up the plot deed, checks the dryness of the ink, and slides it across the desk toward Reth. She offers her own quill. He sits on the edge of his seat and signs it, careful of smudging his peki-scratch signature.

“That is all,” she says, putting the deed aside for further curing.

“Oh. Really? That’s it? Like, nothing else?”

She regards him, dryly. “Do you want there to be something else?”

“No. Nope. I’m good.”

The whole affair is rather anticlimactic, but Reth supposes he should count his blessings that she made it relatively painless. He stands and heads for the doorway. Halfway, a curiosity stops him.

“Can I ask you a question?”

Eshe sighs. “Just ask the question. Don’t ask if you can ask a question. It’s rude.”

“Who wrote letters?” he asks, “Like, you said some people in the village wrote letters to overturn the decision. Who did that?”

The magistrate hesitates. She pulls out another ledger from a drawer.

“Every household.”

Reth blinks. “All of them? Including yours?” he gapes.

“Yes, well, sometimes my husband acts of his own accord,” she says, acidically, “I believe the question you should be asking is who orchestrated such mass dissent on your behalf. It was a single individual who delivered the letters to my desk, saw them stamped for official consideration, and sent in that morning’s mail.”

“Who?” he asks, despite his gut already knowing the answer.

“Nai’o Daiya.”