II

He has to close his eyes for a moment to resist the urge to put a hand over his face. "What is this."

"It's called food, sir. I think you're familiar with the concept."

He sighs, resigned. "I've heard of it."

He opens his eyes and has to deal with, again, Avex standing in front of his desk, leaning down far enough that he's resting his elbows on the edge. The angle can't be comfortable, but Avex is grinning at him like it's the easiest thing in the world.

And there's a paper bag on the desk beside him. Which Avex is pointedly glancing at every few seconds.

He relents. "What food is this, specifically?"

Avex perks up. "Meat buns. Has your two most important food groups, which are of course bread and something to go in the bread. I got a few kinds, since I didn't know which ones you'd like most. The plain-looking one has mutton in it, the one with stuff on top is chicken, the one with," he pauses for a long second and then pulls down the edge of the bag to look inside, "the folds on top is pork. I assumed you weren't vegetarian based on your cold storage, but-"

"This is more than enough, Avex. Thank you." He moves the bag off to the side. "I... you still don't have to do this."

Avex straightens up, at least a little bit, still leaning over enough to have his hands on the desk. "I mean, I go there for lunch most of the time anyway. They usually have a fresh batch just finishing up by the time I get there from the Bastion, and I can eat on the way back."

"No time to sit down?"

"I mean, I could," Avex shrugs with one shoulder. "I don't mind eating while standing."

"That seems like an unusual habit to pick up."

"Well, in college...," Avex looks vaguely up towards the ceiling for a second. "Never mind. It isn't anything to worry about now."

"Of course." He picks up his pen again, though Avex frowns. "I'd prefer to not eat at my desk. Once I'm done -"

"You've already worked through most of lunch," Avex interrupts. "Eat something. I promise your papers won't escape."

He pulls a simple little statuette of a dragon from his pocket and places it on the corner of his page with a deceptively heavy thunk.

"You've been carrying around a paperweight?"

"I grabbed it on the way past my desk." Avex corrects him. "Because I assumed you would refuse to leave."

He sighs. "It's not a... refusal."

Avex tilts his head and smiles. "Well, if it's accepted, we could go find somewhere to sit? It's a nice day out, but I bet the gardens are empty."

"The gardens are a glorified group of hedges."

"Glorified hedges with seating," Avex reminds him cheerfully. "And a short walk. The fresh air will be good for you."

He hesitates.

"If it's too much, you can tell me." Avex prompts gently.

He doesn't tell, but he sets his pen down and sighs. Gravity is an enemy he doesn't want, a new knife in his back that he has to ignore. "Could you carry the bag? I have to deal with the cane."

"That's what I'm here for, sir."

His leg complains against the motion even when he leans on the cane, but he refuses to sit back down, especially not once Avex has picked up the bag and hovers awkwardly a little bit in front of him as if to draw him forward.

Avex talks as they walk, though he can't pay attention to most of it. It takes all of his focus to stay balanced, trying to hold the jittering magic in place through sheer force of will. Avex doesn't seem to mind, or expect him to reply. It's not out of the question that Avex is doing it intentionally, trying to keep up pretenses, but he can't stop to ask.

Whether it's Avex's goal or not, nobody interrupts them on their way through the Bastion. Walking out into the daylight of the gardens makes him squint, even though it's still overcast. It's also predictably empty of people, given that it's lackluster to begin with and still damp with last night's rains.

There are a few benches tucked between the lines of hedges, somewhere, but he doesn't care enough to seek them out. He makes himself walk past the first line, but stops at the next, sitting on the stone half-wall that encircles each of the rows of plants. Avex casually sits down beside him, blocking his line of sight to the corner as if to add what privacy he can. He places the bag between them, within easy reach, and sits back like this is the most routine thing in the world.

He tries, unsuccessfully, to ignore how awkward it feels to pull the bag closer.

A nightingale chatters, somewhere in the garden. He takes off one of his gloves, slowly, knowing Avex is being intentionally nonchalant about not noticing the action. It could be genuine, unthinking, but Avex pays attention to everything; it would be more remarkable if he didn't find it a concern. He takes out one of the buns, already unsure of which was which, and hesitates.

Avex lets him know that he's noticed that, at least. "If you don't want an audience, I can walk a lap and come back."

"It's fine." This shouldn't be a problem. Eating around people, in front of people, is normal. He's still not eating. "Why are you doing this?"

Avex tilts his head. "I told you. I want to help you."

"There's more than that."

"Is there?" He replies, and his tail taps anxiously on the half-wall. "You've done a lot for me. It's only natural that I want to return the favor."

"This doesn't go beyond that?"

Avex stills.

The words he wants to say catch in his chest. Admit it.

Avex folds his hands in his lap, absently running the claw on his thumb along the seams of the scales on his other hand. "When I was little..." he pauses, as if he's not sure which direction the sentence is supposed to go, "my parents made this thing for me and my sister that was, like, a jar of wishes. That makes it sound enchanted, or something. It was just a regular jar, a plain one, and they gave it to me and Listener and said, here, write some things down that you'd like to do, if you had the chance. It was, like, meant to be for planning family trips or whatever - we were still really little."

Avex is looking at the hedges across from them, but he's sure Avex notes when he starts eating.

"So me and Listener sit down with our pencils and everything and start writing things down, and after a little bit we bring the jar back to our parents, and... well, it's not something I remember doing myself, but it left a big enough impact on mom and dad that they told us the story when we were older. But they started taking out pieces of paper expecting, like, visions of grand adventure and found that most of it was... little things. Listener wanted to see a real waterfall. I," he pauses, and breathes out a laugh, "I wanted to see a shooting star."

"Did you ever see one?"

Avex shakes his head. "That one ended up being beyond the ability of mere parents to conjure. I still keep an eye out when it's dark, though."

"Are you planning on making a wish?"

"I..." It's the same tells; cheek fins pinning back, glancing towards him. In the fondest of ways, it's a miracle that Avex seems to truly believe he's been subtle. "I have one in mind."

The conversation pauses, and he can all but envision where the confession would fit, filling the silent space.

He quietly takes another bun.

Avex seems to come back to himself. "I, um, the reason I'm doing this is kind of like that, except there's no jar, and no papers, and... well, maybe it's not like that at all. I want to... I want you to give yourself the chance to experience the little things. Because I think you - everyone deserves to be happy."

"And you don't think I can do that on my own?"

"Harsh wording," he scolds, "but I don't think I've ever seen you take a day off in all the time I've known you."

He hums. "What if the little things I enjoy are at work?"

Avex gives him a wordless, sidelong stare.

"What if they fit around work hours, then?"

Avex snorts. "Well, I'd believe you if you showed m-" he stops abruptly and looks away, and when he continues, the veneer of cocky self-assurance is gone. "I'd like to experience them with you, if you'd have me."

The honesty of it stings. He's not sure if he's pleading to himself or Avex; admit it.

"I... would enjoy your company." he silently chastises himself for the weak evasion. "I think I prefer my events slower than you prefer yours, though."

"I could settle down, given the chance." Avex realizes what he's said and flushes. "Slow down, I mean."

"Could you? You've always struck me as someone who enjoys being busy."

Avex smirks a little at that. "So I'm striking now, am I?"

He rolls his eyes. Familiar ground.

"I talk enough about myself, though." Avex tears a bit of paper off the bag and pulls the stub of a pencil from his pocket. He brandishes the strip like a lit match. "I can't be the only one with wishes, can I? Name one for me."

It's thirty years ago, and he's watching the city lights shine against the hollow dark of a night still young, and then he's back in the garden, staring past Avex, and then he's back in the garden, staring at his hands. Avex studies him with concern, and then looks thoughtfully down at the little scrap of paper.

"Another time, maybe." He puts it into his pocket, with the pencil.

"I'm going to be promoting one of the Bastion guards," he says instead. It's an abrupt change, but he can't let himself linger. "I didn't think it was necessary to have a personal bodyguard within the walls of the Bastion previously."

Avex shifts uncomfortably, and he reaches for his collar almost without thinking; he pauses with his fingers on his bare neck before realizing what he's doing. "...Having a more reliable form of protection isn't unreasonable. Did you have anyone in mind?"

"Marianne."

Avex winces. "Are you sure that's a good idea, sir? She looked like she was badly shaken by what happened at the theater."

"I don't have the luxury of choice."

"There's a whole army group's worth of-"

"And how many remained at their stations leading up to the attack?" He interrupts. It comes out sharper than he means it to, and he doesn't know how to apologize for the ache that clips his patience short, or for the conflicted frown on Avex's face. "We both know how secure that event should have been, and yet the reason I didn't bleed out on the stage was a sole surviving guard, a chance meeting with an adventuring party - of all things - and the fact that you, as my secretary, were within earshot, got to me safely, and had the means to cast one single revival spell. I have to trust that I can rely on those three things, but that group will do more good elsewhere, and you -"

He sighs, and tries to breathe his frustration out with it. Avex's tail taps against the stone, and he's still frowning. He doesn't have the right to feel this sharp, this fragile, after everything.

"I don't want to put you more at risk than I already have," he says. "You shouldn't be in danger, with the job you have, and the fact that you could have been targeted while helping me is already a failure on my part."

"The fact that I chose to help you isn't a fucking failure," Avex snaps. "If I wanted to be safe, I'd resign and just - just go home. I want to be here."

"What could possibly be here that's more important than your own safety?"

"You."

There's a sincerity in Avex's expression that he can't acknowledge. "That's not an acceptable answer."

"What answer do you want me to give?" Avex waves a hand in frustration. "Do you want me to lie to you?"

"No -"

"Because I won't," he adds, sullen. "I won't lie to you."

"People who love me get hurt." He says, and each word feels like a punch in the gut. This conversation shouldn't be happening. "They die. I won't let it happen again."

"People will love you even if you don't -" Avex's voice catches. "Even if you don't love them back. Who the hell are you keeping safe?"

"I'm trying to make things better."

"Is it working?"

"No." He doesn't shout it, but confessing it is heavy enough. "No, it's not."

"Then you don't have to keep doing it. You can just -"

He can't keep himself from snarling. "Is it not enough that I want you alive, Avex?"

"No." He continues even though he looks like he instantly regrets it. "It's not. Not for this."

There are a million things he could say, and he locks his jaw on all of them.

Avex draws a long, deep breath and sighs it out. "I'm sorry. I... I shouldn't have brought it up. Or gotten angry. I made things more complicated than they have to be, and I thought - I thought our relationship had something that it didn't - I thought I knew a lot of things about you that I didn't - and I'm sorry."

He wants to mention his lack of sleep, or suggest again that he rest, but he doubts it would be taken well. "I'm sorry, too," he says instead. "For everything."

Avex smiles, and if it's a little crooked and a little sad, it's something they both force themselves to ignore. "That's a lot of things to apologize for."

He doesn't have a reply to that.

"We should be heading back inside, if you're up to it." Avex takes the empty bag as he stands and stretches, and then he stops again. "I want - please don't think you owe me for helping you. You don't. Not for the - the theater, not for this," he gestures with the crumpled bag, "not for anything else. I want to help you, even if... especially if I'm doing it as a friend."

"Thank you," he says quietly.

"And if you don't want help, just - just say it. Don't feel like you have to let me... shove myself into your life if you don't want it." The bag rustles as he tightens his fist. "I know.... I think I know that asking for things outright is something you don't like to do. But if - if you could... never mind. I won't... ask that of you."

He rises, and nearly stumbles as his leg doesn't respond to the motion; pain and indignity rise hot in his chest. He can imagine the sound of it crumpling, too - the everything, a part of him whispers - as he forces himself to stay standing. It's easier to bury what he wants to say under the distraction of the ache. It's easier if trying to pull his thoughts together feels like holding fire.

It has to be easier. He has to trust in that, even as Avex falls into step just behind his elbow, even as the indoor gloom of the Bastion closes over the cloudy sky. He has to trust in that.