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ladytauria · 5 months

Note

"tell me a secret" with jaytim if youre still taking prompts, been enjoying all of the snippets!

um.

so.

this one ran away with me. a little bit.

it's. it feels very messy. but i like the direction i ended up going with it. i think--- i think i might revisit this premise again. but for now, nonny, i hope you like it!

(also, i'm glad you enjoyed my snippets~)

There are few things worse than truth pollen, in Tim’s opinion. Give him fear gas or sex pollen any day of the week. Losing control of his tongue, confessions spilling from his mouth, helpless to do anything to stop it… It makes him shudder just to think about.

However—

He would gladly have taken a blast of truth pollen right to the face, if it meant Jason wouldn’t have.

Jason’s locked himself in an isolation cell, now, while Tim synthesizes an antidote. The general pollen vaccine had done little to help the effects of this strain. Confessions had tumbled from Jason’s lips all the way home, all through the blood draw. Tim tries hard not to think about them, to forget them completely, but they linger in the back of his mind. Whether he wants them to be or not, he knows they’ve been imprinted in the back of his mind, where they’ll be sorted and cataloged, brought out later if ever he needs them.

He never forgets. It’s something of a curse.

As soon as the antidote finishes, Tim sends it to Jason through a panel in the isolation cell. It should take an hour for it to kick in—Tim will be upstairs, whenever Jason is ready.

Two hours pass before Jason joins him. Tim sits at the kitchen island, hands around a mug. Steam still wafts up from it; his face warm and damp where it caresses his skin.

“That better not be coffee,” Jason says. He sounds even grumpier than usual—not that Tim can blame him.

He chooses not to comment on his mood, for the moment.

“It’s not,” he says. “It’s tea.” He pauses. “Herbal tea.”

Jason grunts.

“There’s some for you on the counter.” He gestures.

Jason rounds the counter, finally coming into view. Tim’s shoulders loosen a little at the sight of him; curls and skin damp from a shower, cotton tee sticking to him. Sweatpants ride low on his hips. His socks have little gray cats on them.

“Did your cameras alert you I was coming up?”

Tim ignores the confrontational sneer in his tone. “No.”

For a moment, Jason’s body tenses like he’s going to challenge him on it—turn it into a fight, until one of them storms out or ends up sleeping in the guest room. Then he finds his tea, in a thermal traveling cup. The tension drains from him, then; weariness in the bow of his shoulders. He takes the cup and joins Tim at the island, settling onto the stool next to his.

Their shoulders brush. Tim knows it’s as close to an apology as he’ll get right now. He brushes against him again when he raises his mug to his mouth; a silent forgiveness.

Jason drinks his tea. He hums softly; a quiet, pleased noise.

They drink in silence. Tim wouldn’t describe it as comfortable, but the air isn’t as thick with tension as it could have been. He knew they would have to address it before they went to sleep; knew, for a while at least, that things would be… delicate. He’s not looking forward to walking on tiptoes—but it’s better than the alternative. It’s better than Jason leaving.

“We don’t have to talk about it,” Tim murmurs, finally. “I’m not— I won’t ask. We can pretend like you never said anything.”

Jason is quiet for a moment, and then he says, “Thank you.” It’s barely a whisper. Tim isn’t sure he would have heard it, if he hadn’t been listening for it.

He brushes against him again, as he gets up to put his mug in the sink. He smooths his hand over Jason’s back; from one shoulder to the other as he walks by—both touches a silent reassurance.

He puts his mug in the sink and stops by Jason again. This time, he kisses his temple. “I’m going to bed,” he murmurs. “Join me when you’re ready.”

Jason leans into his touch—turning, when Tim pulls away, to catch around the waist and pull him close. He kisses the corner of Tim’s eye. “I love you,” he murmurs.

Tim squeezes his forearm. “I love you too,” he breathes.

They stay like that for a moment—a long moment. And then, finally, Jason lets him go, smearing another kiss against his skin when he does. Tim lingers a moment more, and then he heads off to their bedroom.

It’s maybe ten, fifteen minutes before Jason joins him, curling up in Tim’s arms; letting Tim plaster himself against his back, sighing sweetly when Tim’s chin rests atop his curls. He tangles their fingers together over their stomach.

Tim falls asleep knowing everything is going to be okay.

Tim doesn’t just forget about it. He can’t—though he tries. The things Jason said turn over and over in his mind, every time there’s a lull at work, on patrol, in the quiet moments he spends with Jason. He keeps his word. He doesn’t ask about them. He doesn’t even go digging through Batman’s files, or the city’s files—although the temptation sits heavy on his shoulders.

Instead—he ends up thinking, again and again, about secrets.

About Jason’s. About his own. About all the things that sit, buried deep under his tongue, where he would never dare to speak them aloud. But the more he thinks about the more he sees them as cracks—fissures, things not sitting quietly in himself but things keeping them apart.

He finds himself wanting to dig them up. To look at them in the light, offer them to Jason; see if he finds even those parts of him worth loving.

He wants to do the same to Jason. To look at the ugliest parts of him again—this time without the wrongness of pollen coating them—and cradle them in his hands, tuck them in the spaces between his ribs. Soothe the hurts they left behind.

Tim knows Jason won’t let him.

But.

Tim has never needed reciprocation.

He starts offering them, impromptu, in their quiet moments.

“Sometimes I feel more like myself in a dress and heels than I do in a suit,” he confesses, while Jason is reading; Tim’s head in his lap while he plays on his switch. “I’ve thought about looking into it—but honestly. Exploring... that on top of everything else just sounds exhausting.”

Jason pauses, fingers in Tim’s hair, and says, “If you ever want to, I’ll support you. I’ll love you, no matter what you decide.”

Tim turns and kisses his stomach.

A few days later, they’re cooking together. Tim stirs noodles, while Jason chops vegetables. “The first time I dressed up as a woman, I looked so much like my mother I almost couldn’t leave the manor. I don't think I would have, if not for the mission.”

The knife pauses; the sound of chopping stops. “That must have been a lot,” Jason says, tentatively.

Tim doesn’t have to look over to know Jason is giving him a weird look. He can feel it on the back of his head.

“It was,” he agrees. “Are you sure I salted this enough?”

His next confession is delivered when Tim is donning one of his aliases for an undercover job. Jason is sweet enough to do up his zipper for him.

“I created my first alias when I was seven. I mean, I guess it was more playing pretend, but... I dunno. It felt more serious than that, even then. I kept making more as I got older, trying them on... whenever I felt like it. Now it’s something I do as a hobby, to keep my skills sharp, but there was a time when I wanted to be anyone other than Tim Drake.”

Jason meets his eyes in the mirror; gaze unfathomable. “What changed?”

Tim’s lips quirk. “It’s hard to fall in love as anyone but yourself.”

The flush on Jason’s face is vivid red. Tim is helpless to do anything but turn and kiss him.

After a fight, Tim calls Jason. It goes straight to voicemail—not unexpected. It still makes his heart clench. He ignores it, instead offering,

“Jason… I’m sorry, for what I said, earlier. It— It wasn’t true. I meant it when I said I can live with you killing. I don’t—I don’t… The truth is, I don’t disagree with your methods. I’m tempted to join you, sometimes. A lot of times. I’m tempted to go even further, too. I… Sometimes I think the only thing that keeps me from going bad is Dick’s disappointment. Bruce’s, too, but. I don’t care what he thinks as much anymore.

“Some days the temptation is stronger than others, though. And that— It scares me. I cling tighter to the rules in response. I… It’s not an excuse for me to hurt you, though. I’m sorry. I love you. Come home whenever you’re ready.” He’s crying when he finishes, hanging up the phone. Thinks about staying in the basement; distracting himself with cold cases instead of going to bed.

He decides he’s disappointed Jason enough.

Jason comes home that night. Slips into their bed, gathering Tim in his arms.

“You could never go bad,” he whispers. “You’re too fucking good, Tim.”

Tim shakes his head, burying his face in Jason’s neck. “If I convinced myself it was right, or for a good cause…” He holds him tighter.

Jason is quiet. “Do you trust me?”

“Yes.” Tim doesn’t even hesitate.

“Then trust that I wouldn’t let you.”

Tim knows Jason has broken his own moral code more than once.

He also knows that Jason is far more careful with the people he loves than he is himself.

It’s a trait they share.

So he nods. “Okay.”

“And you’ll do the same for me,” he says, softly—almost tentatively.

Tim holds him tighter. “Yes.”

He’s quiet for so long Tim thinks he falls asleep. Then, he offers, quietly, “Sometimes I think I’ll go too far, and— You’ll leave. Or that you’ll wake up one day, and realize I’m not going to change, that… That you can’t handle the killing after all. I don’t… I don’t want to lose you.” He doesn’t say, I thought I was losing you tonight, but Tim hears it anyway.

He kisses Jason’s neck. “You won’t,” he says, confidently. “But— If you ever do, or if it looks like you’re going to— I promise I’ll tell you. Warn you. I won’t just disappear without giving you a chance.”

Jason shudders in his arms. He tucks his face in Tim’s hair—Tim cups the back of his neck in response. “Feels like all you’ve given me a hundred second chances,” he whispers.

Tim nuzzles him. “I’ll give you a hundred more. You’re worth it.”

Jason starts making his own confessions, after that.

He lights a candle on the coffee table, filling the air with the scent of sandalwood. Then he stops. Turns his lighter over in his hand—flicks it on, then off again.

“I didn’t stop smoking because of how I died, or the Pit, or Talia, or for my health, or—any of the bullshit reasons I told everyone else. Sheila— Cigarettes remind me of her. The way she just sat there and watched.”

Tim stands, stepping into his space. He winds his arms around Jason’s waist. “You deserved better,” he says, quietly.

“We both did.”

‘We’ means Tim and Jason. It also means Sheila and Jason. Tim doesn’t know if he agrees with the latter—but. Whatever else she was, she was Jason’s mother, and that means something to Jason. So, he says nothing. Just presses a kiss to Jason’s shoulder.

After a rough patrol, another argument between Jason and Bruce—one that took both Nightwing and Red Robin to break up—Jason sits in the medbay of Tim’s nest, letting him stitch up his arm.

Tim is almost done, when Jason says, “I’ve given up on Bruce killing the Joker for me. I wish he’d let me do it. More than that—I just. I want him to tell me, to my face, that he missed me. That he loved me. That the loss of me was something painful. That—That he still loves me. I don’t. I don’t want to hear it from someone else. But I know— I know he won’t. The man who would have died with me, and sometimes I think that’s the worst of it all.”

Tim snips the thread, laying the needle down. He kisses the skin just above the wound, and lingers there. “I’m sorry.”

Jason is quiet. Then he turns, pressing his nose into Tim’s hair. He doubts it smells great—he hasn’t had time to hit the showers yet—but Jason doesn’t seem to care. “Me too,” he whispers.

Tim gets a box of cologne samples in the mail. He’s going through them, just for fun—handing the ones he likes best to Jason. As he passes over the third, Jason says,

“I don’t remember what Mom’s voice sounded like anymore—but. I found the perfume she loved. It was one of the most expensive things we owned. She only got it out for special occasions, or—or when she was sad, and needed something to help remind her of the good times. I— When I smell it, I can almost hear her again. Singing in the kitchen, or… Reading with me on the couch.”

Tim puts the cologne samples down. He tucks himself against Jason’s side and holds him tight. The vulnerability in Jason’s voice, in his expression… It scares Tim almost as much as it awes him. He just— He wants to protect him, to hold the softest parts of Jason close, where nothing and no one can hurt him again.

It’s an impossible wish, but. That won’t stop him from trying.

“Tell me about her?” he asks softly, laying his cheek over Jason’s heart. The steady beat is calming.

Hesitatingly—haltingly—

Jason does.

It keeps going. Back and forth.

“Sometimes I think no one actually wants me around—that people are happier when I’m not there.”

“I think I left a piece of myself in the grave. It hurts less that it’s missing these days, but. It still hurts.”

“I never felt like I was alive until I became Robin. That’s part of why losing it hurt so much.”

“Sometimes Bruce and Dick will mention things—and I don’t remember them. They sound like happy memories, but, when I go poking around, all I can find are blank spaces. It’s fucking terrifying.”

“In the early days—sometimes Bruce would forget, and call me by your name. I… It feels awful to admit, but. Those nights were my favorite.”

“I hate looking in the mirror. For—for a million fucking reasons, but one of ‘em is how much I look like my dad. Like Willis. He wasn’t a bad man, except when he drank. He just… he drank a lot. I don’t want to be him.”

Secrets traded, back and forth. A lot of them big, some of them small. Always in the quietest moments, in the carefullest tones. Each one met with acceptance, with love.

Tim feels freer than he ever has. Not even swinging between buildings leaves his step so light.

He thinks Jason feels the same; thinks he smiles more, now. Tim has caught him humming in the kitchen more than once—finds himself humming the same tune.

Tim has never needed reciprocation to love someone.

Jason has given it to him anyway.

Ivy’s not done with truth pollen—determined to perfect this strain. This time, Tim is on the other side of the city when Jason catches a face full. He doesn’t miss a beat; working with Spoiler to wrangle her back to Arkham. As soon as it’s handled, he beelines back to the Nest.

Tim meets him there.

Jason doesn’t lock himself in an isolation cell, this time. He works with Tim to distill the antidote. Tim isn’t foolish enough to believe that all of the secrets Jason has buried in the recesses of his mind have come to light. He knows his haven’t. He knows, too, that for both of them, there are some which never will. That's okay. Jason has shared enough that the pollen’s compulsion has little to cling to; little to nourish its roots.

So this time—he doesn’t talk as much, this time; only the occasional confession spilling from his lips.

Most of them make Tim blush.

It’s a torturous hour—albeit for entirely different reasons than last time—and it ends not with a shared cup of tea but Tim pinned to the wall in the Nest shower, Jason on his knees, worshiping him until stars burst behind his eyes.

Tim turns the tables on him as soon as he remembers which way is up—and then they stumble upstairs, to bed, curling into one another like two mis-matched halves.

Jason tangles their fingers together. “Tell me a secret,” he whispers, to the darkness of the room.

Tim does.

#jaytim #timjay #dcu #tauriawritesfanfic #asks and answers #lovely anons #this is almost 3k <3

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galadae · 2 months

Text

the sunlit spark

rating: T pairing: calantha lenn/hien rijin words: 4.1k summary: hien and calantha find themselves with time to spare, and calantha wants a rematch. notes: first kiss fic redux! occurs after 4.4 quest the will of the moon. this is technically a rewrite of the old "impulsive" prompt but it's over twice as long as the first version and the vibe is better/more accurate for them. ao3 link

Hien takes a deep breath of cool fresh air as his shoes crunch in the short grass. The breeze carries the scent of sheep and cook fires, earth and stone. The sun drifts towards the horizon, bathing the steppe in golden light. Towering clouds drift like tall ships on the sea of endless blue above. He stops to study them as he makes his way up the familiar path to the hilltop above Reunion.

“It’s a small repair. The mender's apprentice said it should take an hour.” Calantha’s voice sounds from behind him. He turns to see her pocketing her coin purse. With a few long strides she joins him, slowing to match his pace. “I suppose we have some time to ourselves.”

“That is fine by me." He flashes her a smile. “We may as well enjoy a bit of quiet after the excitement of the day.”

“You’re right about that,” she says. She stretches her arms above her head. “It’s been awhile since I’ve fought a single opponent as fierce as Sadu. I’ll still be feeling it tomorrow.”

“As will I.” With a chuckle he rubs his left arm, working out the faint soreness.The wound from Daidukul was sealed without a scar. Y’shtola had been quick and thorough.

Calantha’s eyes dart to his arm, and away. “How are you holding up? I know Y’shtola healed you, but–why did you come with me? You’d be better off resting.”

“And have it be known that the Khagan strode about the steppe without a care after her fearsome battle, but I was laid up in bed for the day?” Hien chuckles. “But in truth, I am fine. The sun will soon set, and I would admire the view in this place once more. After all, it may be awhile before we return here.”

He tries not to stare at the way her hair catches the sunlight, a halo of gold around the back of her head. This was not the view he had anticipated, but he certainly doesn’t mind.

“It is a good view,” she says, oblivious to his thoughts. She laughs, light and clear, as she casts her gaze towards the clouds. “Every time we return here, I think of when we first met. I didn’t know what to make of you, perched on the top of the cliff.”

He scoffs. “Perched ? As I recall it, I was deep in thought.”

“If you say so,” she says. “All I remember was by the end of the day, I’d lost both a hunting contest and a duel to someone I’d barely met. It was not a pleasant time for me. I was almost determined to dislike you.”

“Ah yes.” Hien smirks. “Your secret. The mighty Warrior of Light, and her mighty fear of–”

“Don’t you dare,” Calantha snaps. “I still want a rematch. Yes, the mighty Warrior of Light, giving both victory and her saddest secret to a total stranger. The embarrassment haunts me to this day.” She sighs and shakes her head. “Or perhaps you'll do me a favor and forget about it. Surely you have enough on your mind already without another small insignificant fact about me.”

Insignificant or no, the thought sprung to his mind often. When he moved wood for the fire from a shady spot against the wall, and spotted a snail leaving its trail across the stone behind. While he walked along the river, and found familiar spiral shells among the stones. When he watched her help build the growing number of small gardens around the Doman Enclave. He wondered how she managed when she was sure to see many snails with that kind of work. It was never important, when he did think of it. But he couldn’t forget this tiny, trivial piece of her, stuck in his mind for good, even if he wished to. Such was the way with friends, was it not?

“It was a fair bargain that you agreed to, my friend. And I find it hard to believe that your secret is, as you call it, your saddest. It simply amuses me too much to be forgotten." He grins, trying not to laugh again at the grimace on her face.

“Of course it does,” she groans.

He steps closer. “But perhaps you suffer less now that I'm no longer a total stranger. Unless you're still determined to dislike me.”

She huffs, blowing a tuft of hair from her face. “Depends on how well you keep my secret.”

“Never fear.” He claps a hand to her shoulder. "It will remain safe with me, even till the day I die. May the Kami bring misfortune on my head if it does not.”

She raises an eyebrow and laughs. “Excessive, but I’m glad to hear it. Perhaps we can stay friends, after all.” A slow smile spreads across her cheeks, tinged with mischief. She drapes her arm around his shoulders. As she bends to whisper in his ear, her voice drips with equal sweetness and mockery.

“And seeing as we’re great friends, now, perhaps I can call you Shu–”

“There is certainly no need for that.” He gives her a playful shove with his elbow before she can finish.

“Why ever not?” she says. Her lips purse into a fake pout. It’s his turn to roll his eyes, and her laugh rings out across the hillside at the mixture of amusement and annoyance on his face. He watches as she pushes past him, further up the hill.

He folds his arms. “I would enjoy a rematch, but if you keep on like this, I'll need another secret from you."

She turns to face him, her mouth set in a cheeky grin to match his own. “You won’t get one out of me this time.”

Something flickers in her gaze that sets a spark alight in his chest. Perhaps it’s the sun on her face, or the way her eyes shine with mirth, or the breeze catching in her hair. He can’t help but laugh along with her, unable to tear his eyes away, until they crest the hill a moment later.

The steppe is lit in gold and pink from Reunion below, to the Dawn Throne, to the mountains on the horizon. Calantha stops near the edge, staring across the overlook.

“Here’s your view,” she says, spreading her arms apart. She takes a deep breath. Her arms fall to her sides as her gaze drifts across the steppe.

Hien steps up beside her. He follows her line of sight, the beauty of the familiar vista washing over him again, until he finds his eyes drifting towards her. She shields her eyes from the sun with long graceful fingers. He stares at her profile, the tip of her nose, her lips–She looks over, eyebrow raised in question. “What?”

He swallows and looks around the hilltop, scolding himself for letting his mind wander so. He clears his throat. “This place strikes me as a fine field for a rematch. I believe you just said you’d like one?”

Calantha turns to face him. “I did, didn’t I? I'm all for it.” She studies his face for a moment, glancing over his sore arm again. “Unless you’re too tired from before.”

His limbs are sore, and he could use rest. But he doesn’t want to concern her. Or for that matter, miss any fun.

“I’m no more weary than you,” he says. He stands up straight and rests his arm on his sword with a confident smile. “And we have time to spare. Do you truly wish to challenge me now? Or shall we wait until you have your armor from the mender?”

“I shouldn’t need it. It’s not like you intend to kill me. At least, I hope not.” Calantha shrugs, and gives him another smile. “I’m sure I can beat you without it.”

“That may be,” he says. “I myself will relish the look on your face when I win yet again.”

She bursts out laughing. “We’ll see about that.”

“I’m ready if you are.” Hien locks his eyes on hers. “Shall we?”

He draws his sword. Calantha nods and readies her lance. They both step back, keeping close eyes on each other.

They circle the hilltop in silence. The breeze blows past them, rustling their hair and clothes. Voices drift up from below them, scattered syllables and laughs from the market stalls, the calls of animals. Birds pass by overhead. Hien considers his position. If he can get her where the sun is in her eyes–

Calantha brushes hair from her forehead. “What are you waiting for?” she says. “Afraid to make the first move?”

Hien studies her stance. He can't let her taunt him now. He steps into the sun’s path and Calantha follows him, still circling. She squints in the sunlight and glares at him.

“So that's how it is,” she says. Lowering her head, she darts forward, lunging with her lance. He lets the blow glance off his blade. He's got to move closer, inside her range. She'll drive him back if he's not careful.

Calantha follows the motions of her lunge past him and spins, letting the shaft of her lance swoop towards his head. He ducks the blow with a laugh. “Come now, you can do better than that.”

She thrusts the blade towards him, forcing him to leap out of the way.

“And so can you,” she growls. “What’s the fun if you're only going to jump away? Put in some effort, will you?”

“As you wish, Khagan.” He laughs and dashes towards her. She raises her lance to block his blows, one by one. If he can disarm her, somehow– He rushes forward again.

She vaults back with a laugh.

“Who's jumping away now?” he says, voice tinged with annoyance.

“It's only fair,” she teases, leaning on her lance. “I could make you chase me.”

He shakes his head. “And why would I do that? You're the one who wanted this battle. I can wait. If I'm to win, I would save my strength.”

“I have to do everything myself,” Calantha mutters. Before he can respond she springs toward him.

Her blows come one after the other, a whirling kick as she spins around her lance, a spinning blade deflected with his own. A poor attempt to catch his leg with her lance which he hops out of place to avoid. A swift strike towards his waist. Her onslaught is relentless. He barely beats her back. He's determined to disarm her, but the opportunities are few. He begins to wonder how long he can withstand her attacks without an opening. Even after her long battle with Sadu, she's fierce and quick on her feet. Does she not know fatigue?

Then she strikes, too high, just past his head. Now's his chance. Hien barrels into her, low and fast. She grunts as his shoulder hits her stomach. He wraps his sword arm around her waist, and grabs the lance with his other hand, yanking it away from her. With an indignant huff she wrests it back, gripping it in both hands on either side of him. She pulls the lance haft in, trapping him against her. “Nice try,” she sneers.

He laughs. “You assume I'm finished trying.” He tries to duck out from under it, but she locks him in, holding him closer.

“I think you are,” Calantha says.

He glares up at her. There is a way out, he's sure, but her face is so close, her eyes bright with the sunlight, and he can't seem to think clearly pressed against her. He struggles for a moment, heart hammering.

“What cheap tactic is this, my friend?” he says.

“One that keeps you from winning.” She looks down at him with a taunting smile.

He laughs. “You’ll have to try harder, then.” In a desperate effort to escape he does the first thing that comes to mind.

In one motion he grabs her waist and hurls himself backwards. She yelps as she falls forward with him. Her lance drops and Hien breaks free of her. The ground strikes his back as he lands –unfortunate, but if he's quick, he can salvage this.

Calantha catches herself on her knees, lance in the grass. She plants her foot to rise just as he sits up with his arm raised, ready to place his katana at her throat–

The sun is in his eyes. He misjudges the angle of his blade, almost thrown from his hand in the fall. Calantha knocks the weapon from his grasp. With her lance in both hands, she pushes him down, laying the haft under his chin.

“Yield,” she says, with a breathless smile still on her lips. He can feel her knee on his waist.

He scowls at her and pushes back against the lance. She scoffs and leans over him, straddling his legs. He’s pinned beneath her. Perhaps he can still get out of this. Panting, he looks over at his blade. It lies just out of reach.

Calantha pushes the lance closer, tilting his head up further. “Well? Do you yield or not?”

Hien sighs and collapses back against the grass. The metal inlay of her lance haft against his neck is pleasantly cool. He nods, too breathless to say anything else.

Calantha’s chest rises and falls rapidly as she catches her breath. “See, no armor needed,” she says, looking down at him with a satisfied smile. The wind blows her hair away from her face, revealing her flushed cheeks and a thin sheen of sweat glistening on her forehead. She withdraws her lance and drops it on the ground beside her. A heady sense of admiration fills him, and he knows his heart is pounding from more than the exertion of their fight. The latent spark burns brighter. Too bright, threatening to bloom into something more. He feels both wary and excited at the prospect.

Hien stares at her in a daze as his breath returns to him. “Well fought,” he says. “A quicker match than our first, to be sure.” He struggles to sit up on his elbows, trying not to think about her weight on him.

Calantha glances down, realizing she’s still on top of him. Her eyes widen and she scrambles to stand. “Are you alright?” She looks down. Her face is neutral, but she can’t quite hide the blush that’s crept to her ears.

Hien gives a breathless laugh. “I will be fine, I assure you.” He takes her offered hand and begins dusting himself off. “Any bruises I’ve gotten will join my fine collection from earlier today.”

They retrieve their weapons and settle on a rocky outcrop a few yalms from the edge of the overlook. She sits so close that her leg presses against his. He finds he doesn’t mind.

He speaks to cover the way his heart still flutters. “Are you pleased with your victory?”

Her smile grows wider. “I feel vindicated. Thank you.”

“Of course," he says. “I would offer to spar with you more often, but judging by how this match has gone, I must limit the number of crushing defeats I suffer in one week.”

She chuckles. “Surely it wouldn’t be that bad.” The wind picks up again, rustling through the low grass. “I should try with a katana. I don't think I can match your skill just yet.”

“I'm sure you'll beat me nine times out of ten.”

“I doubt it. I need practice.” She shifts, pulling one leg under her. “I admit I’ve only trained with a lance and greatsword in the past months. That, and Alphinaud is trying to teach me to summon–Oh,” She looks over his head. “Your hair.”

“My hair?”

“One of the ties is coming undone. And there's grass caught–May I?”

Hien reaches his hand up to check. One of the cords is indeed loose. He wouldn’t have noticed. “If you wish, but there’s really no need–”

“It’s fine,” she says. She leans closer, arms reaching up on either side of his head.

She plucks the grass away and combs a few longer strands back into place with her fingers. The way she reaches around him leaves little to look at but her lips and the graceful curve of her neck. He finds it hard not to let his eyes drift down to the pendant she wears, just above her breasts, to the way her shirt wraps across her chest. The memory of her weight on his hips is still fresh in his mind. Heat rises to his cheeks as he pushes the thought away.

He’s sure none would blame him for admiring her looks. But she’s his friend and ally. He’s not sure how he should see her. He can’t deny he’s admired her since after the Naadam, but it’s more than that. Whether it’s her resolve and determination, or and the easy way she jokes with him, or her care for those she holds dear, even if she’s sometimes loath to admit it – he finds himself drawn to her. Her presence heartens him. In the time she’s spent helping him begin to rebuild, he’s found himself thinking how much he’d like her to help finish the task. He knows it will take years. And as unlikely as it might be, he hopes she’ll join him in as many of those years as she can spare. At first that desire stemmed from profound gratitude for her aid in the past months, and her part in liberating Doma. Without a doubt they’d be further from their goals without her. But perhaps it’s more. He can feel that spark again, buried in his chest. Her voice brings him back from his musing.

“Hold still, I've almost—” She pulls everything in place. “There. It should stay now.” Calantha sits back, but her hand lingers on his shoulder. She smiles, and her eyes have a strange softness to them. One he’s seen in the rare moments he’s caught her stealing glances. He pretended not to notice, of course, in case he misjudged them. Her gaze drops to his lips. He stares, unable to look away from the light catching her hair and her eyes, gold in the violet.

He never dared to think they’d become so close that he could feel the whisper of her breath against his cheek. He has thought of it, when he let his mind wander, but those were idle, foolish daydreams. Nothing more.

And yet she hasn’t moved away. Her face is ilms from his, and Hien’s heartbeat quickens again. He reaches a tentative hand up to brush his knuckles across the pale freckles on her cheek. She closes her eyes and lets her head rest against his hand.

He stares at the way her eyelashes fall against her cheek. The draw to her is undeniable now. Hien rests his forehead against her temple. The gentle sound of her breath, the smell of her hair, her hand on his arm. He can think of nothing else.

“The sunset,” she says. The phrase is quiet, and she tilts her head to look across the horizon. Her eyes open, heavy lidded in the bright light. “Didn't you want to see it?”

“I did,” he murmurs. Despite its beauty the sunset is not where his attention lies. His heart hammers in his chest.

“Calantha-” he starts, but whatever he meant to say has flown from his mind, now full only of her.

She smiles, a small, delicate curve of her lips. “Yes?”

He finds himself uncharacteristically speechless. Instead he ghosts his thumb across her lower lip. Her breath catches, but she doesn't pull away.

Hien brings his lips to hers.

It’s short and light. Barely a kiss. He’s afraid to overstay. In a rush Calantha cups the back of his neck. She draws him close, kissing him once, twice, and a third time, each one a little longer and deeper than the last. Her lips are soft, the kisses somehow tender and eager at once. He wonders if she had hoped for this. Hien reaches his hands around her waist. He keeps a gentle grip on her sash, half to steady himself, half to pull her in. Her warmth and the faintly sweet herbal scent of her hair surround him, both familiar but never this close, not until now. He thinks he could melt into her. The spark he felt earlier is so bright it threatens to set his whole heart aflame.

With a final brush of their lips she breaks away, her breath fast and hot on his cheek. His head spins. He rests his forehead against her neck, fingers still clutched in her sash.

“Shit.” Calantha ducks her head with a shaky laugh, like pulling herself from a dream. "I should see about my armor," she says, looking away. “I’m sure Y’shtola is wondering what’s taking us so long. We still need to discuss…”

She trails off with a quick breath, not looking at him. His hands are still on her waist.

“We should go,” she says, sliding from the rock.

The abrupt motion shakes him from his reverie. He nods. “Let us return, then,” he replies, with as much nonchalance as he can muster.

The sun sinks below the mountains, and the evening air brings a swift chill with the wind. They say little on the way back to Mol Iloh. Calantha hardly looks at him. Hien spends the short trip half in a dream, and half considering their awkward silence. Had he misjudged her? The creeping dread that he’s made a rift between them begins to nag at him. He curses his poor judgment. He hopes he hasn’t offended her.

Evening turns to night. They eat and talk with the rest of the Mol, comfortably conversing with all except each other. Everyone seems to share a calm, easy air. It fails to match the growing apprehension in Hien’s mind. He tells himself there’s nothing to be done about it, but it does little to ease his thoughts. He has to fix this, somehow. Her friendship means more to him than a foolish kiss.

As the fire burns low, he sees Calantha stand and bids the others goodnight.

He excuses himself and strides after her. She doesn’t seem to hear him approach. “Calantha!” he calls. She turns, between two yurts. Her eyes are wide, but with what emotion, he can’t say. He can see her breath quicken.

He steps towards her, stopping a few fulms away. “Calantha. About earlier. The kiss. If you don’t–that is–” he stops as the words catch in his throat. He grits his teeth and starts again. “I am sorry. The fault was mine.”

She sighs and glances away. “No more yours than mine. Don’t worry about it.” A small smile creeps onto her face, but fades when she looks up at him again.

He stares. The words could be politeness, or tentative acceptance. He's not sure which she means. He can offer nothing in return but a confused half frown as he waits for her to say more.

She shuffles her feet. “I’ll bid you goodnight, then,” she says.

“Wait.” Hien steps toward her, looking up into her eyes. If he’s made a rift between them, he can't end the night without taking steps to mend it. “We are even in victories, you and I. If you wish for another match you have only to ask.” He grins at her. “Even if you defeat me every time.”

She ducks her head with a soft laugh. “I’d like that,” she says. “Perhaps next time I won't use my lance. I've got to give you some chance of winning.”

The small taunt brings a flicker of normality back between them. He grins. “We shall see who truly is the better, lance or no.”

“I look forward to it.” Her tone is soft, but still sweet. It lifts the weight from his chest. She turns away. “Goodnight, Hien.”

He stands for a moment, watching as she disappears between the yurts, not moving until long after she’s disappeared from view. The sound of his name in her mouth strikes him differently this time. Hien wants to capture the syllables, like flower petals in the palm of his hand, and hold them close to his heart. He can’t know how much will change between them. He prays he hasn't ruined anything they can't fix together. But he does know the tiny spark in his chest is now a bright flame for her. He can no longer ignore it.

#hannah words #ffxiv #oc: calantha lenn #calantha/hien #this is all flirty banter and hien having heart eyes. that's it. that's the whole fic #also cala saying 'don't worry about it' is so funny to me and probably me only aksdjfhad bye #also obviously no pressure to read but. I *did* add almost 3k words and I'm much happier with it so i will be booping it a few times <3

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