The next time a trip to Aegyssus was authorised, almost a moon-cycle later (and after two more milder skirmishes with the increasingly-rowdy Sarmatians, who rather than fight seemed to mean to spread over the terrain at the foot of the camp), Jack was surprised to find himself staring at the ever-so-slightly flushed face of Hoshe’a as the smaller man suggested going together. There had been an underlying shiftiness to his stance that Jack had found hard not to take note of, and he could have sworn there was a definite glassiness to his eyes as he spoke. However, the healer blinked and with the action the shine of his eyes was gone. Jack wondered if, perhaps, he had imagined it.

“I’ll show you around the town too,” Hoshe’a had offered. “Since you’ve never been and we can’t have you getting lost and wandering off never to be seen again, can we?”

Jack had cracked a smile to match the grin that fed the jumping rhythm of his heartbeat, readily accepted the offer while trying not to read too much into it. Regardless of whatever he was starting to feel, regardless of how they may act together - comfortably talking, laughing, smiling -, Hoshe’a wasn’t his for the taking. It wouldn’t be the first time the boy adjusted his white tunic to cover up lovemarks traitorously left behind on his beautifully dark neck.

Hoshe’a saw a friend in him and a friend Jack intended to be.

Aegyssus was large enough that they had been able o see it from a somewhat extensive distance, with thick lookout towers whose tiled roofs floated quite a ways above all the other buildings. It was, after all, a military town, glued to the frontier and prone to fall victim to sackings and sieges should the army fail to contain the barbarians constantly pressing at the borders of the Empire.

Asides from those ghastly large things, the town resembled any other urban centre built with Rome as reference, with two long streets that crossed at the very centre, where the forum sported galleries of merchants’ and butchers’ stalls, humble temples and near which a low-scale theatre rested, somewhat blurry with the odd Germanic mist that appeared to cling to absolutely everything. Hoshe’a explained that the easiest way to get anywhere was by starting there, in the middle of everything, where slaves and peasants bustled along on their particular businesses without so much as a second glance towards the redheaded giant and his Egyptian companion.

“Romans are fusspots,” Hoshe’a explained. “You’ll have seen it in Britannia too. If everything isn’t ordered the way they want it to be, they’ll throw a fucking hissyfit.”

Jack snorted, gazing around himself. On makeshift podiums orators spoke of politics and religion; a gaunt old man loudly condemned the emperor’s actions on ordering the execution of several old consuls - much to the distress of any and all in the vicinity, who watched his bravado with wariness - and a fatter patrician spat on the doctrines and beliefs of the ‘faux-Judaism’, whatever that was. Blue eyes passed over the spectacle passively, until Hoshe’a clucked his tongue in distaste.

“He’s going to end up getting arrested,” the man muttered. Jack frowned, following his gaze towards the clearly not sober enough man still cursing Domitian’s name and ancestry with all the zeal and indignation cheap wine could afford.

“Maybe we should go,” Jack suggested. Hoshe’a was quick to agree, obviously as uneager to get caught up in the scene as Jack himself. He led the bigger man northwards, up the Cardo, the main north-south street,  where classier buildings soon gave way to what Jack quickly identified as taverns.

“This,” said Hoshe’a, catching the distasteful look Jack gave the length of the secondary street he was having them turn at, “is the best part. Don’t look at me like that.”

Jack was, indeed, not looking at Hoshe’a in any particular way, for he was finding it difficult not to laugh at the brash and proud satisfaction he was displaying. He did, however, roll his eyes, then, which only made Hoshe’a grin somewhat wider, nudging him softly in an attempt at coaxing him into going along with whatever his plan was. Honestly, Jack didn’t require much encouragement.

“I thought we’d see a play,” he commented, trailing after Hoshe’a’s ever-confident figure until the man stopped at the doors of one tavern remarkably similar to all the others. There were letters on the façade but when his eyes fixed on them they swam, as though he was drunk, or as though they were the pebbles at the bottom of a moving pool of water. So he tore his gaze away. Hoshe’a didn’t notice.

“Do you want to see a play?” the boy asked. For some reason, he sounded surprised. Jack flushed scarlet.

“We don’t have to. Not if you don’t like them or…"

“I do like them!” His response was far too fast to be simple politeness, which was enough to make certain acre hues dance to life on his cheeks. “I just don’t usually go with--”

He swallowed the rest of his words, though they had threatened to make a triumphant appearance and Jack could all but see their unformed ghosts suspended in the air for the second it took Hoshe’a to shake his head and grin past his surprise and confusion once more.

“We can go after,” he stated, then backtracked; his voice was shier. “Uh, if you like, that is.”

Jack looked at him. Hoshe’a looked away, as usual. He arranged his face into something that might better hide his fondness than the brilliant grin he wanted to wear like a medal.

“Sure,” said Jack, and he meant to continue, but Hoshe’a had ducked into the establishment and he had no choice but to follow suit.

It was somewhat dark inside. Many candles glowed from metallic holders with the clear intention of adding light to the meager beams of the hiding sun that managed to filter through the few windows. Tables were crowded with soldiers - knowing them, every single man off-duty would end up flocking to the numerous taverns at one point or another - who were entertained by rather young women or given conversation by the local men. There was a very marked bar with an access to what he assumed was the kitchens to the back, from where a pretty dark-skinned girl kept emerging, carrying bowls of what looked like some type of soup.

Seemingly unperturbed by anything, to the bar was where Hoshe’a led him and also where they sat down, ordering wine as soon as someone was willing to listen to them. The same girl carrying soups hither and thither approached them, smiling in a near-friendly way that didn’t quite reach her eyes. A barmaid’s smile.

“Order the soup,” she told them. “I made it myself so it’s very good.”

Hoshe’a snorted; Jack smiled. “Is that right?” he asked, joking. Her black eyes harboured a lively gentleness that he found hard not to acknowledge when she nodded, stating that it was a truth as big as a house. “All right,” the giant of a man said, led by instinctive whim. “Bring us two, if you please.”

The girl’s not-quite smile grew slightly and she nodded, clearing up cups and bowls and all sorts on her way back where the magic all happened.

“I don’t have enough for a meal too,” Hoshe’a protested, watching her go with his eyebrows drawn close together in consternation. Jack, for his part, shrugged, watching him when he was certain the other man wasn’t looking: the pout to his lips, the messy frizz of his short hair casting shadows over his forehead; the ripple of his clothings’ fabric as he continued to squirm even while sitting down.

“That’s fine. I can treat you.” At the sight of Hoshe’a’s ebony eyes swivelling to pin themselves on him - dark as the atmosphere save for the glimmers of curiosity and hesitance reflected on his pupils - Jack hurriedly added: “Consider it payment for being my guide.”

Hoshe’a studied him as he said this, and for a few seconds after, too, until he finally smiled his characteristically easy and dimpled smile, and Jack’s heart was finally awash on a sea of fondness, pleasantly adrift amidst the waves.

“Not everybody would handle debts so lightly,” Hoshe’a commented, with a hint of something Jack couldn’t quite put his finger on. The redhead shrugged his strong shoulders, as good-naturedly as he could possibly convey.

“Good thing I’m not everybody,” he remarked. It was the right thing to say, clearly, judging by the way Hoshe’a’s lips spread further into a brighter, cheekier smile.

“I knew you would say that. Getting predictable, eh?”

Jack laughed and watched Hoshe’a join in with a definite fondness that he was sure had to be tangible for how strongly he felt it. They made eye-contact for a moment, which broke when the pretty girl from earlier fluttered beside them once more, holding two wooden bowls laden with soup and encouraging them to dig in and enjoy her mother’s special recipe. Hoshe’a did so with cheerful thanks, going on to sing its praise in terribly high-spirits that dragged Jack along, making him merry whether he wanted to or not. But that was Hoshe’a’s charm: his tide of good feelings was intoxicating and inescapable, and Jack, for one, was dying to get swept along to bask in his waves.