Vanth wakes with a start, some noise summoning him from slumber. He’s got a crick in his neck and drool crusted on his cheek.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you.”

The chaise opposite him is empty; he takes a quick look around and – ah.

“You’re on the floor.”

“Yes,” Therios grunts, “well spotted. Lend a poor man a hand?”

Vanth stands and finds his limbs ensorcelled by a thick blanket. Someone tucked him in last night. He frees himself from the clutches of the covers and kneels by Therios.

“What were you doing?”

“Trying to walk a bit. I was hungry, thought I’d find the kitchen. The door is a lot farther away than I thought.”

“How on earth did you get to the window, then?”

“Your furniture helped.”

Vanth slants the couches and chairs a disapproving glare that lacks any sort of punch, and lends Therios his shoulder. He is forced to grip him around the waist, lest he slide back to the floor. Vanth can’t think of the last time he was this close to someone. He wonders what a proper embrace would feel like; those threatening forearms could surely cradle as easily as they could crush, right?

All too soon, they make it back to the chaise, where Therios settles with a pained hiss. Vanth reaches for the bandage, then pauses and looks up at Therios for his permission.

“Go ahead,” Therios says.

The new skin is bubbling in places, the popped pustules leaking puss. For all of that, however, the new skin still clings to its host.

“Well, it’s not blackening or peeling away, so could be worse,” Vanth says.

“Sure doesn’t feel like it could be worse.”

“I’ll get some herbs from the garden.”

For some reason, that makes Therios look rather green.

“From the garden?” he asks, “Surely not the ones that can talk!”

“Oh, no. Only the flowers can talk. The herbs, vegetables, and fruit I left quite well alone. In fact, I think the flowers only talk because—”

He pauses right there, and decides that he is never, even upon pain of death, going to reveal the completely embarrassing fact that he thinks the flowers talk because he had a good cry in the flower beds one time, and the flowers started to cuddle him after that. It’s not like he thinks his tears are magical, it’s more that he thinks the magic responded to his tears, to his cry for comfort and company. Magic can be whimsical like that, and not a little dangerous, which is why it is always important to be careful what you wish for.

“I’ll be right back,” he says, and quickly leaves.

After that, they fall into a sort of routine. Vanth and Therios exchange stories after third-meal and then head off to sleep. There is no morning here in Castle Garden, so after a bit of sleep and puttering around in the flower beds, Vanth returns to the parlor for first-meal, and helps Therios regain his footing and exercise safely. Vanth does not make a habit of falling asleep in the parlor (that was one time, Knight!). He does, however, cut his hair and trim his beard. He’s not sure how the men these days wear it, so he cuts his beard in a similar fashion to Therios’s. At least the knots are gone. Knight makes a sly comment that the birds will miss their nest. Vanth threatens to give his arms back to Therios.

Soon, the parlor grows too small for Therios, who can now walk longer and farther without assistance. He still exhausts easily, but even the flowers outside can tell that Therios is already tired of prowling the parlor, like a tiger in too small of a cage.

Vanth faces the terrifying certainty that he’s going to have to open the rest of his home; he’s going to have to share all the spaces that, for an uncountable amount of time, have been his and his alone. Well, almost all his spaces. Vanth seals off his study, adding layers of wards to protect the magical artifacts within. No need to invite trouble, after all.

And then, after one of their shared meals, Therios finally pushes at Vanth’s boundaries. Perhaps he could sense that Vanth was ready to be pushed.

He sets down his empty bowl of porridge, looks Vanth in the eye and says, “All right, show me this drafty castle of yours.”

“It’s not drafty,” Vanth says reflexively, “Apologize to my castle for that blatant character smear.”

“You’re right, it’s not.”

Therios pats the chaise in a conciliatory manner. Then he gazes at Vanth with wide, pouty eyes, one second shy of batting his eyelashes.

“Can I please take a tour of this lovely, well-maintained, beautifully appointed castle?”

Therios holds his arm out like a gentleman offering his elbow to a lady for a walk (did people still do that?). Vanth is helpless to resist, and loops their arms together, steadying Therios as he rises from the chaise.

“Away!” Therios calls, as if they’re going riding.

Vanth bites back a laugh, and they ‘away’ at a slow shuffle so Therios doesn’t tire himself out before he even gets to the end of the hall.

“We’ll take a turn about the Greeting Hall, I think. When you’re feeling stronger, we can have a picnic in the garden so you can flirt with the flowers.”

“I’ll tell you again: the belladonnas are flirting with me. I have told them that my attentions are captured by another, but they are persistent.”

“Another?” Vanth asks, aiming for casual and landing rather wide of the mark, “You have someone, I suppose, back in Beggar’s Hole.”

“Yes, another. He is not so far away, though. Rather close. Arms-length away, even.”

Vanth swallows and is very grateful when they exit the narrow close and enter the Greeting Hall, which is cathedral-like in its design and grace: a rib-vaulted ceiling rises above them, rows of large windows let in the evening light, sconces decorated with intricate stone flowers line the walls, a grand fireplace burns merrily at one end, and the main entrance consists of two wooden doors that are double the height of a man, engraved with patterns of the night sky.

Therios is rendered speechless. He tilts his head so far back Vanth is concerned that he will tip over.

“How divine,” he eventually says softly, like he’s afraid of disturbing someone in prayer.

“It’s a bit much. But I suppose when it was built there would have been grand parties in here, maybe balls with lots of feasting and dancing.”

“We could have a dance right now.”

“Oh, no, I haven’t danced in a long time.”

But Therios has already adjusted their stance, so that they’re chest to chest, hands clasped. It’s terribly scandalous, such a closed position. Therios, maker of his own merriment, hums a jaunty tune that is more appropriate to a pub than a ball.

“Can’t perform a la volta or anything strenuous with this injury,” he grins, “you had better stay close and support me in case I grow weak.”

Vanth’s face burns but he doesn’t pull away, and instead they sway, their dance only a parody of something that would actually be performed at a noble court. Vanth is helpless in his grasp. Therios’s chest is just so…vast and warm. Vanth wants to go weak in his arms, like every damsel in every ballad he’s ever heard, but he can’t, he can’t, he can't.

“Your dance style is quite old-fashioned,” Therios says.

His voice rumbles in his chest; Vanth can feel it in his own ribs. It’s a deeply soothing feeling. He swallows.

“I told you, it’s been a while.”

“And judging by that footwork, I think a while a while. You really don’t know how long you’ve been here?”

“No. Clocks don’t tick here. Candles still burn, but I don’t really have enough candles to keep a candle clock going constantly. It’s easier, anyway.”

Therios pulls him close for a tight turn; Vanth momentarily loses his breath.

“What’s easier?”

His voice is smooth in Vanth’s ear, his beard soft against Vanth’s temple.

“It’s easier to simply stop caring about the time. I did try to keep track, for a while, but it gets tiresome, keeping count of things that don’t matter.”

Therios runs a firm hand up and down his back, a comforting gesture that causes Vanth to shiver.

“So you’ve been out here, all alone, a handsome man like you.”

“Yes,” he says breathily. Just him, in his sunset world, with only talking plants and armor for company.

“It’s been a long time, then, since anyone’s touched you.”

“I—”

Therios’s hand is gentle upon his jaw. Vanth’s eyes flutter shut on their own accord.

“It’s been a long time since anyone’s kissed you.”

His breath is a whisper against Vanth’s lips and then they’re kissing, soft and quiet. Vanth whimpers at the sensation. It’s all the terrible, terrifying dreams he’s had come true, all at once. He can’t have something like this (demon, demon, demon!) and yet he doesn’t want to stop.

Therios kisses down his neck, powerful kisses that leave bite marks behind. He tugs at Vanth’s collar, exposing the soft hollow of his neck. Vanth lets out a reedy sound, desire stealing his objections. Head tipped back, utterly exposed, Vanth lets Therios have his way with him. Soon, his outer robe falls to the floor, and Therios unties the laces of Vanth’s shirt with his teeth.

“That’s quite a skill,” Vanth says, when he’s managed to catch his breath.

“Got a lot more, too, if you care to let me show off.”

Therios grins up at him, his expression eager and sweet. Vanth raises his hands, which shake only slightly, and gently caresses Therios’s face, memorizing the softness of his round cheeks, the peak of his forehead, and the curve of his thick brows. He never thought he’d get to have this. This closeness. This companionship. He sucks in an unsteady breath, then buries his face in the crook of Therios’s neck, hands running up and down the muscles of his forearms, the broadness of his chest.

“Take me to bed,” he whispers, voice wobbling only slightly.

“With pleasure.”