Nikoly didn’t approach him the next day except to collect a new copying request. In the early afternoon, Po brought a cup of tea to the desk that Tiiran didn’t ask for, and from the look on her face, she was annoyed about it.

“I didn’t ask you for any,” Tiiran said in response to that look, and got another one, followed by a pointed glance toward Nikoly. “ He asked you to do it?”

Po tossed her head and took Tiiran’s cup before he’d even had a sip. She returned to the tables and her work with his tea and didn’t look up again for several hours.

Neither did Nikoly except to speak with the others. He hadn’t begun his new assignment yet, working on completing something else. When the sunlight began to turn more orange than yellow, he finally got up to look for the information he’d been tasked with copying, only to return to his spot at the tables almost immediately to begin his new assignment.

Tiiran narrowed his eyes as he waited, but other than a quick roll of wrists, Nikoly did not stop to prepare himself as he should have.

Tiiran was calling out to him before he could think better of it. “Nikoly, rest your hand! You have to rest it or risk losing use of it for several days.”

Nikoly looked toward Tiiran at last, his gaze full of reproach unless Tiiran imagined it. “My hand doesn’t hurt.”

“Not yet,” Tiiran chided. He could tell Po was whispering to Nikoly but couldn’t hear what she said. Nikoly turned to answer her and Tiiran’s voice grew sharp. “We take breaks for a reason.”

Nikoly’s eyes met his across the distance. His hands, Tiiran belatedly realized, were both flat on the table and had been since Tiiran had first called to him. The reproachful look was still there, and for some reason, the combination of that and Nikoly’s patient, obedient posture made Tiiran trip over his own tongue.

“That’s… well, that’s good, obviously. That you’ve stopped, I mean.” Tiiran did his best to explain himself. “But it’s not enough. You should attend to another task for a while, or simply rest and stretch your….” He frowned. “I’ve never seen you stretch your wrists, but I’ve seen you rolling them. Are you in pain?” He nearly gasped. “Have you been in pain this whole time?”

Tiiran slid down from the stool and was at the copying tables in the next moment, Nikoly’s forearm in his hand as he pushed up the sleeve of Nikoly’s robe. “You shouldn’t damage yourself. Not even for the library.” He lowered his voice so worry wouldn’t make him shrill. “This is why we have breaks.”

“Yes, exactly. Time for another break, everyone,” Po said loudly from behind him.

Nikoly looked up. In late afternoon light, his eyes held flecks of gold. “You don’t take breaks, Tiiran. Not willingly. Someone has to make you.”

“Yes. Well. Fuck off,” Tiiran answered weakly, forcing his gaze away from the gold and the reproach that didn’t make the gold any less beautiful. “I at least stretch so I don’t get pains. Have your fingers seemed to tingle at all? Does your wrist ache at the end of each day? Who trained you that didn’t teach you this?” He pressed lightly against Nikoly’s wrist and then along each finger. “Does this hurt?”

“You aren’t angry with me anymore?”

When Tiiran raised his head from his examination, Nikoly was still watching him.

Tiiran glanced around, but the others had vanished, a fact which did nothing for his burning face. He looked down, saw Nikoly’s hand in his, and pulled in a breath. “I only hold grudges against the intentionally malicious or the powerful-but-incompetent. Now answer my questions.”

“Yes, Tiiran.” Nikoly turned his palm up. Tiiran traced the lines on it without thought. When he realized, he nearly jumped. But Nikoly said not a word, so Tiiran cleared his throat and resumed his examination. He used his thumb to run over the mound at the base and push where he felt tension. Nikoly let him do it without complaint, only sighing as he answered, “I have not felt any tingling. Sometimes my wrist and fingers ache if I’ve written all day. Leydo trained me. And no, your touch now doesn’t hurt.”

Tiiran met his gaze again, trying to catch and understand Nikoly’s emotions but finding only the same golden interest.

“I’m glad you’re no longer angry with me. I didn’t mean to wound you.”

“I know.” Tiiran moved his attention back to Nikoly’s forearm, stronger than he would have expected from any other librarian, the muscle firm and solid, especially at the wrist, as if Nikoly was accustomed to holding something far heavier than a quill. His palm was not entirely soft, not as Tiiran’s was, used to books now instead of scrubbing. But he had calluses, a writer’s callus and a few others. “There is some tension here.” Tiiran massaged the base of Nikoly’s thumb and heard his voice go lighter, but there was nothing to be done about it.

He gentled his touch to get each finger, glancing up a few times to make sure Nikoly wasn’t hiding any pain.

“I can show you the exercises later if you like,” Tiiran murmured, his hand sliding to Nikoly’s wrist before it occurred to him that he really ought to let go.

“What about my other hand?” Nikoly asked.

Tiiran was on Nikoly’s other side almost immediately, pushing Nikoly’s sleeve out of the way to find the warmth of his skin.

“This is all right?” Tiiran’s voice continued to grow softer. He turned Nikoly’s hand over to inspect the markings, the similar calluses, the cord holding his rowan tree charm in place. “I know our rules can seem ridiculous, but think of it as like the things the guards do before sparring so they don’t injure themselves further. You should do the stretches, and also, probably, get someone to do this for you if you do feel an ache. A massage, that is. It helps, though I’m not the best at it. I haven’t even done it for anyone in… in years, actually.”

“You’re taking wonderful care of me, honeybee.” Nikoly spoke just as softly. “But who does this for you?”

Tiiran glanced up again but couldn’t hold still under all that warmth—more than warmth , but Tiiran didn’t know what else to call it. “No one. It doesn’t matter.” Nikoly made a pained sound. “What?” Tiiran stopped. “What is it?”

“You didn’t hurt me.” Nikoly wiggled his fingers as if to prove it.

Tension left Tiiran immediately, enough that he scoffed as he resumed his slow massage, even though Nikoly didn’t use this hand to write. “Would you notice the pain? I doubt it would register compared to what those must have felt like.” He tapped one of the ink markings. “They must have hurt a great deal. Did you sit just as still for those as you do for this?”

He saw the shiver wrack Nikoly and the dark of his eyes grow wider. “Are you asking me to?”

Tiiran’s fingers fell away, slipping down to Nikoly’s wrist and catching on the bracelet.

“You sound as if you’d like that,” Tiiran said, but couldn’t put laughter in his voice the way the others did. Maybe if he were handsome and good with people like Nikoly, or friendly and knowing like Po, he would have known how. If he were as confident and controlled as Orin, he might have said, “You will be still for me,” and Nikoly would have shivered again and responded how people like that normally responded.

“You’d be good, I imagine,” Tiiran went on, every inch a fool for admitting to imagining it. “You’re always good.” He stared down at the silver tree and silently cursed the fae it was meant to invoke for nearly luring him into a wish. “I’m not, and I’m sorry I wasn’t better to you.”

“Tiiran,” Nikoly’s voice was hoarse. “ Tiiran .”

Tiiran was distantly aware of the throb of Nikoly’s pulse under his fingertips, and the feeling that he ought to do something about it. That, for the moment, Nikoly was in his care, and Tiiran was responsible for that pulse and the shaken note in his voice because Nikoly had allowed him to be.

Then the library’s entrance doors opened and Tiiran looked up out of ingrained habit. He identified the dusty, well-traveled clothing of the Outguard on the two figures and the sling around the arm of one of them, the bruises on their faces a moment later. His heart was racing even before he recognized the larger figure entering the library behind them, half turned to peer out into the corridor as the doors closed.

Tiiran darted forward without thought.

“Orin!”

In the second before Orin saw Tiiran, his expression was so coldly furious that Tiiran skidded to a stop halfway to him. Then Orin’s whole body relaxed, a long sigh of relief pulling away his tension, and Tiiran stuttered back into motion.

He nearly tumbled to the ground again with the force of his second stop, close enough to Orin to touch him only to recall himself just before he stepped into Orin’s arms. His toes collided with Orin’s boots, his palms with Orin’s chest. He spent a heartbeat flustered over it, then looked up and noticed that Orin’s face, like those of the outguards with him, was also marked from some sort of violence: a small cut held together with two stitches, surrounded by bruising.

“Now, kitten,” Orin began the moment he realized Tiiran had noticed, “don’t frown. It’s nothing to fuss over.”

“ Nothing to fuss over ?” Tiiran demanded indignantly, barely aware of the other two outguards chuckling as they continued forward to the front desk. Tiiran glanced distractedly in their direction, grateful Po had returned to deal with them. Then his attention stuck on Nikoly at the table.

Their eyes met.

Tiiran clutched at his robe where it fell over his heart but turned back to send a searching glance over the rest of Orin, nearly demanding he spin around so Tiiran could check all of him.

“Nothing to fuss over!” Tiiran said again, hating his chest for being tight and his words for shaking. “You’re injured. All of you. And you show up here still armed, as if you didn’t even stop to….” He drew in a breath to help him lower his voice, but didn’t stop himself from stretching onto his toes to better see the wound in question. That his gaze kept returning to Orin’s was Orin’s fault, but Orin would stare at Tiiran in that way of his.

Tiiran wrapped his hands around Orin’s forearm to steady himself. Orin took his weight easily, even smiling in a very foolish manner until Tiiran abruptly dropped back down to glare up at him.

“And let me lean on you when I don’t even know if you are injured further!” Tiiran scolded. “Did I hurt you?” He doubted Orin had noticed his weight in the slightest. Tiiran could stand on Orin’s feet and hold to his waist, and Orin could likely walk up all three levels of the staircase without being bothered. “You are giant, so you think yourself impervious to hurt, but that is simply not true, Elorin Vahti.”

“Ah, the full name comes out. You’re deeply worried.” As if reading Tiiran’s embarrassing thoughts and secret desires, Orin reached out to tug Tiiran forward by his robe. Tiiran found himself standing on Orin’s feet and then clutching his gambeson to stay in place—or, he would have needed it to stay in place if Orin hadn’t then wrapped his arms around him and held Tiiran though they were in the entranceway in full view of everyone.

Orin hadn’t even stopped to wash beyond perhaps seeing that the cut on his cheek was clean. He and the others must have hurried here, which seemed something to think over, but his hold on Tiiran was steady and he did not relax it until Tiiran sucked in an unsteady breath and then let it out and sagged against him.

“There we are,” Orin murmured above him. “We will deal with that distress of yours later. For now, I am here, and I have you.”

Tiiran frowned but there was no force in it. He did feel better like this, even though Po and the others could see, and he didn’t know if the warmth was still in Nikoly’s eyes, and Orin remained stitched and bruised.

“ You are hurt,” Tiiran complained quietly to Orin’s chest. “It shouldn’t be about what I feel.”

“Kitten, I could be bleeding out, and if you asked me to steady you, I would do my best.”

Tiiran growled. “I didn’t ask you to— bleeding out ?” He forced himself back and out of Orin’s arms, up on his toes again in moments to wave a finger in Orin’s face—as close as he could get to it. “None of that horseshit, Orin. I mean it. You will not bleed out, ever, for any reason.” Not even the surprised hunger in Orin’s eyes could deter him; if Orin needed food but Tiiran would see him fed shortly. But it could wait.

“Peace, buzzing bee.” Orin grasped Tiiran’s finger before bowing his head and bending to get closer to Tiiran’s level.

“Why am I a bee to everyone now?” Tiiran complained loudly. “I don’t call you a foolish bear.”

“You could,” Orin replied, apparently content to keep Tiiran’s finger. “Foolish, I certainly can be. Though I don’t know about bear . I think I’m fairly reasonable in temperament.”

“I meant your size and you know it.” Tiiran huffed. “That wound is not from a careless misstep or a scratch from a thorny hedge.” He took a better look at the hand holding his, then growled again. “Your knuckles are bruised too! What happened? Did you even see healers before you came here, or did one of your friends stitch you? Orin!”

“We will see healers soon enough,” Orin assured him, then lowered his voice, his expression serious. “We weren’t trying to attract attention. We only wanted the reports filed.” He held Tiiran’s gaze until Tiiran settled. “Which they have been. So the others will leave soon, unless one of your friends chooses to entertain them. Though with the pain Yala is in with her shoulder…”

“ Orin .” Tiiran cut him off again. “Just tell me for now: are you well? Truly?” That was a whisper.

“I’ve had worse in training bouts.” Orin likely thought this calming, so Tiiran chose to accept it for now. “And you? Is all this for me?”

“All what?” Tiiran glanced toward the doors, down to the rug and Orin’s dirty boots, away from the tables and the desk and the other outguards. Orin still held his hand. He wondered if Orin had forgotten. “Your friends will be well?” he wondered softly, darting a look up. “Do you tell them to be careful too?” His tone was a little crisp.

“I ask that of everyone I care about.” The answer was unremarkable, even expected. It sparked a fire in Tiiran’s chest anyway, and the flames must have been visible. Orin held Tiiran’s gaze and arched one eyebrow. “I tell you because it pleases you to be told, as it pleases me to do it.”

Pleasing again.

Tiiran immediately let his gaze fall. “Even though I’m not…?” good . He swallowed the word, then tossed his head to banish his foolishness for now. Orin was still injured, and no matter what he might say, that was more important than Tiiran’s idiocy. “You’ve no reports of your own to turn in?”

Orin straightened, releasing Tiiran’s finger as he did. “No. I’m just making sure Yala’s report gets here, and was maybe hoping to catch a glimpse of you.” He flashed a smile when Tiiran frowned suspiciously. “I should rest and clean up properly. Then I will return, if it pleases you, scowling kitten.”

Tiiran gave him the scowl of a lifetime. “I don’t care about travel dust.”

Orin raised both eyebrows, a gentle smile at his lips despite Tiiran’s snippy tone. “You wish to know for certain that I am well?”

“I don’t wish anything!” Tiiran said too loudly, then felt his shoulders rise.

Orin took Tiiran’s hand, his whole hand and not just one accusing finger, and held it in both of his before putting it on his arm so that Tiiran’s hand rested at the crook of his elbow. “I can stay for a while, since you asked so nicely.”

“I didn’t…” Tiiran fell silent, then took a deep breath. “I want to know you’re all right. I need to know. And I’m… I’m upset.” Distressed , Orin had said. Tiiran thought upset did well enough.

He didn’t get a chance to fret over the choice to confess. Orin began to walk, one hand resting lightly over Tiiran’s to keep it on his arm. “Very good, kitten,” Orin told him, low so no one else would hear, although they would see Tiiran blush if they were still watching.