Sleep, perchance to dream

The movement of Rory's hand was such a small thing, but it might as well have been an earthquake to the fox in that moment, hypersensitive to the place their skin touched and not knowing whether his friend wanted more or less of him. Isuma shifted in her sleep and Jigano let his hand slide down her wing to curl hesitantly over fingers, running the ball of his thumb over pale, work-roughened knuckles.

The little smile was like the first pale fingers of light heralding the dawn, and Jigano found his breath catching in his chest. Foolishly, wonderfully, in spite of the darkness that surrounded them he found himself smiling back as the cheeky grin broke free and for a moment it was autumn again, crisp and bright and filled with the scents of frosted leaves and pumpkin meat. His friend's wince immediately had him leaning forward in concern, his own smile fading to worry before the hunter spoke again, answering one small question - and another, though perhaps he didn't realize it. Rory liked mushrooms? Such a little tidbit, but foxy blue eyes sparkled at the knowledge of something his friend enjoyed.

The humor faded as the hand moved against his and he instinctively wrapped his fingers lightly around it, giving Rory something to hold on to as the conversation slid towards darker topics and memories. Still, he managed a small smile and a little shake of his head as he looked down at their clasped hands Isuma. "It wasn't as bad as all that," he tried to reassure his friend. The loneliness, the detachment, the guilt and pain that he had embraced in his self-inflicted martyrdom... no, leaving the constant reminders of what he had lost and walked away from behind was no hardship for him.

But... did he really want to spend this new beginning hiding away uncomfortable truths? Rory deserved better from him than that. And maybe he could finally tell someone the secrets he had held festering inside him for four long years.

He sighed softly and looked up, ears flattening back in quiet distress at the question. Still, he met his friend's eyes, searching them for a moment before he answered in a voice that held old pain and unhealed regret. "Yes," he said softly. "Both the ones I couldn't save, and the ones I... couldn't face again. Leaving behind the reminders of them... Coming here has been, in many ways, a new beginning that I am grateful for." All the more now, as his hand tightened slightly around Rory's, knuckles brushing Isuma's soft fur and reminding him of all that he had found.

Touch—

(Hands) Less dangerous than cupping someone's face in your hands, or stroking their cheek; less electrifying than the trail of fingers up your arm, but in this way—in this barely-acknowledged context—even as the brush of Jigano's thumb across his knuckles grounded him and assured him, it tasted of something long forgotten. Something long abandoned.

It was the simplicity of it, really: such a small, everyday thing, to more or less hold hands with someone. Somehow, it felt like more of a confession than kissing him would've.

And yet a niggling worry remained: what if it was just the relief talking? Of Rory being okay, alive, awake? Of Rory being alright with Jigano?

He had tried to look within himself for reasons to feel angry or slighted or disappointed, and he had found none.

The smile stretching across the almost-human face was intoxicating. Radiant. Beautiful. More refined than the goofy expression he had come to know upon the pale fox's face, for foxes were not made to smile in a way that preserved their dignity.

But the pain put an end to it. Rory knew that what he ought to do was just be silent and still and probably just go back to sleep and sleep this wretched night off, but with Jigano sitting on his bed, how could he? Besides, he had just woken up, and although the trials he had been put through would take their toll on him, he'd be capable of being awake another couple of hours at least.

He wanted to check on Amalia, too, wait for her to wake up, to see that she was alright, if she needed anything.

But for now his mind spun with thoughts of Jigano and Torch and Numeria, a place he had been told was unpleasant and yet he longed for it like he longed for sunlight.

He twisted his fingers into Jigano's.

He watched as the fox produced another human smile, a shake of his head, some sort of reassurance that he was alright, that being stolen mid-step from his world wasn't as bad as all that, and Rory found himself pressing X to doubt. A slight frown wrinkled his forehead and brows, and tentatively he bit the inside of his lower lip. To call Jigano out on it, or not? Surely there was some aspect of it that had been terrifying and painful? Someone he missed, hadn't said goodbye to? Even a man who had lost everything still had something, even if it was a pony, or a dog, or a .. pet snake .. favorite walking stick, a view they cherished .. anything.

But then he looked up again, eyes soft and sad, ears back in an expression Rory knew all too well. Rory met his eyes, the frown smoothing out, and had his shoulders not been injured he would've reached out again, to run his palm and thumb over Jigano's cheek, to.. what? Reassure him? But whatever he had left behind, Rory could not replace. He could just be .. new.

"Yes," he finally said, softly, and the pain in his voice touched something in Rory's soul. The ones he couldn't save. He knew what it felt like, and his fingers tightened in response around Jigano's. He wanted to ask what had happened in Numeria, but he was afraid that it was too much, too soon, too deep into something Jigano might not be ready to trust him with. "So somehow a good thing," he murmured. A blank slate. A fresh page. What sort of situation had he been in, to almost be relieved he was spirited away from everything he had ever known? "A fresh start. Have.. have you found your place here?"

Their hands entwined, an anchor of safety on a storm-tossed sea, a lighthouse leading a weary traveler to a gentler shore. He, who had held himself apart for so long, found himself craving that connection now, that touch of fingers so simple and so eloquent as they sought and gave each other comfort that no words could fully encompass. Eventually, he knew, he would have to let go, or perhaps be let go...

But not now. Not yet.

Isuma was a warm presence in his head and heart, small and young and needing him, as he was learning how much he needed her. Rory was... different. He could survive without the hunter, as he had before, but like the gryphlet, the blond man brought warmth to his life, and light, and a quiet, inward joy. He wanted this man at his side, as his friend, beyond mere animal need..

As more than his friend?

Because Rory knew. He could see it in the slight tension around blue eyes, the flicker of light in them, the pressure of the hand in his as the hunter offered his silent reassurance. Rory had lost people, too, to not being enough. Someday, he hoped, there would be time and courage enough for them to speak more openly. Now, though, while his friend lay bandaged in the Infirmary and the shadows of Long Night loomed outside the fragile bubble of light that they nurtured between them, they started with the smallest steps.

And refused to let each other go.

"I have been making a place," he answered with a small smile, lopsided but sincere. "A Loreseekers Guild, for scholars and those who wish to help others with the knowledge and wisdom gleaned from the Atheneum." He hesitated, fingers of his free hand curling against his palm while the other twitched in Rory's grasp, firming their hold. He wanted to raise that hand to his lips, press a kiss to knuckles toughened by farmwork and leatherwork and a hunter's trade. It was too soon, and too silly, and too frightening to risk, however, and he raised his eyes to meet a gaze as blue as his own, and filled with just as much uncertainty. "But... yes. I think... for the first time since I lost my family that I... have found a place that I would like to return to, no matter how far I wander," he finished softly.

Slowly, the conversation turned to safer waters, away from the depths Rory wanted to plunge into. It was so easy to get lost in another, so tempting to look over the edge into their darkness and fall facefirst into it—but this didn't feel like the time to press. Jigano had already given up one of his secrets today. He could keep the rest a little longer.

Besides, there was time for it later. It was there, in the silent promise of their clasped hands. There would be time for it.

Lest either of them died, but Rory couldn't go around thinking like that. While Caido was dangerous, expecting everyone to drop dead at any moment was .. not only a bit too extreme, but he couldn't even begin to imagine how stressful and anxiety-inducing it would be.

So: later. There would be time for the tales of Torch later.

And his question chased the most immediate sorrow from the other's face, eased as distance was put between him and the memories again. The smile warmed Rory in a way he wasn't used to, seeping through his veins, his muscles, coiling and uncoiling something at the same time. It had been a long time since he had hung on so intently to every expression made, watching, thinking, feeling.

And some things fell into place. Rory had heard talk of 'Loreseekers', curious-minded people who went digging through the treasures of the Atheneum, and he remembered being rather surprised at the time, for the same talk said that while the instigator was an Outlander, many Naturals joined this effort. So it wasn't just a gaggle of Outlanders who came here and tried to dig up secrets, no, it was merely an Outlander who breathed life and cohesion into those who were already here. And now that he had thought of that, he thought he might've heard the name Jigano mentioned before, but he couldn't be sure.

He felt the Loreseeker's fingers hold his tighter, and gently returned the pressure.

Rory had always had his farm, the center of his existence. Even when everything else fell away.. he still had that one place, anchoring him, needing him.

He couldn't imagine what it was like to be so untethered, to merely .. drift. Nor could he imagine having the space for it: he was born in a cage and without a concept of how large, how limitless the world was. Slowly his gaze fell to their hands again, a slight frown creasing his forehead again.

Just how stunted were their lives in here? Just how much did they miss out on? Just how different was the rest of the world?

"I'm glad," he said quietly, looking up again. In here, it was difficult (but possible) to lose someone. The idea of a larger world, of their barrier going down, frightened him, and perhaps it showed in his eyes for a moment, but then he put it aside. "I have heard a little of the Loreseekers. Have you found anything interesting yet?"

Had he said too much? Too little? ...Or did it matter? He had never realized that home could be a person and not a place. Oh, he had sung the ballads about it, but he'd never understood it before he had arrived on Caido and found a friend who touched him so deeply. And maybe it was too soon to speak it aloud and give it power, but there was an ember glowing in his chest that said it was real and that the fire didn't have to burn him. It could light his way, instead, amidst the shadows he had chosen to dwell among.

Here, now, they were talking together for the first time, and it wouldn't be the last. He wanted to reach out, to offer, to ask, but Rory was injured and there was so much that lay between them and ahead of them that some of the uncertainty fled from the fox's eyes and he smiled at his friend. There would be more words in the future, but sometimes it was better to show than to tell, and they didn't always need words when their actions spoke for both of them.

Such as now, in the way their hands touched, and held.

And the flash of worry in Rory's eyes that had Jigano's thumb instinctively rubbing a reassuring circle against the back of the hunter's hand, comforting, as the hunter had comforted him.

"We have," he said softly, though he gave his friend a look of concern at the fear he sensed as much as saw before respecting Rory's courage and answering his question instead. "Some in books, some from gods, but most from speaking to people who have long memories." He hesitated, then smiled at the gentle blond, as Isuma squeaked in her sleep and began to twitch little talons, chasing something small and tasty in her dreams. "Did you know that the Abandoned were once called the 'Acquired?' A far more fitting name, I think." He glanced down again, then back up, his eyes going solemn. "Do you... do you know why the Spire was constructed, all those years ago, and the barrier along with it?"

For a moment, the outside world—vast, unknown—had loomed like a dark and terrible thing in his imagination, a monster ready to swallow all that he held dear and never spit it out again. A fear of losing not only his way of life, but everyone he cared for, of them finding something else to hold on to, out there, their own obligations; and Rory would never be enough of a reason to return.

And for that brief, brief moment, when his gut flipped and his blood ran cold, a thumb stroked across his hand, a soothing motion, movement directly born from the fear he exuded. He knew that he let more of his emotions slip through than usual, but it was still .. odd, to have someone pick up on it, and do something about it. At least, someone who wasn't his sister.

He watched Jigano's fox eyes as he spoke, beaten from the words, warm from the smile. When the gryphon squeaked, he looked down at her, the way she nestled against his hand and arm. Abandoned. Acquired. He knew that they had had a different name back then, his kind, who was traced to no particular lineage, but merely sprouted here and there, like unwanted mushrooms. Acquired had been one of many suggestions given, warped over time, as many forgot, or became unsure.

He had spent so much time avoiding thinking about it, because all it ever did was make him bitter, dark, angry. He bristled against Gods he should love, when they gave him so very little reason to.

"Acquired," he said quietly. "Beloved by the Gods, until we did something catastrophically, monumentally wrong. No one seems to know what exactly, not anymore. But whatever it was .. it was likely the reason for all of .. this." He waved his free hand haphazardly, indicating whatever was outside the Temple. "And thus, Abandoned by the Gods. Three hundred years, paying for something someone we aren't even necessarily related to did. Over and over again, the Abandoned have been born and died and none of us have a fucking clue anymore as to what's wrong about us but we're still not good enough."

He fell silent; his voice had been savage. Bitter. He drew a deep breath, and looked aside, ashamed over his outburst. "Sorry," he muttered, acutely aware that the Outlanders, the increased activity of the Gods, the foolhardy plan to attack the Spire Demon, had brought all of this close to the surface again. "It's a .. sore spot, I guess you could say..."

Jigano released a slow breath as Rory spoke, quiet and intense and growing in anger that the bard could find no fault for. He had been no little angry when he had learned what smelled like the truth. Caged for sins they hadn't committed, living and dying in ignorance among gods who were as fickle as the wind, and meanwhile outlanders were dropped in the same prison with no means or hope of escape...

It wasn't fair, but then, plenty of gods weren't fair, even on his world.

He wanted to catch that waving arm, bring it back to his cheek and offer the reassurance of touch and skin, but Rory... was like him. He was already bound by wounds and bandages. Trapping him further seemed a cruelty to the fox. Jigano settled instead for squeezing the hand already freely given into his, ears canting back in silent dismay at the guilt his friend seemed to feel immediately after the burst of honest words and emotion, and he shook his head sharply in response. "You don't need to apologize," he said, a flicker of fierceness in blue eyes as he found Rory's face again, hoping his friend would meet his gaze. "You never need to apologize to me for being honest." He took a slow breath, reaching up to push loose hair back behind an ear that wasn't where it was supposed to be, and grimacing a little as the tress fell forward again.

"I might have found some of the missing history," he said at last, quietly. "At least, a general idea of what happened." He sighed, glancing behind him towards the door, where other patients lay. Where Amalia was, neither Abandoned nor Ascended, more pious than any of them and still suffering with all the rest of those within the Hollowed Grounds. "Though I still have no idea why so many - Accepted, Attuned, and Outlanders - were Abandoned along with the mages." He slanted a glance back to his friend, lips quirking in a shadow of a smile as he sought something to distract the hunter towards something lighter. "I was a mage, too, upon my world... of a sort. More of a dabbler, really, but when I fell through the portal I lost that part of me." He gave a one-shouldered shrug, trying to downplay the sting of that soul-deep loss. "Though I've never missed my healing magic as much as I did when I saw you burned," he added softly, solemn once more.

He felt fingers close on his own again, and he realized—vaguely, distantly—that had it been anyone else, he likely would've shrugged them off. Set his shoulders, turned his back. Rory was a private creature, one who seldom gave in to public displays of emotion; he kept his thoughts close, his heart closer, and denied most a glimpse into his mind.

But an outburst was characteristic for him; he was mellow, until he just .. wasn't. There was very little buildup to his anger, no prolonged time of irritation. His fuse was long but once he lit up, boy, did he burn bright and fast.

And Jigano .. was being too damn good to him. Had Rory had mobile ears he would've turned them back, flat, a form of rejection of his assurance, and only briefly did his gaze flicker to meet Jigano's. He felt unworthy of such a kindness, and still a little embarrassed about the outburst. Why would anyone want to listen to the rants of an Abandoned, anyway? "Stop being so bloody good," he muttered, though without any anger in his voice; if anything, there was a note of appreciation in it. A smile, one he did not quite want to let out, twitched and crawled its way along his mouth—and he couldn't stop himself from reaching out, wincing slightly as he pulled on his muscles again, and moving the straying lock of white hair behind the fox ear.

Then Jigano relayed what he knew, or rather, that he knew something, but not precisely what. Rory ran his tongue along the back of his teeth. "They were not Abandoned," he interjected, rather gently, but sensing what was, perhaps, a gap in Jigano's knowledge of his world. "If anything, they were collateral damage, or ... perhaps they were all magic souls, three hundred years ago?" He shrugged. "Regardless, only those with magic are Abandoned. It refers to how the Gods chose to deal with us after..whatever it was. They Abandoned us. Accepted, Attuned, Ascended, Outlanders—you are not Abandoned. Perhaps it feels that way, but you do not know the silence of the Gods as we do." Despite the subject, his voice was mellow again, something sad lingering among the words. "Being Abandoned is not hereditary. We are born to parents of all kinds, and our children are not necessarily Abandoned too. But that's how it is, you are either born Accepted or you are born Abandoned. And if it's the latter... well, tough luck."

The word mage was curious, archaic somehow to Rory; he knew that it, broadly, meant a magic-wielder, but it was not one he thought anyone within Caido used. Why would they? Being Abandoned was bad enough in and of itself. No reason to flaunt it. "Oh," he finally said, again feeling oddly self-conscious at Jigano's confession. Healing magic was something he envied others of, but so far, it did not seem to come to him. "I, uh... Well. Remi is.. somehow both? He can use our magic, yet he can also shapeshift. But.. mh. What else could you do, back in..in your world?" The curiosity in his eyes, in his voice, was genuine, as he canted his head to look up at Jigano.

"I'm not nearly as good as people seem to think I am," he said softly, in a voice that was meant to be joking but came out a little too honest for his own peace of mind. He ducked his head, hiding the shadows in his eyes as he made it easier for Rory to tuck his hair back in place. When he looked up again there were different shadows, more recent ones, and the weight of knowledge that he wasn't sure Rory wanted to hear. At least, not in his current state and situation. He couldn't blame his friend's temper, but he was still relieved when it burned itself out quickly and the gentleness returned to the hunter's voice as he corrected the lorekeeper.

Jigano listened intently, eyes widening at the unexpected idea that the Abandoned of the time had all been gathered together and put in the cage. He had been assuming that the races of this world passed along traits like magic from parents to children, even though becoming Attuned or Ascended was a choice. But hearing that it wasn't the case opened an entirely new set of possibilities before him and his ears perked forward sharply as he drank in the new information.

"No," he admitted softly. "I... have spoken with Ludo. Once." He winced ears canting swiftly back at a guilty angle as he focused intently on Rory's hands for a few moments. "He... liked my music. But he is not a... comfortable god to... bargain with."

He tried to move past the moment quickly, a flicker of anxiety in his chest at whether Rory would be angry at him, for what he had done in a moment of impulse and emotion and good intentions gone astray.

The road to Hell, indeed...

He missed his magic, deeply. He had been born with it, gift and curse alike, and learned more when he was old enough and found he had the knack for songs and spells as well as prayers and meditations. He tried not to wince at the mention of Remi and the silent unfairness that the boy with no sense of his own power understood how lucky he was, to have what others - like Jigano and Caiside - had lost. "I was born an Oracle," he said slowly, raising his eyes to meet Rory's again, seeking signs of understanding - or confusion. "From a long line of them, on my mother's side. I had a connection to the divine, which is how I could heal, and also a deeper sense of the world. I wasn't bound to a single deity but rather more of a... a divine ideal." His lips quirked a little and he flicked his ear, wishing Rory's hand still stroked it. "My mother was an Oracle of Life, but I was an Oracle of Lore... of knowledge and answers and questions in all their forms." He gave a soft shake of his head, extending a finger free of where they held hands to tickle one of Isuma's twitching paws. "But that doesn't put food on the table, so as I grew older I also picked up the skills of a bard. Instruments, songs, stories... a way to pass on what I learned, and to learn even more in turn. And more magic sparked in my blood when I sang and told the old tales. Spells to inspire my allies to greater strength and courage, to speed our steps, or strike fear into enemies, or turn sound itself into a weapon..." He trailed off, shaking his head and looking up to Rory again with drooping ears. "And becoming human for real instead of as a disguise has been... taking some time to get used to," he admitted, very quietly, as much to himself as to the man who held his hand and gave him strength even while laying wounded in the dark.

Everyone had shadows and monsters in their soul, and everyone judged themselves the harshest. And while Jigano hadn't said exactly what had happened in Torch—and Rory hadn't pressed—it was obviously something that could be slotted into the category. Rory merely blinked, choosing to remain silent. His most immediate response was merely something along the lines of at least you're trying, and those words sat uncomfortably in his mouth, so he swallowed them again.

He wondered what it was Jigano had spoken with Ludo about, what he had bargained for; whatever it was, it seemed to be a painful, or embarrassing, subject, if his reaction was anything to go by. A small frown creased his forehead, and again he debated whether to push, to ask, or let it join the pile of later.

"Are any of them, though?" he asked quietly. His own experience with them was so limited, but from what he had heard, the deities were not exactly known for doing anything for free, or out of the kindness of their hearts... "I've only seen Ludo at the Festival of Lights. And I still don't understand why it gave me its lantern..." If he was supposed to do anything with it, Ludo had failed to inform him, and why the God had chosen to give it to him... Was it because he had spoken out, passionate for something?

Bah. Silence of the Gods, indeed.

Rory had heard tales before, of what had supposedly happened, or existed, outside of Caido; hearing Jigano's tale was, in a way, much the same. A distant thing he could not quite picture nor comprehend, and for another moment he felt both terrified and horrified that the man sitting on his bed and holding his hand was from another world entirely—something so vast and incomprehensible and alien that he couldn't wrap his head around—it threatened to tear the solid ground out from underneath him and throw him into blackness.

But his hand was warm, just like everybody else's hands. Rory had seen him bleed. Just a skin-sack of flesh and bones and blood like the rest of them.

His breathing was quiet and shallow to conceal the tremors. It was obvious that Jigano's life had been violent at least in some capacity—not just the mention of a raid, but specifically, how his strange brand of music had influenced enemies and allies. Not just singing healing songs to cows and whatnot.

How different they were.

"That must've been a large part of yourself to lose," he said softly. He took what Jigano said for what it was, a story from a world he would never see nor truly understand, yet there was one thing he did not understand. "But what do you mean, becoming human for real..?"

"I don't know," Jigano admitted wryly, his customary humor providing a shield of sorts from more dangerous emotions. "I've seen the Voice twice, but she wanted nothing to do with me. I've yet to meet Safrin or Frey, and not sure I want to." His humor faded as swiftly as it had come as he glanced back up to meet Rory's eyes, breath catching in his throat. "I... didn't know Ludo had given you a lantern," he said slowly, thoughts racing. "I... wanted to..." His throat seemed to close on the words and he bowed his head, his world shrinking to memories of shadows, and the warmth of a hand wrapped around his. "Ask me," he said quietly, the words catching on his tongue as a lifetime of keeping secrets fought with an impulse to trust someone who hadn't let him go in spite of all he hadn't said. "When we stand in the sunlight again... ask me what I bargained for." He'd be ready by then, he hoped, to speak. But in the darkness of Long Night that weighed them down and with the wounds of his own teeth still fresh upon Rory's shoulder he didn't have the strength to admit his hubris to his friend.

Instead he spoke of another world, another time, of light and power and song and things he had lost. Things he had consoled himself that he didn't need anymore, until, of course, he did need them and they were out of reach. Would Rory understand what it meant, to fight and run and fight again? To watch allies cut down and face monsters that sometimes walked on eight legs, and sometimes walked on two and smiled like men but weren't, not anymore?

Gods most fortunate, he hoped not. He never wanted that for any of his friends on Caido, but especially not the hunter who had become something dangerously more than a friend.

"It was," he agreed, and when he smiled he didn't hide the sadness in it. "There are times it's easier to bear than others, though." When Edy laughed at one of his jokes, or Sam brought him a new book he'd found, bright and eager through his stutter, or when Rory smiled at something he'd done, blue eyes crinkling down at a white fox in the leaves or snow...

No longer just a fox, and Jigano winced at the question he had expected and dreaded. "Humans weren't alone on my world," he tried to explain, fingers tense in Rory's grasp. "There were lots of other people, too. Tall elves with pointed ears who lived centuries, stout dwarves with an affinity for stone and immense strength, goblins with green skin and sharp teeth and too-large heads... and others. Many others. I... don't know how much sense that makes to you, here," he admitted, catching Rory's gaze with a helpless sort of shrug. "But my family was... I was... born as a shapeshifter. Born, not chosen. My people are kitsune, fox folk, neither beast nor man but holding parts of both in our souls." He tried to smile, but the expression faded before it reached his eyes as he watched Rory for any hint of his reaction. "But my parents had traveled a long way from their homeland, and kitsune weren't common in Numeria. Humans are many, though. So they taught me to hide my nature from a young age, to blend in as a human boy. It was... safer that way. A blow that might be killing for a human isn't, quite, for my folk, so pretending to be something other saved my life a few times. Saved my friends' lives, too, when someone decided to shoot at the 'human,' thinking I'd be easier meat," he admitted, a touch ruefully. "I... don't know if that changes things... between us," he added, swallowing hard against the lump in his throat. "I'm human now, at least. Whatever gods brought me through the portal saw to that." And he'd pray to any and all of them if that was enough for the quiet hunter by his side to let him stay there, sharing warmth and secrets in the dark.

That the Voice wanted nothing to do with him was not surprising; he was an Attuned after all, even though aligning himself with Safrin was perhaps not a conscious choice he had made. But then he mentioned Frey, and Rory found himself laughing in a sort of helpless way. Frey, mischievous, passionate, the enabler and the trickster: the idea of Jigano running across them was... difficult. There was something about his human form, tall, graceful, refined, serious-looking whenever the humor didn't warm his eyes or curve his mouth, that made it difficult for Rory to imagine him in the same room as Frey—or at least under their influence.

And everyone knew what Frey tended to push people towards. That was the second reason imagining Frey and Jigano was difficult. He wasn't ready to touch that, not with the unexpected strings he'd found attached to his heart.

So he just laughed, though it was brief and confused.

But it seemed that whatever Jigano had asked Ludo for was not a light matter. The humor (if it had even been that) faded from Rory, leaving him worried, anxious, holding his breath lest he miss the words Jigano fought so to get past his teeth. But they stuck there, just a push away, and though he wanted to growl just spit it out, man to soothe his own anxiety, all he did was absently rub his fingers against Jigano's.

"Alright," he agreed in a hushed voice, wrestling with his worry; what had Jigano done?

Oh, how easy it would be, to commit mistakes with the Gods of a foreign world...

When Jigano began to talk of the races of his homeworld, it took Rory a while to notice that the fingers he gently held had gone stiff and tense. The names meant little to him, the approximations of his mental images likely widely off-target, and when Jigano caught his gaze and shrugged, Rory just gave his hand a squeeze. Beyond their own races, all of which were deceptively similar in appearance, he knew nothing of other humanoid races.

Kitsune. Rory stored the word somewhere in the back of his mind, freeing his thumb to rub circles on the back of Jigano's hand. He couldn't imagine what it was like to sit and admit to all these things—Rory had it easier. His world was here and now. His world was there for Jigano to experience and touch.

Rory could only trust that what he was told was truth, and accept it for what it was: impossible improbable, daunting, but ultimately, real.

And he felt cold again, stunned by how casually Jigano mentioned being shot at, and as he stared—not unkindly—at the man sitting on his bed he found himself wondering again: what kind of life had he led?

Rory was no stranger to violence, but even he would be offended on a whole new level if someone intentionally shot him.

"I... don't know if that changes things... between us," Jigano said, and though Rory had looked thoughtful, sometimes perplexed, sometimes aghast (like at the mention of being shot), he had never looked horrified.

He didn't then either, but he ended up staring. Like, are you for real with saying that? staring. As if being human mattered. As if being human now mattered.

I fell for you when you were a fox he wanted to say, but the words were too dangerous, too true, and that was how you went through my defenses.

"If I'm appalled at anything, aside from you being shot at it, it's that you think it might matter at all," he finally said, though without bitterness; his voice was mild, as it almost always was. He wanted to reach up for one of those white ears again, but even Rory's dumbness had its limits, and he thought he was probably done abusing his shoulders for the time being.

He hadn’t thought he’d been particularly clever or funny, but hearing Rory laughing, short-lived though it was, gave him a little respite from the shadows around them. He wished he could have stayed in that moment, but there was one secret he didn’t dare keep for too long. A little longer, yes… but not forever. He knew that, if left to his own decisions, he wouldn’t be brave enough to bring it up again so he gave Rory the key to that particular drawer in his heart, trusting the blond to know when they would both be strong enough to open it and face what he had done in a moment of impulse and desperation to not lose the ear of a god who had deigned to speak to him.

The hunter didn’t push him, for which he was grateful. The joy of being accepted by his friend competed with the stress of sharing more than he had with anyone else on Caido… with anyone of his own homeworld, even. He had kept some parts of himself secret for so long that he didn’t know how so share them, and so he stumbled through his explanation with a hesitant desperation and a subconscious fear that, eventually, he would say too much, that it would be too strange or too alien for Rory to accept.

That he might be too strange for the gentle Natural to accept, when he revealed that he was something other than the white fox who had grown to cherish his friendship with the blue-eyed defeater of gourds and rider of ponies and singer of songs.

But through it all Rory refused to let him go, soothing and comforting with the way he kept Jigano’s hand in his and stroked his skin when anxious worry left him tense enough to tremble. Even when he looked horrified at things the lorekeeper said he refused to let go, and in so doing he gave the fox the strength to continue until his words finally ran out.

It wasn’t silent after he finished speaking, for his heart beat loud enough for those down in the Rathskeller to hear it. He had said too much, he knew, too soon, and in all the wrong ways at the worst possible time. He was a bard, and he was supposed to know better! … but Rory had a way of stripping away his masks with a look, and stealing the silver from his tongue with a smile. He wasn’t a bard or even a loreseeker around the blond, he was just a fox, and a man, and the soul that balanced in between those two forms with nothing left to hide behind.

Of all the things the wounded hunter might have said, his gentle remonstrance held more weight than a thousand words and Jigano’s ears flicked down guiltily… but then rose slowly again with the light of hope in his slit-pupiled blue eyes. He didn’t reply at first, the tension still thrumming through him changing in tone and tempo as he bowed his head, letting pale hair slip forward over his shoulders again to pool on the sheet covering Rory’s thigh. His fingers were trembling in the hand that held them, and for a moment he didn’t realize that the purr that rumbled quietly against his knuckles was coming from Isuma and not himself.

”I’m sorry,” he said softly, but when he raised his head again there was a suspicious dampness at the corners of his eyes, and a quiet joy underlay his words. ”You’re right. It’s… not easy, putting this into words. But I wouldn’t be doing it, if I didn’t trust you. It’s… trusting myself that’s the hard part.”

To be so afraid of judgment...

White hair pooled on a white sheet, long and silken, so different from a fox's fur. Rory's free hand brushed absently across it for a moment, wondering if his easy dismissal of Jigano's fears were cruel, somehow, as if it was not acknowledging how much it affected him to tell. But what could he say? What could he do? Lie? It was too abstract for him to pass judgment on, when what he had in front of him was so easily translated to 'Attuned', and what he saw in front of him was not something that bothered him.

Even if his soul-stuff was different—or however a kitsune differed from an Attuned—Rory didn't think he'd particularly care.

His straying hand wandered over the long hair splayed across his thigh and then down to their hands, so that he held Jigano's trembling one with both of his. He wanted to say it's okay, to reach out and tilt his head up again, but whatever had just passed between them—Rory's acceptance—seemed to need some time. So he gave it willingly, letting the tips of his fingers wander absently across the back of Jigano's hand.

What Jigano apologized for he did not understand. Fear of rejection seemed to be universal, no matter the cause, and Rory had witnessed and experience plenty of it. "If the roles were reversed," he said quietly, giving his hand a little squeeze, "I would probably be daunted, too." He met those blue eyes, those blue, animal eyes, and he wondered what they were building.

Then his head tilted, slightly, and he winced as it tugged on unhealed, marred skin. "In what way don't you trust yourself?"

What am I missing?