Month 2

Having Temple stay for breakfast was something Gilbert easily got used to.

Over the last couple of weeks, the thief had slowly thawed and seemed to finally allow himself to stay without inner struggle. Gilbert became steadily more convinced that he should stay. Much more long-term than just a couple of nights a week. And now he had tried to edge towards it by asking him to stay for his weekly day off.

Waking up with Temple sprawled possessively across him and the sleeping thief’s hand grabbing his balls was exactly the way Gilbert wanted to start his day off. He smiled from ear to ear, not daring to move, lest he disturb his sleeping lover. He was in love. Terribly in love, in fact, and it was glorious.

There were still so many things he wanted to know about Temple, but the closer they grew, the more Gilbert came to understand how severely someone must have damaged Temple at some point. Trust was a very, very slow and difficult process, and it seemed like he wasn’t sure about a lot of things that Gilbert would take for granted, such as wanting your lover to spend the night and that food consisting of more than dried meat, pli-berries, and bread was delicious. It still made Gilbert grin to himself when he thought of the blank expression on Temple’s beautiful, intriguing face when confronted with completely ordinary fruits and vegetables.

Perhaps he stole because he had no idea what else to do? He didn’t seem… greedy. Gilbert would have expected that from the Magpie King before he had actually met him. Why risk your life on the most insane heists if you didn’t revel in the payment? Temple had clearly been comfortable at the brothel, and maybe he even went there for sex, but Gilbert still expected a higher level of enjoyment of the finer things in life from the royalty of theft.

He didn’t know what had led Temple here, to where he was in life, but every day felt like a small victory if Temple smiled at him or claimed his right to him in some way. Like the hand that now twitched gently and the little lines between his brows that showed he was about to wake.

“Mmmmmm…” Temple hummed, stretching in Gilbert’s embrace before his hand blessedly wandered back where it came from.

“Mmmmm?” Gilbert asked.

Temple smiled, still with his eyes closed. “Mhm,” he confirmed and let his fingers explore.

*

It was a lazy, pleasured couple of hours later when they finally got up to make breakfast in the evening. Having a conversation over a meal was something Temple struggled to do in the beginning, but he was getting better at considering meals a social occasion.

“Did you mean what you said at the Barlik house?” Temple asked suddenly, turning a serious, grey stare in Gilbert’s direction.

“That’s… ages ago. What did I say?”

“You swore by your dead wife’s name,” Temple said while scooping meat onto a slice of roasted farn-root. “Is it just a figure of speech I don’t know?”

Gilbert took a deep breath and Temple abruptly snapped to attention. His eyes widened and he dropped the food back onto his plate.

“I’m sorry,” he said quickly, a touch of flustered panic in his gaze. “I shouldn’t have asked.”

Gilbert smiled at him. “No, I’m glad you asked, actually…” He smiled reassuringly at the shirtless thief at his table while he searched for the words. “It’s an important part of me and I’ve been wondering how to tell you. I want you to know this about me. And, well… you know, the sentence, ‘by the way, I was married for four years, but she died’, doesn’t really insert itself easily into conversations.”

Temple nodded slowly, clearly not sure what to say or how to navigate the conversation.

“Nia was a court mage. We met through work. And I lost her about four and a half years ago now. She fell ill with a sickness nobody could cure. I paid the priestesses of Merea to help her, but they claimed she was cursed and they couldn’t lift it. I did everything I could to get qualified magical help, but nobody was able to do anything. And so I watched her fade away in the course of a few weeks.” He looked at Temple who was staring at him – for the first time ever – with an actually unreadable expression. It seemed like so many emotions were fighting for dominance that it was impossible to pinpoint the right one.

Gilbert quickly reached out and put a hand on top of Temple’s before he thought to run away. Temple flinched, but then just nodded and looked away.

“Don’t worry. I don’t mind telling you,” he said. “I loved her. I found the one who cursed her. She was avenged. And she would be furious at me if I let her stand in the way of something new. We talked about that even before we got married. Besides, her death is the reason I was assigned to your case.” Gilbert got up and dragged a chair over, so he could sit next to Temple, not opposite to him.

Temple looked at him with a touch of something cautious in his gaze, and Gilbert slowly reached out again. Smilingly, he pulled him closer and closer until he had to move, and he slid over to straddle Gilbert in the chair.

“Have you lost someone?” Gilbert asked gently, as carefully as he could.

“No.” The answer was immediate, and Temple just shook his head.

“Alright,” Gilbert said. If he pressured him, the Magpie would fly away without hesitation, he was certain.

“Assigned to my case?” Temple finally ventured, seeming to feel more at ease now.

“I wasn’t particularly mindful of my safety back then, in the year just after I lost her. I threw myself at some rather suicidal things and somehow lived through it. So the Office of the Eighth decided I should throw myself at you.”

“You did,” Temple just stated.

Gilbert laughed and, finally, the warmth came back into the thief’s grey gaze, and he pressed himself close, arms around Gilbert’s neck.

“Did you ever get close to catching me?”

“No. It didn’t take a lot of investigating to realise that you never hurt anyone, so I decided to prioritise getting rid of those who did. A rich Merchant Aristocrat who loses a diamond, that’s a small part of their wealth gone, whereas lives are impossible to substitute. Fortunately, the Law of the Palisades at no point states that investigating theft is part of the Watchers’ duties. That falls to private companies or Freelancers. The law lists robbery, but not thieving, so I am well within my rights to ignore your case.”

Finally, a smile spread on Temple’s lips. “That is very neat and tidy.”

“Yes. And true.” Gilbert’s hands went exploring to caress his backside. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your breakfast.”

“Originally, I remember you just wanted me to stay for breakfast to watch me suck something…” Temple stated, a promise in his gaze.

“I said that, didn’t I? I guess I have to stay true to that statement. I don’t want you to think I’m not trustworthy.”

*

Month 2

Temple ran a finger over a jagged scar down Gilbert’s left side thoughtfully. Then he seemed to realise what he was doing and lifted himself up to look. He stared at the line in the skin with a wrinkle between his brows, caught between puzzled and uncertain.

“What happened?” he asked, fingers caressing the scar again, carefully this time, while he stared intently at Gilbert to gauge his reaction.

“This will surprise you,” Gilbert began, grinning, “but not everyone is happy to see the Watchers.”

Temple didn’t smile. He turned his gaze to the scar again, still with wrinkled brows. Then he pushed Gilbert over on his side with his back turned.

“How did I not notice this before?” he asked softly, seemingly to himself, running his hands from the two most severe scars on Gilbert's back to minor injuries he had sustained through the years.

Gilbert turned over and took Temple’s hands, pulling him closer so he could kiss his lips quickly.

“People want you dead. You can die,” Temple said softly, a tiny quiver in his voice as though the realisation was new and awful to him. He looked up and their eyes met.

It was the first time Gilbert had seen his own fear mirrored in someone’s eyes. The fear of being helpless when someone you love is torn away from you. It was real and raw and echoed through him painfully, teasing memories to the surface he didn’t want to revisit right now.

“Like everyone else, yes, I can die. But they are scars for a reason.”

“Are you bragging?” Temple demanded, almost angry.

“No. I’m just saying that I am careful, and I only got wounded, not killed, because of that. I’ve been a Watcher for sixteen years now and nobody has managed to kill me yet.”

The look on Temple’s face told him he shouldn’t have added the ‘yet’. It was suddenly both daunting and a very warm gift to be the object of his scepticism. To know that Temple feared for his safety meant that he was dear to him. Gilbert couldn’t keep a smile off his face and gently put his hands on Temple’s face. “I found you wounded and helpless, I saw you almost die, I had to cut your thigh up to pull out a crossbow bolt. Your fingers and ribs and probably hipbone too were broken. You don’t lead a quiet life yourself,” he said, careful not to let it sound like an accusation.

Temple looked away briefly, clearly self-conscious, perhaps even hiding something he didn’t want Gilbert to see.

Gilbert's first impulse was to just ask, but he stopped himself and kissed Temple softly. The thief relented and lay down again, fingers tentatively returning to their caressing of the scar at Gilbert's side.

*

Sex had never mattered to Temple before. It had always been impersonal with nothing but physical pleasure exchanged. No closeness. No names. It had sated him physically, but never like this. Never his mind, his feelings, never given him a sense of warmth that permeated everything.

Temple had always been the only one in his life who could get hurt, and if he died then that was it. He couldn’t mourn anyone because there was nobody to lose. Perhaps Miss Kaia, but losing her would primarily mean he would lose his fence and comfortable access to the Maskerade brothel. She had been kind to him in her own way when he was a child but he had no illusions that she had done it for his sake alone and knew he could ultimately replace what she provided him.

But now everything had been turned on its head and Temple didn’t know how to navigate the sudden onslaught of feelings this new situation brought.

He should really just get out of bed and go home, hide, seek safety before he got even more stuck, before he had even more to lose, before Gilbert refused to let him go or forgot his promise of amnesty. This couldn’t last, anyway.

It couldn’t last. But that was good. Wasn’t it? So maybe he could in fact tell Gilbert everything. Tell him of the darkness that whispered in his dreams and felt so much closer when he worked in the darkworld. Tell him of the strange waking dream of the woman being killed that had thrown Temple from his perch that first night he saw Gilbert, and of the fear that gripped him at the thought of losing him. But then again, why bother if he would lose him anyway? If only they could keep this closeness, if he could stay in this warm confidence with Gilbert's fingers caressing an old scar running down Temple's hip. When would Gilbert forget his promise? When would he tire of this?

“Temple?” There was laughter in Gilbert's voice and his eyes were almost impossibly green in the warm midday light shining through the curtains.

Temple just nodded when he felt Gilbert's hands on his face and gave in to the soft kiss pressed to his lips.

“You are fiercely overthinking everything right now,” Gilbert grinned. “We are both alive and well. There is no particular reason that should change. Is there?”

“No. No, of course not.” Temple shook his head, trying to regain control of his expression so he didn’t too obviously show Gilbert all his fear and uncertainty. Meeting his gaze was difficult and reassuring at the same time but then Temple realised that whatever would happen wouldn’t happen now. He still had the now.

He wanted to tell Gilbert that he had never felt this kind of fear before, that he didn’t know what to do about it, that he knew this couldn’t last, that he wished it could. But the words wouldn’t shape themselves and besides, he couldn’t begin to figure out what the consequences would be. So he stayed silent and pushed Gilbert over on his back, running his fingers down the watcher’s strong chest, letting out a sigh as his fingers caressed their way down along the blond hairs running from his chest down his stomach.

Gilbert put his hands on Temple's face and it looked like he had something to say, too. But he settled for pulling Temple close and kissing him in a way that made him feel alive and safe and happy as the worry melted from his mind.

He had this right now. As soon as Gilbert showed signs of boredom or indifference, Temple would flee and never return. Gilbert didn’t know where he lived and couldn’t follow him through the shadows, let alone the darkworld.

Temple was safe.

*

Month 3

At times, it felt like someone had just left the flat when Gilbert came home. It was an odd sensation, especially because he knew it wasn’t Temple. Or… at least it would make no sense if it were since he could always just rummage to his heart’s content when he was here. Not that he did. Gilbert assumed there was a touch of uncertainty to it, as if Temple still weren’t completely sure he was welcome. Maybe he did feel like he had to break in to rummage?

Still, as he walked around, pretending to himself that he wasn’t checking for an intruder, Gilbert couldn’t shake the feeling that something odd was happening. He was unable, however, to find the slightest thing amiss, and in the end, he let it go, promising himself to find some way to ask Temple if he had been here.

Asking that kind of question would probably be possible now, he thought, as he began to prepare a meal. Temple had slowly changed. He was much less skittish, and Gilbert had to be less careful with him.

Just like the small black cat that sometimes jumped in through his window to beg a snack and a warm corner near the stove to sleep in, however, Temple left when he felt like it, usually staying away for a few days before returning.

It made him think of when the cat had jumped straight up on Temple’s pillow the first time they met each other, and the thought made him smile. Life was honestly a lot better, warmer, and fuller when you were in love. He felt as if he could breathe again, after having held his breath for several long, stale years since Nia died.

He took a moment to look around in the kitchen that had felt like a mausoleum in her honour for the first year after her death. He had heard her voice so clearly when he’d been sitting here, still and hollow inside, unable to do anything but keep himself in check so that the gaping empty space she had left in his life didn’t swallow him. But slowly, he had found his pace again.

In the beginning, he just hid away in his work, filed unreasonable amounts of paperwork, requested funds through the official bureaucracy – which was a process that famously took years – and organised Watcher training and coordination with the other palisades. He began unravelling crimes nobody who valued their lives had gotten near, but since he didn’t, he had thrown himself at them.

Slowly, the emptiness had lessened, Nia’s voice had gotten fainter, and the kitchen itself had gradually become a small island of something chaotic in his life that he valued and added to. A place where he remembered her sweet fierceness with the joy she deserved.

He still loved Nia, but she would have been appalled if he had let himself break apart. Or refused to fall in love again. He smiled as he worked on cutting the ingredients for the meal. Temple would be here soon. He had a knack for showing up at mealtime.

There was a quick knock on the door, and he heard Temple’s loud footsteps. He always stomped when entering, as if making sure not to sneak. It was a little odd, but Gilbert had accepted it as a show of good faith that the Magpie King didn’t want to surprise him.

He turned to find the thief leaning casually on the doorframe. There was no trace of dark grease paint around his eyes and his fingers were free of ink. The weather had gotten colder, and he wore a dark-green jacket over grey trousers that wrapped beautifully around his strong, slender frame. In the last few months, his dark hair had grown a bit, and now it was long enough to have been tousled a little by the wind. Gilbert smiled at him because he couldn’t help it, and gestured for him to come closer.

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Temple put down a bucket of water he had brought from the well, then he set his bag on the kitchen table and approached for a warm kiss. “I have something for you,” he said afterwards. “Because you make me cook. So I will make you pick a lock.”

Gilbert barked a laugh. “Well, that’ll improve my usefulness as a Watcher…”

“I agree,” Temple said, suppressing a smile, and shrugged out of his jacket.

Then Gilbert grabbed him around the waist and manoeuvred him to the stove, placing himself behind the thief, arms around him.

Temple leaned back in the embrace and rested his head on Gilbert’s shoulder. “You know this is going to be a disaster, right? Again.”

“Don’t say that,” Gilbert admonished. “You’ve improved immensely in the last month.”

“I no longer set things on fire…”

“See. Immense improvement!”

“…Quite as often,” Temple added, but Gilbert felt the silent laughter in his body and held him close with a big grin on his face.

“So, I already did all the boring bits and cut out the vegetables; all you have to do is cook it.”

“You’re a brave man, Gilbert…” Temple commented. “I don’t even know what that is.” He pointed to a small bowl with prepared ingredients.

“It’s… it’s shrimp. You’re joking, right?”

“But they’re grey.” Temple reached out and hesitantly poked one of the cleaned shrimps with the tip of his finger.

“They aren’t cooked yet.”

“Shrimp isn’t a vegetable. You’re cheating me.”

“Just cook the meal. Don’t be scared. I’m not letting go of you.” Gilbert tightened his grip on Temple and felt him shake his head.

“I can’t believe you’re getting away with this…” he muttered, but there was a happy smile in his voice.

*

Month 4

Temple silently inhaled and stilled his breath as he let the darkworld embrace him. Here in the silence, he saw the guards pass by under his perch in the rafters, hounds held tightly leashed, and lanterns held high. The beasts grew a little uneasy and pulled at their leashes, but couldn’t pinpoint him. When they had passed by on their rounds of the luxurious library at the College of Fine Bardic Arts, Temple slowly breathed again and continued on his way.

Good. According to his meticulous preparations, it would be at least twenty-three minutes before the guards returned, so he was not in a hurry. He was satisfied he had chosen this spot to meet the patrol since only one of the three often-overlapping patrols went through here and the rafters took him out of the hounds’ immediate range.

The architect’s drawing of the library had shown the row of narrow, ornately-framed windows decorating the wall between the accessible library and the closed collection. He had opted for this way, rather than having to fight the locks on the doors that were likely to be far more intricate than a hasp on a window seven metres above the inlaid stone floor. He also hadn’t been able to confirm or deny it, but stories circulated that parts of the library were protected by the creations of a dwarven mage-smith, now centuries in her grave.

Silently, he made his way, sneaking, crouched along the narrow rafters until he got as close as he could get to the windows. It was a long jump, but he could make it.

The windows formed a lovely pattern and had been made by an expert glacier and silversmith, the material cut to catch the light in a rainbow effect during the day across both library sections.

He hadn’t been able to find out what mechanism locked them, nor if they even opened, since one drawing indicated they did and another that they didn’t, and the long-dead architect hadn’t bothered dating either of them. He squinted in the darkness and then shook his head. He was too far away to be certain, so he let the darkworld swallow him again, willed a handgrip forth from the wall above the windows, and jumped.

He grabbed the handhold with one hand and landed feet-first with a soft thud against the wall. He held himself steady while his free hand searched the window frame. It took his probing fingers a long moment, but a small latch was hidden in the intricate metal work, and he gently pried at it, finally letting the window swing slightly sidewards on small, elegant, hidden hinges that hadn’t had any exercise for literal centuries. He quickly stopped its motion, held onto the window frame, and let the darkworld dissipate. It would have spat him out in a few seconds anyway.

Temple reached into one of his many secret pockets and pulled out a small vial of oil to lubricate the hinges. He smirked to himself under the mask as he did so, though, and his thoughts flitted off to Gilbert for a moment before he stoppered the small vial again and slipped it back into its pocket. The narrow window swung open on silent hinges now, and he listened intently for a moment, staring into the darkness of the closed library.

A predictable labyrinth of shelves wound through the long, high-ceilinged room. The tall, narrow windows let in no light since he had deliberately chosen a night where no moons were visible. This section of the old library had stood since before the Upheaval and had remained unburned in the first and third Elven Wars, because someone who understood and wrote Kaian, the language of the elves, had written ‘House of Words’ on the building’s façade, and the elven forces had spared it. At least that was how the legend went. Whether it was true, Temple had no idea. But the building was old, and almost felt alive with the accumulated magic of centuries.

Temple kept hanging on to the wall, waiting silently for a chance to slip into the darkworld again, so he could see what he was up against.

Finally, the darkness let him in again, embracing him in its chill whispers, and he silently observed the room, looking for signs of magic. And nearly let go of the wall in shock! The entire end of the room farthest from him was one big, knotted mess of all kinds of magical signatures. It shone in a rainbow of mad, living, clashing colours, and Temple was surprised the spells were not at odds and had soured each other. Some of the reality-changing force-works he could see were centuries old, for certain, and somehow later mages had managed to add to them.

Temple smiled under his mask before very slowly twisting himself through the window’s narrow opening, creatively having to bend and twist his body around to gain entry. Finally, he was through, but he didn’t let himself drop down just yet.

He checked the surroundings thoroughly. The floor was clear, and there was a table nearby that would serve as an easy perch to get onto the shelves and gain an overview of the situation.

Temple dropped silently down, breaking his fall and controlling his momentum with a forward roll. He stood still in the dark library, listening for any movement before he quickly shimmied up to get to higher ground on top of the shelves.

He smiled. It was nice to have a challenge.

*

28 hours later

Temple waited in the cold drizzle that had begun just before dawn. He felt icy cold, but not because of the rain. Today, Gilbert would realise what he was doing. Temple would see to it. And then it would be over. The warmth they had shared. If he managed to escape, it would be over.

It was two hours past sunrise when the Watcher turned the corner to his street. Temple tensed. The delay probably meant that Gilbert had been told about the theft, and he would know Temple was to blame when he saw his black fingers. The ink just didn’t scrub off, and Temple had refused to try. His heart still pounded as he watched Gilbert approach, watched him stop in his tracks for a second when he spotted him.

This was probably the most important moment and… Temple had an escape route planned. The Watcher, faced with the undeniable proof that he was routinely fucking a thief, would finally crumble and give in. He wouldn’t be able to stay kind this time, Temple was certain of it. And it hurt. There was a cold pit somewhere in his chest that seemed to grow bigger knowing what he knew.

Gilbert came close to where Temple stood on the stairs to his home. He seemed a little wary as he scrutinised Temple’s face. Then he smiled quickly. It seemed genuine.

“We should probably talk,” he concluded and gestured for Temple to go up the stairs, but Temple just went inside to the inner stairwell and stood to the side, so Gilbert could pass, unwilling to turn his back to the Watcher. Gilbert looked at him for a moment, hurt, and then walked inside, shutting the door to the street quietly.

“You think it changes something, don’t you?” Gilbert asked softly and very slowly reached out, a typical Gilbert-gesture, to touch Temple’s arm.

Temple moved away from the touch. “Doesn’t it?” he asked, puzzled.

“You are here. So no. I haven’t forgotten who you are.” Gilbert grinned all of a sudden. “Honestly, I was dealing with you long before we met. The only thing that has changed is that you now compensate me for the trouble by being here.”

A hot flame ignited in him, threatening to sweep the darkness away for a moment. But Temple fought to hold onto the emptiness. Nobody was that forgiving.

Gilbert must have read the feeling, however, because a small, angry line showed between his brows. “Come on!” He put a large hand on the door, barring Temple’s exit. His voice was suddenly harsh. “You still think I’m going to turn you in. You still actually think I am going to betray you and get you killed. You think I forgot who you are. Do you have any kind of idea how insulting your distrust is? Go upstairs now, you belong here!” He pointed angrily up the stairs.

Temple fought to understand him. Gilbert wanted him here. He wanted to shout at him, here. Gilbert thought he belonged here? Before he could think anything through or figure out how to react, Gilbert simply took a quick step closer, bent down, and swept Temple over his shoulder in one easy movement, one strong arm wrapped tightly around his thighs.

Temple gasped, unable to move with shock as Gilbert walked up the stairs with a spring in his step. Temple’s bag began to slide, and he desperately grabbed for it, sputtering, “Wait… You can’t…”

“I can and I did. And I will kiss you until you finally fucking understand it!” Gilbert stated, unlocking the door after calmly rummaging for the key in his belt. “Throw your bag,” he demanded when they were inside, and Gilbert had locked the door behind them. When Temple was slow to comply, Gilbert swatted his behind quickly. “Just get rid of the damned bag,” he said, clearly grinning.

“You’re insane,” Temple protested, feeling a laugh gathering in the spot where the cold darkness had been growing ever since he made it back from the university yesterday.

“If I am, it’s your fault…” Gilbert laughed, still carrying Temple and now wrestling with the thief’s shoes one-handed.

“What are you doing?” Temple asked, smiling, and pinched Gilbert’s backside.

He laughed. “I don’t want shoes in the bed. Just help me out.”

Temple toed his shoes off, and Gilbert kicked them away and carried him into the bedroom, where he finally threw him on the bed. Immediately, he pinned his arms down, leaning in over him.

Temple’s pulse quickened. Having Gilbert’s bulk pressing down on him was delicious at any time, but now that there was still a bit of anger in him, making the grip on his arms tighter… He knew his arousal was obvious as he looked into Gilbert’s green eyes.

Quickly, Gilbert toed his boots off without letting go of Temple’s arms. Then he straddled him, holding the thief down with his entire weight, their hips grinding together when he leaned forward for an aggressive kiss that left Temple winded.

“At some point in our not-too-far future, we will have to talk about who we are and what we do,” Gilbert said sternly. “But not until I am certain you understand how important you are to me, and that your importance cannot be translated into money of any amount.”

They looked at each other for a silent moment, Temple’s mind working hard to figure out the emotions and reactions. “…I hurt you?” Temple asked slowly.

“Yes. I think you hurt both of us,” Gilbert said. Temple tried to sit up, but Gilbert leaned towards him, holding him down. “No, thief. I want you right here, in my bed, where I know you aren’t running away from me. And you are going to stay here until you tell me that you trust me. Understand?” Gilbert lifted Temple’s arms up over his head in bed and held them there with one hand. Gilbert wasn’t forcing him; it was a statement, not an attack. Temple could break free, but he didn’t try.

Did he trust him? Well, no. He had just assumed Gilbert would crack and attempt to turn him in; be furious at the theft. He hadn’t trusted him. Not at all. He felt his frown developing and knew his face was far too easy for the Watcher to read. He had been so sure of what would happen. He had gone there to force it to end.

“You’ve been alone for a long time, haven’t you?” Gilbert asked gently.

Temple couldn’t answer. No words formed in his mind. And then Gilbert just smiled and let his free hand wander down Temple’s chest, unbuttoning his jacket. To his trousers, unbuttoning them too with slow movements. Then he leaned forward, tightening his grip on Temple’s wrists and kissed his neck softly, drawing a small gasp from his throat.

“How about you shout ‘I trust you’ every time I make you come from now on? Then you can slowly edge your way towards believing it,” Gilbert said, not just for fun.

Temple nodded silently, feeling shaken inside without knowing how to put words on it, and met Gilbert halfway in a soft kiss. He wanted to ask ‘what will you shout when I make you come?’, but he wasn’t brave enough to hear the answer.

*

2 hours later

Temple stirred from his half-slumber, feeling warm, cosy, and pleasantly lazy. He looked at Gilbert who slept in the cool autumn daylight, an arm still firmly wrapped around Temple’s waist. His short light brown hair shone like honey just as that first night and Temple let his ink-stained fingers softly glide through it.

I trust you. He had actually said it. He had done as Gilbert asked and let that be the prayer of his climax. It scared him. But this closeness; if the price was trust…

There was still a thing left to do, though. They weren’t done yet.

Temple pressed a soft kiss to Gilbert’s lips, ran his fingertips through the hair of his muscular chest, and watched him slowly come to. Then he nearly melted at the sleepy smile he received.

“Is it evening already?” Gilbert asked drowsily.

“No, just midday.” Temple raised himself on his elbow, but Gilbert reached out and pulled him flush to his chest as he rolled over onto his back.

“Then why are you awake?” he asked.

“I… I have something for you. I suppose.” Temple sat up, and the fast motion seemed to snap the Watcher into wakefulness. Temple freed himself and got out of bed. Then he grinned. “No, Gilbert, I’m not running away. I’m naked.”

Gilbert finally grinned back, a little guiltily. “…Not something you should change anytime soon,” he just smiled.

Temple went to the corridor and picked his bag up before going back to bed. He sat down next to Gilbert, so they were shoulder to shoulder, and pulled out the supple leather folder. He put it in Gilbert’s lap. “For you, I suppose.”

Gilbert looked at him, puzzled, and then opened the folder to see the intricate drawing on the first sheet of waxed paper. He seemed to grow more silent and still as he looked at the architect's drawing, not moving a muscle.

Finally, after a long silence, he licked his lips and looked up. “The plans of Spenbell Estate, I assume. A seven-hundred-year-old architect’s drawing,” he said, voice soft. “Stolen yesterday from the closed collection of the library of BardArt, where it was kept under strict security measures, including but not limited to mage-smith locks, mechanical and poisonous traps, and a magical guardian, as I was told. Which were legal because they were legal when they were installed before the Upheaval, and besides, nobody apparently knows how to dispel them today.”

“Flattery will get you–” Temple cut the sentence short when he saw Gilbert’s still-shocked expression. “Well, let’s discuss that later,” he mumbled, worry rising in his chest again.

Gilbert shook his head in disbelief and then turned his body in bed to look at him. A warm smile spread on his lips. He gently folded the drawings up in their cover and held it up. “Why did you bring this?” he asked.

Temple looked at him, at the way the smile lit up his eyes. He shrugged. “You can take it back. I’m done with it. Make up some story about how you got it back? Maybe that will help your career after the whole painter thing.”

Gilbert still smiled at him, put the folder in the bag, and threw it on the floor. Then he gently put his hands on Temple’s face, thumbs caressing his cheeks. “Why did you bring it?” he repeated.

“I just told you,” Temple said, squirming a little and wishing he didn’t. But he couldn’t look away.

“If you really, really thought that I was going to finally break and turn you in, then why would you bring incriminating evidence with you?” Gilbert asked gently. “Temple, don’t,” he pleaded when he felt the thief’s body tense for flight. “Please. Stay with me.”

“I…” Suddenly, Gilbert’s arms pulled him closer in an embrace that was both warm and awkward, because they were seated next to each other. In the end, Gilbert grinned and pulled Temple down with him to lie on the bed, not letting him go.

Temple’s mind was working furiously at an explanation for his actions and continually drawing a blank, so he let himself be moved around without objections. Then Gilbert slowly leaned in and gently pressed a kiss to his lips.

Temple’s hands moved without permission and drew Gilbert close for a second kiss, and they ended up just staring at each other.

“You should take it,” Temple finally said. “As compensation.”

“No,” Gilbert said. “I really don’t need more attention on me. What will you get for it?”

“Ehm… I… A collector will easily pay eight thousand gost for it, so I will start by demanding five and a half, be told I will get four, and leave with four thousand nine hundred and ninety-eight.”

Gilbert gave him a mystified look. “That’s an insane sum. And a very precise calculation.”

Temple shrugged. He knew Miss Kaia. He would end up tipping her two gost, one for a flamboyant drink and another for her smile, just to annoy her.

“Alright, then…” Gilbert said. “Take that money and give it to a good cause, then. Or open a whole army of orphanages yourself.”

Temple sucked in his breath in sudden fear. “I don’t get involved!” he stated hotly. “I never get involved!”

“Wh–” Gilbert stopped himself before he got started. “Alright. Then steal it back?”

Temple stared into his warm, green eyes. There were little dots of amber and gold in them, and he searched intently for the solution to the strange statement in the colours.

“I mean, break in and put it back,” Gilbert clarified with a smile. “Just… don’t get caught.”

“I have never ‘broken in’ anywhere in my life! I don’t break anything! I’m a professional, not a thug!” Temple stated sharply. “I…”

He wanted to say something more about his professionalism, about how ‘stealing things back’ wasn’t remotely in his interest, and… and he wanted to give a good reason why he had brought the damned drawings to begin with. To force the Watcher to recognise him for the thief he was? But Gilbert was looking at him, studying his face the way he did that let him somehow read everything Temple felt and thought.

“Thank you for bringing the drawings,” Gilbert just said, letting a hand caress Temple’s shoulder quietly.

They lay there for a long while, just looking at each other.

Then Gilbert finally smiled. “So… what will flattery get me?”

*

Month 5

The small, metallic sound as the lock finally shifted and moved the locking bar, so that the mechanism sprang up, was almost as satisfying as watching Temple say, ‘I trust you’, and Gilbert couldn’t keep a triumphant exclamation back.

Temple had been sitting curled up in the chair with a book, and he immediately snapped to attention with a start. Then he smiled. “Did you get it?”

Gilbert held the open padlock up with a grin on his face. “I went through eight tools before finding the right ones, but I’m beginning to see what you mean about navigating the wards.”

Temple got to his bare feet, stretched luxuriously, and then came over to the table in the office, where a wealth of tools laid spread out. He smiled. “Well done. I’ll have to build you a new one, then.”

“You have a smug streak, you know that?” Gilbert grinned.

Temple just raised an eyebrow sceptically. “If I do, it’s nothing compared to the man who puts out my kitchen fires,” he claimed, crossing his arms.

“Alright, fair, there might be a little bit of smugness there.” Gilbert got to his feet. He really intended to just go to the kitchen and make some tea to celebrate, but Temple was there, and it was funny to see him be sceptical, so he couldn’t help but put his arms around him. “It’s been weeks since the last kitchen fires,” he said. “I’m not even sure I will get a chance to be smug again. But you can just keep making new locks.”

“Well, you can give me harder recipes?” Temple asked.

“Mhm.” Gilbert stole a quick kiss. “Do you want tea?”

“Yes…” Temple put his arms around him and leaned in, resting his head on his shoulder.

Gilbert felt him relax into the embrace, his nimble body pressing against him, and he smiled, caressing the back of his neck, running his fingers into his hair. It was so satisfying when he gave in like this, especially thinking about how scared and skittish he used to be. In the last couple of months, gradually watching him begin to smile, joke, be bossy on occasion… it felt like a gift. And it made Gilbert wonder if he had ever been close to anyone.

“Temple?” he asked softly. “Has anyone ever taken care of you?”

“Of course,” Temple mumbled almost sleepily, lips caressing Gilbert’s neck. “I take care of myself every day.”

Gilbert pulled back a little to look at him. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Hm, what?” Temple asked, seemingly coming back from his relaxed reverie.

Gilbert saw the confused look in his eyes. “I love you, and I'm so sorry you had to give that reply,” he said softly.

And he knew it was a mistake the second the words left his lips.

Temple jerked back as if he’d been struck and stared at Gilbert as if he had just betrayed him. Then he turned around and looked at the chair he had been sitting in, eyes wild as though he’d just woken up in a nightmare, and then he took a step back, staring at Gilbert as if he were a stranger. The breath was visibly fast in his chest.

“Temple, please…” Gilbert held out his hand, palm up, just as he had done so many times in the beginning.

“I can’t…” Temple took another step back. Then another. “I can’t control it!”

“No, please. Temple, you are… Just calm down,” Gilbert said as quietly as he could muster, but this reaction felt completely off, and it was scaring him. He took a step towards the thief who still stared at him with wild eyes.

And then Temple turned and ran towards the door, tore it open, and disappeared.

“No!” Gilbert ran after him into the dark stairwell. “Stop!”

But the stairwell was quiet and gloomy, and Temple didn’t respond. Heart beating frantically, Gilbert put a hand on the bannister and one on the wall and ran down, hoping the thief was hidden in the darkness and could be caught, but he ran all the way to the dark street unchallenged and stood there, barefoot in the icy rain, breath heaving in his throat. He’d been an idiot. He had been so careful to keep words of love out of it at all times, so he didn’t scare him, didn’t make him feel trapped and out of his depth.

It was ridiculous, though. Because every time Temple had moaned ‘I trust you’, Gilbert would bet his life he was actually saying ‘I love you’. Why was he not allowed to say it then? Why!

And then the pain and fear of loss turned to hot fury in a matter of seconds. “Come back when you are done being a coward!” he bellowed down the empty night-clad street.

But nobody answered him.