Temple leaned back in Gilbert’s embrace as they stood at the stove, as he had done so many times in the last year. “We’re celebrating what?” he smiled.

“An important anniversary,” Gilbert stated.

With a small stab of worry that he had missed something important you were supposed to do in a relationship with someone you loved, Temple twisted to look at Gilbert. But he was clearly having fun for some enigmatic reason, so it didn’t seem like he had gotten something wrong. “The anniversary of what?” he asked.

“Today, it is exactly one year since you cooked for the first time,” Gilbert grinned.

With a huff, Temple turned in his embrace. “Why do you remember the date of that?”

“Because you fried bitterleaf bread and it was on the first of Leafbreak month. Just stuck in my mind. Don’t question my genius.” Gilbert quickly stole a kiss and turned Temple around again to face the stove.

“I never question you genius. So, what’s that?” Temple pointed to the purple root on the cutting board. It looked a bit like a hand-sized squid.

“Dinroot.”

“Oh. I like them. I didn’t know they were that ugly, though…”

“I know you like them, and you are going to cook one because you have to set fire to it to evaporate the poison before eating,” Gilbert explained, poured oil into the pan in front of Temple and put it over the fire.

“Poison! Are you kidding?”

“Nope.”

“How badly am I going to poison us?”

“Not at all, don’t worry. And even if you did, it would just mean we will be happy there are two shitters in the home for a day or something. So, here.” He turned the pan so Temple could grab the handle.

“We’re celebrating the anniversary of my first cooking escapade by setting fire to food...” He twirled the oil in the pan, eyeing the root that could potentially ruin any plans for intimacy.

“Remember the good old days and celebrate how far you’ve come,” Gilbert suggested. “So, the worst that can happen is that the oil catches fire before you’re ready. So just to get you comfortable with that, I will set fire to it. Alright?”

Temple nodded a little suspiciously, and Gilbert set the warm oil on fire.

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“Good grief. I’m happy you aren’t teaching me knife fighting or something,” Temple exclaimed. “Worst that can happen is that I stab you like this...”

“Stop whining, it’s not like you were using that liver for anything...”

Temple laughed. “Alright. Lid on. Teach me how to evaporate intimacy-destroying poison!”

*

The meal was fully edible and with no side effects, and Temple felt a stab of pride. It may be for fun that Gilbert did this, but he was right. The last year had moved them both far. But they had moved forward together, and even when Temple occasionally panicked in the beginning, Gilbert was always patient, always fair, always honest.

Looking back, he had panicked at the strangest things. The first time they’d had a disagreement, Temple had thought Gilbert wanted him gone for a few mad moments. There were a lot of adjustments to make, but they made them, and he had never felt this free. This safe.

They worked together on finding any traces of the cult of Rakkos, and the priestesses of Merea had even agreed to help, although it had been a strained relationship with the goddess’ church in the beginning. Gaining their trust had seemed to Temple like what Gilbert had been through with him.

They finished cleaning up after the meal, and when they had gone to the workshop where they usually spent their evenings, Gilbert handed him a package wrapped in paper and string.

“That’s not fair. You invented an anniversary without telling me!” Temple grinned.

“I know. I’m sorry. But it was because I saw this and wanted to give it to you but then I saw the dinroots and then this was more fun.”

Temple took the package. “I’m inventing the next anniversary then.” He pushed Gilbert into a soft chair and sat down to straddle him while opening the gift.

“It’s a good idea,” Gilbert mused, hands on Temple’s thighs. “Now that we have over a year to look back on, we should celebrate.”

Temple unwrapped an elegant box full of expensive sheets of silky paper. It was smooth under his fingertips and had a slight sheen to it.

“I just thought you could use some nice paper for the Locksmith’s messages,” Gilbert said. “It’s not an uncommon quality, all the merchant aristocrats use it, so it’ll be hard to trace to you. But it would look quite handsome. If you want, of course.”

Temple looked up to catch Gilbert’s gaze. The Watcher had invented an anniversary, just to give him a gift, and his heart almost ached a little with the joy of it. “You’re right. The Locksmith should improve. Thank you.”

He had been unable to leave his profession behind, but now he entered the facilities and houses he would normally have plundered and left a calling card from ‘The Locksmith’, telling them how their defences were inadequate and that he was willing to assist them in upgrading. It had become a fashion phenomenon among the wealthy, and people considered it proof of importance if the Locksmith visited them.

A portion of the money he got from this work was funnelled into the search for any emergence of the cult of the god of greed. “I’ve been working with the aristocrats for a long time, but it’s a weird change of pace that they know it now,” Temple mused.

“You are Sonderport’s only celebrity locksmith mystery. And I’m very proud of you for changing pace.”

“I still gain entry illegally, Watcher.” Temple ran his fingers into Gilbert’s hair and pressed against him.

“Oh, you want to play Watchers and thieves tonight, I see,” Gilbert grinned, and his hands slid over to grab Temple’s backside. “You know I love you, right?”

“I know. You know I love you too?”

“I know,” Gilbert smiled.

Temple bit Gilbert’s lip and made him gasp softly before they lost themselves in a kiss.