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The streets were colder that night than they had been all Harvestmere. The lively weekend parties that were typical of the Arainai estate were notably absent, replaced only by the occasional echo of a game of Wicked Grace somewhere in the distance.
Taliesen lay next to Zevran on their bed, watching the moonlight cast dark shadows onto the back wall of the room. A basin in the corner, still steeped in blood, stood as a testament to the events that had unfolded. A linen shirt, neglected, stained, and marinating in her gore, awaited the attention that neither could muster.
Seven times had Taliesen washed his hands that evening, yet Zevran still flinched when they touched his skin.
“Don’t,” Zevran said, his voice carrying the weight of his exhaustion. Taliesen withdrew his hand as if it had touched hot coals. An hour had passed since their return from Eoman's trial, yet in the quiet aftermath, they lay side by side, trapped in a silence burdened by unspoken words.
Her presence in that apartment was so palpable, it was almost as though she were lying between them still. In every corner - every cupboard - she was there, her belongings still intermingled with theirs. Before tonight, the trio had found solace in these walls. It was their place in the world. Their sanctuary.
Now, it felt like a grave.
Rinna's essence still lingered in the air - a trace of her perfume, that musky rose she would dab on her neck and leave on their lips when they felt alone. It was a wonder there was so much sentiment here, in a place where sentiment was so explicitly forbidden. Each item carried its own memory, some fonder than others, but now guilt poisoned it all.
“Can I at least light a candle?” Taliesen asked.
“No.” Zevran’s answer was firm. He could not bear to look at any of it.
Frustrated, Taliesen sat up and moved to the end of the bed, fixating on the basin. “We had no choice."
“We did.”
“When have we ever had a choice?" Taliesen argued. "It was a test. We had to do it.”
“We have always had a choice.”
“And some choices are better than others, Zev. Everything we did was to survive. If you want to throw in the towel now then so be it.”
As Taliesen got up to leave, Zevran was gripped with a surge of dread. His heart began to pound, and the room suddenly felt unbearably cold to him.
“Don’t go,” Zevran begged, his voice betraying a hint of vulnerability. Taliesen hesitated in the open doorway, the distant laughter in the corridor providing an uncomfortable contrast to the misery within.
Taliesen clenched his jaw, torn between his sense of duty and the disquieting realisation that perhaps Eoman's reservations about Zevran held some merit. But that was a conversation for another day; the thought of leaving Zevran in such a state proved unbearable for him.
The door clicked shut and the room went dark once more. Without a word, Taliesen returned to the bed.
“I didn’t want it to end this way either,” he confessed after a moment of silence. He wrapped an arm around Zevran from behind, and this time, Zevran did not flinch.
“If you were asked to kill me, would you do it?” Zevran asked suddenly, his question hanging in the air as Taliesen considered its intention.
“Well I wouldn’t be happy about it, but...” he began.
“But?" Zevran repeated, disappointed but not surprised. A sense of frustration coloured his words. "Then what is the point? Of any of this?”
“There is no point. But a pointless life doesn't have to be joyless. I like spending it with you.”
“So that’s it? Your only ambition is to survive? And to enjoy me while it lasts?”
“Yes,” Taliesen affirmed. For a long time Zevran said nothing, leaving Taliesen wondering whether that answer was acceptable.
Hostility was the last thing Taliesen needed from this, especially now. Despite disagreeing with Zevran's all-or-nothing approach to life, he had no wish to create a rift, since he knew their differences made them stronger. They were a team to rival other Crows. All he wanted was to be with Zevran, now more than ever, and for as long as House Arainai would allow it.
“Don't shut me out,” Taliesen pleaded, his hand cupping Zevran's shoulder. “We can work through this together... think back to our training. You can't let your feelings for her fester. I'll worry about you if you do." His lips grazed across Zevran's back before laying a tender kiss. "I know how much you loved her-"
“Stop,” Zevran interrupted. "Do not call it that. Just-... just stop."
"Stop what?"
"Stop talking." Feeling sick, Zevran's hand moved instinctively to his stomach. "Please."
“Alright, I won't mention it again if you just promise me you'll work through this. You're so talented, Zev. I don't want you to lose yourself to feelings you can control.”
“But... I don’t feel anything anymore. There is nothing left to work through.”
Taliesen shifted with intense discomfort, unsettled by Zevran's words and altogether unconvinced that this would not mark the start of a dangerous line of thinking. "Don't shut me out," he said, voice gentler now. "You're worrying me."
“Taliesen,” Zevran said firmly, his tone a clear warning against further probing.
“I’m sorry... I-" Taliesen removed his hand from Zevran's shoulder, hesitant to touch him but longing for his warmth. He missed him, wherever he had gone. "I just want you to feel better.”
"How can I feel better? I told you," Zevran replied. “I feel nothing.”