Maya realized he was being serious, and her heart began to race. His compliments meant a lot.

"Thank you," she said and began to eat as well.

Theo joined them, picking up a spoon.

​As they ate, Maya did most of the talking, her hazel eyes sparkling as she tried to cram ten years of life into a single evening.

​"He won’t tell you, Mister Alias, but Theo became the fiercest fighter in the Lower Ward!" Maya said, waving her wooden spoon dramatically. "About four years ago, some thugs from the Upper District tried to shake down the well-workers. Theo stood right in the middle of the path and refused to move."

​"Maya, eat your stew," Theo muttered, his bronzed face darkening as he focused entirely on his bowl.

​"No, let her speak," Alias said softly, his silver eyes fixed on Theo. "I want to hear."

​"Well, they had knives," Maya continued, leaning in. "And one of them managed to catch him right across the cheek. But Theo didn’t even flinch. He threw them both into the dry ditch! That’s how he got that scar."

​Alias’s gaze drifted to the faint, pale line that ran horizontally across Theo’s left cheekbone. In the dim light of the oil lamp, the mark looked like a thread against his dark skin. 𝒇𝙧𝙚𝓮𝔀𝓮𝒃𝙣𝓸𝒗𝒆𝒍.𝙘𝒐𝒎

Without thinking, driven entirely by a sudden, aching curiosity, Alias reached across the small table.

​His pale, cool fingers brushed against the rough skin of Theo’s cheek.

​Theo froze. His breath hitched, his blue eyes locking onto Alias’s face with a sudden, intense stillness. The room seemed to lose its air.

Maya stopped talking, her spoon hovering mid-air as she watched them with a quiet, knowing look.

​Alias’s thumb gently traced the length of the scar. The skin was slightly raised, hardened by time, but underneath, the heat of Theo’s blood pulsed steadily.

​"Did it hurt?" Alias asked, his voice low and incredibly gentle. "When you received it?"

​Theo’s throat cleared with a rough, tight sound. He didn’t pull away from the cool comfort of Alias’s hand, though his fingers clenched tightly around his wooden spoon.

"A bit," he whispered, his stormy eyes softening as they searched Alias’s face. "But it healed. Most things do."

​Alias let his hand linger for one more second before slowly pulling it back, his fingers tingling with the warmth they had just stolen from the man’s skin.

"I am glad," Alias murmured, looking down at his bowl. "I do not like the thought of you being hurt."

​Theo’s chest rose and fell in a heavy, silent breath. He forced a small, raspy chuckle.

"I’m tough, Moon-boy. Takes more than a rusty knife to put me down."

"But it is not nice getting hurt, right?" He asked him. "So, if you can, try not to get hurt anymore."

Theo stared at him, his heart thumping, and he turned his face away. His heart wouldn’t calm down, not when Alias had just touched him with such a soft, lingering touch. Not when he was worried about him.

"Understood," he said, but his jaw was set tight, trying to rival the strong beat of his heart.

​By the time the meal was finished and the dishes were cleared, the heavy silence of the night had fully settled over the slums.

​Maya stood up, yawning as she stretched her arms. "I’m going to bed. It’s late, and the market opens early tomorrow." She paused at her door, looking between the two of them with a soft, mischievous smile. "Mister Alias, I’m glad you’re back. Goodnight."

​"Goodnight, Maya," Alias said.

​Once the door to her room clicked shut, the small parlor felt incredibly quiet. The oil lamp flickered on the table, casting long, dancing shadows across the clay walls.

​Theo stood up, walking over to the wooden bench in the corner. He pulled a thick, scratchy wool blanket from a chest and laid it out.

"Well," he said, not quite meeting Alias’s eyes. "Like I said, Maya has the room now. I’ve been sleeping out here on the bench. It’s... not exactly a palace bed, but it’s sturdy."

​Alias looked at the narrow bench, then at the floor, and finally at Theo.

"Where... where shall I sleep?"

​Theo rubbed the back of his neck, his shoulders tensing slightly. "I was thinking you could take the bench. I can sleep on the floor. I’ve got some spare mats, and honestly, my back is used to the hard ground anyway."

​"No," Alias said immediately, his voice soft but absolute. "You work hard every day, Theo. You should not sleep on the dirt while I rest comfortably. I do not require special comfort."

​"Alias, I’m not letting you sleep on the floor," Theo countered, stepping closer. "You’re a guest. And you’re..." He trailed off, looking at Alias’s pristine, delicate frame.

​"I am fine," Alias insisted. He walked over to the bench and sat down on the edge of it.

It was narrow, barely wide enough for one large man, but for Alias, it was plenty of space. He looked up at Theo, his silver eyes completely clear of any hidden motives, filled only with a simple, pure logic.

"The bench is wide enough. If we both lie on our sides, we can share it. That way, neither of us has to sleep on the cold floor."

​Theo’s entire body went rigid.

​He stared at Alias, his heart suddenly hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. Share the bench?

To Alias, it was a perfectly logical distribution of resources—two bodies, one elevated surface, zero people on the dirt. He didn’t understand the physical proximity, the way the heat of their bodies would press together in the dark, or the absolute torture it would be for Theo to lie inches away from the moon-white skin he had spent ten years dreaming about.

​"Alias..." Theo began, his voice hoarse. "I don’t think that’s a good idea."

​"Why?" Alias tilted his head, his silver hair cascading over his shoulder. "Do you not want to sleep near me?"

​The raw, vulnerable question sliced right through Theo’s defenses. He looked at the quiet hope in Alias’s eyes—the silent plea not to cast him away.

​Theo let out a slow, defeated sigh, his shoulders slumping.

"It’s not that," he muttered, turning his face away to hide the deep crimson flush creeping up his neck. "Fine. But don’t complain if I kick you in my sleep."