He was fidgeting. Really fidgeting, like Cass had never seen him do before. Riot, who had stood in front of Granny Lu without flinching. Riot, who had growled at professional bad people to make them go away... He was standing here in Lilac’s room, looking at the floor, twisting his fingers, unable to get a full sentence out.
Because he’d bought something pretty and kept it in his pocket and been embarrassed about it this whole time.
Cass looked down at the silver in his hands. He thought about home. About the meditation beads that belonged to everyone, passed from hand to hand, communal property. About the robes that were assigned based on size, not choice. About Brother Matthias explaining that personal possessions encouraged attachment, encouraged ego, encouraged all the things that kept him from transcendence.
Nothing had ever been just his. Not really. Not ever.
His chest was doing a tight thing. Too tight. But not bad-tight. A different kind.
“You bought this for me,” he said. His voice came out strange. “Before. When you were already—when we were—”
“Yeah.” Riot’s voice was quiet. He still wasn’t looking up. “Told you it was weird.”
“It’s not weird.” The words came out too fast, too loud. Cass clutched the silver tighter. “It’s—I’ve never—” He couldn’t find the right words. There weren’t right words. “Nothing’s ever been just mine before.”
Riot finally looked at him.
Cass didn’t know what his own face was doing, but whatever it was made Riot’s expression shift. The embarrassment faded into something softer. Something careful.
“It’s yours,” Riot said simply. “Just yours. Nobody else’s.”
The tight thing in Cass’s chest cracked open a little.
“I want to put it on.” The words came out fierce. He heard himself and flushed. “I mean—is that okay? Can I—but I want to fix my hair first. It’s such a mess and this is so pretty and I want to look—I want to look right. When I wear it.”
“Yeah, princess. Of course.”
Cass looked around for—he didn’t even know. A brush. A comb. Something. He was about to say they should check the bathroom when Riot held up a hand.
“Hold on. Stay there.”
He disappeared. Cass heard the front door open and close. He sat on the bed, turning the silver over and over in his hands, his heart doing strange things in his chest. Riot came back out of breath, color still high in his cheeks, with a handful of small blue flowers clutched in his fist.
“Cornflowers,” he said. Like that explained anything. “They grow along the fence. I thought—for your braids. If you wanted.”
He was holding out wildflowers. He hadrun outsideto pick wildflowers for Cass’s hair.
Cass’s eyes were burning. He blinked hard.
“They’re so blue,” he said, because he had to say something.
Riot found a comb in Lilac’s bathroom and he climbed onto the bed behind Cass and started working through the tangles with slow, careful strokes.
It felt...
Cass didn’t have words for how it felt. Good. More than good. Riot’s fingers in his hair, gentle and patient, not pulling, not hurting. The soft scrape of the comb. The warmth of Riot’s body behind him.
“You’re good at this,” Cass said. His voice came out quiet. Shy.
“I had four sisters.” Riot’s voice was just as quiet. “Before. They made me practice until I got it right.”
Cass didn’t ask more. He knew what pushing on doors did.
“Okay.” Riot’s hands stilled. “It should be good now. Do you want to do the braids, or—?”
“One each.” Cass turned enough to see him. “You do one, I do one?”
Riot smiled a weird smile, sort of lopsided. “Yeah. Okay.”
