Archive of Our Own ^beta

The ‘Captain’ arrived in the deep of winter.

When the animals huddled in deep their barns and the cold winds howled through the eaves of their log cabin. Granny ventured out even less than she ever did. Ororon knows she could stand the cold, but Ororon doesn’t mind running errands, so she lets him go do the shopping.

He still emerges from their house up in the hills wrapped in no less than three layers. It’s a bit hard to bend his arms like this, but Granny never lets him go without burying him in two scarves and a coat. And a shawl on top right before he steps out. He might look a little ridiculous, but Ororon understands, this winter feels colder than the last. It's a cold that worms into your bones, windchill bringing the temperatures way down below freezing, perhaps Granny was right to make him look like a rice roll after all.

He makes his way down the winding slope that leads from their house to town, clasping his gloved hands together for warmth and looking up at the falling snow. There will be a storm later tonight. Ororon hurries with his hood pulled up.

The town's general store is filled with Mualani's chatter when he walks in; a quick glance reveals that Kinich is her victim right now as she chatters away, Kinich replying with quiet grunts and occasionally a few words of his own. Ororon ducks into the store's shelves, shopping basket in tow.

Kinich is gone by the time Ororon emerges, he spent longer than he meant to because he was debating which bean to buy then just ended up deciding to get them both. His basket makes a heavy thump when he sets it down.

“Ororon!” Mualani greets, beaming at him with the force of the sun. Ororon squints. “Did you hear about the news? We have a new farmer!”

“Oh,” Ororon says blankly, waiting for his brain to process the information. It has been a long while since someone new joined the town. “When did they get in?”

“He came off the train last Thursday,” Mualani says energetically, practically bouncing in place on her toes, “Mavuika went to talk to him and welcome him. Pity that he came here in such bad weather, I hope it doesn’t scare him off. It’s so nice here in the summer!”

She would know, Mualani loves surfing. Ororon prefers to stay inside until the sun goes down in the blinding heat.

Ororon shakes his head, “That farm has been empty for so long, a person wouldn’t just buy that and come all the way out here then run away with their tail between their legs in a week. I wonder…” He trails off.

“Mmm, I think you're right.” Mualani hums, “But—,” a voice that must be Nuu’s calls her from the back, “ahh, nevermind, if you run into him let me know, he hasn't come into town much since he arrived, a bit odd, but maybe he's just shy. We're all so welcoming though, I hope he drops by the pub at least once before spring.”

Ororon nods mutely. He doubts he'll run into the new farmer. Although…he looks at his vegetables. Maybe it wouldn't hurt to swing by and change that.

The empty plot west of town has been left to the wild animals and nature to reclaim for as long as Ororon can remember. If he asked Granny Itztli she would probably remember which villager it belonged under, but evidently, if that someone had descendants, they never came to claim their inheritance.

Until now.

With the sun a dusty mirage through the clouds, Ororon shuffles along the path leading to the bus that isn't currently running. It's a fickle service, and in the winter the company opts to not even run the bus up here.

The snow is deep and Ororon is huffing by the time he gets to the end of the path where it opens into the fields. His breath blowing out in plumes before disappearing.

The familiar tangle of trees and grass spreads out before him, with the cabin on the side finally alive with smoke flowing steadily from the chimney. It's windows glow gently with light from inside.

Good, what Mualani said was true. Although Ororon didn't doubt her, it was just hard to believe. He had grown to used to this abandoned place, wondering if he could move here one day.

But now he doesn't have to wonder about that. Ororon crunches his way through the snow to the steps leading up to the door. There are footsteps leading from the door so there’s a chance they might not be in.

And he was proven right, no one answers when he knocks.

If not the town, where could they have gone in this weather?

Ororon pondered this, but yet he was content to wait for a bit, standing on the porch under the thin sunlight and staring out over the spare scattering of cedar trees, topped festively with snow. It made him think of frosting covered buneiros, and he resolved to ask Granny to make some when he got back. Eventually, he was lost in thought, ears perked to catch the mesmerizing sound of snow landing on soft snow. Quiet and gentle.

The crunching of snow soon approached, his ears registering it before Ororon himself did.

“What are you doing here?” A voice asks brusquely. Rough, but not unkind.

Ororon looks over, oh, there is a man standing there. He blinks dazedly, “Daydreaming about buñuelos.”

“...” Goes the voice, Ororon waits patiently, gazing upon the tall, darkly dressed man with dark hair that fell in silky locks down to his waist. Ororon thought he was emo, but it looks like he has a competitor in town now.

“...what are buñuelos.” He finally asks, in a flat tone, and Ororon notes to himself that it was a gravelly one, a voice that measured itself carefully and gave no more of itself than the owner liked.

“Oh, they're these warm, buttery, soft cakes that my Granny makes. You add a little frosting sugar on the top and they are great with jam.” Ororon explains, perking up minutely from being frozen over on this stranger's porch.

“...I take it you're the new farmer living here now?” He asks belatedly, realizing his rudeness. He points a thumb at the house they're standing on the porch of.

“Indeed.” The man before him inclines his head. “I apologize for not coming into town to greet everyone, the weather has been inclement.”

For someone of his stature, it doesn't seem like he would have too much trouble traversing the snow, and he was already out and about, evidently, but Ororon wasn't one to call others out like that.

Ororon nods once in acknowledgement, then hurriedly starts shaking his head instead, “Oh no no, it's alright, we don't expect anything like that from you, in fact, we should also make an effort to welcome you anyway.” He pauses for a breath. “Well, if it were any other season I would offer you some veggies from my garden but…” He looks at his grocery laden basket.

“Actually, take these as a gift! It's rude of me to show up unexpectedly like this.” He pushes a bag of beans to the man, who takes it with a bemused air. “Those are really good in a chili stew! But either way, my name is Ororon.” Ororon clasps one hand over his heart, was it awkward? Probably, but he can't say he didn't try. “I welcome you.”

The taller man chuckles shortly, the severe features that Ororon can see softening, “Thank you very much for your welcome, I go by the ‘Captain' in the company I have kept in the recent past, please, feel free to use it as well.”

“Captain…” Ororon murmurs, mostly to himself. Tasting the word in his mouth, he decides he likes it when it's applied to this tall, dark stranger.

“Well, Mr. Captain, I'll be on my way now, if you ever want to stop by for a meal, my Granny and I live up on the hill north of the town center, I'm sure she would be happy to have you join us for food sometime.”

“...I will consider it. Thank you for offering, Ororon, you are very kind.”

Ororon shakes his head from where he had stepped back to the snow. Wow, the Captain really is very tall. And broad too, much broader than Ororon himself.

“No need to thank me too much, when we're out here, we're a community, you're one of us now, Granny's taught me that.”

“...” The Captain pauses. “Thank you all the same, I appreciate it, Ororon.”

Ororon gives a short nod, and turns, heading back for the road home. He's bothered the newcomer enough, he thinks.

He does turn around at the crest of the hill, however, to see the Captain remaining where he left him, standing still as a statue against the elements. It should have come across as strange to Ororon, seeing a man braving the cold and wind just to make an impressive tableau like the Captain does in his dark velvety looking finery and furs, but Ororon appreciates it, the Captain paints an striking image against the pure white snow and wilderness. As though he tamed it all just by existing in the vicinity.

It's only after his second meeting with the Captain that Ororon starts to wonder about the man's peculiarities. To start, he wears a mask covering the bottom of his face and with the wooly hat he had on too, Ororon could barely see him that first time. He's gonna be honest though, it kind of does it for him, it's a little mysterious, a little dangerous feeling, and Ororon doesn't get that much in a sleepy valley.

On one blisteringly bright morning that was only bright because Ororon still had not yet gone to sleep, and in reality it was actually quite gloomy out, he found himself on the pier watching the dark, rolling clouds.

This early, the pale sunlight filters its way through the gaps in the clouds in ever-shifting slants. The horizon stretches on and on. Ororon could see the fluffy clouds in the distance fading into a wall of grey and his ears flicked listening to the muttering of the sea.

Other than the call of gulls and the lapping of the waves, all was quiet. Auntie Atea wasn't even awake yet, and she's an early riser. He huddles in his fleece poncho, thoughts tracing old paths of doubt and looping their way back to reassurances. Sometimes the voices were loud and it took a bit of fatigue and the numbing of his nose and eyes staring at the horizon to quiet them.

Loud, thumping footsteps break Ororon's reverie. He straightens up just a little: he recognizes these ones.

“Ah…Mr. Captain, it is you.”

The Captain inclines his head. “Ororon, it is quite early, I haven't seen another soul on this dock at this hour until you.”

That brings a tendril of humor into Ororon's frozen facial muscles, and he's somewhat warmed by the Captain's familiarity and candir with him. “You also figured out the best hours to avoid everyone. Don't worry, I'm not out here often. I'm not a very good fisher.”

“Oh no, I'm not worried at all.”

The Captain casts his line out, the whir and catch adding a pleasant background noise to Ororon's morning. He's too sleepy to control his ears and they flick this way and that, capturing all the minute sounds around him.

“In the winter…” Ororon starts, eyes closing. “Sometimes blue whales come by here and you can hear their calls.”

“Do you like it? I can't say I've ever had the opportunity to hear it myself.”

“It's rare to hear their calls above water, and underwater, the decibel is so low human ears cannot detect it. I just happen to be able to hear them because of these.” He gestures to his bat ears. “I wonder what it feels like, to live such a solitary life, but still knowing they are not alone. They can hear each other even up to a thousand miles away..” He closes his eyes, recalling the reverberations, deep and resonating when they reach his ears. “It is haunting, their calls, their absolute belief in knowing what they must do and being content with it. I just sometimes wish I also knew. If there was a creature who could judge us humans for not knowing what we are meant to do, I feel cowed knowing of those whales.”

“...They merely follow instinct, it has been driven out of us, and we look to others to eventually understand what our purpose is.” A has bit his line, as the Captain pulls on the fishing rod and starts reeling it in. “At the end of it all, I hope we find an adequate answer.”

A red salmon flops onto the deck, flailing and gasping, the Captain quickly kills it with a strike to its head and bleeds it out. The blood mixes with the water on the deck, and will be washed away when the storm makes landfall.

The Captain doesn't make an appearance at the snow festival, although Ororon is sure he would be great at ice fishing. At the same time, however, Ororon can't imagine him amongst the crowd of villagers, dark and foreboding, together yet apart.

It is not yet time, Ororon thinks. But next year, surely.

Spring comes in small rivers and waterfalls winding their way through the soil underfoot. Ororon catches the swallows and robins returning from their migrations. They flutter and dart between the snow laden branches and play in the melting puddles. He sets out seeds in the bird feeders again.

With the onset of spring means planting new crops and anticipating their growth. Each and every produce Ororon treats almost like his own child, including giving them names. Also they happen to be highly specific ones.

And this spring they also happen to follow a certain theme.

“‘Crispy Radish for the Captain’ you're growing nice and strong. ‘If Captain Likes Sweet Lettuce’ you look wonderful today. ‘The Captain's Juicy Tomatoes’ you’re getting plumper by the day.”

He stills, crouched as he is in his garden, amongst the rows of vegetables. It has been a month into spring, and the glimpses he gets of the Captain are like when he bites into a soup made of the radishes Ororon has grown himself: hearty, it warms his heart for days as he carries around the memory.

“Ororon, it is good to see you.” Was what the Captain had said. He didn't step close enough to clasp but close enough for Ororon to fancy he could smell his scent of fir and smoke.

“Likewise, Captain!” Was all his brain had the capacity to generate. He had stood, content to wait for anything else, before the Captain had given a short nod, and continued on.

“It's normal to wait for someone else to speak first ‘Perhaps Captain's Favorite’, but I…” He blushes, all to himself. “I could listen to the Captain talk forever, he just has such a nice voice, it sounds like the crunch of snow and the night wind.”

No response came forward to his words, but Ororon felt happy to have spoken them to his veggies, whom he loved so much.

“It's hard to tell what he's feeling, but I think I'm getting a better read on him. Just the other day, I think he was smiling.”

“Ororon!” Comes the call from in the house. Ororon straightens up, he bids his veggies a goodbye, promising he’ll be back soon, before heading in. The first thing he sees is Granny, still wrapped up in her knitted cardigan, her hair mussed but pinned back, at the front door. Then, it is easy to spot the Captain just beyond the threshold, towering over Granny’s small form.

“Captain!” Ororon couldn’t help but say, surprised. He is surprised at himself and he could feel Granny send him an amused look.

“Good day, Ororon.” And Ororon’s heart did a little flip at the Captain’s endearing, proper-sounding greeting.

Granny grew tired of watching him smiling dopily at the other man and sighs, “So, did you come here just to say hello, did you want to come in, or want an astral reading, or what?” Making the Captain subtly straighten up as he refocuses his attention on her.

“I wanted to gift you two of these flowers I pressed, as well as some books I brought back with me. They are novels I cherish dearly, and I bring them in thanks as Ororon had so graciously greeted me when I first arrived here.” A cloth bag laden with the heavy items is deposited in Granny’s arms, holding it easily, she takes one book out, flipping it until she reaches one of the flowers.

“Magnolias, huh…not bad.” She comments to herself. Once she returns the book to the bag, she hands it off to Ororon who dutifully takes it.

“Thank you, Th…I suppose you don’t want to use your real name, seeing as my grandson calls you Captain?”

He shifts a bit, an uncomfortable air about him, “Yes…I take it you knew my grandfather, I would like to speak with you about him, another time.”

Granny waves her hand flippantly, “Yes, yes, another time. Ororon would likely run into you out there, you can arrange a time with him. Not today, I’m busy.”

Ororon tilts his head, a little confused why she would like him to schedule it rather than herself, but it’s probably another of Granny’s great schemes, anyway. 

“Well, good to meet you then, Captain.”

“Likewise, Granny Itztli.” He nods, “I will see you around as well, Ororon.” To which Ororon responds in kind.

It’s after the door has closed and Ororon’s is lost in thought about what to gift back that he notices Granny is still watching him, a twinkle in her eye.

“Granny? What is it?”

“Hmmm, nothing.” She reaches up to ruffle his hair, which has been pretty difficult for her ever since Ororon hit his growth spurt; Ororon obligingly bends down a little for her so she can reach. “My grandson is all grown up now.”

“Huh? I haven’t grown at all for several years now, Granny.”

“Don’t worry,” She flounces her way to the stairs, no doubt to return to her study. “Now think about what you want to gift him back, my dearest grandson!”

Confused, Ororon stands below in the same spot for minutes after, wondering what’s gotten into Granny, and how she could read his mind.

But there are more pressing matters.

Matters that take infinite patience, and in all of Ororon’s twenty-one years of life, he’s earned it in spades. First in realizing that apart from the basics of mathematics and literature, he took better to hands-on activities like woodworking and gardening.

But not weaving and crocheting, anything but that. Forget history too.

Perhaps that is why the matter of the Captain’s name flees his mind as quick as the question came. There are gifts to be given and while Ororon is shy, he never shies from the chance to share his vegetables and fruits.

Blueberries go first to his Granny, so that she may use it in her scones. Sunflowers that used to line his garden in a vibrant yellow now fill the general store’s planters with enough bright summery cheer to rival Mualani’s beaming grin. Coffee beans to Xilonen for when she pulls all-nighters to finish a commission that she puzzled over for a week in her sleep.

When Ororon goes to the smithing shop to drop them off, Xilonen has just woken up from another nap and she greets him at the door, eyes drooping and tail swishing languidly behind her. “Mm? Ororon? Ah, it’s that time of year again, huh, making your rounds?

“Yes, Auntie Xilonen.” Ororon says, putting away the beans where he knows she keeps them in the kitchen.

“Heh, you’ve always been such a cute kid, be careful calling me auntie though, you’ll make me feel old.”

Ororon’s ears swivel, catching the trace of humor in her tone. “But Auntie, you don’t look old, your skin is as smooth as a summer melon’s.”

In the middle of yawn when Ororon spoke, it cuts short as Xilonen bends double laughing. “Heh, you’re a flatterer, Ororon. You’re old enough now, maybe I’ll catch you in the pub one night. You’re now that you're all grown up, you thought about finding yourself a partner?” She ruffles his head when he nears again, done with his business.

He peers up at her, ears flattened obligingly for her hand to rest on his head as she pauses. “A partner…?”

“Yeah, anyone you got your eyes on, kid? Someone to flirt with…someone to bring to your Granny so she gets overprotective and yells at them to take care of you otherwise she’ll castrate them…y’know the works of falling in love, hitting a rough patch, falling out of love and making up, allathat.”

She removes her hand, and while waiting for his response, lights a cigarette, breathing it in before leaning her head back against the door jam and blowing the smoke out the open door.

“Well…” Ororon’s ears turn this way and that, betraying his nervousness while he's thinking. “Maybe I have a crush…”

A smile creeps over Xilonen’s face, morphing into a grin stretching cheek to cheek.

“Really?!” She chortles, her free hand slapping her thigh. “Ahaha, you’re too cute kid, well, I’ll leave you to it, but if you ever need advice.” With a finger pointing at him, her expression takes on a more serious shade for a moment. “You come to me or Auntie Mavuika, your Granny means well, but she loves you too dearly to be a good judge on whoever your potential beau is, y’hear me?”

After a long moment of Xilonen’s adamant finger-pointing and staring deep into his soul, Ororon nods, hesitant.

Then he’s shooed out the door as Xilonen finishes her cigarette. He shouts a ‘Bye Auntie. to her as she flaps a hand at him in farewell. Ororon shoulders his bag and heads toward the bridge crossing back over to the town center.

The thought simmers in the back of Ororon’s mind as he hurries back up his house. Crush? Perhaps. It’s been a mere season and a half. Ororon hasn’t given it much consideration beyond idle daydreams, turning over and over the words he’d said, the actions he gave and hoped they left him a favorable impression at the very least.

But going further?

His cheeks must match the shade of the melons he’s packing as he thinks over what a relationship would entail, and his first no less! To be with such an imposing and handsome man when Ororon is just Ororon, someone who never left this town and has a few paltry skills to his name, when the Captain must have all sorts of medals and plaques in honor of him….

The only thing he must do, however, Ororon knows, is to follow through with this one plan, at least.

It has taken too many weeks and months of hard work for him to chicken out now.

So he marches out of the villa with his little vegetable cart rolling behind him. His pride and joys sit like prized gems under a canvas cloth as he carefully transports them.

The trek back down, then turn right at the path, Ororon making the same trip as before, just now the air is balmy and hot, butterflies and birds aplenty fluttering about and cicadas bringing everything to life with their buzzing. Ororon focuses on making sure his cart doesn’t run over bumps or ditches, stopping to wipe his forehead of sweat and drink from his flask at times.

Then he reaches the hill, and the road opens, idly he notices there are new buildings on the land, but he steels himself, and goes up to the door.

Seeing the Captain is like when Ororon gets up too fast from crouching and he is hit with vertigo. Overwhelmed by the sheer presence of such a sublime specimen of a man, Ororon sways a bit on the spot. Maybe the heat was getting to him after all.

“Ororon,” with a hint of concern in his normally assured voice, the Captain steps closer, taking his arm to steady him, and Ororon briefly entertains the thought of swaying his face into the man’s chest if only to get a face full of those impressive tits.

Thankfully he snaps out of this fantasy before he embarrasses himself and forces his own hand in attempting to flee to exile. “Captain!” he calls, noting how the Captain is still standing concerningly close, even allowing Ororon to lean on his arm. Ororon hopes he can use the heat and exertion to explain the flush in his cheeks, because right now he realized the crush might just be a real, palpable, thing that he has to do something about.

“Are you alright?” The Captain says, so gallantly as he practically cradles Ororon in the crook of his arm. Ororon might faint.

“I—” His mouth snaps shut as his brain attempts a flurry of words but Ororon singles one thought out. His cart! Valiantly he wrenches himself out of the Captain’s hold, scurrying over to his surprise.

“I brought something for you, Captain.” He says, stabilizing his voice as best as he can. From under the canvas Ororon unearths a melon, dubbed “Pinky Pie” round and pink and the largest one of his harvest this year.

“Here, this is for you.” He hands it to the other man.

The Captain, whose hands had come up just in time to capture the melon before it plummeted its sad death to the ground, is astonished by the heft of the monster of a fruit in his possession.

“Ororon…are you sure?” He says hesitantly.

“Yes, of course Captain! Well, I give people around town my veggies and fruits from my garden all the time. I felt you should get some too.”

He waits patiently while the older man appears to look around, as though he was coming out of a daze as well, before hurriedly inviting Ororon in.

It hits Ororon as he perches on one of the two available rough-hewn wood chairs in the cabin that the Captain is perhaps not accustomed to receiving guests.

The single room is so barebones Ororon itches to run back to his house so he could grab one of Granny's woven rugs and relieve the wooden square table from standing on the bare hardwood floor.

Still, Ororon is treated to a sight he doesn't expect, and it is unbearably endearing to boot: the Captain seems…nervous in his presence.

The only sign is how he is…hunching in on himself, as though he is making himself smaller, perhaps he is embarrassed of his living space? Ororon looks around, it is sparse, but he doesn't blame him, it hasn't been that long, maybe he doesn't have an eye for interior decoration. Ororon dreams about making it homelier.

He snaps out of his reverie when the taller man approaches, plate of cut melon in hand. And…wow, the man is just so tall and broad. The Captain had opted for just a black t-shirt and Ororon had trouble comprehending the delicious sight before him.

“Ah, right, I should wash my hands.” Ororon hops down, and hopes the cool water in the sink will help lessen the heat in his head.

It's just…wow, those bulging pecs, and bulging biceps, and he can only imagine the sculpted abs he has. Carefully Ororon steers his mind away from thinking further about the other man's body.

Swallowing past his dry throat, he goes back to his seat, deadset on getting past this as normal and calm as he can.

“Please,” the Captain gestures to the slices of melon, pink and viscous on the plate between them. “I look forward to tasting the fruit of your efforts, Ororon.”

Ororon nods, reaching forward to pick up a slice. When he bites in, his ears perk up. This is the best melon slice he's ever tasted! He continues nibbling fervently at it. Not minding the juice dripping down his fingers, sweet, decadent, and refreshing, with plenty of melon flavor. He’s outdone himself. Ororon licks up the juice on his fingers and when he's going for a drop that has run down his forearm is when he looks up.

And freezes.

The Captain has taken off the mask he perpetually has on, even in the summer. Ororon would be hard-pressed to say he's ugly, but he cannot stop himself from staring.

“Excuse me, I know my face is an unnerving sight to take in.”

“No.” Ororon cuts in. The Captain promptly shuts up, staring at Ororon instead.

Leaning closer, Ororon takes in as many details as he can. The right side of the man’s face has silvery-white scars etching canyons from chin to hairline, his right eye is a similar shade of white. Ororon’s eyes travel across the topography of his face, and the Captain lets him, still and silent.

Satisfied, Ororon leans back, “We match.”

The Captain blinks, “Hm?”

“Our eyes.” Ororon says, picking up another slice as he looks straight into the Captain’s eyes. The man really is a behemoth of an eye-candy.

“I suppose, I have never seen someone with eyes quite like yours, you’re a novelty.”

Ororon feels like a kid who got to eat all of the candy he wants. Invited into the man’s house, watched as he enjoyed the melons Ororon grew, and he told Ororon about how he got his injury to his face too. Ororon would have been content to sit and listen to him for a whole afternoon.

Eventually, they finish their treat, and the Captain rises from the table. His fingers are covered in sticky juices that he goes to wash in the sink.

“Take as long of a break as you need, Ororon, and thank you, for your generosity, I will make sure to savor the rest of your gifts thoroughly.” Cap and mask back on, his face shrouded in shadow, he leaves to take care of business on the land.

Ororon lingers a while longer after he's alone. Taking in the neatly made bed with the corners tucked in tight and the covers folded down a prim and exact amount. The kitchenette is tiny; Ororon leaves the cabbages and melons in a basket designated for produce.

He does not at all ponder what it would be like to wake up to see that man every morning, in such a spartan cabin as this.

With that thought not happening, Ororon lets himself out, wondering if he should bid goodbye first.

As he walks towards the sound of wood chopping, however, he soon learns his mistake.

Skin, skin that went as far his eyes can see. Glistening under the sun from perspiration and flexing over muscles and fat. The Captain was shining , every portion of him moving in concert as he chopped wood with his axe. Each swing rolled through his feet planted far apart to stabilize him, into the arch of his back and through to his arms as the axe swung above his head, and terminated in the definitive thunk into the log, splitting it perfectly in two.

Ororon could feel it, he flushed beet red up to his ears watching this play out before his eyes. A shiver running from tailbone to the top of his ears as his ears listened fervently to catch every miniscule grunt of exertion from the Captain.

He was so objectively beautiful that Ororon was hurt by it.

 ཐི ₍^. ̞.^₎ ཋྀ 

Ororon was behaving, he was so good. Everyday he tended to his crops and started preparing for the autumn harvest. The promise of yams, artichokes, and beets, and the desserts that Granny would make from the cranberries and pumpkins kept his mind off a certain someone for a time.

Then night falls, and Ororon is at mercy to his imagination and his right hand. It was a time, in the height of summer, the cicadas and crickets humming outside his window late into the night as Ororon lay sweltering in his bed and kept thinking back to that cabin alone in the fields, and wondering what it would be like to be taken to the spartan bed tucked away in the corner. He never thought he would return to the torture of adolescence puberty so soon, but here he was, and he couldn’t even make too much a ruckus, fearing Granny would hear.

After another sleepless night, Ororon takes one of Granny’s charms with him, and under the cover of night sets out for the caves with his bow and pickaxe. The caves aren’t that treacherous, but the town does put out bounties when some of the creatures grow out of hand, and people like Mualani, Kachina, and Kinich when he was here often delved in for some light work, and work up some sweat too while they were at it.

Ororon isn’t too much of a fighter, but having learned archery as a kid, he figured it was a good way to keep his skills honed and a good change of pace every now and then. Granny always had charms on hand to give him a little protection whenever he decided to head down there.

The town was just soon settling down when he stepped out and started heading over.

Lights were still on, and they cast a warm orange glow on the ground as Ororon passed. When he lifts his head, he can see bats flying overhead, their silhouettes blending into the dark sky, but he can hear the flap of their wings.

It's with relief that he reaches the caves, glowing from within with the few oil lamps lit there and the elevator shaft, contemplating which floor to go down to. It's with a start that he realizes the elevator had been down at floor thirty before he pressed the button.

Who could it be? Ororon stands there, contemplating what he should do. While he originally thought he could have an easy time exploring the higher floors, perhaps find a few treasures or valuable ores, it's rare that someone is down here this late, in fact he's never run into anyone else, so either it's someone new or just a break in patterns.

Could it be…? Ororon shakes his head, best not to get his hopes up.

But his finger does linger over the ‘30’ button. It is not the deepest anyone has ever gone, and he could choose a lower floor because someone has been to ‘35’ already, but thirty is certainly the deepest Ororon would have ever gone.

Weighing his options carefully, he did a couple more stretches and a few practice shots with his bow, then, nodding to himself, Ororon steps into the elevator and hits the button for thirty-five.

Watching the numbers count up, he takes a deep breath on two counts and exhales on one. By the time he reaches the thirty-fifth floor, his heartbeat is as calm as it’s going to get, and he’s ready.

Granny had him learn from Auntie Chasca how to use a bow, apparently she's the best archer in the town, and while Ororon hadn't doubted it when he was younger, he was mostly fixated on how nice and patient she was. Her voice was deep and calming, and just like Auntie Xilonen she sometimes smoked, which just gave her some of that weirdly mysterious aura. She's long since gone to the city now, although she visits often, and Xilonen goes to see her sometimes too.

Ororon keeps her lessons at the forefront of his mind now as he steadies his breathing, tracking the movement of bumbling smoke guardians and those oddly large malicious bugs underground.

He hadn't yet spotted another soul, and it was just his luck that the bats usually left him alone. They have an understanding, and he's glad, because he doubts bow and arrow is an effective way to deal with a horde of bats, and he prefers not to be swinging aimlessly with the dagger he has in his belt.

He hasn't yet encountered another soul in the vicinity. But as Ororon descends to the next floor his delicate senses tell him otherwise just as he's sent flying to the floor.

The wind is knocked out of him with a thud and a heavy body holds him down. Ororon struggles to reach for his dagger, letting little bat calls to get a feel for the darkness, blindly, he reaches for their face.

Once he feels the mask, he's gasping out, letting up all the struggle . “Captain!!?”

The person above pauses, letting go of the wrist they had held captive. “Ororon.” A lamp is uncovered further and held high. It is indeed the Captain, dark and imposing as he emerges from the gloomy dark.

Ororon tries not to focus on the feeling of that body, heavy and voluptuous on his own, all of the curves of fat and muscle pressing on him, and instead of the unlikely circumstances they've found themselves in.

“So…” He starts, dusting off as the larger man stays kneeled over him like a godly dom. And Ororon was at his mercy. “You come here often, Captain?”

The man stares down at him in silence, his expression indecipherable without even a flicker in his eyes to give Ororon a hint as to what he is thinking.

“Yes, I suppose so.” He says, straightening up to his full height, Ororon could spy the hilt of a sword by his side.

“Please, get up.” The Captain intones, a strain to his voice.

“Ah, sorry.” Ororon stands, dusting himself off and checking that his bow and arrows didn’t take too much of a beating.

Meanwhile, the Captain stands stockstill before him, before seemingly coming to a decision with himself.

“I need your help, Ororon.” He states, simply.

Ororon glances at him in shock. “Ah? What could I possibly help you with, Captain?” Farming? Using the Internet? How to get in Granny's good graces so they receive her blessings for a good future?

Before answering Ororon's question, he takes a moment to gather his thoughts, as is his habit, Ororon is starting to realize.

“I am looking for specific ores, you see.” He takes out a piece of paper from his jacket to show Ororon.

“Frozen tears…fire quartz…I have never heard of these before, and Auntie Xilonen has all the gems in the world on her shelves.” Ororon draws back to look at the other man. “Have you found any yet?”

“Not yet.” He pauses. “I suspect they are on floors lower than this one, it would be wonderful to have you cover my back while we fight those monsters that dwell in these caves.”

Now that gives Ororon a reason to pause this time. “Are you sure?” Ororon asks, his archery is good and his reflexes because of his bat senses are pretty up there but….

“Worry not, I will protect you, no harm will come to you.”

Flushing bright red, Ororon grabs his hood to quickly hide away his furious blushing. Take a guy out on a date first, sheesh… He thinks to himself.

“Do I hear a yes or a no?”

“Ah! Yes, sir!” Ororon snaps to attention, his spine ramrod straight.

The Captain hesitates, then coughs into his fist. “Apologies, it is an old habit, I will try not to speak to you like you are one of my officers.”

“Right, lead the way, sir. I've got your back, you can count on me.”

The Captain chuckles, although it is muffled by his mask like the rest of his speech, Ororon feels the glow of pride from being the cause of it. “No need to call me sir, that is far more formal than what we have between us. We are comrades-in-arms now.”

“And friends.”

Before descending down the ladder, the Captain turns his head to regard him with his better eye. The low light reflects off it for just a moment in the dark. “Yes, and friends.”

 ཐི ₍^. ̞.^₎ ཋྀ 

It’s a wonder that the Captain only has one fully working eye, because he doesn’t move like he does; he is a whirlwind on the battlefield of these icy mines. He wields a sword and is adept at disarming his opponents with heavy blows and sneaky strikes to break their guard, creating openings for Ororon to finish them off.

They have to work as a team, and Ororon steadying slips into a rhythm that benefits them both. He sticks to covering the Captain’s weaker side, immobilizing approaching enemies so that he has an easier time dancing around them. He is the Captain’s shadow as the man becomes the harbinger of doom for the frost jellies, dust sprites, and skeletons that inhabit the mines.

At least it’s much brighter here, so Ororon does not have to use his echolocation as much. He still uses it to warn bats from approaching, however.

Meanwhile, the Captain slices the skeleton's heads from their vertebrae and lazily bats at dust sprites, stoic in the face of the monsters. Ororon is sure poets would wax poetic about his dark figure, stepping so surely on the slippery floors with such grace it is as though he is a prince at a waltz, lost to the music in his head.

Ororon shakes his head to dispel the mesmerized staring that he fell into for a moment, and aims another at a ghost, waiting for it to materialize.

They call it when they find a frozen tear, it is a cold, pale blue in Ororon’s palm, and it feels oddly wet, but does not melt in response to his body heat.

 ཐི ₍^. ̞.^₎ ཋྀ 

It’s the next time they are delving deeper and deeper, into the lava caves, that something goes wrong.

These inky-black monsters…are far smarter, it is unclear whether they are closer to humans than animals or monsters and it makes Ororon uneasy. But there is barely any time to consider these moralities as they swarm upon the Captain and him as soon as they lay eyes on them.

His hesitation gets him a faceful of a spell that leaves him dizzy, falling down to his knees as his vision and he sees double. Ororon prays that it isn't the end for him, reaching for Granny's charm and preparing to break it and hoping it’ll give him and the Captain enough time to escape.

When he looks up to search for the man, he gets dizzier, but he could fuzzily make him out with several of those shadowy creatures surrounding him. This is dire…as he's trying to regain his senses, Ororon spies green orbs out the corner of his vision flying towards him and he dives for cover behind a rock.

Everything hurts, grit and gravel gathering in the crevices of his skin and his knees are definitely banged up. Blood seeps down from a wound on his head, and the fairy they found as a companion cannot keep up the onslaught they found themselves in. Ororon has to take out the sorcerer now. Or they're both fucked.

His arm is shaky as he lifts up his bow at the sorcerer that has turned its attention to the surrounded man, praying to the Wayob, to any god out there willing to listen, he lets go of the bowstring.

A pained groan rings out and Ororon prays he heard right, that it was the sorcerer going down, and he is proven right when three similar cries ring out. The sound of void essence tearing asunder and their souls, or however much they have of them, sent screaming back to the void that they came from.

The room is sweltering, their town's topography is truly a wonder, to have lava right under an icy abandoned kingdom. Although there's magic at work here, so that might have something to do with it.

The fairy finally heals his head injury and Ororon wipes at the dried blood and sweat beads on his forehead. Finally, a moment to relax, he stands up, favoring his left knee.

He looks over to the still figure standing in the middle of the room. Stepping carefully over steaming patches on the floor, Ororon approaches.

“Captain…?”

He turns his head slightly towards Ororon, seemingly like he could hear him.

But as Ororon draws close, the Captain turns suddenly and in the next moment, he finds his outstretched arm is snatched and pinned behind his back.

Ororon gasps, the pain is bright and bruising on his arm, and he holds as still as he can, for the first time scared in this man's presence.

“Who are you?” Rumbles a dark, cold voice behind him, Ororon trembles.

“Captain, it’s Ororon, your, ah your friend, I am helping you—”

He cuts off with a cry as his arm is twisted tighter.

“I don’t know anyone by that name.”

The pain is too much, Ororon doesn’t actually want to hurt this man, not able to think of another solution, he screams.

The bats that have been watching all of this with bright eyes come flooding down in a cloud at his call, flying past the Captain in a torrent of flapping wings and overlapping screeches. Ororon retreats as soon as he releases his arm in favor of shielding his face.

He is quick to draw and notch an arrow, backing up and training it on the Captain, who now kneels on the ground. It is an odd reversal of their earlier predicament.

The Captain’s chests heaves with his intakes of breaths, the noise of the bats’ flapping slowly fades away before his lips move under his mask, a whisper leaving them. Ororon’s ears twitch.

“What was that, Captain?”

“Ororon…”

His hand tightens on his bow, “Have you come to your senses, Captain?”

As though he is making sure he truly has his head on right, slowly the man nods.

“Lift your head and look at me.”

He does, and from where Ororon stares down his arrow, it is aiming straight between the Captain's eyes.

His stately brows are creased together, sweat drying his forehead, they had been going through these ice mines for the better part of two hours, and they are both tired. But the most important thing Ororon focuses on are his eyes. They are filled with regret.

Slowly, he lowers his bow.

“I'm sorry, Ororon, for assaulting you. I thought that I was back there—” He cuts off, the pain of recalling a memory haunts his face, aging him by decades.

Ororon stares in silence.

“I understand if you want nothing to do with me after this, I…I have demons I must face alone and it wouldn’t do to put you in danger—”

“No.”

The Captain looks up, startled.

“Don't beat yourself up over a reaction you may have contracted from serving in the military, you'll just make me feel bad too.”

Ororon swallows, the sound loud in the dead quiet of the cavern

“Tell me why you need these ores.”

In a gravelly tone, he says, “To fix the community center.”

“The community center?” Ororon furrows his brow in thought. “Isn't it abandoned? Did Mavuika send you to fix it?”

“No, she did not, there's this—” He wears his throat, “it would be best if you could see it for yourself.”

“Alright, to fix the community center.”

“Can you swear, that you will do your best to not slip into that headspace, where you are lost on the battlefield, as though you are all alone, your comrades all gone and disappeared, leaving you to fight to the bitter end?” Ororon pauses. “Can you promise me that? I'm here, you're not alone Captain.”

The man before him brings his left knee up, leaving his right still touching the ground, he thumps his right fist across to his chest, and locks eyes with Ororon, and even though one is milky and fogged over, the intensity and sincerity in his gaze is clear.

“I swear to you, Ororon, upon my title as the Sentinel Soldier.”

He is perfect.

Against his better judgment, Ororon dives for him, his arms outstretched. It is as though it is in slow-motion, watching that curled, righteous fist, unfurling and reaching out to catch him—bring him in for that kiss Ororon has been aching for—

Only for the Captain's left hand to come up and stop him, palm dead center on his chest.

“Wait—you weren’t just about to—after I just—”

He stops for an incredulous breath.

“Ororon, my mask is still on. That is unsanitary .”

Ororon shrugs, straining against the hand holding him back.

“And after what I just did to you—”

“I know you're a good person, Captain. You have a righteous heart, I just know it. I have good intuition like that.”

“...I don't want you to regret anything, I—my past is a little complicated.”

“That's fine.” Ororon reaches for the mask to remove it. The Captain jerks his head to the side to evade him.

“You do not even know my name.”

“I can ask Granny that. Is it that important—do you want to kiss me or not.” He asks with a huff.

Ororon can't see much of his face, but he swears the Captain is blushing.

He starts stammering, starting and stopping, obviously having trouble being honest with himself about how wants to kiss someone that's likely twenty years younger than him. It’s sweet.

Ororon relents. Leaning back but not going far, opting to nuzzle the hand still cupping his cheek that the other man forgot he left it there. Who now stares, stricken.

“I can just go ask my Granny,” Ororon continues, undeterred, “also, she's a registered psychiatrist. Maybe she can help with some of the trauma you obviously have, maybe whip up some home remedies for you to get better sleep. You obviously have sleeping problems if you're out this late like me. And,”

He stares deep into the Captain's eyes.

“Granny's protective of me, so you probably should talk to her.”

Looking defeated and frazzled by Ororon’s audacity, the Captain concedes. “...I will talk to her.”

“Good.”

“But, let's wait until after that to…kiss.” He says with a strain to his voice just like earlier when their positions were reversed. “I don't want you to regret becoming entangled with me. Perhaps you'll change your mind.”

“I won't, but fine I'll wait.” He really really wanted that kiss though.

He settles for nuzzling into the hand holding him. It’s so large that it encapsulates his whole chin and jaw. It’s giving Ororon some interesting ideas for what they'll do in the future….

The Captain sighs, “How did it end up like this, with me being the captive instead. You have such a hold over me, already.”

His hand travels up to Ororon's ears, scratching at the base, and Ororon devolves into purrs. The man's severe facial expression softens helplessly.

The first time Ororon follows the Captain to the community center, it is during the golden hour of sunset. Summer is coming to a close, the time of sweet fruits bursting with the taste of bright, vibrant colors ready to fade into mellow, long-lasting autumn austerity. Like the flavor of vegetables roasted in the oven and coming out with their sugars caramelized and charred.

When he steps into the Community Center, Ororon wonders what had kept him away for so long. As a child, perhaps it seemed haunted, but inside, it is a wonderland ripe for imagination. Ivy vines creep through a crack in the woodwork and the rooms, though eerily empty and still holding traces of a lifetime long past, are charming all the same.

Then he sees it, out of the corner of his eye.

A little green creature peering at them from the cold, dead stove in the corner. It doesn't move, but it breathes and its little eyes blink, observing them.

The Captain obviously recognizes it, kneeling and reaching out a hand.

“Hello,” he says in a low tone, “it is me, again, you know me, right?”

The little creature's eyes stare at him for a few seconds, before looking over to Ororon.

Taking that as his cue, Ororon does the same, crouching with his right hand out to it, in it, he's placed some of the blueberries he's harvested towards the end of the season.

The creature looks at the blueberries, then up at him, then at the berries, before scurrying on spindly little feet over to him. It looks happy, climbing onto his hand, and Ororon imagines little blush marks where its cheeks could be.

Now he has a better look at it, he realizes he recognizes it.

“It's a Junimo.” He says, in awe.

“A Junimo? It grew closer with me much quicker than it did with me.”

Ororon giggles, watching it snatch the blueberries from his hand then run up his arm to his shoulder.

“Little guys like this love when you bring treats, I bring stuff for the squirrels and rabbits all the time.”

Then suddenly, the Junimo stares up at him with its cute, dark, beady eyes.

== blue…bat… ==

Ororon blinks. “Wait, what?”

== blue…bat…know… ==

Is it speaking to him? “You know me? You recognize me?”

The Junimo stares silently and scurries to another room out of sight. They wait a moment, it peeks back around the corner of the door, tiny arm waving.

It's so cute!!! Ororon wants to bring one home to show to Granny.

“Is this how you first met them too, Captain?”

The Captain nods next to him as they walk towards where the Junimo disappeared. “Yes, although they did not speak to me as they did to you.”

“I've seen Junimo in children's books and television shows but I've never thought…” Ororon says, a hand to his chin as he thinks.

The Junimo leads them to what could have been an arts and crafts room in the past, with a worn rug and colorful walls, in the middle of the floor lies a scroll of parchment.

“And this is how they communicate what they want me to gather. I gathered enough for one of the other rooms, and once I did, they…” He thinks for a moment. “Cleaned it up overnight, fixed it, as if by some magic. Although I am more likely to believe someone snuck in during the night to clean it, they have had to be an extraordinarily fast worker, and there were no signs of anyone else entering or leaving this building except for me.”

“This is also why I requested your assistance. Some of the items the Junimo requested are crops that I…cannot grow myself, and the general store does not stock them.”

A small smile grows on Ororon's face.

“Aw, and these little guys should get the best veggies possible.” He bends down, offers a finger for the little creature to rub its cheek against, and it does. From his pocket he brings forth another offering of blueberries.

With its itty bitty hand the Junimo tosses a blueberry in its mouth, seemingly becoming overjoyed to taste it.

= blue bat…grow food… delicious… =

“You know it was me who planted those?”

The Junimo nods, once, with finality, and with its feet making not a single sound, turns and scurries away, seeming to vanish right before their eyes. Even when they look everywhere and wait until the sun goes down, it does not make an appearance again.

After that, Ororon spends many a day on the Captain's farm, helping him till and preparing more plots for planting in the fall. He already has several rows of corn up. Ororon gets to work making sure all of the pumpkins are getting enough nutrition, the beets aren't getting too dry, and much, much more factors to look after.

It's on one such day, when Ororon comes home giddy from a day outside, from the feeling of cool, dark soil on his hands, breathing life and care into the seeds he plants and seeing the children flourish, that Granny asks for some of his time.

Her study at the top of the house is a mystical, wonderful place. The things she throws into her cauldron sometimes creates dubious smells, but at least she has methods to her chaos that prevents stinky explosions.

Granny is excellent at creating bitter medicines for when Ororon falls sick, though. He shudders at the memory of the taste.

The fireplace is burning merrily, the smoke floating through the chimney at the very top of the house when Ororon enters. They are lucky the house is otherwise very wide, because it would look like a witch's tower here. Ororon thinks Granny had to fight the urge to make it tall and pointy with a spiralling staircase for maximum witchy vibes when the house was first being built. His knees are grateful for that.

Granny is sitting at her desk to the side of her room when he enters. A light novel Ororon recognizes sits on the side along with a book on herbs, Granny herself sits in her armchair, weaving a scroll, she gives him a nod when he stands in front of her, and he takes a seat.

A few minutes later, she takes note of where she is in her weave, and sets it down on a table behind her.

She then sits back down, regarding him for a moment, before sighing.

“Congratulations, grandson.”

Ororon blinks in surprise. “What?”

“You think I didn’t know?” Citlali scoffs. “My own grandson, all of a sudden treating his home more as a hotel than a home, staying out all day and barely making a sound as he creeps in at night.” She sighs again, “Children grow up so fast.”

Ororon was prepared for more lamentations of the ungratefulness of adult children and oh, who, just who, would looked after her in old age? All of which he's heard before from her and other nagging uncles and aunties.

But Granny perks up suddenly instead, “So, what is he like? A gallant knight who has come to take you away from your Granny's evil clutches?”

“Ah…Granny…” Ororon lifts a hand to cover his mouth, trying to hide his expression.

“Tell me! Tell Granny! It's the only joy I have left in this life…to marry my grandson off to a worthy man…just like in my novels…” She sighs, but this time in an awfully dreamy way that horrifies Ororon, a little, because he really should have seen this coming.

“Well…he did fight off shadow creatures in the mines with me, and he looks great doing it,” this part Ororon mutters quietly off to the side, “but he has some issues, trauma from being in the military, I think, so I was wondering, Granny.”

He looks up at her, determined.

“If you could talk to him? I think you could help him a little.”

Citlali looks at him for a moment, then gets up, going to the window behind her desk. It's a clear night, with the stars sparkling overhead as Ororon walked home, and it's those stars Citlali looks at now as she stands.

“That Captain…I'm sure you have guessed, I knew his grandfather when he was still alive. He retired here when he was already an old geezer, so he didn't have the time or energy to do anything on the farm before he passed.”

Now melancholic, she sips at the herbal tea in her hands.

“That fool…he told me about how he wrote to his grandson. Even with no family members here, he was happy to leave behind something beautiful for his grandson to have. I was the only one by his bedside when he passed.” No tears drop from her eyes, but Ororon gets up at the sound of her grief-filled voice. Approaching her side, he puts an arm around her shoulders. Letting her brave mask fall, Citlali lets her head rest on his shoulder. They watch the moonlit landscape below them together.

“I do not know what their family was like or where his son had gone, but seeing how positive he was that his grandson would eventually settle here, I am just happy for him.” She looks up at Ororon.

“Be gentle with him, Ororon, although I know you will be, you little brat.” She pulls on his cheek. “But he especially needs it.”

“Granny, does that mean you approve of us together?”

Now she withdraws so he could see her face clearly as Citlali crosses her arms and puffs out her cheek.

“Not so easily! I'll see if he makes you happy, I mean, we're practically neighbors, if he ever makes you sad, Ororon, tell Granny and I'll go right over and chop his dick off!”

She swiftly chops her right hand into the palm of her left to emphasize her point Ororon winces at the demonstration. Knowing Granny, she would .

“I understand it might be a bumpy road and I'll speak with him, maybe we could acquire a service dog so he wouldn't feel as vulnerable on his blind side, that'll do him good.” Granny nods, going to her table and starting to jot things down, and Ororon knows he's dismissed. He bends over and presses a kiss to the top of her head anyway, knowing she knows he loves her.

 ཐི ₍^. ̞.^₎ ཋྀ 

Then it is the end of summer, and with that comes Ororon's favorite festival. The Dance of the Moonlight Jellies.

It's a simple affair, which is probably why he enjoys it so much. The night is beautiful and dark, the moon melding into the embrace of the sea. When he walks onto the beach with his sandals off, his heart beats just that much faster when he spots the Captain standing off to the side. Farther down the beach, away from everyone else.

The Captain stands in parade rest, his long hair up in a bun, pressed collared shirt tucked into his slacks, Ororon is inordinately happy to see he has also taken his shoes off. The sight is incongruous with how put together he is normally.

As he walks up to him on his left side, the Captain’s head turns slightly and he gives him a nod. “Ororon.”

Ororon has a flash of deja vu just then. Of some other place and time, where there was another dark night, and he had similarly strode up to the Captain's side as though he belonged there, no explanation or permission needed. He has never been in the military, and he doesn't think he will ever be in this lifetime, but the open vulnerability, the wordless acquiesce to letting him stay by the man's side, it aches with something familiar. A long gone pain and yearning that is slipping away from him as quickly as the tides recede from their feet.

The Captain also stares, and for a moment Ororon is breathless, the sound rushing from his ears, unhearing, before he is dragged back to the present.

He looks around, and they're on the same old beach he's known his whole life, about to watch the jellyfish migrate for the twenty-second time of his life. He spots Granny talking with Uncle Biram, the tall man sitting on a bench so she's at a more convenient height speak with him. Auntie Xilonen stands by the middle of the boardwalk, Nepecha and Kachina nearby while she chats with Mavuika and Chasca.

Everyone is milling about, it makes it hard to pass by unnoticed, but Ororon manages. Somehow throughout his childhood he had gone under most of the townspeople's noses, unless Granny made a fuss or he actually uncovered himself intentionally by speaking.

It is the same trick he uses now, taking the Captain's right hand in his to guide him through the throng to the outskirts. To a corner where no one would tread and find them.

Ororon has never been to high school, but he's read about it, and now he wonders if this is how it feels, to hide under the bleachers on the football field like they do now under the higher level of the boardwalk. He really has to fight the urge to giggle at the thought.

The Captain hums at him, correctly detecting Ororon's jubilant mood and curious as to why. Ororon shakes his head, instead electing to tell him the story of the moonlight jellies.

His voice rolls out onto the waves, undercutting the drifting sound of music coming from above on the boardwalk; guitars, drums, and Mualani's voice. Until the jellyfish comes in, Ororon speaks to the sky, the water, and the Captain.

And when they do come in, they are as radiant as they've ever been, and perhaps even more. For one fleeting night, Ororon watches their iridescent forms as they drift with the gentle currents. From the starlight-filled centers where the jellyfish’s light emits, where it then bleeds into fuchsia, lavender, and sometimes cerulean blue shades in their membranes. He had always wanted to reach out to touch them, to dive in and dance among the mesmerizing lights, but he knew he couldn't.

They sit on the pier, feet dangling down and pants hems rolled up, and Ororon looks up at someone he can touch.

With less people around, the Captain has taken off his mask, and Ororon's breath catches watching the way the lights dance off the angular planes of him. The curve of his pointed nose and the dip from his cheekbone down to his chin, if Ororon were to compare him to any other human, he would say it was indescribable. Every dip of skin and sallow atrophied flesh, marred and rended through from past injuries was still just as dear as the rest.

Ororon was drawn closer inexorably, a small shadow lit up with desire like a star, and he swears the Captain also starts to close the gap between them. His eyelids start to flutter close.

“Ororon!”

He startles, flailing, and hands large and rough come up to clasp around his shoulders, holding him close to safety.

When he looks at him, heart pounding in his chest, the Captain is so close. His one eye scanning over him. Seeing everything is alright, he lets go, his hands falling back down to his lap.

“I'll see you tomorrow, Ororon.” He promises, his voice is starlight, filled with joy and wonder, fallen from the skies above and landing at their feet. That's how miraculous it felt.

Ororon nods, and notes how his cheek had been cradled in one of those rough-hewn hands.

There is little time to commit the feeling to memory, for his Granny calls. Though the moment was broken, Ororon is giddy with anticipation for the next time they are truly alone.

 ཐི ₍^. ̞.^₎ ཋྀ 

The problem is, they don't really have the time anymore.

Swept up into doing chores on the farm, the thought of a kiss flees Ororon’s mind as soon as he steps foot on it, left for him to think of it fondly before dropping off to sleep every night.

And also, getting a sweet little kiss probably isn't so perfect when he has little feathers in his hair, but he couldn't be happier, smooching the Captain can wait until the perfect moment.

“Hotcake, Buttermilk, Pecan, good morning!” Ororon comes in fresh from the fall weather outside to tend to the three hens they have now. They're all Cochin chickens and fairly large and Ororon loves holding them in his arms. He opens the door to their barn to let them out to graze while he collects their eggs, scoops out their dirty straw with a pitchfork, puts down fresh bedding, then checks over their overall health.

Half of his day is probably spent sitting on the ground of their enclosure, watching them and getting them socialized to his presence. After almost a month, they got to know him well, sometimes walking up to him to look for mealworms and feed from the pockets of his hoodie.

“You love them.”

Ororon turns, the Captain leans over the fence, watching him as he talks to and plays with Buttermilk.

He smiled, turning back to the chicken, “Yes, I always loved getting to know the animals, there's squirrels and chipmunks and all sorts of birds near my house that come back year after year and they take food straight from my hands now.”

They know him, and some of them have started showing up here too, they know he spends time at the Captain's home now. Their human friend that keeps treats in his pockets.

There's Coco the chipmunk and Peanut the squirrel, plus robins, bluejays, sometimes white-tailed deer too.

Thinking fondly of them, Ororon looks over to find the Captain still there, as though he's forgotten himself, the moment lasts for as long as his eyes stay on Ororon's figure.

It is a shame then, that Ororon's gaze makes him aware of himself again.

He blinks, “Captain?”

For the first time, Ororpn witnesses the Captain startling, withdrawing from the fence and straightening into his upright posture again.

“If only they liked me half as much, I get poop on my boots more often than not when I step in there. And they're my chickens.”

It's so obvious.

“They're mine as much as they are yours, Captain. Aren't you, Buttermilk, you would follow me home if I walked out right now, mm?” Ororon bends his head to nuzzle his nose to a beak. The chicken pecks at his bangs and he giggles.

The Captain watches, then, “If you'd like, you could live here, with me.”

Ororon stills, shocked, his hands pausing where he was petting Buttermilk. He holds the chicken closer.

“I'll think about it, Captain. Next time, maybe propose to me as well.”

The Captain freezes. “You…” Lost for words, he takes a step back, before freezing up again, as though waking from a dream, he looks up and around him, at the rows and rows of vegetables stretching for an acre, at the chicken coop they painted together, the foundations of the barn that will be built soon.

“I…I have something I need to do.” He squares his shoulders, then declares more to himself than Ororon, says, “I have to do this properly.”

Without another word, he marches to the main path. Ororon watches as he puts on his sheepskin jacket with its wool lined collar, then he marches up the path from the farm.

Ororon is smiling as he turns back to Buttermilk.

“He gets embarrassed so easily, don't you think so?”

Buttermilk clucks at him, pecking at his palm when he opens it.

Ororon chuckles, “He's so sweet, it's a good idea, that he got you guys just for me, and he says he'll get some cows soon too.”

Filled with emotions, he lifts Buttermilk up, wrapping her into a hug, she clucks and looks around from her new perch, but allows it.

He sighs, “I can't wait.”

The Captain returns later looking like he got a shaking down but relieved and when Ororon gets home Granny just tells him to send her the invitation before wandering up to her study, muttering incantations under her breath.

Not long after that is the autumn harvest fair.

They put on a grange display together. Amongst the festivities and games, they keep to themselves, although Ororon does win a few prizes for himself from the fishing game. There is a plush that reminds him of their chickens that he gifts to the Captain.

Their display has fish the Captain has caught: a beautiful large tilapia, an even grey sheen to its scales, along with a respectable twenty-eight inch salmon, the Captain doesn't say much in response to Ororon's delight over his fishing skills, however.

Ororon brought the biggest eggs their chickens laid and the best of the cherry wine Granny made. Along with his best pumpkin, red cabbage, and artichoke and several minerals they picked up from their time fighting in the caves together, they round out their display.

Ororon looks at each item and cannot help but see a representation of their journey together over the months.

It's almost been a year…. He hides his face in the high collar of his jacket. The Captain has stepped away to grab some burgers for the two of them while Ororon continues to organize their display.

He's just lovingly scrubbing at the aquamarine that they had found in the icy caves when Mavuika happens upon him.

“Ororon!” He turns to the sound of that buoyant tone, Mavuika raises a hand in greeting that he returns as she joins him. “Long time no see, everything going well with you?” She asks as she scans over his display with practiced eyes. Her eyes light up when she spots the gems.

“Oh! Is this a fire opal? I haven't seen one in so long, I have my own, see?” To Ororon's astonishment, she rummages in her jacket and produces a fire opal that lives up to its name: it is a burning red and orange, the mix of colors licking its way through the stone like molten lava and banked embers. In contrast, Ororon's is a dark, almost eggplant or wild plum-like color. When he turns it this way and that, red spots that cover a menagerie of shades can be seen, ranging from the color of a tomato to cranberries to even a spice berry. Ororon likes holding it and imagining those flavors floating around in there together.

“I like mine better.”

Mavuika erupts into laughter, her shoulders shaking and her hand floundering blindly looking for something to hold onto, Ororon offers his arm.

“Ah…never change Ororon.” She straightens up, her left hand clenched in a fist as her eyes brighten with zeal, “I like mine better, too! It makes it all more special if you find one yourself.” Mavuika looks down at it fondly, rubbing it with one thumb, “it has more memories that way, and,” she looks over her shoulder at an approaching figure. “This way we won't need Ms. Peacemaker to step in.”

“Howdy.” Chasca says, tipping her hat at Ororon. When Mavuika elbows her in her side, Chasca spares a glance at her before tipping her hat again. “Howdy, partner.”

Ororon tips his head and returns the greeting, he never understands what those two are up to and he's given up trying. It's hard to believe they're probably almost the Captain's age.

“Fine selection you have here, Ororon. As you know, Mavuika, I, and Chuychu, will be the judges of the Grange Displays this year. From just a look, I think you and…the Captain? Was it? Will place high.” She glances at the clipboard in her hands to confirm.

“How is it, by the way?” She asks, “Getting to know the Captain?”

Ororon blinks in surprise. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Mavuika facepalm.

Chasca just continues to stare blankly at him, giving nothing away in her gaze.

“Good, it's going good, he's.” He swallows, thinking, “he's sweet on me. Keeps his promises.”

Chasca searches his face, then nods. “That's good to hear. We helped raise you, and we're glad you like him.” The atmosphere that just a little tense lifts, a pressure that Ororon didn't even realize was there disappearing, Chasca dispels it further by winking.

Of course, that's when the Captain returns with their burgers.

Chasca tips her hat at him in greeting as well before Mavuika drags her away.

“What happened?”

Ororon, in a manner not unlike his Granny, sighs in a way that signals decades of dealing with nosy Aunties. “I don't know. They're just looking out for me, I guess.” He and the Captain were very obviously attached at the hip, at this point almost neither of them went anywhere without the other. (Ororon tries to thinks about all the knowing looks Aunti Xilonen threw their way everytime they went to her shop for her to crack open geodes for them. The Captain, of course, was a master of playing oblivious to her occasional prodding questions.)

The Captain hums, sparing another moment to look at the retreating women, before returning his attention to Ororon.

They place second, just under Tochlan, who makes all of the highest-quality cheeses in town so Ororon can't even be mad. He uses his prize tokens to buy some vases of dried sunflowers for the house that the Captain offers to bring those and their produce back for them.

Meanwhile Ororon joins the townspeople in the local bar. Using the convenience of the burger tables set up outside, a sort of beer garden is created, where people celebrate the joy of another successful harvest before winter arrives once again.

Ororon spies Ifa, who he rarely sees come to town events, chatting with Pacal and Mutota who are two of the bartenders pitching in a hand to serve the town tonight as they do every year.

When the Captain returns, it is loud, far too loud and boisterous in the bar, but thankfully Biram spots him, and intuitively knowing in a way similar to Citlali, tells Ororon that the Captain is waiting for him. He shoves a tankard of their finest pale ale into Ororon's hands before the boy walks to the door, where his ‘knight’ waits. It doesn’t escape any of the adults the way he is wary, standing guard and always watching the exits of the room, the half of his face covered making him a difficult man to read.

That's why it seems downright miraculous, the way he turns to Ororon, his head immediately bending to listen, as though Ororon would hardly need to ask before he would get down to one knee and let Ororon use him as stairs to reach the stars if he wanted.

Of course, Ororon himself had some inkling of the Captain's devotion, but he never saw when he walked away and the Captain stared after him. The Captain was a man made and undone by his past. Though he was made up of so many countless years, countless habits and routines set in place, after he was discharged, they lost meaning and rhythm.

He had to find something like that again. A rhythm.  Rising with the sun, working until his body tired, resting when he remembered to, remembering that nothing would jump out to attack him in these woods. Thinking about a certain boy who doggedly stayed by his side and lived such an uncomplicated, pure life.

Finally, a place to rest, and a kind soul to shine some warm light on him in his darkest moments.

They go to the tables on the edges of the clearing, facing the river and Ororon unabashedly leans into him to leech his warmth. The faint sound of crickets not yet gone to hibernate can be heard and the smell of charcoal lingers in the air. Leaves rustle in the distance whenever the wind blows.

The atmosphere inside had been syrupy, the stink of beer and the tables honey-glazed from the dimmed lights. Ororon, buoyed by the jubilant mood, still carries it with him into the relative calm outside. Having finished one beer already, he laughs, dazed and tipsy, he can't fight the urge to lean heavier against the Captain's shoulders; he looks so wide and sturdy, Ororon wants to put all of his weight on him and see if he sways. He just knows he wouldn't. (He also wants the Captain to pick him up. Hold him.)

The man whose shoulder Ororon is leaning on says something, and oh—pressed this close his voice is so pleasantly rumbly. Ororon giggles, does not remember what was said but remembers that it made him feel content because he could tell the voice was full of affection.

At some point, his cheek ends up smashed into a muscled shoulder and Ororon finds himself looking up into the Captain's face. This close, he can make out the stark blue of his eye.

Ororon takes another swig of the pale ale, the rich, smooth hoppiness coating his mouth before leaving it with a sweet aftertaste. This was the taste of his hometown, the taste of fall, and he had grown to love it.

Still, he is tired, they had a few busy weeks, and he pushes the rest of the ale over to the Captain.

The man regards it, before taking a tentative sip. Ororon lolls against his shoulder, sleepily asking how he finds it. He says he likes it fine, although the taste brings back the vague impression of memories long ago, and he becomes lost in thought.

Then finally, he lifts the tankard to his scarred lips, just to discover that it's empty. He lowers it, and looking over, discovers that Ororon had fallen asleep on his shoulder, snuffling softly.

I shouldn't have let him drink so much, the Captain thinks, brushing a lock of hair off his forehead. He presses his lips for a brief moment to skin in a kiss. Withdrawing, he dutifully picks Ororon up in his arms.

“I'll bring us home.”

That day, Ororon had said the truth, he indeed liked his fire opal much more. Looking at it and the aquamarine perched on their display shelf in the living room, to him it represents the two of them, thankfully Mavuika had known what he meant without asking.

With one last look, Ororon turns, heading for the front door, grabbing two helmets on his way out.

He walks around to the back of the house and under the little overhang. There is where Ororon keeps his motorcycle ever since he brought it over from his childhood house.

The sun has just set, the orange glow fading from the horizon when Ororon lifts the heavy tarp he keeps on it to protect it from dust and moisture.

Having wheeled it out, he's giving it a check and making sure it is well-oiled just as the Captain arrives.

“Hey,” He smiles, a little nervously, though he manages to make eye contact. “You ready?”

The Captain nods, accepting the helmet when Ororon holds it out for him. Ororon wheels the vehicle out onto the road before swinging his leg over, once the Captain has got on, Ororon waits for him to put on the helmet, watching as he tucks his hair, tied into a long ponytail underneath and adjusting the chin straps before putting his own on. Then he puts up the kickstand, turns the ignition key, releases the clutch as he kicks them off, revs the throttle, and they are off.

The idea had come to mind this morning, when Ororon had looked at the clear weather and knew it would stay mild all the way to the evening. Over the past few months, they had been concentrating on fulfilling the bundles the Junimo wanted, and they have been surely growing closer, but this want to show this part of him has been lingering in the back of his mind for a while now.

Mavuika had been the one to introduce him to motorcycles; seeing as she has her own, and one with flame decals at that. As a kid, Ororon had soaked up all of her maintenance lessons and grew to love the gritty, oil-fueled work, so different to raising veggies, but with similar principles underneath.

Compared to Mavuika's racy Ducati, Ororon has a more rustic Road Star, perfect for taking out on relaxing nights joyrides out to the overlook. It also has plenty of space for a second rider; even Granny has joined him a couple times on it.

It is still perfect, the rumble beneath his body, his body leaning with the motorcycle past turning and the engine purring like a dream, and it is even better with the Captain behind him. Ororon is sure that both of them in their edgy clothing and leather jackets seem like they're straight off the cover of a motorcycle magazine. Not to mention the Captain's absurdly long and muscled legs….

There's a stretch of land before they reach the cliff that is long and flat, a drop on their left and right and the trees far below a dark green sea. For a few precious minutes, Ororon's heart flies, the motorcycle eating up the ground, his eyes only for what is in front of him, the world is him and he is the world, flying along the surface of her, free as the wild.

Then they are pulling up to his favorite overlook.

Far in the distance is Natlan City, scintillating and tempting. Ororon has learned it is never as great up close as it is at this distance.

He gets off the motorcycle, switching the engine off and placing his helmet on the handlebars. The Captain does the same, shaking his hair to free it from its mussed state.

Ororon smiles at him, small and unstated. “How was it?”

“Novel. Exhilarating. I could see why you like it, it is like a sort of effortless freeing feeling.” He leans back a little on the seat, his head tilting back and his eyes closed, as though he is recalling the feeling again. Ororon takes the opportunity to admire the long, thick column of his neck where it peeks out.

All of a sudden his mouth feels dry.

“I didn't expect that this would be one of your interests, Ororon.” He stares down, and his eyes are piercing.

Ororon can't hold the eye contact, instead going to sit near the edge, his knees bent up.

“Yeah, me neither, until Auntie Mavuika showed me when I was a kid, she always looked really cool with hers.” He thinks back to those memories, shining bright sun and oil fumes. “I'm surprised she's stayed in the town. Then even became the mayor. She always seemed too big for this town.” He rests his chin on his knees. “Plenty of people have left, like Kinich, but he still visits because he has people dear to him here.”

“And you? Ororon?”

“I tried, it didn't suit me there, but the motorcycle is convenient for taking us there, too, if you want. I went to see Kinich at least, he's the one who did my piercings for me.” He says, enthused, gesturing to his snack bites and brow piercing.

“I think my place will always be here, and if we restore the community center, there'll be even more to do.”

Ororon glances over.

“What about you, Captain?”

The man stares for awhile, Ororon content under his gaze, then.

“Thrain.”

It's said so quietly, solemn.

“What?” Ororon had caught it, his ears pricked up, but he asks again.

“My name is Thrain," his lips form the word slowly, drawing out the first syllable long and majestic, followed by a short dip in a lower register for the second, "former Commander of the National Army, serving as one of their Sentinel Soldiers. And now, I am merely myself, a farmer of this valley, and soon also,” he pauses, takes a breath. “Hopefully yours.”

Ororon unfolds, standing up, only for the Captain—no, Thrain —to drop to one knee with a thud and his fist thumping into his left breast with vigor, he reaches up and rips his mask from his face.

To Ororon's astonished eyes and ears, he asks.

“Ororon, my dearest, my light, would you marry me?” From his left hand he unfurls it to reveal a mermaid's pendant. The memento the townspeople give to one another to propose.

Ororon drops to his knees, the wind taken out him, he looks up to Thrain, absorbs the sight of his pleading, searching eyes, and whispers, Yes . He closes his eyes, tilting his head to allow the other man to put the necklace on him.

Cool fingers brush his neck minutely as Thrain fumbles with the clasp. Then he is maneuvering the clasp to the back and the shell thumps lightly on Ororon's breastbone.

Letting out a light breath, Ororon opens his eyes, he lifts the shell with one hand to take it in, that this is really happening, and he lets out a sob, before tackling Thrain into a hug.

They land, and Ororon's lips are on Thrain's. His hands hold his face, pulling him, directing him this way and that, because Ororon has waited for so long. He's pressing full-bodied kisses straight on those lips to feel him, tilting his head, and licking into Thrain's mouth; the sensation of his mouth opening for him, and then the sudden heat of his mouth sends a shock straight through Ororon.

They're fighting then, uncoordinated, much too eager. Hot breaths pluming on their faces as they push and pull. Ororon feels the inside of Thrain's mouth for a moment, licking playfully against his tongue before Thrain pushes, overpowering him and taking control.

Ororon expects to land on his elbows but he doesn't. Instead Thrain cradles his back with one hand and yanks Ororon's knee up his hip with the other. Once the younger man has a grip on his hips with his legs and his arms around his neck, Thrain lets go, and instead grabs Ororon's chin.

Breathless at his strength and the tender, intent look on Thrain's face, devotion writ across his handsome features, Ororon closes him as he leans in.

Thrain takes his time now, dipping in and drawing long, slow kisses from Ororon, withdrawing whenever Ororon got too eager and almost drove the kisses off course again. This ripped a whine from Ororon, a sound that he didn't even know he could make, and he flushed all the way to the tip of his ears in embarrassment.

“Easy now. Let me take you as I have wanted to for so long, my dear.”

Ororon squeaks.

“We are not having our first time out here!” He whispers, hysterical. As much as he wanted it…. Someone had to be the responsible one here!

Thrain chuckles, finally setting Ororon properly in his lap, he nuzzles up under Ororon’s chin like an overgrown cat, his nose drawing a line up the sensitive skin and Ororon shivers.

“L—let's go back.”

It was extraordinarily difficult to concentrate on the drive back with Thrain plastered to his back, his larger body a furnace and his lips kissing down the back of his neck. It was downright hazardous.

Ororon climbed his body like a tree as soon as he touched the ground again.

Also, Thrain looked unfairly handsome with his legs stretched out as he leaned on the bike and Ororon fully intended to let him know that.

They held their marriage on the front porch of their newly-renovated home, with the townspeople all sitting below in rows. Citlali was their officiator. Who knew his Granny was so talented. Thrain's new service dog Guthred sat by his blind side at his feet panting happily.

It was winter, almost exactly a year from when Ororon went out of his way and first met the Captain at this very spot. Subsequently charming him with his boldness and earnestness.

Right after they say their vows, snow starts falling, and the townspeople quickly scatter, and they wouldn't have it any other way, kissing long and soft under the falling snow.

 ཐི ₍^. ̞.^₎ ཋྀ 

One day, while standing out in their vegetable field, Ororon starts chuckling. Thrain looks up, a smear of dirt on his cheek and his scars in full view.

“What do you find so amusing, my dear?”

“Ah, it’s nothing.” Ororon slows his chuckles to a trickle, wiping at his eye. “I just remembered that before you arrived, I always daydreamed about one day living on this plot of land and having all the space I would need to grow my veggies.”

He flings his arms out wide.

“Now look, we live here together, raising cows and chickens and I have all the pumpkins and honey and radishes and everything I could ever desire.”

They're working on a greenhouse for the winter months and a field of wildflowers to attract more bees for his hives too, it's all coming together beautifully.

Shaking his head, Ororon smiles down at Thrain. “Funny how life works.”

Thrain rises to his feet, dusting off his hands on his grey galoshes. He clears the space between them easily, Ororon fluttering his eyelashes as he blinks up at him. A finger tilts his chin up delicately.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way if it means I was able to give this to you.” Thrain says, his gaze soft on Ororon’s face. It’s almost painful to look at, Ororon thinks.

He goes onto his tiptoes and nuzzles Thrain's face.

“I'm happy in this second life of mine that I have you.” Thrain kisses him. “My husband.”

“Okay, sappy old man.” Ororon giggles, he jumps up and Thrain catches him in his arms easily, his broad hands planted on his cute little butt. “Now take me to our house, dear husband of mine.”

He does, down the path past their squashes and radishes, then around the bend where the chicken coop and barn are, continuing on through the little alcove with its the table and chair and trellis for languid afternoons reading in the shade, and after that the a field of wildflowers greet them, apricot trees growing steadily taller and honeybees drifting slowly between blooms. Thrain steps onto the stone-paved walkway, lined with a newly-painted white fence and sunflowers blooming along the path.

With his husband in his arms, he walks up the steps of their house, and before Thrain steps in and closes the door, the last thing the world sees is the smile on his lips as he looks at Ororon.

Extra Scenes

Granny worrying about them both.

After a very serious discussion where Citlali spoke with him about his past, his condition, and his grandfather and then interrogated him about his intentions with her grandson, Citlali broke character and started piling items into the Captain's arms.

‘Here's a potion to treat poison, a poultice for treating burns—either frostburn or a regular burn it doesn’t matter—oh and some talismans, when you use them they will teleport you straight to your farm—single use only of course. Do you need to enchant your weapon? I can do that, Ororon's bow and arrows are already enchanted by yours truly, I know, aren't I so powerful? Right, give me a strand of your hair, with it I can create this doll that will alert me whenever you're in danger—don't give me that look! There's no other nefarious reason! Granny swears on it! And don't you dare think all of these supplies come free of charge just because you're courting my grandson, these are expensive to make, but only the best for my grandson…. You will need to bring me super sea cucumbers—you can get those from spring to fall in the ocean. Void essence, solar essence—those are from the mines I'm sure you know, oh purple mushrooms! I use those in so many potions. Got all of that? Now scram, I'm sure Ororon is waiting for you anxiously back at your farm, stop making him worry and get!’

(㇏^.ˬˬ.^ノ)~♡

Granny Itztli insisting on the bridal carry.

‘He would love it, all of the male love interests in the light novels we read sweep the female love interest off her feet, making her feel protected and also showing to the whole world who they belong to as a power play!!’

Panting, Citlali had stamped her foot, her fists clenched in fists, her hair messy with flyaways, and her expression harried like this is the most important event in a witch's lifespan. Not perfecting a potion or unlocking the secret to eternal youth, no, but making sure her grandson gets to be bridal carried by his tall, handsome male love interest.

Dutifully, Thrain had carried Ororon's sleeping form in his arms into the pub when he went to return the tankard and bid farewell to everyone else. He had indeed felt the eyes and attention of everyone present turning to watch this display, and there was no doubt in anyone's mind that Ororon was already declared for.

It was worth it, to see Ororon's face at such an angle, at least. Looking down to see him slumbering away, his cute face peaceful and relaxed, his pink lips parted slightly as he breathed. Thrain could scarcely look away.