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The pep talk had gone well. Better than well, if the enthusiastic handshake and earnest thank-yous were any indication. The fledgling hero had walked in ready to quit over a botched quest and walked out with an action plan and her chin up, which was about as good an outcome as these sessions got. Finn was still riding the satisfaction of it, strutting through the Guild's main hall and halfway to the front doors, when Baptiste called after him.
"Finn, my good fellow!" His voice carried with a bit of that Master-of-Ceremonies boom; cheer wrapped in brass. "A moment, if you would?"
Finn turned, smile all teeth, and stopped short.
Baptiste approached at a decent clip, a cape—an honest-to-gods cape, deep indigo with gold embroidery—swishing dramatically with every stride.
"Buddy. No. What is this?"
Baptiste brightened, giving a small turn as he came to stop so the fabric could sweep in a grand flourish. "I thought it was quite dashing!"
"It's dashing, I'll give ya that." Finn circled him with the critical eye of a man who'd dropped real coin on his wardrobe. "For a gala, maybe. A coronation. But day-to-day?" He shook his head. "It's too much."
"I—" Baptiste looked down at himself. "The tailor was having a special. He said it was just the thing." His hand hovered at the clasp, caught between dignity and doubt. "I thought it rather completed the ensemble."
"It completes it right off a cliff. Look—you're pullin' it off, but it's a hat on a hat. You gotta lose it."
Baptiste considered this. Then, with great solemnity, unclasped the cape and folded it over his arm. "Mother always said I had a weakness for a confident sales pitch."
"Smart lady."
"She assured me I'd grow out of it." He sighed. "It seems that day has not yet come to pass."
Finn gave him a reassuring clap on the shoulder. "Maybe not. But at least you can still get through a doorway without your dramatic exit snaggin' on somethin'."
Baptiste chuckled the kind of sensible laugh that had good posture. "My neck thanks you. Though wardrobe interventions aren't the reason I hoped to catch you." He nodded toward the massive double doors at the front of the Guildhall. "Walk with me?"
Finn glanced at him, then toward the doors. "Sure thing. What's on your mind?"
Baptiste fell into step beside him as they headed for the exit, pausing only to hang his unfortunate cape on the coatrack. "Well, primarily I wanted to reiterate my gratitude. Your continuation of these life coaching sessions, given your remarkably full schedule with the vendor advocacy work—it's truly appreciated. The heroes have been responding magnificently."
"Magnificently." Finn let the word sit for a beat, tasting it. "Yeah, I'll take that." He held the door open behind him. "Credit where it's due—they're doin' the leg work. But yeah, guess I got a knack for it."
"Indeed! Your shoring up their confidence—if you'll pardon the pun—has been nothing short of invaluable." Baptiste shaded his eyes as he stepped out into the plaza, the morning sun catching the gold threading on his vest. "In fact, you must allow me to buy you coffee. I insist."
"Twist my arm, why don'tcha. But I'm pickin' the spot—you owe me for savin' you from cape-related humiliation."
"You drive a hard bargain."
The late morning bustle of Rafta's streets welcomed them, still shaking off the previous night's revelry. A few stray streamers clung to lampposts, and somewhere nearby, a stall was frying something that smelled dubiously appealing.
"Actually," Baptiste said, his tone shifting to something almost conspiratorial, "I must confess, I've been experimenting with my morning libations lately. Have you heard of 'instantaneous coffee?'"
Finn's brow furrowed. "The stuff that comes in a tin? Tastes like someone described coffee to a hard-up wizard and he did his best?"
"Precisely!" Baptiste appeared genuinely delighted by the description. "I discovered it at a market stall last week. Fascinating stuff. Dissolves right in hot water, no brewing required. Like magic!"
"Yeah, I know what it is." Finn side-stepped a puddle, shaking his head with a laugh. "Question is: why wouldja drink it? You got access to the good stuff."
"The experience, my dear fellow! The novelty of it!" Baptiste's eyes practically sparkled.
"Right. But you don't actually like it, do you?"
"Well, cream and sugar help tremendously, if I'm honest." Baptiste pressed on, entirely unbothered. "But if I wanted things exactly as I'd always had them, I'd have stayed home. And I didn't stay home! So—" He spread his hands with the air of a man who had conclusively won an argument. "Instantaneous coffee it is."
Finn opened his mouth. Closed it. There was something in the logic that sat off kilter in a way he didn't bother to examine.
"Only you would torture yourself with bad coffee on principle," he said.
"Torture is rather a strong word." Baptiste considered. "Vigorous education, perhaps."
When they arrived at the café a few minutes later, Baptiste beamed.
"Ah, I'm familiar with this establishment! The proprietor sources the most exceptional beans—Crystalline Forest Reserve, single-origin, shade-grown. Absolutely divine."
"Yeah." Finn held the door, something quietly pleased in his voice. "It's my favorite spot."
Baptiste stopped just inside the threshold and turned to look at him with a blink of recalibration.
"Is it? Well!" His smile widened, genuine and warm. "How delightful. We've been frequenting the same establishment like two ships passing in the night. Or rather, two sharks circling the same excellent coffee." Baptiste paused. "Do sharks circle coffee? That metaphor rather fell apart."
"Nah, you got it. Sharks circle anything worth havin'."
The café was all warm wood tones and gleaming brass fixtures; the kind of place that took its coffee seriously and expected the same of its customers. A short queue at the counter, a chalkboard menu overhead, the low hiss of a steam wand being waved out of sight behind the bar.
The barista glanced up as they approached and did a small double-take.
"Ah, Mr. Finn! The usual?"
"Yeah, thanks." Finn leaned against the counter, easy. "Your old man sort out that thing with the landlord?"
"He did, actually. Wanted me to pass along his thanks."
"Glad to hear it." Finn nodded once. "Tell him anytime."
Baptiste stepped up to place his own order—something that required a brief but earnest negotiation about basilisk milk temperature—and handle payment, and Finn let him without comment and drifted aside to wait.
The kid had thanked him. Grade-A gratitude. No tremor in it, no sideways glance at the door afterward.
He'd been getting more of that lately. Still caught him off guard sometimes, like bracing for a missing stair and finding solid wood under your boot.
Weird feeling. Not bad.
When their order was called and they'd settled at a small corner table, Baptiste examined Finn's glass with undisguised curiosity: dark and still, a faint shimmer catching the light.
"What is 'the usual,' exactly?"
"Cold brew concentrate. Pinch of salt."
Baptiste blinked. "Salt."
"Brings out the body." Finn picked it up. "You oughta try it sometime. Y'know, speakin' of novelty."
Baptiste looked at the glass, then at his own elaborately prepared cup topped with a mountain of whipped cream. Finn could practically taste the ozone of his brain firing on all cylinders.
"I've read about this technique actually. Salt interacts with the sodium receptors on the palate, blocking bitter compounds. It's quite well-documented in the literature around mixology. I never considered applying it to coffee, though."
"Not real common up here."
"Up here," Baptiste repeated, something clicking behind his eyes. "Of course—salt would be rather baseline for you, wouldn't it? Do you know, this is precisely why I treasure our friendship. You carry an entirely different world in your head." He nodded at the cold brew, one hand already extending across the table. "May I?"
Finn slid it closer to him. "Knock yourself out."
Baptiste took a careful sip. Considered. His expression landed on pleasant surprise, the kind that couldn't be performed.
"Excellent taste, my friend," he said, returning the drink. "Though I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. You have a keen eye for quality—even if you insist on leaving your neckwear in a state of perpetual undress."
Finn lifted one hand in a demonstrative half-shrug, addressing the middle distance. "There he goes again with the bowtie." The table thumped when he dropped his hand, leaning back in his chair. "You know what, at this point I'd be disappointed if you didn't."
"I'm glad we understand each other," Baptiste said, entirely pleased with himself.
The conversation meandered from there, in the way it did when you couldn't help chewing the fat together. Baptiste shared a story about a disastrous Guild meeting where two heroes had gotten into a shouting match over protocols for hunting the same monster someone else was already tracking. Finn countered with the tale of a vendor who'd tried to sell "genuine dragon scales" that were definitely just painted lamia scales, and the increasingly elaborate lies the guy had spun when Finn called him on it.
"No!" Baptiste was wheezing with laughter, head in hand. "He claimed he'd personally wrestled the dragon?"
"With his bare hands. In his seventies. Said it was a young dragon, so it was 'only' the size of a cottage."
"The audacity!" Baptiste dabbed at his eyes with his handkerchief. "What did you do?"
"Told him I admired the commitment to the bit, but maybe he should try sellin' to tourists who don't know what dragon scales look like. Then I bought some anyway."
"You didn't!"
"Hey, the paint job was impressive. And you gotta respect the hustle." Finn shrugged, grinning. "Besides, Sylvia got a real kick out of it. Used 'em in a window display called 'What Not To Bring Your Local Potion Maker.'"
Baptiste was still smiling into his cup. "'Committed to the bit,'" he repeated, trying out the phrase. "I've been in rooms full of diplomats who couldn't have put it more succinctly." He shook his head, warm and unhurried. "I do enjoy the way you phrase things—it's delightfully authentic."
Finn's glass stopped halfway to his mouth.
The same tone. The exact same tone Baptiste had used talking about instant coffee.
And something clicked.
Not loudly. Not dramatically. Just a quiet snick of a tumbler sliding into place.
—"This is Finn. Such a fascinating fellow. Self-made man, you know. Really carved out quite a niche for himself. Provides a window into perspectives we don't often encounter in our circles."—
The Guild gala. Baptiste introducing him to some dignitary. Finn had thought Baptiste was helping him network—and he had been. But also.
—"What you've done, committing to legitimate enterprise after your previous... endeavors. Why, it's genuinely admirable. A testament to character, really. Not everyone has the fortitude to transform themselves so completely."—
Over dinner, a couple months back. The admiration had been real—Finn could tell that much. The way you'd admire someone doing a deep trench dive while you took the diving bell.
Finn finally finished bringing his glass to his mouth. Took a sip. Set it down.
“Authentic, huh.” He rolled the word around like it might bite. "What's that supposed to mean, exactly?"
Baptiste set his own drink down as well, mulling it over. "Well… unperformed, I suppose. It's rather refreshing. You say exactly what you mean without all the—" he made a vague gesture "—scaffolding." He smiled, that sensible chuckle slipping through. "Most people I grew up with learned to talk before they learned to say anything."
Refreshing.
Huh.
Finn turned that over once. Twice.
Refreshing like a cool drink on a hot day. Refreshing like opening a window. Refreshing like bad coffee in a tin that you finished anyway because the point was never whether you liked it.
Just to say you'd tried it.
He watched Baptiste across the table. Warm and totally genuine. Not a flicker of anything but sincere goodwill. Approximately zero percent aware that anything had shifted.
Which meant either nothing had shifted, or Baptiste genuinely couldn’t see it.
And Finn couldn’t tell which sat uglier in his gut.
You're losin' it, he told himself. Over coffee.
The thought was not as reassuring as he'd intended it to be.
Finn's mouth curved slightly. "That's funny. Sounds a little like the instant coffee thing."
Baptiste laughed, then didn't quite. Something in the parallel snagged on its way past.
"That's not the same thing at all," Baptiste started, then stopped. His brow furrowed slightly. "The instant coffee was about—I try to seek experiences outside my usual—" He stopped again.
The silence that followed lasted a beat too long to be nothing.
"I don't think that's what I meant," he said finally. Careful. "But I'm… not entirely sure that's the same thing as it not being what I said."
Finn had three different tried and true ways to not say this. Make a joke, change the subject, or let it go.
Old instinct. Keep it light. Save face. Don't hand someone something real unless you're sure they're not gonna walk out the door with it.
He looked at Baptiste again.
He picked none of them.
"It's just—I'm not a novelty. Y'know?" He gestured to himself, imprecise and encompassing. "I'm a guy."
Baptiste's expression did something complicated; not hurt, not defensive. Something more like a man recalibrating in real time.
"For the record," he said, with some feeling, "I enjoy your company because you are perceptive and direct and occasionally alarming and you gave me excellent fashion advice this morning when you could have let me stroll into town like a buffoon. Because you make me laugh in the middle of Guild meetings when I am trying my best to be professional. Because when you explain something, it makes sense." He paused. "Not because you're—refreshing." The word landed with audible distaste for his own prior use of it. "That was—I see now that was badly chosen."
His fingers found the lip of his cup, spinning it slowly back and forth on the table.
"I think what I meant," he said carefully, "was that I find you remarkable. And I expressed it in a way that made it sound like I find you—exotic. Which is not—those aren't the same thing. And I should be able to communicate that clearly." With a somewhat crooked grin forming, he added, "This is an embarrassing lapse for someone who prides himself on rapport."
Finn held up both hands. "Okay, okay." He was already grinning. "You know I'm off the market, right? Sylvia's gonna have opinions if you keep goin' on about it."
Baptiste laughed. Actually laughed, startled out of him. "That is not what I—"
"Relax, pal. I know what you meant." Finn finished his drink. "I gotcha."
They wrapped up pretty naturally after that, all things considered. No ceremony, no formal declaration. Baptiste simply said, "Same time next week?" like it was already settled. Like of course they were doing this again.
"Yeah," Finn said. "Same time next week."
Baptiste's handshake at the door was the same as always—firm, genial, the kind that's bred into you—except Finn had been shaken hands with his whole life by people who were closing something, people who were silently praying he didn't change his mind, and this didn't feel like that.
He stepped outside.
Possibly the least impressive thing he'd ever said in his life: I'm a guy. Said it in a nice café to a nobleman with a notebook and a retired cape, and the nobleman had actually—
Well.
The hero from this morning hadn't known she was going to walk out feeling steadier than she walked in. That wasn't how it worked. You didn’t pencil in the part where your footing got steady. That part just showed up.
Finn adjusted his bowtie and got moving.