#so enjoy this whilst covid is breaking down my 'mortifying ordeal of being known' complex

[raineandsky]

This is a epilogue to a lil project of mine - loving titled Around the World in 80 Cafes :)

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Crow arrives in the village, accidentally, under the cover of darkness. His client has made his rounds of the lands a lot more hurriedly than he’d expected, and the opportunity to get the hell away from him as soon as possible was not an opportunity lost on Crow.

“Everyone’s favourite mercenary’s back early,” the guard, Phive, comments from the walkway as he reaches the top of the ladder. Her job’s been rendered a little obsolete since Norveticus brought his family’s little empire to the ground, but she seems more than happy to stand here, with nothing to do, at one in the morning. “Good run?”

“Was a’ight.” He waves her off with a gruff laugh. “Pays just enough to deal with the nobility that comes with the job.”

Phive snorts, gesturing down the walkway with her spear. “Speakin’ of, I think your noble’s been anxious for you to get back. He’s been stress-bakin’ for, like, four days.”

Crow frowns suspiciously. “He's a cook, Phive. He doesn’t bake.”

“Exactly.” Phive grins. “You should get outta town more often. He’s good at it, and it’s usually me that gets first pick of whatever he’s makin’.”

Crow rolls his eyes as Phive laughs. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

He pauses in front of his house. It feels strange to think—his house. He spent so long flitting between the houses here in his youth; whoever had the space, had the energy for him. Now here he is, standing outside a house he can actually call home. It’s a strange feeling, and not one he hates.

It smells delicious inside, as always, and he can see what Phive was talking about. It’s definitely the aroma of baking—sweet, a little less intense than usual, and concerningly strong for one in the morning. He can see that the kitchen light’s on from here. He can’t be worried enough to be up at this time, surely.

The culprit of the smell is sitting on the kitchen counter. A cake of some sort, by the looks of it, but not one he’s seen before. The kitchen’s empty though, thankfully, so after a second to marvel at the treat he’s back on his way.

He doesn’t find Norveticus where he expected to; he’s neither in the kitchen or the bedroom, where Crow was mostly hoping he’d be, but instead in the living room. Crow comes across him on the sofa, his arm left hanging over the side and a book dropped heartlessly on the floor. He carefully picks the book up, giving it a onceover—it’s Norveticus’s own cookbook, nothing he hasn’t read a thousand times—before laying it on the table nearby.

He squats down near his face, simply content to admire Norveticus for a moment. He seems so peaceful like this, blissfully unbothered. The light from outside dances over his face, his hair a little ruffled from his obviously unintentional nap. He’s unfairly pretty, as always, and Crow didn’t realise how much he missed him until now.

He knows Norveticus will find something to worry about the moment he wakes up, so he just quietly takes in the view before giving him a light nudge.

Norveticus stirs, kind of. He clearly has no intention to wake up. “Angel,” Crow whispers.

Norveticus makes some halfhearted noise that sounds vaguely like “huh?”

Crow can’t help but laugh a little. He ghosts a hand over Norveticus’s face, his thumb brushing idly against his cheek as he finally opens his eyes. “I’m home, Norv.”

Norveticus stares at him in a blank half-squint for a long moment. Then it suddenly seems to click what he’s seeing—he bolts upright, his eyes wide, his mouth working to probably try and say several things at once.

“Hey,” Crow says plainly, an unavoidable grin working its way onto his face, and the single word seems to break Norveticus out of his stupor.

“Oh my god, Crow!” He throws his arms around Crow’s neck, half-dragging him onto the sofa with him. “You’re back—” Norveticus pulls away rather suddenly to hold him at arm’s length, a frown adorning his face. “… early.”

“Don’t worry,” he says quickly. “The job just finished earlier than we expected.”

Norveticus lets go of him quickly, a disappointed frown on his face. “But I had everything planned,” he whines. His gaze slides past Crow and to the kitchen. “I was going to do this big thing for when you came back. I was going to make that pie you said you liked, and I wanted to get you some flowers and I was going to get Hettie to make another cloak and—”

“Norv,” Crow interjects exasperatedly. He gently takes Norveticus’s face in his hands, like he needs some sense talking into him. “I don’t need a big thing. I came home because I wanted to be with you, okay?”

Norveticus huffs. “Can I at least still make the pie?”

“I’m not stopping you from making anything.” Crow snorts at the slight scowl on Norveticus’s face. “Phive tells me you’re a baker now, anyway.”

There’s a half second where Norveticus looks like he’s about to delve in to explain the exact things he’s been making—a common occurrence, and music to Crow’s ears—before he leaps out of Crow’s hold and to his feet.

“My cake!” he cries. Crow slowly gets back to his feet as Norveticus beelines for the kitchen. “God, I didn’t mean to go to sleep—it’s ruined.”

Crow lingers in the doorway as Norveticus flutters nervously over the perfectly fine-looking cake on the counter. “It looks a’ight to me,” he offers simply, “and it smells pretty good.”

“Smell and taste and entirely separate experiences, Scarlet Crow,” Norveticus says matter-of-factly. “It may smell like a god has made this, but I can assure you the texture will be absolutely vile. I was meant to put it in the ice box, like, two hours ago.”

“Did you seriously just drop my full mercenary name to explain food to me?”

“Yes,” he says flatly. He gives the cake a poke for good measure, his nose wrinkling slightly when it wobbles. “I am the culinary expert here, and I’m telling you that it will taste bad.”

“I don’t believe you.” Crow’s already rooting through the drawer for a fork. “You wanted to have something ready for when I got back, right? Let me try it.”

Norveticus seems to go through the five stages of grief in half a second. “Crow, I wanted to have something edible for when you got back. This will probably kill you.”

“I’d like to see it try.” He reaches for the cake, only stopped when Norveticus tries to block him. Crow tries to nudge him out the way but he’s goddamn stubborn. Nothing particularly new. 

Norveticus grabs his arm to try and stop him and Crow wriggles theatrically in his grip, making another stab for his prize.

“Crow!” Norveticus yelps with a laugh. “Stop!”

The two of them wrestle for a moment before Crow finally manages to tear a bit of cake with his fork. Norveticus notices a second too late, and Crow shoves it in his mouth before the other can stop him.

For a moment, all Crow can feel is victory. Then surprise. Then overwhelming disappointment. Then, like the cherry on top of the cake, acute defeat.

Norveticus watches this cycle of emotions blankly, like he was expecting nothing less.

It takes Crow a second too long to talk around the dough sticking to the roof of his mouth. “It’s… it’s really good,” he chokes out.

“You’re a horrendous liar, Crow.”

“Divine.”

“You’ve never called anything divine in your life.”

Keeping his face passive is almost impossible with the cake practically attacking him from the inside. Norveticus was, tragically, right—the dough clumps and glues to anything it touches. The taste wouldn’t be so bad if it wasn’t burning itself into every inch in his mouth. 

He swallows it, finally, and it’s equally a relief to have it gone and abysmal going down.

“Welcome home,” Norveticus says flatly.

Crow hums a laugh, planting a soft kiss on the top of his head. “Glad to be here, angel.”

Norveticus smiles pleasantly before a yawn forces its way through. Crow laughs lightly. “D’you wanna head back to bed?” he adds after a moment.

“Ugh, please.” Norveticus grabs his hand and drags him from the kitchen. “But only if you come to bed with me.”

Crow stops him in the doorway to the bedroom, pulling him in for a kiss. It’s short, sweet, frankly atrocious-tasting with that cake still lingering in his mouth—but it’s a kiss all the same, and Crow’s been craving one whether it tastes bad or not.

Norveticus pulls away from him after a moment, his eyes drifting over Crow’s face for a moment. “I missed you,” he whispers into the quiet.

Crow sighs contentedly. “And I missed you, angel.”

Norveticus smiles at that, and it’s so bright and warm that Crow might as well be staring into the brilliance of the sun.