"Of course." Fi didn't let himself smile but there was something pleased in his eyes. Johan had never thanked him before. Had never seemed like talking to Fiori was anything but painful, after everything was said and done. He had to admit, he was touched. "I… ah… I do not know if any of your old clothing is still here. Most of it has been replaced with things that I can wear."
Still, he ducked out of the bathroom and began to look. There wasn't anything formal left over, hardly anything nice, but he managed to find a rumpled pair of pants and a few layers of shirts that he hoped Jonah would deem suitable. "These will have to work, I'm afraid."
Johan had wandered out of the bathroom and lowered himself to a seat by the time Fiori returned with the clothing. He frowned, looking amongst the options, then Fi, finally turning the greater part of his disappointment towards the pants. “The shirts are…alright. But I’d sooner sneak into Leviticus’ room and steal from his wardrobe than wear those trousers.” He grimaced, clenching his jaw with the effort, and pushed himself up to stand and take the shirts from Fi. He browsed through the layers like one would sort through formal papers. “At least these don’t look like they’ve been trampled by a horse.”
Fi offered Johan a soft smile as their eyes met, but he was quick to look away again, attention turning towards the apparently unworthy pair of trousers. They didn't look so bad to him—wrinkled, yes, and slightly moth eaten but certainly wearable—but he was beginning to understand that Johan had much higher standards than he. "They're all I could find. You have an iron, don't you?" He glanced around the room, eyes catching on the slowly dying fire. "We can fix them up a bit before you go and see your brother—unless you'd like to visit without any pants at all."
Johan wrinkled his nose at the suggested alternative. “No. Damn it, give me the pants.” Taking the trousers—given more curt than necessary—he hobbled over to the fireplace and poked at it with the stick. His movements were stiff. Wary of his still-sore injuries. It felt good to stoke his own fire again, though. On the other side of the stone there was a solid metal iron set on the shelf, and some ways away, the corresponding board. “My staff would do this for me,” he said while he worked. “The laundry, I mean. They insisted doing something for me, or else the treasurer wouldn’t pay them, so, this was it.”
Fi followed Johan over to the fireplace, settling a few feet away and basking in the warmth with not so subtle excitement. Widonia was much colder than he'd expected, and even with all his new clothing the chill managed to sink down to his bones. Of course, the small talk Johan offered him was every bit as comforting as the fire. Guilt had, deservedly, been eating him alive all night, and it felt good to be on even footing with him again. Better footing, even, than they had been on before. "I'm surprised, Johannan." He gave the prince a warm slip of a smile, just present enough to signal that he was teasing. "I didn't think you were so easily persuaded."
A faint flush lifted on Johan’s cheeks as Fiori settled near him, though it could have only been the heat from the fire. That would make more sense. Reaching towards the shelf to retrieve the iron, his eyes flicked over to Fi’s smile, then immediately back to the task at hand. He gnawed at the inside of his cheek within the natural pause of their conversation, and when it was his turn to respond he said, “Mhm. Well, I figured they liked their free time as much as I like being on my own. Laundry was the most logical compromise if they wanted pay.”
The fire crackled quietly in the background as Fi listened, accompanied by the soft clanking of the iron and the easy tenor of Johan's voice. It was soothing somehow, similar enough to the sounds of home that for the first time in days he felt some of the tension in his body relax. "You're very different than I thought you would be, Johannan." His voice was soft. His eyes moved lazily over Johan's face, taking in the flush and the half-pleased expression without lingering for more than a moment or two. Internally, it left him feeling warm. There was something very comforting about knowing that Johan was pleased by his company and his closeness, even if that feeling might be fleeting. "Much… much softer, around the edges. Much more kind."
Johan winced at the effort it took to maneuver the iron in place. It wasn’t too heavy, just awkward. At times he forgot about the bruises on his ribs, they’d healed a bit within the past week, and he managed fine enough once he adjusted his stance. He shot a sidelong glance at Fi at the observation, somewhat resembling a glare, yet it was softer somehow. Interested, with a twinge of offense. Soft? No one had ever described him as soft before. Then again, he’d never been comfortable to be so in anyone else’s presence before either. Rarely anyone made the effort because they didn’t have to. Fiori didn’t have to, but here he was, calling Johan soft in that captivating voice of his that was so much deeper, richer than the voices of Widona. “You…you too. What I mean is—I-I mean you’re different than I thought too.” His face got redder.
Fi subtly started to shift closer as Johan struggled with the iron, but he stopped himself almost at once. Johan was still hurt, yes, but he wasn't fragile—not anymore. Caring for him, at least in the pushy, insistent way he had when Johan was too broken up to do things for himself and too angry and proud to accept help. And of course, he didn't want to keep pushing Johan's boundaries like that. Even the slight offense being leveled on him now, far less caustic than most of what had been aimed at him, had him flushing slightly, ducking his head with a faint, sheepish smile of apology. "I know that my Widonian isn't the most polished, I don't mean to insult you." He was almost surprised when he looked up and found Johan going red at the cheeks. "I'm glad you see me for more than you thought, I… I am glad that we have come to know each other, in this way. I just… I never thought that you could be so easy to sit with. To talk to."
Johan fixed his attention to the fireplace, and the iron slowly beginning to heat up. He only spared a quick glance at Fi’s apology, just to look away again immediately. “It’s fine.” So intentionally focused on the task he hardly noticed Fiori shifting closer. Especially when it had only been so subtle. In some way, if he had been more aware of it, he might have been appreciative of Fiori’s ultimate decision. The trust the two of them were slowly building. Johan quickly brushed the thoughts of trust companionship away. Levi had still wanted him to be supervised like some child. “Right. It’s not like I really have a choice,” he muttered. The words were sent off to the side, not towards Fi directly. “My brother asked you to be disciplinary with me, didn’t he? But in a cruel way that he makes sound just? That sounds like something he would ask.”
Fi still had to force himself not to wince as he processed the words, no matter where they were directed. Leviticus was his friend, after all. It felt wrong to let Johan call him cruel, even though he knew that their relationships with the man were vastly different. "He told me to look after you, yes." He couldn't help but soften the nature of his involvement, not quite willing to face the fact that he would eventually have to discipline Johan instead of caring for him. It was cowardice, plain and simple, but he had never been brave when it came to this. "But not for the reasons you think. He said… he said he trusted that I would not go too far. That I would treat you fairly where others could not."
No doubt Leviticus considered Johan cruel as well, perhaps for more valid, obvious reasons. Johan’s thought patterns were flawed. He saw slights against him when there were none, and he was hyper-vigilant against perceived injustices done to him. Levi saw that, and for the longest time felt sympathy for his little brother. Until recently, when he crossed the line. Although it begged the questions—how long had he been scheming Levi’s capture, and how had it been successful when on the surface it appeared Johan was the only one who had a vendetta?
Johan pulled the iron out of the fire and brought it over to his pants thrown over the board. He chewed on his lip, processing Fiori’s words, while he worked in slow easy movements. Wary of his physical limitations. “That sounds like him too. Because it doesn’t make sense, I mean, why give me someone like you? You’re…” loathsome, yet so damn attractive because of it was one way to put it.
(School is starting and I'm a bit busy, so it might take me until the weekend to get a reply up. Sorry for the wait!)
(Oke! It’s all good, I don’t mind waiting. I thought I might refresh the notification just in case ^^)
No doubt Leviticus considered Johan cruel as well, perhaps for more valid, obvious reasons. Johan’s thought patterns were flawed. He saw slights against him when there were none, and he was hyper-vigilant against perceived injustices done to him. Levi saw that, and for the longest time felt sympathy for his little brother. Until recently, when he crossed the line. Although it begged the questions—how long had he been scheming Levi’s capture, and how had it been successful when on the surface it appeared Johan was the only one who had a vendetta?
Johan pulled the iron out of the fire and brought it over to his pants thrown over the board. He chewed on his lip, processing Fiori’s words, while he worked in slow easy movements. Wary of his physical limitations. “That sounds like him too. Because it doesn’t make sense, I mean, why give me someone like you? You’re…” loathsome, yet so damn attractive because of it was one way to put it.
Fiori had never been one to consider the difficult questions, not when there were easier things to puzzle out. The part of him that was a strategist, that had once been a general, screamed at him to consider how Johan had gotten the support necessary to send Levi away, to consider who was a risk, but the sting of being around the other nobles was too much for him to bear, and so he threw his mind into more comfortable things, like the conversation at hand.
He was quiet for a moment, puzzling out what Johan thought he was—cruel, perhaps? kind? soft? strict?—and when he did speak his voice was soft. Almost reverent. "It has been a great reward looking after you, Johannan. It… it is good, for me, and for you I hope, and I don't care to think about why I am allowed to do it. Only fools question their blessings."
Johan didn’t answer that—verbally, at least. His head tilted like an unbalanced scale, or a ball bearing just slightly out of place in his neck. There was a shift in his thinking too. Maybe Fiori wasn’t someone to be angry with. Maybe Fiori was a good thing. Then again, there was that fight last night. Had this morning made up for that?
Johan didn’t bother responding until he finished with his pants, the iron set up safely on its own hook again far from anything that could burn, and after he was dressed. Nothing fashionable given his options, but clean and decent nonetheless. His trousers fastened over the hem of his shirt, and perhaps if he could find either a hide or fur vest someplace, that could come close to his typical everyday outfit. Hobbling over the the mirror standing against the wall, he adjusted the tucked shirt until he found the ideal balance between comfort and appearance.
“I—it yes, it has been nice, I guess. What I meant before, basically, I assumed you would be something like a ‘governess’.” He cringed at the word, but it was the best he could come up with in the moment. “Or a prison guard. But…you’re not like that. At all. We fight, but it’s fun. In a way.”
