contact part deux

[bouchonne]

if this were modern times byerly would probably make you listen to total eclipse of the heart before you were able to leave a message

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[bouchonne]

[ By laughs, and then winds his arms around Bastien's neck and kisses him. It's deep, but not terribly lingering. And at the end, he pulls back a little, and smacks his lips, and asks - ]

New tobacco?

[cozen]

Mmmhm, [ with a wide, crinkly smile, all buzzy warmth (and a spy's admiration) at having such a small detail noticed. ] I picked it up in Antiva. Maybe I'll share.

[ He tugs By onto his lap. ]

Are you alright?

[bouchonne]

Of course.

[ That's a lie. Not a big one, but a lie. As he settles himself on Bastien's lap and arranges his long legs to sit at comfortable angles, he says - ]

Dear Wysteria was far from unreasonable, doubting me. I would also think myself a liar.

[cozen]

[ Bastien hums. One arm around By's waist leaves his other hand free to give his chin a teasing, scolding little shake. ]

Maybe you would, but you are very unkind to yourself, so that cannot be the measure of what is reasonable.

[bouchonne]

[ His hah sounds a bit like touche. Still: ]

Most people who know of me know two things about me: that I'm a drunk and a coward. It's not unreasonable to assume, therefore, that refusing to get drunk - or high - would only come from cowardice. That's just logical deduction.

[cozen]

Cynical deduction.

[ And Wysteria is somehow a tender spot. A burden on my soul, Byerly said once, and Alexandrie had fretted so much about her own attempts at going between them that she'd once stopped by Bastien's desk to warn him Byerly might be upset after they spoke. Bastien had believed they were getting along now. Still believes it. But— ]

You don't think she should know you better by now?

[bouchonne]

[ Indeed. That's the sting. ]

Perhaps.

[ A breath - ]

Things are much improved between us now. But even after improvement, it seems, I remain a scoundrel.

[cozen]

[ Bastien nods—acknowledgment of the problem, certainly not agreement that he's a scoundrel, except in the most affectionate sense, son cher coquin—and gathers one of By's hands, and interlaces their fingers. ]

She was wrong. And once she knew she was wrong, she should have—well, an apology might have been too much to ask for in the moment, when she is feeling so besieged, but she should been glad for you.

[bouchonne]

Hm.

[ He gives Bastien a squeeze of his hand. ]

Well. She didn't believe it. So no reason to be glad for something you think isn't happening.

[cozen]

You think she still isn't convinced?

[ A pause, followed by a huff. The frustrated kind. ]

I'm going to talk to her.

[bouchonne]

No, Bastien -

[ He reaches out and touches Bastien's cheek in mingled embarrassment, despair, and aching love. ]

It's not worth it. It doesn't matter what she thinks.

[ It absolutely does matter what she thinks. ]

[cozen]

That's two lies.

[ There's a touch of amused teasing in his eyes, alongside the defiance, which is also tempered by the lean of his head into By's hand. He's not mad about it. Little lies, I'm fine, it's nothing, those don't really count. He does it too. ]

It does matter. You told her the truth—you would not have exposed something fragile to her like that if you did not care for her. And you are doing a good, hard thing, and the first time you say so where people can hear, you are chastised for it? That is bullshit.

[bouchonne]

[ The obscenity, in Bastien's charming accent, makes him huff with a light little laugh. And he admits: ]

It is a little bullshit.

[ Especially since: ]

I think I've earned a bit of faith. Not much. But a little.

[cozen]

You have.

[ A blind yet very confident agreement. But the fact that Byerly isn't arguing that he isn't due any faith, only downplaying how much, makes Bastien settle down a bit, cinching his arm tighter and resting his cheek against By's shoulder. ]

Did you work out what was wrong, before? Or only stop talking about it?

[bouchonne]

We worked it out. A bit.

[ He starts running his fingers through Bastien's hair, petting him fondly. ]

She thought I thought she was silly.

[cozen]

Mmm—oh, in the bad way? [ asks one semi-secret goofball of the other, as the petting turns him into a pliant new chair-cushion under and around Byerly. ] And she was that upset?

[ On one hand, he can see it: a rifter, a young woman, her wild-to-Thedas ideas and enthusiasm. It must be an uphill battle to be taken seriously. On the other hand, she seems to be handling herself quite well with most everyone else. ]

I am glad she cares what you think, at least. Ten points in her favor.

[bouchonne]

[ A beat, and then with a bit of sheepish surprise: ]

I...didn't really think of it that way. I suppose you're right. I guess it does mean she cares. Then again, she is generally quite sensitive.

[cozen]

Not something you can relate to at all, of course.

[bouchonne]

How dare you.

[ He's not offended. ]

My skin is thicker than my skull.

[cozen]

[ Bastien lifts his head and his hand to do an experimental tap-tap on Byerly’s forehead, gauging the thickness of the bone. Not that it matters: ]

Your armor is thick. That is not the same.

[bouchonne]

Isn't it?

[ He lifts an eyebrow, genuinely curious rather than challenging. ]

[cozen]

You come with skin. You build your own armor.

[ He moves his tapping hand to tap the tip of By's nose instead, before the tapping ceases entirely. ]

And you put it on every morning. Maybe it is such a habit you do not think about it anymore, it's not a choice—but you put it on. You can take it off, if you trust people. Even if you don't, there are places people can get past it. And every time a blow glances off, you know that it could have hurt.

[bouchonne]

Hm.

[ He taps back, fingertips on jaw. ]

Maybe so. Dreadful thing, when someone finds the uncovered spots, isn't it?

[cozen]

Usually. [ His smile forewarns he's about to be a little sappy. ] But sometimes they are only trying to touch you, and it is the best thing in the world.

[bouchonne]

[ Byerly rewards that sappiness by tilting up Bastien's chin and kissing him, deep and sweet. His hands cup the sides of his face. As he breaks away, he says: ]

Fortunate, the marriage of good heart and fleet fingers.