It was a stupid hour and really, Jacob should’ve left ages ago. He could’ve probably found Serefin at Galahd or even in his own bloody club, but he knew if he left, he’d just go home and crawl into bed to feel sorry for himself. Tricked by a building. Honestly. It would’ve stung less if Evie hadn’t been there.
Alright, maybe it still would’ve stung as much, just because it had felt so real. If there was anything Jacob thought he could survive without breaking a sweat these days, he’d have picked a building on fire. But the belief it was happening a third time had nearly undone him.
He thunked his head against the door behind him. He didn’t want to think about it anymore. He wanted a distraction. Not just any distraction though. He wanted a very specific distraction who hadn’t answered his damned door in the middle of the night. Now Jacob was sitting with his legs spread across the hallway, clothes singed, and his skin was still a little blackened and tender in places.
He had a square object tucked under his arm and as soon as he saw Serefin finally headed down the hall, he pulled it out and started to write on it with an oversized marker.
“Oi, I got you a belated birthday gift, in case you decide to test that vow of silence after all.” The board read about bloody time when Jacob flipped it around to be read. He watched Serefin over the top of it. “Maybe you can write spells on it too, I don’t know. Save a few pages in that book of yours.”
This was a pleasant surprise. Serefin had been wasting his time at Galahd, but more in a social manner rather than a need-to-get-drunk manner. It might have been the most sober he had ever left the bar, and that had been because he had hoped to catch a certain assassin there, but he looked too pathetic to leave when Jacob was nowhere to be found. At least there had been alcohol to cover his disappointment.
But then there he was, sitting outside Serefin's door like he had been there for awhile, and Serefin was grinning, his steps slowing as he approached. "Now look who is the one who wants me to not talk to them." It was meant as a joke, and he had started to laugh, but the closer he got to his door and Jacob, something else was off—the distinct scent of smoke, Jacob's singed clothes, and streak of black soot on Jacob's hand.
His smile fell, just a fraction.
"But that's not why you're here, although I do appreciate the gift and your concern about my wasteful parchment usage," Serefin said, running his finger through the text on the white board. Without asking, he took it and marker from Jacob's hands, mostly so he would stop covering his face, and so that Serefin could scribble his own message on it:
Do you want to come in?
He was asking, but he assumed the answer was yes as he reached behind Jacob to unlock the door to his apartment, and step around him to get inside.
Jacob made a noncommittal noise. He knew full well if he really wanted to hide what had happened, it would’ve helped to shower before he came here. But that had rolled back around to the knowledge that he wouldn’t leave the train if he went back there. The rest of the night would’ve just been his liquor cabinet and his bed and his own stupid thoughts. No thank you. He answered the first question a little grumpily as he climbed to his feet.
“Maybe I want to see what you’ll do if you can only sass one person at a time.” A bit of soot marked where he’d been sitting and he scuffed it with a boot before he went inside.
The inside of Serefin’s apartment was still half-shrouded in mystery. He’d been by once or twice but never stayed long. He let himself wander slowly around this time, looking for personal details even if he’d never admit it.
“It’s late,” Jacob said pointlessly. “You can tell me to get lost, you know.”
Serefin was flipping on lights, a modern convenience he reveled in, as he entered the apartment. He had been lucky—no extra rooms, no extra people. Just himself, with an artfully disheveled upkeep.
There were empty wine bottles on a coffee table next to a stack of papers with half-written spells; there was a sheet he had dragged from the bedroom to the sofa for when he couldn't quite make it those few extra steps; his bed, completely unmade with a ridiculous jacket draped over the side, was visible through the cracked door. It was so rare to have company to clean up for.
As he placed the board and the marker on the counter, he sighed at Jacob's quick dismissal of himself. "You wouldn't have waited if you were certain I would turn you away. I only expect you to give me the same courtesy if I show up late one night at your doorstep."
He busied himself shaking each of his empty bottles to see if any were still decently full. "Do you want a drink before or after you tell me—" Serefin turned and made a gesture toward Jacob's whole self, the clothes had been the dead giveaway. "Or you can keep snooping around my apartment, it is not as exciting as you think. But it's late, as you said, who knows what you might find exciting at night."
“I’m not thirsty. And I wasn’t snooping.” Jacob gave a dismissive wave and collapsed onto Serefin’s sofa. Guilt kicked in too quickly to sprawl out, though. He sat up and tugged off his soot-stained jacket, careful not to leave an even bigger mess in the process, and made a face at Serefin that was equal parts apology and annoyance.
Belatedly, he wished he’d kept the white board for himself. All of this would be easier if he could only write out messages on a little square space.
“Evie and I may or may not have investigated the hotel by our own leave.” Draping his jacket over the coffee table didn’t seem like a huge step up over dirtying Serefin’s sofa, but Jacob was too tired and worn to get back up so quickly. He also wasn’t inclined to immediately divulge more details. His eyebrows raised sharply as he sank back into the sofa. “Actually, I changed my mind. Is it all wine here or do you have some whisky?”
"Mmhm," was all Serefin said in regards to the not snooping. He watched Jacob move about, and remove his jacket. He was not attached to the sofa, or the table, or much to this apartment. Except maybe the bed. So he simply shrugged when Jacob looked apologetic about ruining it. He pulled his own jacket off and quickly threw it in an empty corner.
There was a second where Serefin's uncovered eye went wide in surprise. He knew better than to investigate the hotel willingly, not with the stories that were coming out of it from unsuspecting victims. Jacob was either insanely brave or wildly stupid. Maybe both.
"That doesn't explain why you look like you lost a fight with a fire," Serefin said before it sort of clicked together. Serefin seemed indecisive—stay and wait for Jacob to say more or dig out liquor. He went with the latter in hopes he could get more of the former.
When he came back with a half-bottle of cheap whisky, he dropped it into Jacob's hands before slumping inelegantly onto the couch beside him. Serefin took a deep breath, before asking, "Have you always been afraid of fire or is this a new horrible thing Vallo has brought upon you?"
Jacob enjoyed the feeling of the bottle’s glass against his fingertips. The liquid inside might have been cheap - and burned all the way down when he took a long swallow - but the glass was cool to the touch on his tender skin. It was nice to have a label to fidget with too.
“Afraid is a strong word.” He dropped his head to the sofa back and rolled it to look over at Serefin. “I…” There was a cheeky lie on the tip of his tongue but something stopped him. It was the glimpse of a scar across Serefin’s neck. It was hidden again by Serefin’s collar in the space of an instant, but assassins didn’t forget details like that. He shifted his thoughtful gaze back up to Serefin’s face.
“I had some…previous encounters with buildings on fire and managed just fine. Better than fine really.” He picked at the corner of the whisky label. “But I suppose third time’s a charm and all that.”
Serefin's attention flicked from Jacob's face to his hands fiddling with the bottle. The fidgeting was a common occurrence that Serefin had often done to avoid talking about one thing or another, so to see it coming from Jacob made him acutely aware that he was talking around something, the point was somewhere in the words "managed just fine."
He reached out, his fingers grazing the back of Jacob's hand in a request—let me see. Serefin only took his one hand, palm up, to inspect for more damage that wasn't so visibly obvious.
"I remember," Serefin started to say, keeping his eye on Jacob's hand instead of his face, "you told me about being courted by a murderer and he locked you in a burning building. I thought it was a ridiculous anecdote for you to tell at parties." Serefin hadn't thought much about it then, figuring an assassin like Jacob worked easily under the pressure. Maybe that was the problem: too many assumptions.
"Perhaps whatever you did the other two times wasn't exactly correct in managing just fine. But who am I to give you advice?" Serefin paused, then asked, "How do you plan on managing this third time?"
Jacob cooperated easily, turning his hand palm up. Both of his palms looked like he’d set them to a hot plate for a few seconds. It wasn’t enough to leave any permit damage, and it was really more of an annoyance than anything else, but it heightened the sensation of Serefin’s touch.
He snorted at the word courted; how would Roth feel hearing that word, he wondered. Pleased in some mad way, probably.
“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I don’t really have plans.” Jacob twisted his fingers to graze two along the inside of Serefin’s wrist. “I came here. That was as far as my plan went. Then you weren’t here and I…I just...” Sighing, he took another swig from the bottle and then wiped the back of that hand across his mouth. “There were kids in the first fire. Did I tell you that?”
"Ah, so you wing everything, I was trying to give you the benefit of the doubt," Serefin replied, even though there was the slightest hint of a smile. It was inappropriate given the evening, but Serefin was being acutely hypocritical. He often—if not, always—waltz through life winging it. Plans were easily broken; there was no accounting for everything.
For instance, his plan tonight had been to come back to this empty apartment and face-plant into his bed. But now he was with Jacob, albeit under less-than-stellar circumstances, but it was better than he intended.
The muscles in his arms tensed with Jacob's fingers on his wrist. He wanted to pull away, knowing just a little further up his arm there was a smattering of rough scars from unenchanted blades, reckless magic usage, and his own teeth. Serefin ignored the urge and watched Jacob take a pull of whisky.
"You mentioned something about that. Are you going to tell me not to call you a hero again? I think saving children distinctly puts you in that territory, but I'm willing to give you a break on account of your evening." Serefin made a small hmm noise. "Or was that not the case?"
Realizing that he’d already talked more about the first fire than he remembered made Jacob scowl. He wasn’t emotionally mature enough to admit he was carrying anything people would consider trauma, unfortunately. Not out loud, and certainly not to someone he wanted to think highly of him. All he was mature enough to do was go back to picking at the label and slump back into the sofa, pressing his shoulder against Serefin’s.
“I was there to help burn down the building,” he grimaced. Roth had done a very good job of playing into Jacob’s weaknesses – excitement, destruction, screwing over Templars – but Jacob had known from the start that Roth was a Templar asset for a reason. “I knew what company he kept, what he was capable of. And still I kept playing along.”
He slid a glance over and feigned nonchalance. “Have you ever been close to an out of control fire?”
"I start them. I don't stick around to see the destruction they cause, it's all very self-explanatory," Serefin said, but he knew that wasn't the point Jacob was trying to make. He was placing all the pieces mentally in front of him: kids inside, there to help burn the building down, making a bad choice knowingly. There was a dark understanding in his expression as he tore his eye away from Jacob; there were things Serefin had done, irredeemable despite trying to justify it.
The fidgeting was contagious, and Serefin reached for the bottle and took a drink for himself. "But you have. This one with the children that you started? Or was it the second one you haven't mentioned yet? Did you think it was karma coming after you? Poetic justice for doing something you knew was wrong? Stop me when I'm getting close." But Serefin stopped himself, and shook his head.
"Are you waiting for me to judge you?" This was a softer question with an edge of wry cynicism. "After tonight, I think whatever the hotel reminded you of—" He was touching Jacob's palm again, only for a second, before placing the bottle back into it. "I think that was enough of penance, don't you?"
Jacob shook his head and clenched his now empty hand into a fist for a second before rubbing it over his face. “I saw there were kids inside and I tried to stop it but it was too late by then. I had to go in and get them out. I should’ve made sure the building was clear before we even started, I just—“
Admitting he trusted someone like Roth wouldn’t mean much to Serefin. But if it got to Evie, well. He could picture her pitying – and yet still somehow judgmental - stare already. He’d always been weak to praise and powerful personalities that found him interesting.
“Suffice to say, I was an idiot,” he grumbled. The belligerence died out a little at Serefin's touch on his palm but he didn't make eye contact, just frowned as the bottle was returned. “That fire was nothing next to the one he set to punish me for my insolence, though. An entire theater went up around me and I had to claw my way out. I…suppose it…maybe left more of a mark than I wanted to admit.”
He should have saddled himself onto Jacob's self-deprecation. Maybe even commiserate about being idiots together—Serefin had done his fair share of stupid, irresponsible things. But he was stuck thinking about Jacob pulling out children from a fire he started. And worse, being punished by someone by attempting to burn Jacob alive. His expression was too serious, too conflicted, too much for them.
Serefin felt shame at suggesting Jacob come burn down the cathedral all those weeks ago with little concern. Serefin felt ashamed that, not so long ago, he would have burned Tranavian and Kalyazi alike for less. Had. His mouth went a little dry.
"Isn't that where the terror comes from?" Serefin asked, but spoke in the undisputed way a person who lived the experience did. "The things you don't know leaving marks behind, only to catch you when you least expect it. No one is aware of everything, but no one wants to admit weaknesses. You cannot be impervious to fear, even if you are an assassin."
Serefin made a tsk-tsk at Jacob's hands. "This was too close, though."
Jacob hummed. It wasn’t quite a noise of agreement but it wasn’t denial either. Sensible commentary tended to make him sour, but from Serefin it didn’t annoy half as much.
“Assassins can’t afford to be afraid of things like fire,” he pointed out. “Evie was there and I—“ He took a quick pull from the bottle and then set it aside on a table next to them. “—I put her at risk being lost in my own bloody head.”
This feeling of weakness wasn’t unknown to him, but he was usually better at shrugging it off. Everyone made mistakes, no matter who pretended otherwise. And it was at least a comfort that he hadn’t failed entirely. “I shook free eventually but she’ll have every right to hold this one over my head later.” He took on a snooty tone, aiming to lighten the mood as he smirked over at Serefin. “Good God, Jacob, you knew what it could do. Must you always be so recklessss?”
"I'm certain your sister is equally afraid of something that she refuses to tell you about. She'll put you at risk, and you can save her skin, and you'll both be even. It's not as though you're better than one another, you just have different talents to be used at different appropriate moments," Serefin said, with a flourish of his hand, settling back against the couch.
He closed his eye briefly, in solidarity. He knew what it was like to be trapped inside his own head. Trapped with something else too. What a mess. He could not fault Jacob for anything the hotel had dragged out of him. Even if he had gone there on purpose.
It was the Evie imitation that pushed a short laugh out of him. "Oh, you sound just like her. I cannot wait to tell her about your impression. Maybe you can do it again.” Serefin turned his head, not lifting it from the sofa, with a wide smile that only faltered for a moment. "Before you tell me not to bleed for you, do you want something for your hands? Or perhaps a new shirt? Something that reeks a little less of smoke?"
Jacob gave a doubtful snort at the thought of Evie needing any saving. But then he hadn’t needed saving so much as her steady presence. He could pretend to be steady if she did run into trouble. He was good at pretending to be steady.
He almost felt a little steadier, here.
His smirk grew bolder at Serefin’s words. “Is this your version of politely asking me to take off my clothes then? You smell, wear something of mine. Because I have to say…” He took a sniff of his own shirt and wrinkled his nose. “…It’s not the worst approach.” He unbuttoned his shirt and got it off one shoulder before halting.
“Are you sure you want me to stay?” It was different from saying you can tell me to go.
Serefin was already throwing himself off the couch when Jacob reached for the buttons of his shirt. He promised something that wasn't singed and moderately clean, and the closest thing was a shirt he had draped over the back of a chair of his dinette days ago.
"You should know I was mostly lying. Politely asking would involve a please, but little else outside of my current approach, and that's only because I was raised to have manners—" He trailed off, lacking all levels of nonchalant, at seeing Jacob undressing on his couch. Which was ridiculous, considering he had seen him without a shirt before. But that was because the gash on Jacob's head had been mostly distracting. There was nothing now.
He stepped forward, handing over the shirt. "It's not about what I want. It's about what you need, and if that is to be safely tucked away on my couch for an evening, I would be unnecessarily cruel to say no." Serefin grinned, charmingly devilish, before he added, "But I can say I want you to stay if that will make you stop asking me to find a reason to make you leave."
“Ooh, pity,” Jacob dramatically winced, covering his heart with a hand. “Just what a bloke loves to hear as he takes off his clothes.” It stung a little, but this seemed to be the day for that kind of thing. And Serefin’s distracted hesitation soothed Jacob’s pride a fraction, at least. He was too tired to peel himself off the sofa unless ordered to go away anyway.
He finished pulling off his shirt and draped it over his ruined jacket before donning the replacement. It was a careful procedure because it seemed like everytime he moved, he discovered a new tender spot on his torso, red or outright singed.
“Cheers.” He mustered up a crooked smile and pulled a deck of cards out of his pocket. “Still up for learning whist? I might even teach you how to win since you’ve been so accommodating.”
"It's not as though you were keeping your clothes off or would have said yes to an invitation to my bed. I was hiding my disappointment," Serefin said, with an equally cheeky grin, and similarly dramatic clutching at his heart. It might have been the boldest, most direct thing he had ever uttered in Jacob's direction, but he was playing a fool's game.
He did glance away though as Jacob dressed, finding it difficult to watch him slip in and out of clothes when under obvious distress and pain. Serefin could easily fix it, he contemplated the merits of just doing it without permission, but this was a different sort of ache in Jacob's movements. Maybe he wanted it as a reminder that Serefin had no right taking away.
With a sigh, Serefin started moving empty bottles out of the way for a card space on the coffee table, just to do something other than stare at Jacob. "Just show me how to play your whist game, and I'll figure out how to win without your help." Oh, he found one with more than a sip of wine left; Serefin tipped his head back and took a drink.
"And when I do, you cannot say I did anything out of pity again."
Jacob was glad he was able to button up the borrowed shirt because his blushes had a tendency to travel. As it was, his gaze lingered on Serefin too long. Hopeful. Doubtful. The hotel had made a mess of his defenses for the day; he’d even hugged his sister not too many hours ago and not felt in the least bit awkward about it.
He couldn’t muster up any more nonchalance tonight.
“Well,” he murmured quietly, cutting the cards and starting to shuffle. “Aren’t you full of assumptions tonight. I guess we’ll see how you do…”