#i rolled dm asking for a 15 min to catch chad in the act and she gave me a 15

[peerlessscowl]

Another year passes. Raven doesn't seem any older, any closer to the man Chad had come to know further down the line, further in a future Raven has yet to see. It galls them, too, that they had forgotten his face enough to not recognise him sooner—To stay away in the first place, that they had forgotten at all, to make sure their own tragedies remain far-off and intangible. To spare them both.

But here they are with rapport that is not what they'd known before, but isn't so far from that familiar feeling of safety, of comfort. Company they genuinely enjoy is hard to come by. It's something a greedy heart won't easily let go of.

Because before any of that, he'd gotten to know Raven as Raymond. Even if it was some kind of facade, same as before, it doesn't matter—It's easier to tell what's thorns and what's leaves when it's one bramble-bush to another, and Chad's run his fingers along enough leaf-veins to know that his kindnesses were always real.

And he's kind of a shit actor, if he was trying at all in the first place. Not that they'd tell him that.

Raven isn't a student anymore, his dorm is gone from the register, another name written down in his stead. That hardly matters, either. Chad finds him anyways, or at least where he's staying; A utilitarian room, similar to the state Chad had tried to clean theirs up to when Al became their temporary roommate, which they'd summarily given up on when he arrived earlier than expected— Is Raven the same? Does he have all his little keepsakes stashed in a drawer, or in a bag thrown under the bed, or doesn't he? Did he keep the last box? Was it too cumbersome for a drifter like him?

Idle hopes tuck in fears. Bottom line is, if they made a mistake, they just have to fix it... If this can be called fixing it. Like before, they slip in silently, minding the trip wire, not letting their eyes wander, keeping their hands to themself. Again, they place their gift on the desk. Again, it is butter and salt and brown sugar, that perfect gold-brown, still warm, almost soft.

This time, instead of a wooden box, a simple kerchief to keep tidy. Tied to the neck of the bundle, a traveller's charm of feather and beads, teal and red. This time, they linger on the windowsill, just out of sight of the door, just for a little while, just in case—

(But like before, when the choked-out grief begins to grasp their chest too tight, they open the window and leave that way.)

It wasn't difficult to set a trap, if you knew the sort of quarry you were pursuing.

Raven had learned these lessons young - that knowing the ins-and-outs of a hunt would do a man no good if the techniques didn't suit the prey - and carried them with him, close to his heart, and, whether he liked it or not, put these skills to good use in all areas of his life, no matter how mundane.

He knew how to set a trip wire.

And he knew where to set one to guide a smarter prey into the direction he wanted them to go.

They had developed this habit, he couldn't say how - more that wanting to admit the things that he knew to be truth was still just outside of his reach - of avoiding one another when they wanted to see each other most. The boy had caught on just as quick, had played into it, seemed to be cut of a similar cloth to himself, but with less of the painful intention of it.

Which was neither here nor there most days, but, quite in spite of himself, Raven had been reminded that it was his birthday.

As though on cue, the creak of a window above him caused him to tilt his head upwards from where he leant against the stone wall of the alley just outside of his room.

He knew how to wait, as well. That was just as valuable a skill to have.

None could have dared accuse him of being impatient.

Pushing himself off the wall, he moved to stand in the boy's way, blocking the exit to the alley, cocking his head, eyes narrowed in soft consideration.

A beat, a long, heavy pause of things that might have been said, if either of them were a different person.

"Come on then," he said, finally, with a jerk of his head to the backdoor to the alley - leading into the inn's kitchen, where he had left on a pot of tea, and some milk.

For the cookies.