#tho spring is sorry to be the cause of his turmoil X'D

[howthesleeplesswander]

Spring's steps remained lively at Kaz's side, oblivious as ever to the cyclical ruminations of her companion—which was a blessing for both of them, really. If she knew the internal turmoil she'd unleashed, she surely would have been too flustered to face this meeting with any amount of decorum.

"That is true, I suppose," she agreed, but there was a hesitation in her tone on which she couldn't help but elaborate. Talking helped stifle the resurgent flutter in her rib cage when he once again acclaimed her skill. "For arrangements like this, however—" she patted the pocket where she'd stashed the sample paintings, "—there are many factors about the location worth considering. The color palette of the decor, for example, or the size of the tables and rooms where they will be displayed. Even the overall air of the establishment is crucial to understand. One would not furnish a funeral parlor with tulips and sunflowers."

In truth, Spring could happily chatter about the finer details of designing flower arrangements for hours on end, but Kaz was spared from such a fate by their destination appearing after the next corner they rounded. All at once, her excitement for the meeting dissipated in a rush, replaced by ridiculous disappointment that Spring tried her best to suppress.

Surely Kaz had a dozen other more important matters to attend with the remainder of his day. It was unfair of her to wish to monopolize more of his time, yet still, she found herself sad to have to part. Admittedly it wasn't a new feeling (a fact that she would be embarrassed to admit), but it was one that had grown stronger as of late, whenever she found herself in Kaz's company and had to inevitably leave it again.

But she fought to not let it show on her face, especially after he encouraged her newfound confidence. Before she could respond with some practiced modesty, however, she was once again caught off-guard by his rushed promise.

"Oh! Really? Are you sure?" She hadn't even considered the need to walk back through the Barrel after the meeting. Goodness, at least one of them was thinking ahead. And just like that, her previous excitement flooded back—more so directed now at the impending walk home than for the client she was about to face.

"Thank you," she said again with her smile in full force. "I will try not to keep you waiting long." Pausing outside the entrance, Spring smoothed out her hair and skirt from any ruffling that may have occurred while traveling through bustling streets. Also taking the opportunity to psych herself up one last time, her companion's encouragement returned to her once more, bolstering her with determination:

If Kaz has confidence in me, then I have nothing to fear.

With eyes alight, she brought her fists up to her chest and bounced on her feet. "All right, here I go—wish me luck!" A final grin and wave over her shoulder were parting gifts before she took the plunge into the House of the White Rose.

She expected more out of him. And that was wrong for a multitude of reasons, though mainly two came to mind: 1) He couldn’t give her that. Or “shouldn’t” might have been more apt. And it wasn’t the first time he’d taken a few steps down a road like this only to conclude that road wasn’t meant for him, no different than a comfy, law-abiding lifestyle fit Dirtyhands; 2) Spring would only expect more if she wanted more, and of all the insanity Kaz had faced since he’d first walked these dangerous, dense streets, that had to be the most unbelievable. He wondered what was the denser in this case: the streets, Spring for desiring his approval, or himself for even exercising any one of these ideas.

But he wasn’t some sorry drunkard staggering about the lively night in a stupor. . . . Kaz looked for signs in everything, remained vigilant in a place where the great majority weren’t. And so, when he caught that trace of disappointment in Spring’s tone, a festering doubt muddying the edges of what was usually so bright and cheerful, he didn’t just shrug it off and move on. (Even if part of him figured he really ought to.)

He snatched it. He copied it down in permanent ink: erratic scribbles of a man willing to drive himself insane because of one look. One word. One change in one woman. And was the irony of how stupidly simple this was—how so many men found themselves on their knees for that one woman—lost on him? Of course not. Kaz just chose to ignore it.

Really, he’d told her what someone in her shoes would want to hear (while still being entirely honest about it): Your client will appreciate your work. That was the goal. That was the whole purpose for her being here tonight, interrupted only by Kaz stepping in to lead the blind through these treacherous streets where he had, once upon a time, been just as blind himself. Logically speaking, that should’ve delighted her. That should have been enough.

But. She’d wanted more.

And only when Kaz amended his statement to express appreciation did Spring’s smile return—

It shouldn’t have. His opinion shouldn’t matter to her. Just like his opinion mattering to her shouldn’t matter to him. But it did. In both instances. And Kaz felt like he was left staring again at a closed, but oh-so-familiar door. Staring. Watching. Waiting. As if that door would just swing open all on its own, as if he didn’t need to turn the handle and walk through the damned thing himself to actually progress.

He was never keen on using the front door, however.

“Flowers are flowers regardless of where they happen to be displayed,” Kaz noted when Spring joined him again. His attention swiveled past her, carefully eyeing a few shadowed corners for any sign of movement. (The only podge willing to jump him of all people would either be an idiot or a new face, but Kaz wasn’t discounting the possibility—particularly when he had Spring with him.) “Don’t doubt your skills simply because the establishment’s not your usual . . . speed.”

Speaking of which—and regrettably—the House of the White Rose came into view at another turn, its ivory facade like a blot of white ink on a gray canvas. Kaz felt his shoulders drop, posture momentarily slackening before he cast Spring another glance. Her newfound excitement coaxed a twitch to the corner of his lips. “See? Now keep that energy.” It suits you better than that earlier doubt, at least. “And show Felix that he’s going to need to scrape up a lot of kruge for your services. He has no excuse when his coffers are full.”

His pace slowed again as they neared the entrance, and he oscillated outside the parlor while weighing his choices. “I’ll wait out here.” The promise came out faster than he meant it to, forcing him to hesitate and control himself—for pity’s sake—before saying more. “Assuming you plan on going home when this is done . . . ?”