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It was true, this time was different. The musical connection between Y'io and Mavri was still there, just as strong as it had ever been while they were together at Harper Hall; but the emotional connection beyond the music was missing. Or rather suppressed by Turns of believing he'd been jilted. He knew now that it was untrue -- but walls and defenses built up to protect his heart were hard to tear down. Much as he wanted them gone, because he still loved Mavri desperately and was secretly delighted to have found her again. But his head ruled his heart, and his head told him not yet.

Before Y'io could go to the grand spread that High Reaches had laid out for the Hatching Feast, Mavri returned to the table they'd picked with a plate of food and a glass of wine, both of which she pushed toward him. "You didn't have to do that," he said, "but thank you." He really was grateful, too, even though it didn't show. Playing flute all day, especially the physical way he played, was exhausting. He took a long drink of the wine, then looked at Mavri. "I hope you got something for yourself," he commented, raising an eyebrow.

"Mavri..." Y'io gave a sigh, the only sign of any emotion he let show. "Don't neglect yourself. I know it -- this -- is hard. But I don't want you getting sick because of me."

Pushing the plate of food toward the center of the table, Y'io picked up a forkful of delicious roast wherry and held it out to her. "Now open up and take a bite." There was still a flatness to his voice, but a slight glint in his hazel eyes gave the humor he found in feeding her like a mama away.

Y'io closed his eyes and gave a small shrug. "It's just how I play." He felt good though that she remembered his physicality as a musician. "You're no less intense with how you play," he returned the compliment, taking her hand and studying her calloused fingers. "The Masters were always impressed with the amount of emotion you put into your music. Remember?"

Y'io followed her gaze down to their hands. "Thank you," he said, and meant it sincerely. He didn't release her hand for long minutes, and when he finally did it was with some reluctance. Just touching her fingers, calloused as they were from playing gitar, brought back fond memories of playing at Harper Hall, of being so in tune with each other that they could anticipate what the other would do and match the music. And a large part of that was because of the love they felt for each other.

Would he ever be able to heal his heart enough to feel that way again? Would he ever be able to trust her enough?

Picking up the fork again, he took a bite of his meal, then gathered another mouthful for Mavri. "Open wiiiiide..."

"You could have some of my wine, if you like," Y'io offered, scooting the glass across the table. Maybe it was cruel of him, but part of him was almost enjoying how uncomfortable Mavri seemed. He pushed that enjoyment down; if he wanted to mend things with her, it wouldn't do to let that vindictive streak of his have full rein. After all, she had done nothing to him, despite what he had believed for five years; and in truth, he was just as much to blame.

He tapped the side of the glass then picked it up and swirled it a bit. "It's good wine. I'm sure the Weyr wanted only the best for the Feast." Setting the glass down, he again offered it to her. "Go on, have a sip."

Before he could stop her, Mavri had fled into the crowd. "Shells," he muttered to himself as he stood and quickly followed. He wanted to catch her, to stop her from leaving -- but what was he going to say to her once he caught up to her? Y'io had no idea. He just knew he didn't want to lose her.

And that was what this came down to: losing her, again.

Long legs carried the tall Harper through the throngs gathered to celebrate the Hatching, trying all the while to keep an eye on which way Mavri was going. She was small and quick, weaving her way through the crowd. Calling out to her wasn't an option, there was no way she'd hear him over the din of drunken partying dragonfolk and Harpers. If she left...

Finally he caught up to her. Placing a hand on her arm, he gently pulled her to a stop. "Mavri," he said, "please. I don't want you to go. I'm... afraid I'll never see you again. Please don't leave me."

Without thinking, without hesitation, Y'io slid his arms around Mavri and held her close. "I couldn't bear losing you again," he murmured into her hair. "My heart shattered when you left. But I know now that I was... mistaken. About everything. It was my own fault I've been in so much pain all these years."

Mine! What is wrong? Are you all right? The concern in Taliorth's words echoed through Y'io's mind.

Everything is fine, beloved. Finally. He hoped.

Y'io released Mavri and gazed down at her, hazel eyes meeting her warm brown gaze. The faintest hint of a smile quirked at the corner of his mouth; if one didn't know what to look for, one wouldn't have noticed it. "Can you forgive me?" he asked softly.