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Sajahka wanted his knives back.

Nyko had not been pleased to find him in the state Leukos had left him last time. And Sajah supposed he couldn’t blame him. His friend had reasonable concerns. He wanted Sajah to take it easy, rub some ointment on his bruises, clean himself up, rest, heal, wait. They could ‘get his knives back later,’ ‘soon.’ Yet, while all of these were understandable, grounded wants, Sajahka regrettably could not abide by them.

He had given himself the day.

A night to rest after he had made his way back to Nyko’s side, and the day to make his explanations as they’d come, to think, to recuperate—and to plan. While it may have been advisable in some senses to take more than that, he had (what he felt to be) a very valid concern that he did not know how long he had, even if he wanted to afford himself the luxury of waiting. There was no guarantee Leukos would remain in the same inn even another night. The man evidently didn’t live here, or he wouldn’t be paying for lodgings — particularly strapped for coin as he was now — and if he wasn’t here permanently, he could be gone again any moment.

And there was no way for Sajah to convince himself he would be able to track him down again if he did. True, there were other knives in the world, and he could arm himself again — and did, minimally, before leaving the safety of the Buhawi camp again.

But those were his. And perhaps at least as importantly (even if he was loathe to admit it), Leukos had baited him. Of everything, it was the last line of his note that had strung itself out and woven it into his conscious: See me again sometime. It was every bit intentional, he knew. It couldn’t not be, seeing as it mirrored his own, after his first night with him, and he refused to back away from the invitation now.

Clearly, so far as he saw it, Leukos wanted him to come after what he’d taken—of course, he wanted more than that, but that would be his disappointment to bear when the time came. Besides, Sajah reasoned as he made his way down the now-increasingly-familiar streets, what did Leukos expect? That he would return shame-faced and head down, lesson learned as he presented the man’s money back in full in exchange for knives worth but a pittance in comparison? More to Sajah personally, of course, but he wasn’t remotely sentimental enough to throw away much-needed funds.

He had the sneaking suspicion that if Leukos knew anything of his character by now, he would know better and realize he what he was inviting. But, if he didn’t, Sajah supposed that would only make the surprise all the more satisfying.

By the time he closed in on Leukos’ residential district, it was well past midnight, the moon high overhead and the sky clear, air crisp with nothing but the sounds of night and a ghost of a night breeze. Nyko hadn’t wanted him out, and he had known the boy had a point—and he hadn’t wanted to worry him, or be followed. So, he had waited. Besides, this would increase the likelihood to a near certainty that Leukos would be solidly asleep by the time he made it in, a serious boon.

For all that he’d put it through, when he made it up to the edge of the pebbled alley street beneath Leukos’ window, his body felt energized, prickling with it—ready. He tipped his head, eyes skimming up the wall to survey his task. It was too flat to scale to Leukos’ floor without equipment, or skills he didn’t possess. Remediable, if he fashioned the necessary equipment and he had brought rope, and likely could have determined a way up from where he stood. But — his gaze raised to the line of the roof, just over the top of the window — there was no reason he had to handle the up portion here, if it proved to be that climbing down worked just as well.

After a survey of the full building and its adjacent structures, Sajah eventually made his way up the building opposite—which had a collection of stacked packing crates and a low hanging rain-drain that allowed reasonably simple scaling. It might have been simpler to test the man’s lock first and try his hand at picking, but again, if Leukos had learned anything about him thus far, it seemed likely he would protect against at least the most obvious of invasions.

Besides, it had been some time since Sajah had gotten the chance to climb, and given the opportunity and reason to do so, it would seem like a great waste of life experience to forgo the chance to move in through the man’s bedroom window. After their short history so far, it felt apt as much as necessary. When he made it to the appropriate rooftop, over from its neighbor, he assessed what he was working with. He removed his shoes — needed for walking the dirty streets, but not tight enough or otherwise suited for wall scaling — so that his feet could grip, fastened the shoes at his belt, secured his rope to the roof, making use of one of the solid pipes for an anchoring point, and, after securing the rope about him, he crouched at the roof’s edge, gripped, and let himself over.

His feet touched to the wall. The rope held fast. He glanced, Leukos’ window just to his left, and — potently aware that if anything failed him, he’d be falling the story and half onto the ground below — he made his way over, feet hooking eagerly at the windowsill when he reached it and pulse quick and fast in his throat when he edged further and—his hand braced, one to one side of the window and body tucked to the other, propped.

He was up, down, and over. All that remained was to get in.

Leukos had pulled the shutters, but it was not the most sophisticated of establishments. Now that he had a secure perch, he was free to take his time, inspecting it to see what he could make of how the latch functioned—difficult in the dark, but at least a starting point—before he took to pulling from the small assortment of tools at his belt (Nyko’s belt, technically; he’d needed a functioning one), and slid a thin metal rod between the shutters, catching and edging up the latch. It gave. Not completely silently, and not without some fiddling, but as it clacked over softly, he felt more giddy satisfaction than concern. The wind was louder. And—he happened to know—Leukos was a reasonably heavy sleeper.

Not likely quite so much so sober as he had been after a night of drinking, and far from Sajah to bank on him being anything but the lightest of drifters. But it did nothing to dissuade him as he tested, and pulled carefully at one. Leukos had pulled the drapes. Sajah adjusted his weight, shifted a curtain aside as he peered in—beneath him, first. There was a small table near to the window, and something of a dark lump set beside it on the floor. What exactly he couldn’t tell yet, but nothing immediately in the way of making his way to the floor.

So, he let himself in, dropping soft onto the floor below with still-bare feet and holding himself still for a moment after, as his eyes adjusted to the room’s darkness—now dimly lit by the moonlight spilling in from the window. He rose to a stand, and surveyed the room, re-familiarizing himself with what he’d taken in last time he’d been lead here: the size of it, the arrangement of Leukos’ things, where he would need to look and how best to go about it. Inevitably, though, after dragging over everything else, his eyes were drawn as though bidden and bound to the centerpiece of the room: its humble cot, and the less humble damsel atop it.

Though it was easy to draw to mind the man who had pressed him against the far wall and drawn any number of embarrassing-in-retrospect reactions out of him, it was difficult to associate the raw, violent euphoria inspired by those moments, with this figure, half-bathed in moonlight and peacefully adrift in sleep. With his dark hair loose about the bedding beneath him, the fairness of his skin was especially stark, like ink, juxtaposed against the stars. Needless to say, the view inspired a very different set of wants and moods.

But he was not here for that.

Or, certainly not yet. A voice in the back of his head which sounded suspiciously like Nyko insisted that it oughtn’t ever be about that again—he had taken his risks and this was just to get even, because Leukos had stolen from him. But if that voice was easily tucked into the back of his subconscious for the moment, he wasn’t terribly concerned. For the moment, he had work to do. He began his search of the room.

It wasn’t large, and Leukos did not have a great many things, so it did not take especially long to work through his options until it was clear his target had to be, by process of elimination — and perhaps not surprisingly — directly under the greatest source of risk in the room. Crouching low, though, and peering under the low bed did in fact prove fruitful, and with careful effort to withdraw the dark box of a shape as silently as possible.

It was a chest. And it was locked.

He pursed his lips, shooting Leukos a look torn between amusement, irritation, and flattery. He had gone to such great lengths to safeguard his things in particular. Of all his own items that he might have wanted to protect, keeping Sajah from his had taken priority.

It was almost touching, really.

Smiling to himself, Sajahka settled to a cross legged sit in front of the chest, situating himself so that moonlight shed on the keyhole and he could fiddle with at least some visibility. His lock-picking skills were not what they could be, and his tools were makeshift and temporary, but he had time, and patience. He could not have said how long he spent, his concentration locked on task and fingers careful, it mattered little, because when the final, soft click of opening sounded, and he could carefully set back the lid, his pulse was back full-force, alive with triumph.

His knives. His clothes. His things, all here, all—

His attention paused, locking on a spot of darkness at the tip of one of his blades. Barely there. A smear if anything, but he reached just the same, picking it up and tilting the blade in the light. Blood. Not much. Less than a drop, and dried, but in addition to that, a long, subtle smear of touch, down the flat of the blade to the tip.

Leukos had been playing with his knives.

Or at the very least this one, Sajah thought with a glance to the rest. A brief inspection lead him to believe the others, and everything else, was more or less untampered with. Thus, he was at the point where he ought to have left. Take his things, and be gone. His gaze settled on the small dot of darkness at his blade’s tip, and he couldn’t help but think: Leukos’ skin had been there, pretty fingers drawing up along his blade, toying where they didn’t belong. It was a more invigorating thought than it had any right to be.

He rolled his shoulders, and began to strip, setting aside temporary, borrowed clothes from Nyko in order to pull into his own. It was startling, by the time he finished, to find how much better everything felt to have on. His weapon belts, though, and boot knives, were the greatest security. He felt home in his proper attire.

And with that settled, his attention could move back to the bed.

Don’t.

Leukos was such a pretty thing. Sajah took a step, moving to stand at the side of the bed and assess his options. He could leave. And perhaps, if the circumstances had been any different, he would have. If he had been convinced in their last encounter that Leukos well and truly did loathe him, if he had hurt him in a way that felt malicious instead of riled and impassioned, if he had found any reason to dislike the man himself—then perhaps he would have left.

Most people, he had no lasting interest in. He certainly hadn’t come to Matori, and hadn’t even entered the bar that night, with any intention of becoming romantically or sexually involved with anyone—he hadn’t planned on making friendships. He wasn’t good at them and had other things to do with his time.

Nyko was enough.

He still was enough—more than enough, more important than this man who had every reason to hate him and likely didn’t want him back in his bed…

But, See you again sometime… is what Leukos had written, and there he lay, and Sajah would be damned if he couldn’t admit he wanted the man to fulfill that prophecy and see him again, before their paths separated indefinitely. They had shared each others’ bodies twice. It didn’t seem wholly unreasonable to reach and lean, catching beneath Leukos’ chin and tipping it just enough to press, and take a kiss. Just to be sure, though, in case the man was so accustomed to sleeping kisses that it wouldn’t rouse him, Sajah parted his lips, and pinched with his teeth, giving a light, rousing tug to Leu’s lower lip.

When Leukos’ lashes fluttered upward, Sajah felt momentary, pleased anticipation. Leukos was up, that was—

All but immediately, however, he noted that it wasn’t the expression he anticipated. Not the manner of waking he anticipated. If asked in that moment, he couldn’t have said he was sure what he’d get, but he thought—surprise? Anger? Interest? Likely anger, initially at least. But manageable anger worth the look on his face when he realized exactly what Sajah had managed.

Maybe he wanted the man to be impressed.

But he got none of that, instead this looked strikingly like—fear. Or surprise, shortly after laced by fear, and an unanticipated guilt threaded through him. He dropped his grip, on both Leu’s lip and chin, withdrawing with sudden uncertainty. Had he imagined it? Had the man been dreaming? Was he even conscious?

His eyes had opened, but they looked glassy now and unfocused—and it was with a chilling suddenness that he watched as Leukos’ muscles, momentarily tense, went loose like a cut puppet, and laying prone on the sheets just as unmoving. It was in that moment that the first seed of suspicion nested itself in the back of his mind. He had no way of knowing, of course; he knew next to nothing about the man—but he was Matorian, and a performer, clearly skilled and honed enough to have to have practiced from a young age.

And he understood his signs, which meant that he had been exposed to Oban nobility—near no one else would have access to such text and the need or reason to learn such a precise and niche skill. He wondered for the first time who—if anyone—had owned Leukos. And what they had done to him.

That, though, was for further investigation at another moment. In this one, he needed the man present in the moment with him, not lost in some obscure nightmare. He shook his head and reached, touching a hand to Leukos’ shoulder and then withdrawing it to snap his fingers in front of his face, now keeping a more careful distance and attempting to move himself into the light so that any mystery as to his identity would be rectified.

‘Come, Leukos…’ «Wake up. I am not here to hurt you. You asked to see me again.»

The moments of silence that hung between them in the aftermath of his withdrawal, after he had signed, after he thought the man—perhaps?—was awake, but the eerie stillness that had settled over the man remained. Sajah counted, one, two, three… his breaths moved in, and out, and the room was quiet but for his pulse.

Then, abruptly as Leukos had turned ‘off’ he seemed to snap back to awareness—partially. His eyes lit again, and his body tensed. He lurched up and back, and away—like a petrified animal, abused before and anticipating…what?

Sajah waited where he stood, knocked back a step by Leukos’ shove, but back another still just to demonstrate the space the man had, and that he would not be invading it any time soon. At least, not without more invitation than this. Leukos still didn’t seem to have recognized him. It certainly wasn’t the sort of attitude the man had shown him last time in his presence.

«Breathe, Butterfly. No one is touching you.»

Sajahka tracked Leukos’ expressions. Pressed with his back to the headboard, hair loose in front of himself like a black drape, and stiff, he remained silent for a sizeable stretch after the first outburst. But he did seem, in the time between, to begin processing the actual details of the room—and Sajah himself, eyes studying and something visible shifting in his expression as puzzling became recognition.

Then came some of the emotions he expected, or hints of it.

Surprise. Anger…

Sajah blinked, though, ill-prepared for what else he got.

“ ……Sajahka?”

Was Leukos…crying? Sajah likely would have dismissed the glint in his eyes as a trick of the light if not for the tone and muted nature of the inquiry. Suspicions that Leukos had had far less welcome bedroom partners in the past solidified like a cool and unpleasant gel in his gut. When embarrassment followed vulnerability, Sajah felt a splinter of subtle guilt return.

He had meant to startle Leu, perhaps, and even to irritate him with his success—but not frighten him, and not embarrass him. Or, certainly not this variety of private embarrassment. So, because Leu had asked and there was little else he could do for him under the circumstances, Sajah dipped his chin and his gaze, keeping it off of the other man at least for the moment.

With his eyes down, he still listened—as Leukos stammered over initial further wants for privacy, and then, gradually, as he managed to shift focus of the topic to safer areas. At Leu’s guess, he grunted affirmatively.

«From the roof,» he signed. «I came down to your window from the roof. You took special care to keep my things from me…» After a moment, he let his gaze lift again, venturing that by now, as the topic moved, the unease would ebb. Besides, with Leukos’ initial startlement out of the way, there were facts to be addressed. «And you have been touching my knives.»

At Leukos’ surprise regarding his tactics, Sajah felt a small bud of satisfaction. Good, he hadn’t been predictable. And it was easier to relax as Leukos did, the sharp edges of tension in the air softening as something more familiar settled between them. Not quite so vibrant as it sometimes got yet, but infinitely better than a minute ago.

«These are all the things I own.»

It was, more or less literally, true. He had fled Oba with nothing but Nyko, the clothes he wore then, and his weapons—and all but one of those were acquired with stolen coin soon before departure. He had very little to take, and thus, Leukos had managed to essentially arrest all his earthly possessions in a single juncture. Aside from the coin that he actually wanted, which bore value far greater than the sum of Sajah’s worth.

«And…» Sajah added as his gaze skimmed up the man on the bed, landing on the finger twirling in his hair. «I did not know how long I had…if I waited a day, I may not have ever seen them or you again. Too risky.»

His lips cocked upward at the corner at Leukos’ indignation, however, And so what if I have been? eyes lit with amusement. The latter comment, though, couldn’t help but draw to mind again the fact that Leukos had personally tested it and with it, the mental image of just that: the same edges he’d worked over religiously glinting silver along soft skin, pressing, and nicking to draw up-

Sajah shifted his weight, grunting as the abrupt realization that his own pants fit better — and tighter than stand-ins — brought slow heat to his cheeks. Hopefully not notable from a distance and under limited lighting, but there and notable to him just the same.

«I don’t suppose I mind,» he signed at length. «They are lucky to have gotten to taste.»

Sajah’s attention followed Leukos’ — and his squirming — and gradually, his eyebrows arched. Really, it would not have been unreasonable or even surprising if the man, even after pulling himself together, was decidedly displeased with the entire situation and had wanted him out immediately. True, Sajah had read his note as inviting a continuance of their ‘game’ if he dared, so to speak, but Leukos may not have anticipated quite this—though the fact that he had barricaded his door and specifically considered the unscalability of the wall suggested he’d considered it and thought to guard against it.

Perhaps he had thought Sajah would try and fail, and then come to him with his money?

Regardless, his initial reactions had Sajah ready for an insistence that he depart, and all things considered, if the man had wanted him out, so long as he didn’t attempt to retake his possessions, he would be happy (or at least willing) to leave him in peace. But …were you just eager to have another refresher on what you learned last night?

This was admittedly far preferable.

“Oh…” he said, tipping his head. «I don’t know…I’m still a bit sore.» He took a step in, though, and leaned, propping a light portion of his weight against the bedframe. Not the large, plush feature he’d been laying on the first night, but more forgiving certainly than the wall or hallway floor. «But the lesson does seem to have slipped my mind. What was I supposed to have learned, again? Your pretty face always distracts me.»

You are an awful pupil…

Sajah’s eyes lit, amusement blooming full-fold, and he hummed, folding his arms loosely over his chest as he listened, before signing. «Why would I have learned that? Admittedly…» He grunted. «Things did not go exactly as I intended, after a certain point. But…» If he had just not lost consciousness… «If I had managed myself better, I think I would have considered it a full success and very rewarding. As it is…»

He made a vague gesture towards their surroundings.

«It provided me an excuse to come visit you while the moon is full. Which portion should I regret?» He flashed his teeth. «Or perhaps I am incurable, and simply fond of a** bitings.»