Warm, lavender-scented steam filled the luxurious bathroom of the West Pavilion. For an assassin accustomed to bathing in cold rivers or wiping his body with whatever wet cloth was available, soaking in a marble bathtub filled with hot water was a luxury that felt almost illegal.
Wolvin submerged his slim body up to his nose in the water. His wet black hair plastered against his forehead, framing his gaunt and sweet face.
His golden eyes stared blankly at the ceiling tiles, while his mind drifted far away.
"You are the best partner. You and I are inseparable."
Calian's voice as he said those words echoed in his head, spinning like an unbreakable magic spell.
"Damn it!" Wolvin mumbled, his voice muffled by the water. He lifted his head, pushing his wet hair back. "He said it with that flat face. That annoying flat face... but handsome."
Wolvin slapped the water in frustration.
Since they started physical training together, there had been a change in Calian. Of course, Wolvin was the one training him, so he knew the process exactly. Calian's baby fat and physical softness slowly disappeared, replaced by a sturdier posture. His shoulders became broader, his jawline firmer, and his skin... ah, that skin. Thanks to the Reversion magic he routinely used for 'cellular maintenance', his skin glowed healthily, as if emitting its own light.
Calian looked more like a fairy tale prince every day, while Wolvin felt like just a wild wolf who happened to be allowed to sleep on the palace carpet.
"And he is completely unaware," Wolvin grumbled at the bar of soap on the tub's edge. "Does he think I keep sticking to him because of duty? Because of the alliance?"
Wolvin glanced back. His bushy black tail floated on the water's surface, soaking wet and looking pathetic. However, the moment he thought of Calian, the tip of the tail twitched slightly.
"You're a traitor too!" Wolvin accused his own tail. "Stop reacting every time I mention his name."
He snorted, then got out of the bathtub. Water dripped from his smooth body, free of scars and calluses, thanks to the True Assassin Blessing that kept his body perfectly aerodynamic. He looked in the mirror. A cute face stared back.
"You are a killer, Wolvin. A True Assassin!" he told his reflection, trying to sound fierce. "Focus. Don't let a handsome face ruin your concentration."
But as he looked at his face in the mirror, Calian's reflection appeared there instead, causing Wolvin to unconsciously rub his eyes.
When he opened his eyes again, only his own reflection remained in the mirror.
"Damn!" he grumbled softly. "Why do I always imagine his face?"
In the afternoon, Wolvin's mental endurance test began again.
The central room of the West Pavilion was bathed in afternoon sunlight. Golden dust danced in the air. Calian sat on his favorite single sofa, cross-legged. A thick black leather-bound book lay open on his lap.
Wolvin sat on the thick carpet right below Calian, leaning against the sofa cushion Calian was sitting on. His official duty was 'standby', but his unofficial duty was stealing glances.
He was cleaning his favorite black dagger with a silk cloth.
Rub... Rub...
Wolvin's graceful hands moved mechanically, but his golden eyes glanced toward the sofa. He deliberately sat there to see Calian's face from a very close distance.
The view there was too beautiful to ignore.
Sunlight illuminated Calian's side profile, making his purple hair shine. Wolvin could see how Calian's long eyelashes cast shadows on his pale cheeks as he looked down to read. He could see a slight frown between Calian's eyebrows, a sign he was thinking hard to solve a complex magic theory.
Why does he have to look that cool just sitting still? Wolvin's mind screamed. It's unfair!
And those hands. Wolvin watched Calian's hand turning the pages of the book. His fingers were long, elegant, yet now looked stronger due to sword training. Wolvin imagined how it would feel if those hands combed his hair, caressed his face gently, and fed him with care.
Suddenly, Calian lifted his face from the book.
Wolvin's reflexes worked faster than his brain. He immediately looked down, pretending to be very busy checking the sharpness of his dagger. He even squinted as if looking for microscopic scratches on the metal blade.
"Wolvin?" called Calian. His voice was low, calm.
Wolvin jolted. "Y-Yes, partner?"
Calian looked straight at him. Those purple eyes were sharp, analytical.
"You're breathing too loud!" Calian commented flatly.
"Huh?" Wolvin held his chest.
"Your breathing rhythm is irregular. Sometimes fast, sometimes held. It breaks my concentration," explained Calian. He tilted his head slightly. "Are you sick? Or is the air circulation poor?"
Wolvin's face heated up instantly. He was breathing irregularly because he was busy holding his breath every time Calian made a charming little movement, like tucking his hair behind his ear.
"I-I'm practicing breathing techniques!" Wolvin dodged quickly, his voice squeaking slightly. "This is... a secret clan technique to increase oxygen capacity in the blood!"
Calian stared at him for two full seconds, then nodded. "Makes sense. Oxygen efficiency is important for your burst speed. Carry on. But please lower the volume."
Then he went back to reading.
Wolvin wanted to bang his head on the table. He believed it. He really believed that stupid excuse.
Wolvin lowered his head deeply, hiding his bright red face behind the sofa cushion. His tail behind him thumped the carpet floor in frustration. Thump. Thump. Thump.
At night, the torture continued at the dining table.
They ate at a small round table near the kitchen window. Calian insisted they eat alone without the formality of the long table. "So we can discuss training evaluations efficiently," he said.
Tonight's menu was venison stew with warm wheat bread.
Calian ate in a way that was very... neat, orderly, and efficient. He cut the meat into uniform sizes before eating it. He wiped the corner of his lips with a napkin every three bites.
Wolvin, sitting next to him, just stirred his stew with a spoon. He had no appetite. The view next to him was much more filling yet simultaneously torturous.
The distance between them was close. Very close. Wolvin could smell the distinct scent of musk and old paper from Calian's body. A soothing yet intoxicating scent.
Wolvin watched Calian's neck as he swallowed food. His Adam's apple moved up and down.
Gulp!
Wolvin swallowed his saliva, the sound loud enough in the quiet room.
Calian stopped chewing. He turned.
"Is there a problem with the food?" asked Calian.
Wolvin jumped. "N-No! The food is delicious! Very delicious!"
Calian frowned, looking at Wolvin's bowl.
"You haven't eaten a single piece of meat," Calian observed. He then touched the side of Wolvin's bowl with the back of his hand. "And your stew is getting cold. The fat will congeal. It will ruin the texture and taste."
Wolvin sighed. "I know. I'm just... waiting for the right temperature."
Calian clicked his tongue. Without warning, he scooted his chair closer. Their knees touched under the table.
An electric shock seemed to shoot through Wolvin's leg. His body went rigid. His tail under the table went straight up in shock.
Calian didn't care. He still reached out his right hand, hovering over Wolvin's bowl.
"Reversion."
Hot steam billowed from the bowl again. The congealing broth turned liquid and warm again. The scent of spices wafted up, appetizing.
"Eat, Wolvin!" Calian said gently. He took a piece of bread, dipped it into Wolvin's bowl, then placed it on Wolvin's small plate. "You need energy. Tomorrow we will increase the intensity of sword training."
Wolvin stared at the dipped bread. It was a simple act. Very simple. But for Wolvin, who had spent his life fighting for food or eating cold leftover rations alone in the forest, Calian's act felt... intimate.
"Why are you doing this?" asked Wolvin softly, his large eyes staring at Calian. "You could have let me eat it cold."