Unease

“You’re sure you’re not hurt?”

Lucien’s voice came out sharper than intended. He stood half a step too close to Arian, searching his pale face as though a crack might suddenly appear.

“I’ve told you. I'm fine.” Arian’s tone was calm, even faintly amused. “I passed the exam. I’m standing here. That should be proof enough.”

“Proof?” Lucien huffed. “You vanish for weeks, send a cryptic warning, and stroll back in like it’s just another evening at the Academy? Forgive me if I need more than proof.”

Arian tilted his head, silver hair catching the torchlight. “You need reassurance. That’s different.”

Lucien’s glare faltered. “Maybe I do.”

Before the silence grew heavy, Toren’s voice cut in from behind them. “Saints above, can the two of you flirt later? Some of us are starving.”

Lucien spun. “No one asked you.”

Toren smirked, dropping onto the bench with all the subtlety of a thunderclap. “Doesn’t matter. I’ll answer anyway. Honestly, golden boy, if you fret over him any harder, we’ll need to pry you off with a sword.”

Elira slid in after him, setting down a stack of papers. “Ignore him. He feeds on dramatics.” Her eyes flicked to Arian. “Though I will admit—you don’t look like someone who nearly drowned.”

“I had help,” Arian replied simply.

“From this mysterious stranger?” Toren leaned forward, grin wide. “What was she like? Tall? Beautiful? Risk her life for you? Tell us, ghost, we live for the details.”

Arian’s lips curved faintly. “I don’t recall saying it was a woman.”

Toren blinked, then laughed. “Even better! Maybe it was an old hermit. Or a witch who stitched you back together. Or—”

“Or maybe,” Elira cut in, “you should stop prying into someone else’s trauma.”

Toren threw up his hands. “Fine, fine. But if he comes back glowing in the dark or sprouting vines, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

The table rippled with chuckles. Even Darius, polishing the blade of his spear, rumbled in low amusement.

Only Caelith remained silent, leaning against the stone column at the edge of the hall. His gaze never left Arian, pale eyes steady as ice.

Lucien noticed. He filed it away.

---

“Eat something.” Lucien shoved a plate toward Arian when the noise died down. “And don’t argue. You’ll collapse if you don’t.”

Arian gave him a sidelong look, the kind that said he was very aware of Lucien’s fussing. But he took a piece of bread anyway, tearing it with deliberate calm.

Lucien relaxed a fraction. Watching him eat felt absurdly comforting.

“Tomorrow,” Elira said, tapping her quill against her notes, “Professor Vael begins strategy lectures. Try not to vanish again, Runerth. It would be inconvenient.”

Arian dipped his head. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“See that you do.” Her lips quirked. “I need opponents worth defeating.”

Darius snorted. “You’ll regret those words when she drags you across the courtyard.”

“Unlikely.” Arian’s reply was smooth, neither boast nor jest, just certainty.

Lucien stared at him, something twisting low in his chest. That calm, that poise—yes, it was Arian. But there was a sharpness too, like glass polished too perfectly.

“You’re awfully talkative tonight,” Lucien murmured under his breath.

“Would you rather I stayed silent?” Arian’s gaze flicked to him, unreadable.

Lucien hesitated, then shook his head quickly. “No. Just… it’s good to hear you.”

For the briefest instant, warmth softened Arian’s expression. Then it was gone, replaced by the familiar frost.

---

As the evening thinned, students drifting to their dorms, Toren leaned back on the bench, stretching his arms. “So. Tomorrow we get the ghost officially back in the schedule. Academy’s never dull with you lot around.”

Lucien muttered, “Says the one who nearly set the alchemy lab on fire.”

“That was once,” Toren protested. “And it was contained.”

“By me,” Elira said dryly.

“Semantics.”

Laughter rolled again, easing the tension.

Yet Caelith still hadn’t moved. His stare lingered on Arian as if trying to peel back his skin. Finally, he spoke, voice quiet but cutting through the chatter.

“Why didn’t you write to Lucien yourself?”

The table hushed. Even Toren stilled.

Arian looked up slowly, meeting Caelith’s eyes. “I couldn’t. My strength was gone. The stranger offered to send a message. I accepted.”

“Convenient,” Caelith murmured.

Lucien bristled. “Enough, Cael.”

But Arian only inclined his head. “Suspicion is natural. I’d feel the same.”

That calm acceptance unsettled Lucien more than anger ever could.

---

Later, when most had left, Lucien walked with Arian down the corridor. Their footsteps echoed against the stone, the hallways dim with the last torches of night.

“You didn’t have to let him accuse you like that,” Lucien muttered.

“Didn’t I?” Arian’s tone was soft. “Better suspicion spoken aloud than festering in silence.”

Lucien frowned. “You sound like you’ve thought about this too much.”

“I’ve had time.” Arian glanced sideways at him. “You still doubt me too.”

Lucien opened his mouth—then closed it. His throat felt tight. “I just… I can’t forget that letter.”

“Then don’t,” Arian said. “But don’t let it poison everything either.”

Lucien stopped walking. “You know me too well.”

Arian stepped closer, his voice low, almost gentle. “Of course I do.”

The silence that followed was heavy, but not unbearable.

---

Back in his room, long after Arian retired, Lucien finally noticed the sealed letter still waiting on his desk. His parents’ crest gleamed faintly in the moonlight.

He should have opened it earlier. He should have read their words before rushing to Arian.

But tonight, exhaustion pressed heavy. He ran a thumb over the wax seal, debating.

Not now. Tomorrow.

He set it aside, blowing out the candle.

In the darkness, he thought of those eyes and words spoken too calmly.

And though relief swelled at Arian’s return, unease coiled with it, restless and cold.

---

The next morning, Toren’s shout rattled him awake.

“Lucien! Get moving! You’ll be late again!”

Lucien groaned, dragging himself from the sheets. But even as he dressed, his gaze kept sliding to the unopened letter.

Not now. He told himself again. I'll check Later.

But some part of him whispered that later might be too late.

•••