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The forge ran late into the evening.

By the time Toryn finally left, dusk had settled fully across Grovehollow, cool blue shadows stretching between buildings while lanterns flickered warmly to life along the village paths.

He should have been tired.

Instead, he found himself carrying a bundle of tools over one shoulder and walking toward Cass’s cottage with a restless sort of anticipation tightening his chest.

The bundle had started small.

A hammer.

Replacement nails.

Some spare wood from the forge.

Then somehow he had also acquired:

• a sturdier latch for the garden gate,

• fresh hinges,

• a properly balanced splitting axe because Cass’s current one was terrible,

• and a carved wooden shelf bracket Hallik had snorted at him for sanding smooth.

Toryn stared briefly at the growing pile before leaving the forge.

Then decided not to examine his behavior too closely.

The cottage windows glowed warmly through the trees by the time he arrived.

Cass opened the door before Toryn could knock.

As if he had been listening for him.

The thought alone nearly undid the Dragonborn.

“Oh,” Cass breathed, brightening immediately at the sight of him. “You came.”

Toryn suddenly became painfully aware of the tools over his shoulder.

“Yes.”

Cass looked him over quickly.

Freshly washed scales.

Clean shirt.

A strange warmth crept into Cass’s face.

“You cleaned up.”

Toryn blinked once.

“…I was dirty.”

Cass smiled faintly, stepping aside to let him enter.

“Well. You look very nice.”

Toryn nearly dropped the entire bundle of tools.

Cass seemed entirely unaware of the effect as he closed the door behind him.

“You brought all that tonight?” he asked instead, eyes widening slightly at the supplies.

Toryn recovered slowly.

“Yes.”

“Toryn, that’s far more than I expected.”

“You needed them.”

Cass stared at him softly for a moment.

That ache returned immediately to Toryn’s chest.

Gods.

No one should look at him like that.

“You noticed all this from a few visits?” Cass asked quietly.

Toryn set the tools carefully beside the wall.

“I notice things.”

“Yes,” Cass murmured. “You do.”

The cottage smelled like fresh bread again.

And herbs.

And Cass.

Toryn removed his outer gloves slowly, trying not to think too hard about how domestic this felt already.

Dangerously domestic.

Cass hovered nearby while Toryn examined the loose window latch first.

“I can hold the lantern,” Cass offered quickly when Toryn crouched beside the frame.

Toryn glanced back at him.

Cass stood very close.

Close enough that Toryn caught the familiar lavender scent immediately.

“Yes,” Toryn said, perhaps too softly.

Cass held the lantern while Toryn worked.

The healer tried to be helpful.

Unfortunately, he was also distractingly beautiful.

Toryn became acutely aware of every movement beside him—the brush of loose golden hair against his shoulder, the warmth of Cass leaning closer to watch what he was doing.

“You’re very good with your hands,” Cass said absentmindedly.

Toryn nearly missed the nail entirely.

Cass blinked.

Then blinked again as realization slowly dawned across his face.

“Oh,” he said faintly.

Toryn kept his eyes fixed very carefully on the latch.

“…Thank you.”

Cass cleared his throat quickly.

“You’re welcome.”

Silence fell.

Warm and charged.

Toryn could feel Cass looking at him now.

The awareness crawled pleasantly beneath his scales.

Cass shifted slightly.

His hair, which he had tied loosely back while cooking earlier, slipped over one shoulder.

Without thinking, Toryn reached out.

His claws caught gently on the ribbon.

Cass froze instantly.

“Toryn?”

“You tied it up again,” Toryn murmured.

Cass’s cheeks flushed.

“I was cooking.”

“Hm.”

Before Cass could respond, Toryn tugged lightly.

The ribbon came loose.

Golden hair spilled free down Cass’s back once more.

Cass inhaled sharply.

“Toryn,” he said again, softer this time.

Toryn’s fingers brushed slowly through the newly loosened strands.

His chest tightened painfully at the texture.

At the trust.

“At this point,” Cass said with flustered amusement, “I think you simply dislike braids.”

Toryn looked up at him from where he crouched near the window.

“I dislike anything that hides you.”

Cass went completely still.

The words hung between them.

Heavy.

Accidental honesty.

Toryn realized too late how truthful they sounded.

Cass’s lips parted slightly.

Blue eyes wide.

For one dangerous heartbeat, neither moved.

Then the kettle over the hearth began whistling sharply.

Cass startled hard enough to nearly drop the lantern.

“Oh!” He stepped back quickly, face pink. “Tea—”

He hurried toward the hearth.

Toryn sat back slowly against the wall.

Gods above.

His pulse hammered beneath his scales.

Across the room, Cass busied himself pouring tea with slightly unsteady hands.

Toryn watched him quietly.

And understood with sudden terrifying clarity that this no longer felt like wandering into a healer’s cottage.

It felt like coming home.

The realization frightened him more than any battlefield ever had.

Cass returned a moment later with two cups.

“You fixed it already?” he asked, clearly trying to recover from whatever had just passed between them.

Toryn accepted the tea carefully.

“The latch was simple.”

Cass smiled softly.

“I think you just enjoy taking care of things.”

Toryn looked at him over the rim of the cup.

“You say that like it is unusual.”

Cass lowered his own tea slowly.

“It is,” he admitted quietly.

The room fell still again.

Outside, the wind moved softly through the trees surrounding the cottage.

Inside, Toryn sat surrounded by tools and warm lantern light and the scent of tea while Cassius Dyre smiled at him from across the room.

And for the first time in many years—

The Dragonborn did not feel lonely.

The final repair took longer than Toryn intended.

Not because the work was difficult—replacing the warped section of fencing beside Cass’s herb garden was simple enough—but because every time he thought to leave, Cass found another small thing to ask about.

A loose hinge.

A sticking shutter.

A shelf that tilted slightly to the left.

None of it truly needed doing tonight. Toryn knew that. He suspected Cass knew it too.

Still, he fixed every last thing without complaint.

The evening had cooled by the time he finally drove the final nail into place. Crickets sang softly in the grass, and the sky above Grovehollow had deepened into rich indigo streaked with the last traces of gold.

Cass stood nearby with his sleeves rolled to his elbows and a lantern hanging from one hand.

“You’ve done enough,” Cass said gently. “If you keep working at this rate, there’ll be nothing left in my cottage for you to repair.”

Toryn huffed a quiet laugh through his nose. “I could probably find something.”

“I do not doubt that.”

Cass smiled then—small and sleepy and fond—and something warm unfurled painfully inside Toryn’s chest.

The Dragonborn wiped his hands on a rag and stepped back to inspect the fence one last time. Solid. Straight. Good work.

For once in his life, he found himself strangely proud of building something instead of breaking it.

“You should rest,” Cass said softly. “You’ve been working since sunrise at the forge.”

“I’m fine.”

“Toryn.”

The way Cass said his name—quiet, warm, concerned—always made resistance feel impossible.

Toryn finally relented with a low grunt and sat heavily on the edge of the cottage steps. The wood creaked beneath his weight.

Cass looked absurdly pleased by this victory.

“There,” he said. “Better.”

Toryn crossed his arms loosely over his chest and watched Cass move through the garden, lantern light gilding his pale hair gold. The healer crouched carefully beside his herbs, checking leaves and soil with delicate fingers.

Then suddenly Cass froze.

“Oh.”

The sound was soft with wonder.

Toryn lifted his gaze.

Tiny lights blinked across the darkening field beyond the garden.

Fireflies.

Dozens of them.

Cass’s entire face lit with childlike delight.

“Oh, look at them,” he whispered.

He stepped away from the garden slowly, as though afraid he might scare them off. Another flicker of gold drifted near his shoulder and Cass actually laughed under his breath—quiet and breathless and utterly enchanted.

Toryn stared at him instead of the fireflies.

The healer turned in a slow circle beneath the drifting lights, blue eyes wide with awe. One landed briefly against his sleeve before blinking away again into the night.

“They always come this time of year,” Cass said softly. “But somehow I always forget how beautiful they are.”

Toryn’s chest ached.

Gods.

Cass looked like something out of a storybook.

Warm lantern light.

Golden hair.

Tiny stars dancing around him.

And that look of open wonder Toryn was beginning to realize he would do almost anything to protect.

Cass noticed him staring and smiled shyly.

“You’re looking as though you’ve never seen fireflies before.”

“I wasn't looking at the fireflies,” Toryn said quietly.

Cass blinked.

Then understanding slowly colored his expression pink.

“Oh.”

Before Toryn could recover from accidentally saying something so painfully honest—

A sharp rustle cracked through the woods beyond the cottage.

Toryn reacted instantly.

Years of training slammed into him before thought could catch up.

He surged to his feet in one fluid movement, dagger already in hand.

His body turned toward the sound automatically, shoulders squared, muscles taut, eyes searching the dark tree line.

Silence followed.

Then another rustle.

Probably a deer.

A fox.

Nothing.

But the damage had already been done.

Toryn heard Cass inhale sharply behind him.

Not fear of the woods.

Fear of him.

The realization hit like a blade sliding between his ribs.

Toryn turned slightly—

And saw Cass recoil.

Only a step.

Only instinct.

But it happened.

Cass’s shoulders had drawn tight. His breath caught shallow in his chest. One hand pressed unconsciously against his own wrist as though grounding himself.

There was fear in his eyes.

Small. Fleeting.

But there.

Toryn felt sick.

The dagger suddenly felt monstrous in his hand.

Gods damn him.

What was wrong with him?

He lowered the weapon immediately and stepped back as though burned.

“Cass—”

Shame crashed over him hot and brutal.

His voice came rough. “I’m sorry.”

Cass blinked quickly, immediately shaking his head.

“No, no—you did nothing wrong.” His words came fast now, almost anxious. “The sound startled you, that’s all. I know that.”

Toryn sheathed the dagger with rigid control.

But he had seen the flinch.

Seen the tremble Cass was trying so hard to hide now.

And because Toryn had spent most of his life studying danger, he noticed every tiny thing.

The slight tension in Cass’s jaw.

The careful distance between them now.

The way his fingers curled faintly into his sleeves.

Toryn’s stomach twisted violently.

Of course.

Of course Cass would fear him.

A towering former soldier with scales, claws, weapons, and blood buried deep beneath his skin.

For one stupid heartbeat, Toryn had become exactly what Cass feared most.

“I shouldn’t have drawn it,” Toryn said quietly.

Cass stepped forward immediately. “Toryn—”

“I saw you flinch.”

Cass opened his mouth, but no words came at first.

That silence hurt worst of all.

The fireflies drifted silently between them.

Toryn suddenly could not bear to stand there beneath Cass’s gentle gaze while knowing he had frightened him.

He looked away sharply, jaw tight.

“I forgot where I was,” he muttered bitterly. “Forgot I wasn’t in a damned war camp anymore.”

“That isn’t fair to yourself.”

“It is.”

His voice came harsher than intended, and Cass startled slightly again before Toryn immediately closed his eyes in self-disgust.

“Gods,” he rasped. “There. Again.”

“Toryn—”

“I would never hurt you.”

The words escaped low and fierce.

Absolute.

Toryn finally looked at him then, emerald eyes bright with something dangerously close to grief.

“I need you to know that.”

Cass’s expression softened instantly.

“I do know that.”

But Toryn could still see the trembling in him.

And somehow that made it worse.

Because Cass was trying.

Trying so hard to trust him despite every instinct screaming caution.

And Toryn had rewarded that trust by reaching for a weapon.

The silence between them stretched painfully thin.

Fireflies drifted through the garden in soft golden pulses, uncaring of the ache that had settled beneath Toryn’s ribs.

Cass still stood only a few feet away.

Still trying to look calm.

Still trying to make this easier for him.

Which somehow made Toryn feel even worse.

He dragged a hand over his face with a low curse beneath his breath and stepped backward toward the path.

“I should go.”

Cass’s head lifted immediately. “Toryn—”

“It’s late.”

“That is not why you’re leaving.”

Toryn forced his gaze toward the woods instead of the healer. “You should rest.”

“And you should stop deciding what I feel before I’ve said it.”

The words were gentle.

Not sharp.

Not angry.

That somehow made them land harder.

Toryn went still.

Cass took another careful step closer, lantern light swaying softly in his hand.

“You frightened me for a moment,” Cass admitted quietly.

Toryn’s jaw tightened.

“But,” Cass continued quickly, “not because I thought you would hurt me.”

Toryn finally looked at him again.

Cass’s fingers curled around the lantern handle. There was still the faintest tremble in them, but he stood his ground anyway.

“It was sudden,” he said softly. “Loud noises and drawn weapons simply…” He exhaled carefully. “They still unsettle me sometimes.”

A shadow crossed his face then—old memory, old fear.

Gone almost as quickly as it came.

“But I know the difference between danger and instinct.”

Toryn swallowed hard.

Cass stepped closer again until only a small space remained between them.

“The important thing,” Cass said quietly, “is that the moment you realized I was afraid, you stopped.”

The words hit with brutal force.

Because Toryn had spent years among men who would not have stopped.

Men who laughed at fear.

Men who used it.

His throat felt painfully tight.

“I still reached for the blade.”

“Yes,” Cass said gently. “You did.”

No excuses.

No lies.

Just truth.

And somehow that honesty hurt less than reassurance would have.

Toryn looked down at his hands.

Scarred.

Clawed.

Built for violence long before they ever learned gentleness.

“I don’t know how to stop,” he admitted roughly.

The confession surprised even him.

The fireflies blinked lazily around them.

“When I hear something wrong, my body just…” He flexed one hand helplessly. “Moves before I think. Like I’m still waiting for someone to die if I’m too slow.”

Cass watched him quietly.

Toryn laughed once under his breath, bitter and exhausted.

“Pathetic, isn’t it?”

“No.”

The answer came instantly.

Firm enough that Toryn looked up.

Cass’s blue eyes were soft with something aching and earnest.

“It sounds tiring.”

That nearly undid him.

Not fear.

Not judgment.

Understanding.

Toryn looked away sharply before the healer could see too much in his face.

“I hate it,” he muttered.

Cass was quiet for a moment.

Then, softly:

“I think… perhaps you hate yourself for surviving the only way you knew how.”

Toryn went completely still.

The night sounds seemed to fade around them.

Gods.

No one had ever said something like that to him before.

Not commanders.

Not fellow soldiers.

Not mercenaries.

Survival had always been praised. Rewarded. Demanded.

Never mourned.

Cass seemed to realize the weight of his own words and suddenly looked uncertain.

“I’m sorry,” he said quickly. “I shouldn’t presume—”

“No.”

Toryn’s voice came low.

Raw.

“You’re right.”

The admission scraped painfully out of him.

Cass’s expression softened further, heartbreakingly gentle.

For a long moment neither of them spoke.

Then Cass carefully set the lantern down on the cottage steps.

And reached out.

Slowly enough that Toryn could have moved away if he wished.

His fingers brushed lightly against Toryn’s wrist.

Near where the dagger had been moments before.

The contact was feather-soft.

Trust offered carefully.

Toryn stared at their hands like he did not understand them.

Cass’s voice was barely above a whisper.

“You are allowed to learn peace slowly, Toryn.”

Something in the Dragonborn’s chest cracked wide open.

He bowed his head sharply, eyes closing for one dangerous moment.

Because no one had ever allowed him softness before.

Not once.

Cass’s thumb moved gently once against his wrist before he seemed to realize what he was doing. A flush immediately spread across his pale cheeks, but he did not pull away entirely.

“Stay,” he said quietly after a moment. “You do not have to leave.”

Toryn looked at him carefully.

“You’re certain?”

Cass hesitated only briefly before nodding.

“Yes.”

The sincerity in that single word settled somewhere deep inside Toryn.

Carefully, as though afraid sudden movement might ruin the fragile thing between them, he sat back down on the cottage steps.

Cass visibly relaxed.

A moment later, the healer lowered himself beside him.

Not touching.

Just close.

Close enough that Toryn could feel warmth at his side.

The fireflies continued their slow dance across the garden.

After a little while, Cass disappeared briefly inside the cottage and returned with his lute.

“You do not have to play for me,” Toryn murmured.

“I know.”

Cass settled beside him again, tucking one leg beneath himself.

Then soft music drifted into the warm summer night.

Gentle.

Tender.

Nothing like tavern songs or marching rhythms.

This music felt like quiet rivers and candlelight and healing hands.

Toryn listened in complete silence.

Gradually, the tension eased from his shoulders.

The hard alertness faded from his posture little by little beneath the steady lull of Cass’s playing and the hum of crickets.

At some point, Cass’s music slowed.

Then stopped altogether.

Toryn glanced over.

The healer had fallen asleep against his shoulder.

His head rested carefully against the Dragonborn’s upper arm, golden hair spilling softly across dark scales.

Toryn froze.

Cass made a small sleepy sound but did not wake.

For a long moment, Toryn simply sat there, afraid to breathe too hard.

Then, impossibly gently, he shifted just enough to support Cass more comfortably against him.

The fireflies glowed around them like fallen stars.

And for the first time in longer than he could remember—

Toryn felt something dangerously close to home.

Cass stirred first.

It was subtle at the start—just a shift of weight against Toryn’s arm, a small breath catching as awareness returned.

Then Cass jolted upright like he’d been struck.

“Oh—”

He blinked rapidly, golden hair slightly dishevelled, cheeks already turning a bright, mortified pink.

“I— I fell asleep again.”

Toryn, who had been sitting perfectly still as if any movement might break the moment entirely, turned his head slightly toward him.

“You did.”

Cass groaned softly and pressed a hand to his face. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to— I just meant to play for you a little longer and then—”

“You fell asleep,” Toryn finished, voice even.

Cass peeked through his fingers. “Yes.”

A pause.

Then, quieter, Toryn added, “I don’t mind.”

Cass lowered his hand slowly, studying him like he expected a hidden judgment that never came.

“You… don’t?”

Toryn shook his head once. “You were warm. And quiet.”

That earned him a small, embarrassed smile—relieved more than anything.

Cass exhaled and glanced toward the darkening sky beyond the garden. The fireflies were still drifting lazily through the herbs, though fewer now, as if even they were growing tired.

“Oh,” Cass said softly. “It’s later than I thought.”

Toryn followed his gaze.

The night had deepened properly now. The kind of dark that belonged to owls and distant road lanterns and the slow settling hush of a village asleep.

“I should go,” Toryn said after a moment.

Cass’s expression flickered—something subtle passing through it, too quick to name.

“Right,” he said. “The inn.”

Toryn stood first, rolling his shoulders once as if to settle himself back into something familiar. Something less fragile than this.

Less dangerous in its softness.

Cass rose more slowly beside him, still watching.

Neither of them spoke as Toryn gathered himself to leave.

The moment stretched thin again, like it didn’t want to be broken.

Toryn gave a small nod. “I’ll come by tomorrow after the forge.”

Cass nodded too. “You don’t have to—”

“I want to.”

That stopped Cass mid-sentence.

For a second, he just looked at him.

Then, quietly, “Okay.”

Toryn turned toward the path leading away from the cottage, already bracing himself for the familiar loneliness of the walk back.

He made it only a few steps.

“Wait.”

Cass’s voice was soft—but it held something firmer beneath it.

Toryn turned.

Cass had moved closer without him noticing.

Too close for hesitation now.

Before Toryn could fully process the shift in him, Cass stepped forward and wrapped his arms around him.

It wasn’t tentative.

It wasn’t uncertain.

It was a real hug—warm and sudden and careful in the way Cass always was, as if he was still learning how much strength he was allowed to use.

Toryn went completely still.

Every thought stopped.

Cass fit against him in a way that felt impossibly fragile and real all at once, his hands pressing lightly between Toryn’s shoulder blades.

“I’m glad you stayed,” Cass murmured.

Toryn didn’t move.

Didn’t breathe properly.

Then Cass added, quieter, right against him, “And… please don’t be so hard on yourself.”

Something inside Toryn cracked open cleanly.

He swallowed once.

Hard.

“I—” His voice came out rougher than he meant. He cleared his throat, but it didn’t help much. “Cass…”

Cass didn’t let go immediately.

If anything, he held on a fraction longer, as though sensing the exact moment Toryn might try to retreat into himself again.

“You didn’t do anything wrong earlier,” Cass said softly. “Not really. You reacted. And then you stopped.”

Toryn’s hands hovered uselessly at his sides for a moment before one finally lifted—slow, uncertain—and came to rest carefully at Cass’s back.

Like he was afraid he might break him.

Or worse—be allowed to keep him.

Cass finally eased back, just enough to look up at him.

There was no fear in his eyes now.

Only something steady.

Something choosing.

Toryn’s chest felt painfully tight.

“I don’t deserve—” he started.

Cass shook his head immediately. “Don’t.”

One word.

Gentle, but absolute.

Toryn stopped.

Cass’s hands slid away slowly from his shoulders, lingering only for a moment before letting go completely.

But the warmth of it stayed.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Cass said quietly.

Toryn nodded once, because speaking felt impossible.

Then he turned before he could do something foolish—like stay too long, or say something that would shatter the fragile balance between them.

He walked down the path toward Grovehollow in silence.

But long after the cottage lights disappeared behind him, he could still feel the shape of Cass’s arms around him.

And it undid him more than any blade ever had.