“I didn’t ask to be this handsome.” This was said with Dagan’s signature cheerful sarcasm, perfect for deflecting awkwardness.
Bartolo didn’t seem impressed, but he didn’t seem angry either. Just that same calm, firm tone. “You joke, but I know you take our ethics seriously. And so do I.”
There was some stirring, and then the voices got fuzzier and harder to understand. The front door opened, then closed, and Hen pushed off the door and threw himself on the bed, trying to look casual.
Dagan padded in moments later, looking abashed. “I can’t believe I answered the door with sex hair.”
Despite the knot of anger and frustration in Hendrik’s belly, he laughed. “How in all the burning hells do you do that?”
“What?” Dagan flopped next to him and laid a hand on his chest.
“Make me laugh when I don’t want to.”
“Don’t be cross.” Dagan batted his thick, dark eyelashes, then looked up through them.
“Don’t flirt with me to stop me being cross. You beautiful menace.” Hen snorted.
“If Bartolo said he’d take it into consideration, he will. He doesn’t speak in riddles or double-talk.”
“It won’t matter. I’m powerless to help anyone.” Hen sighed.
Dagan patted his chest. “Oh, sweetness, no. You have all the power in the world to help us. Your problem is that you think helping is one thing, and we think it’s another entirely.”
“Can we go back to last night?” Hen wished aloud.
“I promise you that once this is over, there will be endless nights of thoughtless, contented, and inventive fucking in your future, my dearest Hen.”
Hen sighed again. “You can’t promise that, though.”
“I can promise that it’s a motivating factor.”
Hen watched his face. “You really…you’d want to…I mean, I know we can’t make plans. But if we both come out of this…?”
Dagan flushed, his hand curling into a fist against Hen’s pec. “Well. I don’t want to limit your options. I would never dream of it. But—”
Hendrik took his hand and kissed the back of it on impulse. He was afraid of the rest of that sentence; he wanted to hold onto that “but” for dear life.
He’d always craved a plan, an idea of a future, though it was always just out of his reach. He’d craved it with Kass, too, and it had left him open to absurd fantasies about heavenly palaces. Fantasies he knew now he’d never really believed; that’s why they’d never satisfied him.
Dagan watched him with something like befuddlement in his eyes. “I know you’re afraid to lose Kajja, me, Piret, everyone you care about. I know it’s because you lost everything once before. That much, I understand.”
Hendrik rubbed Dagan’s hand against his cheek. It was warm and smelled of mint and citrus from the tea.
“But now I think you’re afraid of something else, too,” Dagan admitted quietly. “Will you tell me what it is?”
“Getting pieces of myself back like this, I can’t help but notice stuff, you know? All I want is to imagine a future. I never have, before. It was always in someone else’s hands, and it all hinged on me losing Kass, so it was never safe to imagine. And all I want now, literally all, is to daydream about what I want to do with my life. I want to—to plan and imagine and fucking enjoy it.” He looked to Dagan again. “Enjoy you.”
“Would you think of me when you imagine your life?” He smiled softly.
“Yes. Would you think of me, Dags?”
“That’s what my family calls me.” His eyes crinkled.
“Kajja said it last night. She heard it from Innan. I like it.”
“Me too. Especially when you say it.” Dagan licked his lips. “Of course I think of you. You’ve lived in my fantasies for some weeks now, and they aren’t all horny.”
Again, without wanting to, Hen laughed. How did Dagan do it? His voice cracked embarrassingly when he finally admitted, “Everything will be different, though. What if—?” What if you don’t want me anymore? “Your life will have moved on.”
Dagan frowned. “Did you hear what Bartolo said?”
“What?”
“When he was talking to me just now. Did you hear him mention my reputation?”
“Yeah. I mean, I had to listen. I was worried you were in trouble because of me.” Or worse, already being recruited to infiltrate the City.
Dagan pulled his hand away and sighed, rolling onto his back.
“I’m sorry,” Hendrik said quickly, though he wasn’t sure why. He just knew that Dagan had gone from affectionate and soft to something unfamiliar and decidedly unhappy in the blink of an eye, and he didn’t like it. He guessed, “I shouldn’t have listened.”
“I would’ve listened too, if I thought your superior was going to rip you a new asshole for something. Especially something potentially involving me.” But he remained staring up at the wood-beamed ceiling, hands against his own rib cage, suddenly very much inside himself.
“Then what’s wrong?”
“Nothing, darling. I’m just feeling petulant, and it’s not your fault. It’s entirely Bartolo’s.” Dagan pushed himself up to sit, smiling again. It didn’t look forced, but nothing ever did, on him. He was too good. “We should get to the Hall. If they’ve finally decided, the Council will announce soon. We’ll want a good seat.”
Hen reached out, hoping Dagan would look back, see his hand, take it, and crawl back into his arms. “We don’t have to.”
