Cerid Creed was what Shark Olyen would have called closeted. Of course, this was something that Shark could empathize with, once having been in the exact same spot. That said, they knew exactly what to do to help.

Absolutely nothing. Trying to push would cause more harm than good. Cerid’s reasons would be his, and Shark would be there as a friend. If Cerid ever felt the need to expand his horizons, as it were, that would be his choice alone. That said, no more flirting; it clearly made Cerid uncomfortable. Granted, it was bound to be difficult given that Shark did the same things to flirt that they did towards friends, but they’d give an honest effort.

After the departure of Ariana and Dorothea, Shark turned to Cerid. “What now, buddy?” they asked, eyebrows raised. Should they follow or give the ladies a chance to hash things out?

“I am not sure.” Cerid’s cheeks were rosy, but he spoke calmly. “Do you think Miss Dorothea will be fine?”

“Thea can handle herself, trust me.”

“That is…good.” Cerid shook his head. “In that case, there is no need for us to intervene. I suppose we should…eat food?”

“Marvelous idea!” Shark steered them straight towards the circus that was the market street. “If memory serves correctly… Ha! Right here, Cerid. If you haven’t tried it before, prepare to get addicted. Also, you’ve got money, right? I pretty much have nothing to my name but the clothes on my back. I left our money with Thea.” At that moment, Shark failed to notice that the pouch given to they and Dorothea by Holly Novak was currently tied to their belt loops, hidden beneath their skirt.

Cerid nodded. “Of course I will be happy to treat you.”

Shark clasped their hands in gratitude. “Such a pal. Such a friend.”

And what a treat it was. Back in the old days, if a twenty-three year old had a right to use such a phrase, Shark had frequently dreamt of this very food stand. It was crammed between two larger and far more colorful stands on each side, easy to overlook. The hidden gem resting here couldn’t be overvalued. From day to day, the recipe was never the same. A humongous—at least it had seemed so in small, childish hands—and soft bun twinkling with crystals of sugar was filled with random and unidentified savory ingredients, perfect to relish and make a mess of oneself with.

The person running the stall cast dubious eyes at Shark, but Cerid’s sharp gaze stopped any comments short in their tracks. Shark could still feel the predictable judgments of the people creeping in now that their presence was very much known thanks to the morning paper. They wondered if, maybe, their parents had read it. Besides the previous day’s spat with an ill-fated Ghurian soldier, it mentioned Shark’s return to the army and Dorothea’s induction into it as well as the guard detail.

Though the bun felt smaller in Shark’s adult hands, it was still sizable. Cerid looked nervous as he took a tentative bite but warmed up to it after tilting his head this way and that in consideration. He relaxed even more once they retreated from the crowds, seeming less embarrassed to have to lick running juices from his fingers or wipe at his mouth with the back of his hand once no one was around to see.

Shark couldn’t help but reminisce. “When my dad took me here as a kid, he’d let me ride on his shoulders so we wouldn’t get separated. Then I’d eat up there and end up dropping chunks in his hair. It was funny to me more than him, but he was cool about it.” Cerid listened with a small smile, and Shark grinned back before continuing. “My mom always hated that she’d spend hours making this really nice dinner and all I’d want to eat was these weird buns that you didn’t even know what was in ‘em. Looking back I can see how I was being a brat, but Ma wasn’t that great of a cook either. Heck of a cobbler, though.”

“Was that a family trade?”

“Yeah, though I never learned. Went into the army instead. Not that I had a choice in the matter, but you know how it is.” None of them had been asked what they wanted; they’d simply been dragged off to training one day and that was that. “Once the war started, we stopped going to the stall too. Not surprising, seeing as Dad and I were both drafted and all. Got busy. ” There had been a certain change in both of Shark’s parents back then, though they hadn’t noticed it at the time. Everything was so much clearer in hindsight. “Even when we had the army income and the nobility taxes coming in, Ma kept on making shoes. She got lots of orders for boots. You know the ones.” Most everyone in the army wore the same kind. Sturdy, thick soles, steel-toe, non-slip.

Cerid nodded, observing the brown boots on his own feet. “Indeed.”

“But,” Shark continued, “she still kept making the kinds of shoes people never ordered. They covered the walls. Wonder if they still do. Like, little slippers, cutesy stuff with pom-poms and ribbons and fuzz and all. Good for nothing, really, but I guess it calmed her down, especially when…”

Cerid was watching Shark intently, oblivious to a fluid that might have been curry dripping down his knuckles. Shark had to fight a sudden, powerful urge to lick it off before it could stain his sleeve. “When?” he prompted.

“Lots of stuff happened. I can’t really nail it down to one. Well first of all, they were a bit disappointed to know that their son wasn’t really their son whenever all that happened. Like, I’m an only child and won’t ever have biological children. Kind of a big deal around here.” They paused, watching Cerid’s expression closely. “I don’t dislike girls, but I can only really see myself in a long-term thing with a guy, if that makes sense.”

Cerid only nodded, though he swallowed hard, and his cheeks flushed.

Shit, he was cuuute. “Yeah, anyways. End of the family line and all that jazz. Big deal to my parents.”

“It is a pressing concern to many,” Cerid murmured.

“Yeah.” Shark felt a pang of pity and shared grief at his downcast expression. “Eh, anyways, Dad hurt his arm, well, lost his arm, in battle, and got put off duty not long after that, so it was all up to me.” There was a lot of amputation going around. Since magics always had an outlet in either the hands or the feet, it was the best place to aim to incapacitate any opponent. “You know, the redemption of our family,” Shark sighed.

“And that...led to your eventual departure?”

“Yep.”

There wasn’t much to tell. Earning a rank in the nobility was easy with the right magic and the conviction to use it. It could be lost just as easily, and Shark had cost their parents everything. One day everything was coming up roses, the next day Shark got caught in an intimate embrace with a male soldier. That soldier’s parents had found them out by coming home earlier than expected, then the whole fort knew, and then, when Shark insisted that they would never have children, that they would dictate this aspect of their own life, the Olyens were off the council. Nobles breed to protect the nation. That was the deal.

Their situation wasn’t as bad as that of the Nobelis family at the time, as they weren’t wholly excluded from society, but it was a shock to be just as common as everyone else all of a sudden. No taxpayer money coming in (as all laypersons with less useful magics gave a cut of their earnings as thanks to the noble families who defended them in times of strife), no free handouts or heavy discounts based on their name. Shark didn’t mind so much, as it was easier to live on their own terms this way.

However, the craving for redemption was constant in the gaping maws of Shark’s parents. They sent their child out to redeem them on the battlefield, demanding increasingly perfect and devastating results. They found a suitable female companion, had Shark go out in public with her almost daily and closely monitored their friendships with males. They reinforced the usage of what they deemed proper pronouns.

Shark had nearly shrivelled and died in that time.