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A hero may save the day and let himself and the world rest easy after, but a mayor’s duty never ends.
Too bad Jesse’s both.
He was less than a few blocks away from the outskirts of Beacontown, and into winding paths that led through reds and oranges. The aroma of wet dirt wafted around the forest as the brunette disappeared into the growth.
He was mapping the surroundings of Beacontown to find old sites, patches of dirt and gravel where ancient shards and trims had been hidden from sunlight’s reach — Petra’s curiosity could have led her to unearth the entire Overworld on her own, but after Nurm mentioned “mapping areas before excavation" her attention waned.
The job is simple. But the huffing clouds, the setting sun blanketed among a grey veil, blinded him to see where he was going. Autumn was his favorite season, when it wasn’t dark and when he didn’t neglect bringing a couple of torches with him in his excitement to leave town from a particular path leading to a familiar house.
An uneven patch of gravel caught his eye. He kicked away the warm-coloured leaves, which crunched softly under his heel. He pulled out his map, quill ready in hand..
The downpour that followed was expulsionary.
Jesse stuffed the map into his inventory and settled against the bark of a tree, shadowed by the canopy. Raindrops glittered against the fading sunset skyline.
He let out a heavy sigh, in-between annoyed and disappointed. He tilted his head back against the tough bark to see a faint yellow light coming in from the fog outside the boundary of the forest in an isolated field. From his times on a farm as a child, he could tell the wheat was cultivated by hand.
The house wasn’t far, but it would certainly be a chilly and sticky journey. His armour wasn’t heavy-duty and his clothes would get dirty if he overstayed his welcome in the rain. Beacontown was just a forest’s path away — the canopy would lead him back dry as a bone to the market’s and neighbourhoods’ persistent bustle.
Though, this cabin in a field.. Its warm lights and the glimpse of an ocelot snoring on the windowsill made his stomach light and kickstarted his heart.
He planted his feet in a staggered position — looking straight ahead past the trees and locked onto the shabby path between the wheat crops. The mud shifted as he braced himself.
He was off into the rain. The water pelted him throughout the sprint. The cold wind was sharp in his nose. The soft golden lights coming closer into view were a reminder of the promise of warm towels and a fireplace.
His hair was sticking to his forehead by the time he had reached the porch. The ocelot — Dewey — stirred awake and to greet the dripping guest on the front door, and started pawing at the windowpane.
An earthy smell emerged from the farm that caught in his fleeting breath. He then knocked twice. The sound of pages turning stopped and he heard a mug being set down on what he could remember to be a spruce table
(He wondered if the sweater he had left was still there on the armrest).
Fall showers made Lukas want to curl up with a good book and a hot chocolate.
He should’ve been working on the sequel to his highly successful recounting of the Witherstorm, but slow days like these were sap in the blond’s momentum.
Dewey, worn out from sitting around doing nothing, was lulled by the pecking of rain on the cabin. Lukas himself was nested in the couch nearest to the kitchen. A kettle of piping hot chocolate rested on the spruce table, and he sipped his cup occasionally. A green sweater was wrapped around his shoulders, and he drank in the pages of a Jane Blocksten novel — Pride and Pillaging.
He jumped hearing the knock on the front door, but when he saw his ocelot pawing at the window — he chuckled to himself. He set his book and cup down, carefully removing the sweater off his shoulders and setting it back on the armrest.
He walked to the door and hinged it open to find quite the view.
Jesse was standing in his doorframe, leaning against it on his right shoulder. His head was angled forward and a little sideways, his eyes peaked through his drenched brown fringe. He was dripping both with rainwater and apologeticness. Lukas was such a fool for that dopey smile.
“Seriously?” He asked, leaning against the door on the same side himself.
Jesse’s smile was now straining his cheeks. “Wouldn’t you let a wandering hero in?”
Lukas rolled his eyes with a mirrored smile as he opened the door wider. Wet boots clanked and squelched against the wood flooring, the smell of vanilla and oak made the brunette's shoulders drop. He turned to Lukas.
“You wait here, I’ll go bring a towel.” The blonde headed into a room just next to the kitchen, walking past his bed and into the bathroom — grabbing a blue towel from the rack next to the door. He scurried back into the living room to find Jesse eyeing his green sweater that he’d left here 2 days ago. Lukas walked behind him and slung the towel over Jesse’s hair.
“Can I take off my armour here? I just don’t wanna get the living room wet.” He asked, ruffling his hair with the towel.
“Uh..” Lukas debated his options, “y’know what? Sure.”
The rainwater was all over his floor already, there was no harm in letting Jesse take off his armour. He should. Not that Lukas would watch him, seeing how years of strain presented itself on Jesse, no.. he wouldn’t recall the places he had visible scars from all his adventures.. no, he can’t just ogle at the contours of his—
He tried his best to distract himself by heating up the kettle for another cup of hot chocolate.
Jesse placed his armour on the stand next to the door and sat by the table. Lukas set the kettle and poured him a cup.
“What brought you outside today?” He asked as the brunette cupped the drink in both hands, sighing before drinking it immediately. He winced after taking a small sip, but let the cup rest between his palms.
“I had to map out archeology sites for Petra and her crew..” Lukas settled into the seat next to him, “but I guess it was the wrong time to leave town.”
“Probably.” He replied. “Might not’ve been all bad though.”
Jesse laughed. “True. The hot chocolate was worth it.”
Lukas never had any vices, other than how he always observed, but never acted. He’d never show it, but his eyes worked on their own. Empty silence wasn’t ever something he needed to fill around Jesse.
His books are left forgotten, so is his drink, but he’s gotten his fill. He would ask for more, but his inertia in the reliable albeit unmoving comfort in their friendship is too much to gamble.