Archive of Our Own ^beta

Hal grinned seeing the gigantic bouquet of roses as he made his way backstage. It was loud, ostentatious, and undoubtedly expensive.

Which was confirmed by the put-upon look Olgud was giving him.

“Master Lathalia came by?” Hal asked, moving to the little dressing table and scrubbing off his makeup.

“Oh yeah, made himself right at home,” Olgud said sarcastically. “Was sorry he couldn't make the performance. Yadda, yadda, yadda. Your biggest fan, etcetera.”

Hal moved to examine the flowers. He was sure they had been carefully picked, selected for their quality and beauty. He was coming to understand that Master Lathalia was a very particular man about the finest things. 

“They're beautiful,” he commented, running his finger over one of the red petals.

“Pretty sure they cost more than the show we just put on,” Olgud grunted. He approached as well, staring at the bouquet like an enemy. “But sure. Beautiful.”

Hal chuckled. “You're the one that said having a wealthy patron would be good for us.”

“Yes,” Olgud said, giving him a hard look. “I did say that. But is he interested in the troupe or just you?”

Hal raised an eyebrow. “All he talks about is the performances.”

“He’s a weirdo in a mask, Hal. Maybe he doesn’t know how to get to step two now that he has your attention.” Olgud crossed his arms looking at him seriously. “Listen, if you’re into him, be my guest, you’re a big boy, although I bet your brother would have something to say about all the red flags.”

Annoyance prickled at the back of his neck. “He always does. At this point it’ll be refreshing to have something for him to focus on when he investigates Master Lathalia behind my back. Instead of just spying on him outright he can go and research his affliction. Maybe he'd be helpful,” Hal said sarcastically.

“So you agree Lathalia is a red flag?” Olgud pointed at him accusingly. 

“I agree Thjazi will see the mask that way, and do what he always does when anyone of note enters my life that he doesn’t know personally.” Hal turned his attention back to the roses. “I'll admit, Master Lathalia is very enthusiastic, but I don’t sense any kind of danger. I actually think he’s…” 

“What?” 

“Lonely,” Hal looked to his partner. “A man with a cursed mask on his face looks like a red flag after all. Going to the theatre, going to the park, going to the cafe, going anywhere must be seen as sinister behaviour for a man like him.”

Olgud sighed. “Yeah, yeah you've made your point. And you're probably right. I’m the dick.” 

Hal put a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “I appreciate it, this is why we work. Everyone needs a dick.”

“Maybe that's what Lathalia needs,” Olgud grumbled.

Hal shoved him. 

“Kidding, kidding.” 

“I feel like there’s more to it than that.” Hal said. He frowned. “I know he rubs you the wrong way, but I thought it was more in personality than anything." 

Olgud soured. “Ugh, it’s not even the mask. It’s the money.”

“A wealthy patron to solve all our problems? Yes, quite the pickle.” 

“Hal.” Olgud glared. “I’m being serious. A rich guy becomes obsessed with you. Lots of missing people after the Falconer’s Rebellion. On both sides. So, potentially he’s some Sundered Lord’s cousin who just happens to be fixated on the brother of Thjazi Fang?”

“Wait, you think this is about Thjazi?” Hal stared at his partner stupidly. 

“A flag by any other colour would still be red,” Olgud said snippily.

“Not how that goes. Doesn’t even make sense what you just said," Hal said, deadpan. 

Olgud grunted. “I just want you to be careful, alright? You’re like a little brother to me, so I want you to be careful, there I said it.”

Hal softened. “And I appreciate the way you go about trying to be protective instead of spying on my neighbours.”

Olgud snorted. “Yeah, imagine me in the bushes. Your brother is a freak, maybe this is why you find Lathalia charming.”

“You know, you may have a point. Might also be why I’m so fond of you. I have a soft spot for weirdos.”

Olgud elbowed him. “I take it back. Get murdered by the Geist of the Gallery, see if I care.”

Hal stared at the roses left at his door. He thought back to that conversation before Olgud had softened to Bolaire and the two had found their rhythm with each other. They never got along precisely, but any animosity had become playful for the most part. Food was always a strange point of contention.

That was a long time ago. Before Hal and Bolaire had started their two person literature club. 

Which one of them had been right? He wondered. Olgud and his red flags, or Hal's rose coloured glasses? 

He picked up the roses and entered his home. He was tired after the events of the previous night and all the work he had to do today. How had Bolaire even had time to order him flowers?

The advantages of having archivists to boss around.

He felt himself smiling, gazing at the roses, touching the red petals, careful of the thorns. 

Everything had shifted about his friend, and he hadn’t really had time to process it yet. His own fear and uncertainty. His own questions that there were no time for. 

But he had believed Bolaire. What he had told him in the place where he must have felt safest, exposing himself to their mercy. Any one of them could destroy him with a word. Azune’s connection with the guard, Murray to the Pentaveral. 

Even Hal could do serious damage, ruin his life on a whim. He knew exactly who he could tell that would have Bolaire either pulled off the body he wore, or run out of town. 

He never would. 

Despite all the pressing things swirling in his mind he kept coming back to how lonely it must have been. Hiding what he was.  

A rose by any other name would smell as sweet. 

Bolaire was still Bolaire, man or mask. The person Hal had become friends with had his secrets, but did what he was make any of it less true? Did that negate hours of conversation? Good and bad coffee? Fine wine he would never bother to shell out for except he knew his friend would prefer it?

Did him being a mask change the fact that, perhaps not even understanding it himself, Bolaire had been lonely? That somehow Hal had alleviated that with his art? With his friendship?  

Yes, there was more to dig into with his friend, there was more to learn and understand.

But Mask or not, Bolaire was still Bolaire, and Hal would try to hold on to that as they moved forward. 

“I didn’t realise you were dating again,” Thjazi said, taking in the giant bouquet of roses set in a place of prominence.

“Dating?" Hal asked from the kitchen. He came out to see what his brother was looking at. “Oh, right. I know how it looks, but actually they’re a gift from a friend.”

“That poor sod,” Thjazi chuckled. “Still only a friend with such an excessive display of devotion? Anyone I know?”

“If you met him you’d understand,” Hal countered. “Excessive displays are a bit his thing.”

“Really? Sounds fun. When do I get to meet him then?” Thjazi pressed, just a little. 

Hal raised his eyebrows at him sternly. 

And Thjazi raised his hands. “I just like to know.” 

That prickle of irritation. Of distant fear. Danger he didn't understand. A feeling he resented.

“I’ve known him for over a year, I think I’m safe,” Hal said dryly.

Thjazi rolled his eyes. “And you haven’t mentioned him. Well fine, you’re probably right. Just don’t be surprised when I bump into him next time he visits.” 

“Thajzi.” 

“So that I can seduce him!” His brother laughed. “Your loaded admirer might like the younger model of Fang. You know I have a thirst for the rich and powerful.” 

Hal snorted. As far as he knew his brother hadn’t even had a tryst much less a relationship with anyone outside his marriage.

As for thirsting for the rich and powerful, maybe their downfall. Certainly not their hearts, not anymore. Lady Aranessa was the only exception.  

But anyway. “What you actually have is paranoia and a nose for snooping,” Hal countered. “And it’s never led to anything, has it?”

Hal ignored the quick darkness that flitted across his brother’s eyes. 

Thjazi didn’t answer the question, or reassure him that yes, he had never found any danger. He only slung his arm around Hal’s shoulder. “Fine, I’ll leave him alone. You know I'm only looking out for you, right?”

"I know," Hal sighed. "I just wish you'd be a bit more subtle." 

“Was Master Lathalia by again?” Shadia asked, coming through the door and seeing the flowers displayed in their usual place. 

“Why do you ask?” Hal said, still looking at the bouquet, letting the memories wash over him.

“Mum plants jasmine, Elodie sends you daffodils, and Bolaire gives you red roses,” his daughter said fondly. “He must still be thinking of you after the mess with the farramh and the coffin and that woman.” She shook her head. “… I know you say you two aren’t… but even still, I’m glad he’s here to look after you.”

“Isn’t that what you’re for?” Hal asked, turning to his daughter with a playful smile on his face. 

“Yeah, but I’m your daughter and you don’t charge me rent, old man.”

“Ouch!” Hal dramatically held a hand over his heart. “So it's purely out of duty and housing. What about Olgud? He and I get along.”

Shadia stuck out her tongue. “Uncle Olgud doesn’t send you roses, he sends you bills, and contracts, and other things that give you more white hairs,” she replied. “You’re always looking after everyone else. I’m glad there’s someone that's thinking of you, that’s all. For a man in a mask, he doesn’t hide his care for you, not even a little bit.” 

Hal kept the sad smile off his face.

“He doesn’t, does he?” Hal said, thinking of his friend. 

“You know, red roses signify passionate romantic feelings?” Hal asked as the bouquet was pushed into his arms, so big he could barely see over it. They had known each other for nearly a year now and he had never brought it up before. 

 Bolaire beamed at him. “Do they?” Bolaire laughed. “I just think they’re the nicest to smell–well, and the colour association. The first time I purchased them, I chose them because I wanted you to remember me.”

“You think anyone could forget you?” Hal asked his flamboyant friend teasingly. Even without the cursed mask, Bolaire drew eyes and ears with his theatrical personality.  

“No,” Bolaire said, obviously pleased. “But it’s nice to be associated with something so lovely, don’t you think?” He reached out one of his gloved hands to hold the head of a rose delicately. “Although, I think I’ve done it backwards. I’ve started associating them with you,” he admitted. He bent forward to take in the scent of the flower.  “When I smell them I always think of you, and then I find myself sending you more. A vicious cycle. You’re my florist’s favourite person. I should introduce you one day. She calls you my rose garden with all the previous ones I’ve purchased.”

“She must think I'm the most oblivious man in the world and pities your attempts to woo me,” Hal groaned.  

“Why? It worked, didn’t it? Here you are, here I am, talking, friends. The roses worked perfectly,” Bolaire said smugly. “If you start associating me with them then it’s a total win.” 

“Oh, is this a game? What if I’m difficult?” Hal asked. He adjusted the bouquet in his arms, the sweet smell hit him pleasantly. 

“Then I’ll have to send you more,” Bolaire said, as if it were a trifling thing. "One for every new show, every performance, birthdays, civil days. I’ll put my florist’s children through school. You’ll go from my rose garden to my rose field.”

“Now I’ll associate them with your florist’s good fortune," Hal quipped.

Bolaire sighed dramatically. “Oh you are a difficult one, aren’t you, Fang? I’m persistent. I’ll win you over one day.”

Hal laughed. “Now if it’s a question of winning me over, you had me months ago, have I not mentioned?”

There was a little slip of emotion on the mask. Surprise. Joy. It was quickly hidden behind banter, but Hal had seen it.

Lonely. He had been right. He swore to himself then and there that the mask would have no bearing on his relationship with the man in front of him. 

As it turned out, it was a promise he would need to break. 

The mask wearing any other man would still be Bolaire.