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Lip between his teeth, Balor stood at a crossroads that weren't much of one at all as he balanced the two vegetables in his hands with equal regard. Had he been a smarter man, he would've come with a list of what he was missing or at the very least what Reina had said went into the plate she made him the night before last. But, if recent events had taught him anything, he was not.
The door to the shop creaked softly in its opening and still his attention stayed with dismay down at his night staring back up at him. Holt turned in the peripheral of his vision and stopped where he stood to lean against his broom. "Surprised to see you in here! Thought you got everything the other day with how full your bags were."
Balor's eyes widened, frozen down at his hands as he realized who was being spoken to. It was getting harder and harder to pull his merchant's charm on when he felt like this. Blood cold and body tight all while still aching to hear a single steady voice amidst the noise of the world. He glanced cautiously to the side to confirm what he already knew to be true and swallowed at what sight met him there.
Sinclair approached, hair pulled up into a small messy ponytail that barely seemed enough to hold itself together, face flecked with dirt and painted with sweat. It was the beginning of the season which meant he had seen less of him than usual. Each night he went to pick up what the other man was selling and he saw the fruits—sometimes literally—of his labor. The farm was clearing away more and more with each passing week and being made into something truly magnificent.
"A few short, I got my math wrong," Sinclair said, smile weak at the admission, "I just need a few more tomato seeds."
"Easy enough, but I'll have to check the storage for them." Holt glanced to Balor and something in the man's eyes twinkled, Balor swore it. "You two ketchup while I go look."
Sinclair's mouth tugged at the edge in a soft smile at the pun, nodding to him before shifting to walk in a new path that he was directed. Hold tightening on the turnip and carrot in each hand, Balor fought the impulse to put them both down and make an excuse to leave. Instead, he remained right where he was and tried his best to look like a person and less like a startled deer.
"Hey there," He offered, voice nearly cracking and so he swallowed in hopes it wasn't noticed, "Got your math wrong, eh?"
"A bit. I'm doing things a little different from last season now that I know better and—" Cutting off, Sinclair gave an uneasy smile and scratched softly at his neck. "Won't bore you with it. What are you debating between?"
"Can't bore me, don't think that's possible for you to do," Balor said and his stomach flipped at the honesty bared. Taking in a breath through his nose, he smiled crooked as the mask sat on his face at the moment doing a poor job of concealment and gave a weak laugh to try and knock it back into place. "Dinner, to answer you. Why do I always think I can go shopping without a list? I guess it's a single turnip and wine kind of night."
Another laugh left him to accent the point, empty and echoing out into the theater he was standing before, and it died without any return as Sinclair stared at him. It wasn't his best joke, that was for certain, but even Holt got a smile with his pun. Perhaps his act was drying up faster than he thought it was. A horrifying thought.
"Come to my place," Sinclair finally said breaking silence that felt far too close to an eon for Balor's comfort. Raising his brows at the statement, Balor felt his mouth dry further still as Sinclair continued. "I'm making plenty. I don't have much in the way of furniture still… but it's more than a turnip and wine."
There was a part of Balor's mind, small and intrusive as it could be, that wondered if Sinclair did this for others. How many people had he invited to his home for a meal with nothing behind it but just a kind act. Behind that thought rode in another: so what if he did? If he did, he would be like everyone else in this town, wonderful as they were. The love and attention that seemed to bloom endlessly in Mistria was not limited to those born here.
Which meant he too was touched by this the longer he stayed, roots not quite planted as they never could be fully.
"Really?" Balor asked.
"You don't mind steak or potatoes, I hope."
"Not at all! Sounds like quite the night in comparison. You know how to cook and tend a farm? Any other skills I need knowing about?"
Sinclair seemed to turn over the question in his mind, taking it more serious than Balor intended and before he could stop the other man from getting too deep he answered. "I can make a good drink too."
"Coming for Hemlock's job, eh? I didn't think you the type to know how to do that…"
Again, Sinclair seemed to retreat to his thoughts as if to properly phrase that which may not easily fall from his tongue. A reality Balor was usually on the other side of and far better and quicker at turning how he wished. That was the difference, he supposed, between a liar and a supposed saint.
"Uncle taught me. Taught me to cook as well." Sinclair paused, smiling to himself before a quiet breathy sort of laugh left him so faint it would've been missed had Balor not been so fixed on him. "Come to think of it, he'd probably have something to say about my farm too."
"Sounds like an impressive guy… maybe you'll have to invite him to town."
Sinclair's eyes widened further than Balor was aware they could open from their usual sleepy-like lull. As if the suggestion was out of the question or perhaps sensitive in a way Balor didn't realize. Just as quickly, they settled and the farmer shook his head with an apologetic tinge to his smile.
"Eventually, maybe. He's busy these days," Sinclair said with a shrugged shoulder and seemed to try and reset a train of thought straightening back up properly as he looked for where Holt went. "Common trait in my family."
It was clear there was a barrier there, hung in a way Sinclair was not accustomed to holding in this regard. Unlike Balor who had donned the shield from a young age, family for most was not a topic around here that brought pause. Outside March and Olric, everyone had a happy little life and was happy to speak on it if asked. For some reason, Sinclair was not one of them and Balor despite better thought wanted to know why.
He saw value in things and collected them without hesitation—Sinclair was proving no different.
"You'll have to tell me more about them some time. They seem interesting to say the least."
Sinclair again seemed to mull over the phrasing and nodded with a smile. "Yeah, they are."
"Here we are! Had to go sow em' myself, but should be enough for you," Holt said as he pushed back into the front of the store with a box of seed satchels in hand. "Another fifteen good?"
Watching the math in his head, likely walking through his plots of land, Balor fought the expression that begged to bloom on his face in the wake of Sinclair's focus. Something between awe and being just absolutely dumb-struck in affection. Neither of which he much wanted to give over, especially when he didn't know how the other man was inclined for company. Could be a hopeless sort of venture and yet something in his gut told him it wasn't.
"Perfect. If I have a few left over, I'll just save them," Sinclair said as he dug coin out of his pocket and handed it to Holt.
"Saving them for later is smart. I dig it," Holt replied with a wink and again Sinclair hummed a soft laugh.
Throwing a hand up in departure, Sinclair turned to leave only to pause realizing Balor was in fact still there—or maybe that was just Balor's thoughts attempting at trying to not be disappointed if he left without a word. Who could say? Still, he stood with a slightly expectant look bringing more life to the farmer's face than it usually had.
"Seven, good?" he asked.
"Seven is good," Balor replied with a nod forward in a sort of awkward half-bow. "I'll see you then."
Sinclair nodded back at the acceptance and quit the store without another word leaving those remaining in his wake. A soft whistle came from behind Balor's back and he winced before turning to look at Holt. Brow raised in silent question, Balor tsked as a response and Holt laughed. With a generous hand waving him off rather than prod him more like the dying animal he felt like he was, Balor too quit the store both full and empty handed at the same time.
The true problem made itself apparent all at once: how did he waste time until seven? He could stall at his cart for a while, talk to Reina in the inn, do a little walkabout to the museum or bother March for a few things. So, he did some of that, mind all the while running in the background about what time it was down to the second. He kept squinting at the sun to watch its curve through the sky and had to dodge an impromptu lesson from Eiland about how sun dials worked.
Heading to the farm—a little early, so what—Balor did so with slight apprehension as if he did not visit it nightly. As if he didn't resist the urge to knock on the door each time to catch a glimpse of him at night. It felt different during the day, even as the sun set in the distance. Something more alive when the sun could kiss the ground that had been lovingly and tirelessly worked on. As he crossed the threshold to the farm itself, he stood in front of the plots of seeds freshly planted from the summer's start.
The door of the small cabin behind him opened and Balor startled slightly before looking over his shoulder. Sinclair had cleaned up from earlier, hair now down and hanging in a slightly wavy blond curtain framing his face. New shirt, new pants, new everything on and something about the effort made his heart flutter.
"Just in time, come in. Steak is resting," Sinclair said and dipped back into the house.
Balor followed, shoes taken off as Sinclair's were just inside the door. He realized all at once that he had no idea how to exist in someone's home. That wasn't true. He existed in other's homes all the time, but other people's homes weren't Sinclair's.
Looking around, he realized there really wasn't much to the home at all still and that he had been honest about the meager beginnings. A kitchen, a couch that he assumed pulled out into a bed seeing as he didn't see a bed elsewhere in the space, and a small space for eating. Moving the food to the table, Sinclair nodded for Balor to sit. Without a second's hesitation, he did just that as if pulled by puppet strings into place.
"All of this is… it's really nice, Sinclair. Thank you for the dinner, I know my stomach is grateful for a break from what I subject it to regularly," Balor said and swallowed as he became aware of how much his mouth filled just smelling the food. "Much better than a turnip."
"I would hope so. I didn't… I didn't realize you didn't eat," Sinclair said quietly, placing food down before them both as he sat down.
"I eat! I eat plenty. I was joking earlier, I don't think they'd let me not eat at the inn. You've met Jo, right?"
Sinclair cut into his food, eyes intent on each movement and hummed a short note. "You could lie."
"What?"
Chewing the bite he cut with a hand over his mouth, Sinclair glanced up at him and only after he swallowed did he speak. What manners… it felt like eating at the mansion somehow despite the extreme difference.
"You could lie to them that you'd eaten. To not be a burden," Sinclair said matter-of-fact without any hesitation and Balor's blood went cold, "Not saying you do, but it's possible."
Balor didn't answer to the accusation—sharp as it was—and instead took a bite of his food. When Sinclair said he could cook, he thought he would be alright. The man was a mystery after all. Showing up with the promise of land in exchange for helping the town and barely anything with him made for quite the story. Nowhere in it did he think he would write down 'damn good cook'.
Making a poor attempt to hide the action, Balor shoveled another piece into his mouth and fought the desire to moan at the flavor. It was so simple and yet it felt rich. As if this plate cost way more coin than what was likely paid for the ingredients. Jabbing a small potato onto his fork he ate one and it too had that same delicious taste of butter and rosemary. Several bites in he realized he had still not replied and instead was just gorging himself making the accusation more than true without any need for confirmation.
Eyes up to Sinclair, he felt his breathing still at what he found. A soft, warm smile without any sort of negative emotion touching it. Not even at the edges. He was not some street rat pilfering food left behind or stealing from the shelves, no, this was his honest.
"It's good?" He asked and Balor nodded. "Wonderful. I've only made this with my uncle over my shoulder so good to know it holds up when I'm alone. He'll be pleased I made someone eat and fed them well while I did."
"Well, yeah! You could easily make a fortune cooking this stuff. Why are you out here toiling away if you could be in the capital making bank with something else?" Balor asked with a bigger grin, "You got a little secret or something keeping you here?"
Sinclair blinked, his smile falling off and confusion instead colored his face. Fuck.
"No. I want to be out here. I like it out here." His gaze diverted, out into the air as if he could pluck the right ones out into his hand. "Do you not want me out here?"
"Whoa, I never said that. Just that your talents could really pull in a fortune, that's all. Of course I like that you're out here." Balor's hand curled in on itself to resist the urge to reach across and touch Sinclair's. "You're great for this town."
And for me, maybe.
"Farming is the first thing that's been mine, I guess. All of this is mine," Sinclair said, knife again taken to the meat. After he ate another bite, he looked up at Balor. "I have two siblings. They do more than me—usually. I'm the baby."
"You're the baby? You're massive. How tall are your siblings if you're the youngest?" Balor laughed and then started to fully process what was handed to him. Two siblings, parents, an uncle if not more. Big family. "Any of them going to come visit?"
"I'm tallest, though our dad is taller still. And… I don't know. I'm sure my mother will come out at some point in a curiosity that cannot be sated and that my father join simply because they go everywhere together."
The way he spoke felt so lived in. So known and loved and… nothing like Balor had.
"Sounds really sweet. Hope I'm in town when they are," Balor offered.
Sinclair again smiled and some amount of breath came back into Balor's lungs. "Yeah, I hope so."
Taking back to his plate, Balor sat in the comfort that came with Sinclair. It was why he took to the town and the town took him back. He did belong here. It was really that Balor didn't know if he did. After all, he had just proved that point, hadn't he? Everything had its price and he was willing to chase it wherever it went.
For so long it didn't matter if it took him one place or another but now…
Looking up through his lashes trying to steal a glimpse, he felt it again. The weighing down of his heart, beat hard and slow. Sinclair made him want to stay despite not being here long himself. Why that was, he didn't know, and he couldn't let it stop him. After all, he still had a deal in the works that could come to fruition any day now.
He'd take it, leave and—
Another bite, another beat of his heart, another soft noise from the man across from him in a home offered out of the goodness of his heart. Would he take it? Could he? He had to, right? There was nothing better for him out there. No big family, no warm nightly meal, nothing. He would finish his food, go to his cart and head out for the night alone as he ever had been.
At least this time his stomach wouldn't wake him come morning.