"Like this?" Corin asked, stirring something in a pot.
"A little slower," Jamie advised. "You don't want to splash it everywhere."
It was the easy domesticity of the scene that struck Azelon. This was what he'd denied himself. What he'd denied Corin. The simple comfort of closeness, of touch without conditions.
And Jamie made it look so easy. He steadied Corin with a casual hand. He directed the chaotic energy into productive channels.
He didn't flinch from connection.
In three days, the human had done what Azelon couldn't in eight months.
It was easy to see why Corin was so enarmored with the man. There was nothing aggressive about his confidence, about the way he took charge.
The role of a caretaker seemed to come naturally to him in a way that it never had for Azelon.
As if he could sense Azelon's thoughts, Jamie looked up, catching sight of Azelon in the doorway. His expression softened, and he beckoned him forward.
"Perfect timing. We could use another set of hands."
Corin tensed visibly but didn't object.
Azelon hesitated, poised between retreat and advance. In the span of that moment, he saw Jamie's free hand settle on Corin's back in a gesture of reassurance, saw the chaos fae relax fractionally, saw the small smile they exchanged.
He turned away before they noticed his expression.
He'd tell himself it was better this way.
He always had.
Even as the truth carved deeper than any blade:
He could never be what Corin needed.
And Jamie could.
Chapter
Six
Corin had gotten really good at pretending over the years.
Pretending not to care when people flinched away from his emotional projections. Pretending not to notice when they whispered about the chaos that followed in his wake. And now, pretending that Azelon's rejection hadn't sliced through him like a blade made of ice.
"Could you pass the salt?" Jamie asked.
Corin blinked, realizing he'd been staring at his plate for who knew how long. He slid the salt shaker across the table, careful not to meet Azelon's eyes from where the Tideborn sat quietly at the far end.
"Thanks," Jamie said, then paused. "You okay?"
"Never better," Corin lied, flashing his brightest smile. "Just admiring your culinary talents. Who knew humans could make pasta taste this good?"
Jamie raised an eyebrow but didn't press. That was one of the things Corin was coming to appreciate about him. Jamie didn'tpoke at wounds unless they were bleeding all over the floor. Unlike Azelon, who'd spent months pointing out every crack in Corin's control while pretending not to notice the ones in his heart.
The lights in the kitchen flickered briefly. Jamie glanced up, then back at Corin.
"Sorry," Corin muttered. "Still working on the whole 'emotions staying inside where they belong' thing."
"Try your best," Jamie said. "The store seems to be adapting, at least."
