Her eyes widened, mouth parting. She had no response. The truth was, she didn’t know how to let people help her. She’d always been led to believe it made you look weak, vulnerable, or incapable.
“Fine.” Vivienne sighed, dropping her arms to her sides. "Thank you," she murmured.
Cirrus huffed out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. "You're impossible, Banns."
Vivienne’s shoulders tensed at the nickname but she didn’t fight it. Not this time.
She glanced at the remaining dishes. "What if I helped you finish washing?"
Cirrus rolled his eyes, shaking soapy water off his hands. "Or…" He nodded toward a small barrel near the sink. “You could sit there and keep me company."
Vivienne paused, then perched herself on the barrel, watching him work.
Silence stretched.
What do we talk about? The voyage? The weather? Our breakup? What delightful choices.
Cirrus sensed her hesitation. "So," he said, relieving them of the quiet. "What have you been up to these past few years?"
Vivienne knew what he was really asking.What have you done since leaving me?
She didn’t have a grand answer.
"I’ve been apprenticing under my parents at the Library of Metis." She shrugged, toying with the bandages on her hands. "Spent a lot of time with Johanna, Briar, and Lewis."
Cirrus’ expression tensed at Lewis’ name. That had always been their biggest fight—how much time she spent with her best friend. Her single, eligible, male best friend.
"You’ve always been… consistent," Cirrus muttered, his mouth tight.
Vivienne narrowed her eyes, recognizing the subtext. Predictable. Stubborn. Unwilling to change.
She tilted her chin up. "And you? Have you been sailing this whole time?" She bit the inside of her cheek, then added, "How much have you traveled with my parents?"
Cirrus rinsed a dish, his fingers drumming against the tin. "Almost the entire time." His voice was even, but layers of conflict brewed below the surface. "I couldn't go back to Roanthe, and I didn't have a reason to be in Fendwyr anymore. I really only ever had one reason to stay."
His eyes lingered on her. He let the words settle between them before continuing. "I sailed with your parents right after you… called things off. We traveled together for eight months or so."
Vivienne’s fingernails dug into the bandages on her palms. The way he said it—as if she alone had unraveled them. She bit her tongue, choosing not to argue. Not now.
Cirrus exhaled through his nose, shaking his head slightly. "Hey, do you mind—" he nodded toward the tendril of white-blonde hair that had fallen into his face, his hands still submerged in murky dishwater.
Before she could think better of it, Vivienne rose from the barrel and stepped closer, reaching out.
Cirrus froze.
Vivienne brushed the loose strand behind his ear, her fingers grazing his temple.
Cirrus’ eyes locked onto hers, the flickering lantern light accenting the silver streaks in his irises.
Too close. Too familiar. Too much like before.
Above them, Gus' accordion wheezed to life, the breeze carrying the notes of a lively tune.
Vivienne stepped back like she'd been burned, breaking the moment.
Cirrus' lips twitched. "Go ahead," he encouraged. "I'm almost done here anyway."
Vivienne lingered for a second too long. She paused on the first step, looking over her shoulder. "Thank you again."
