“I’ve been thinking a lot about curses lately too,” Mal continued in the silence that was rapidly thawing between them. “Mostly mine. When we fought, when you left for Stormveil, you told me I wasn’t anything to you and said I should leave too. And I just … went. All the way to my death. I held a knife to my own throat time and again. Just like you, only in different ways.”
His fingers trailed over the flask in the pocket of his jerkin, and Griff tensed, anticipating the scent of whiskey. But instead, Mal only said, “Doesn’t feel like there’s much room for this thing in here anymore. Not with your letter and those blueprints to carry too. It’s starting to feel like … maybe I’ve outgrown it.”
Griff reached for Mal’s fingers, drawing them away from the flask and toward himself. “I never planned to tell you how I felt about you,” he said after a little while, using his free hand to sign again. “Thought I’d take it to the grave. When we came out here, before it slipped out, I was afraid to look at you sometimes. I thought you’d be able to sense it somehow—that I loved you—and I was so sure you wouldn’t feel the same, that you’d use it against me as one more way to mock me to my face, or behind my back. But that was deciding for you, wasn’t it? Not even giving you the chance to really choose me, not letting you try to show up either.”
He drew a long breath, his eyes never leaving Mal’s. He had thought, for a few horrible moments as unseen hands tore at their hair and clothes, that he would never get to look into those silver-gray eyes again. And that would have been a shame, because there was so much he had missed there before. “Of course, you haven’t exactly made it easy to tell you things. Like yes, Liam was going to propose, but no, I didn’t accept—when I left him to come onthis trip, it was over. And then there’s the issue ofyounot tellingmecertain important things about whose mission we’re on, even when your intentions were actually quite—”
“I know,” Mal cut in, his face grim in the low light cast by the fire Alys had rekindled after the wraith’s wind extinguished it. “You’re right. I’ve pushed you away so many times, and I’ve made it all harder than it needs to be—and I’m sorry too. I can’t ask you to stay and not show you that I mean it by not letting you in all the way, even if I think you won’t like the pile of skeletons and assorted weaponry in my closet. That’s yours to decide.”
“And from now on,” Griff said, drawing them closer by their joined hands now that they were coming together instead of unraveling, “when something feels too much or too hard, I’ll tell you—even if it scares me worse than any unhinged spirit to say things I think you don’t want to hear. Like how I want to be your boyfriend. I want the title, and all those things you think are foolish. And how you’re the only one I want to hold me when the nightmares get bad.”
Mal reached into the pocket of his jerkin and pulled out the folded pieces of parchment there. “I hear you, and I want this,” he said, pointing to a list of promises and some pretty impressive blueprints. “I want us to do this right, and I want you to hold me through it all, only now your arm can’t even feel things to hold.”
“My shoulder might be numb, but I can still hold you in every way that counts,” Griff insisted, spreading his good arm wide. “Do you want me to? Could I be … enough?” As he waited for an answer, he wiped his damp face on his shirt.
Slowly, Mal scooted in, fitting himself into a spot that hadn’t been frequented in many years. He buried his face into the shaggy black hair at Griff’s neck, wrapped his arms around a chest grown broader over their years apart, and only then did he give a muffled answer. “Of course I fucking want you to. All my world has ever been missing is you.”
Maybe he and Mal hadn’t been listening to each other during that horrible fight, but he was sure the other man would hear him now. Sure that Mal was holding what he wanted most in this life as he snuggled closer, and it wasn’t cold steel and gems. And there was one thing he really wanted to tell him in that moment.
“I love you so much,” Griff told him, his voice thick with tears just threatening to fall. Who said they couldn’t have easy sometimes too? “I love you, Mal,” he repeated as he kissed the tangled blond hair pressed close to his face and rubbed a little stress from the shoulders of the tensest body he’d ever clutched against his own.
Eventually, when they drew back for breath, Mal picked up one end of Griff’s scarf and used it to wipe the tears from his face. “You’re a fucking mess,” he accused as his fingers traced some of the wyvern claw marks on Griff’s shoulder that weren’t quite covered by his bandages. “But I love you too. A lot.”
Griff started to smile as Mal leaned his forehead against his own.
“I know you’re not having a nightmare right now, but—” Mal peered deep into his eyes. “Do you want me to hold you too? Because I want that.”
For the second time that night, Griff was rendered speechless, if only for a moment. “There aren’t even words for how I feel about you,” he said, despite the evidence of the letter that had already been returned to its safe, snug place against Mal’s chest, despite the ones he’d already spoken. Running a finger over Mal’s lower lip, he added, “And yes. I really fucking do want you to hold me. That would be more than enough for me.”
Mal answered that finger tracing across his lip with a brush of his mouth against Griff’s, trailing a hand up the side of his face and into his dark curls. Then he shifted, offering his arm and his chest as a place for Griff to lay his head and his cares for as long as he liked.
Griff couldn’t think of sleeping just yet, though.
Not even when he had finally found the most comfortable pillow this side of the Teeth—the place where his face wascradled just so against Mal’s chest—no matter the claims Mal might make about the bed he planned to buy.
“I haven’t ever really figured out how to love myself, not in Stormveil or anywhere else,” Griff admitted into the inviting quiet. “But you make me want to try. You make me think I’m worth it, like maybe I can finally get it right if I put in the work.”
Mal’s fingers stroked softly through Griff’s hair for a long time before he said, “Hey. I thought of something. Can I have the map back? I need to look at it for a second.”
A slight tension returned to Griff’s spine and his good shoulder. Yet now that he understood why they had to see this through, now that Mal had let him in, he pulled the old parchment from under his leg and handed it over.
Without another word, Mal tore the map into little pieces and tossed them into the air.
“We can find some other way to get Her Deadly Majesty off both our asses if it’s that important to you that she doesn’t get the treasure. Though we should at least look for those bracers for you, since we’ve made it this far and the lake is so close,” Mal declared as bits of yellowed paper fell around them like confetti, a few nesting in his hair and Griff’s. Mal leaned in for a deeper kiss, waking Griff’s stunned lips. “I used to think I’d made my peace with being cursed, or whatever hell the gods have in store for me. But now that I have you, the real you—I just want to live again. Really live. Good thing I’m no quitter.”
Those whiskey-soaked kisses reminded Griff of all the work Mal would have to do, too, to make that happen. But for now, Griff pulled Mal more snugly into his arms, blowing the pieces of paper out of his hair.
“That was incredibly brave and awfully noble for a … businessman, and more than I would have ever expected,” Griff praised him, now flooded with warmth after the coldest night of his life. “But since we’re really in no shape to fight all thecreatures the dark queen will send our way if we don’t keep up your end of the bargain, we should probably just go get her treasure once the sun’s up. And not just the vambraces, as I can’t think of any other way to get you out of her service for good. We need to finish this. Unless—”
He cast a glance over at Alys, who was still dutifully tending the fire and putting on a fresh kettle while giving them their space. “Hey, Alys, do you think we should go get the treasure in the morning before we hightail it out of here, rather than fight our way out?”
“Yeah, Alys, what do you think?” Mal echoed, giving Griff’s good shoulder a grateful squeeze. “You still in, knowing the risks and the reward, now that there’s no rogue wraith on our trail?”
“You two not getting killed is the only treasure I need out of this ordeal. I’m in,” Alys called, her voice alert and certain despite the late hour. Muffin the turtle was in her lap, apparently still alive after the wraith’s attack, and he was blinking sleepily up at her as she stroked her fingers over his brown-and-gold-patterned shell.
“And wedohave all that silver,” Mal murmured quietly to Griff, the beginnings of more big dreams evident in his gleaming eyes. “So I’m going to buy you all the horses you can build a stable for, you fuck. I love you.”
“Horses?” Griff laughed as tiny bits of the old map swirled across the grass, blown by a gentler breeze. He leaned in, letting himself be fully held and knowing he was safe with Mal. Safe at home after too long away.
