[Four months ago]
Robin had been riding trains for days. Maybe weeks. Time slipped sideways when you didn't sleep in the same bed twice. They'd lost track of Hendrick somewhere near Zurich, the rest of the crew scattering like pigeons at a firecracker.
Only Heinz remained.
They'd ended up in Graz, Austria, chasing half-whispered ghost stories and the fading buzz of magic. Heinz, a black caster with a quiet confidence, said an old spirit haunted an abandoned textile mill just outside the city. Said he'd spoken with it once, months ago, and that it "liked company."
Robin wasn't so sure. The place felt hollow, cold, quiet in a way that pressed on your skin.
The last of the sunlight bled through broken windows as they stepped over debris and graffiti. Robin conjured a small flame in their palm, casting soft orange light across damp stone and rusted rails. Their other hand clung to Heinz's arm like a kid sneaking into a horror movie.
Heinz raised an eyebrow. "You scared?"
"No," Robin lied. "Just... being careful."
They crept deeper into the shadowed corridors, footsteps echoing weirdly. Robin's fire flickered, elongated across the walls like stretched paper puppets.
But the spirit wasn't there.
Only dust. Cold drafts. Silence.
Robin's flame sputtered. A loose pipe clattered in the dark. Robin flinched.
And fire blinked out.
Total darkness.
Robin tensed. "Shit. Sorry."
Heinz's arm wrapped around them before the panic could take hold. "Calm down," he said, voice close, deep and steady. "I got you."
Robin stilled. Warm chest. Holding arms. Smell of metal, smoke, and that musky cologne Heinz always wore too much of. Silence stretched.
Robin's voice broke it, soft and close to his neck. "First time you hug me this way. Hope it's not the last."
Heinz didn't answer. Not at first.
Heinz hadn't thought of Robin that way. They were definitely not his type. Robin was... chaotic. Too much. Too fast. Not the kind of person Heinz usually went for.
But here, in the dark, pressed close, Robin's scent filled every breath Heinz took. The pyromancer's heartbeat thudded against the soul whisperer's ribs.
Heinz leaned in. Maybe a mistake. Maybe not.
Their lips met... Slow, uncertain, like touching fire to paper to see if it burns.
It did!
That night, the old place stayed empty of ghosts. But something else lingered between the broken bricks and warm skin. Something fragile, maybe fleeting. But real.
At least for the night.