The festival began at sunset when the first lanterns woke along the canals. Nico also woke up, from the midday nap he had taken to pass the hottest part of the day. He didn’t feel particularly refreshed. To be honest, he was trying to read and accidentally fell asleep. This outing was a concentrated effort to not hole up in the hotel.

  He found the plaza where lines of stalls selling street food and general festivities were set up. Stalls clicked and sang as chopsticks tapped tin trays and little brass chimes answered the breeze. The air held its warmth into the evening. Jasmine wrapped up every arch and balcony; their blooms filled the air with a sweet fragrance.

  Farther on, several large drums kept an active beat that influenced the movement of the crowd. Saplings in short linen jackets embroidered with summer flowers ran between the stalls, to the stress of their parents. Little gems had their horns wrapped in linen while nestlings flapped around with ribbons intertwined in their feathers.

  He was in a weird mood, not wanting to stay indoors, but feeling shitty and low energy enough that he wasn’t particularly interested in socializing. It was nice though, being able to move through a crowd where he didn’t have to know anyone to enjoy the atmosphere. But with all the families, friends and couples out enjoying the festival, admittedly some company wouldn't have been minded.

  “Hey.”

  “…”

  Nico recognized the voice and didn’t turn. It hadn’t worked the first or second time, but it was only responsible to keep testing the hypothesis of object permanence. (Though, hoping not to replicate prior data points.)

  “You here with anyone?” the voice’s owner leaned over, tilting his face into the side of Nico’s field of vision. Only his eyes were visible above the scarf, but their amethyst glimmer was unmistakable.

  “…No.”

  “Hang out with me then.”

  “Okay.” The word slipped out involuntarily.

  Did he just get asked on a date? And say yes? Was he piloting his own body?

  The man had long linen ribbons of gold, blue, and green braided into his hair that camouflaged his trademark silver into a crowd of color. The side braid fell neatly over his chest with the rest of his hair tucked under a simple black cap. Matching ribbons spiraled around both horns in loose braids, hiding their amethyst sheen. The lower half of his face was hidden behind a dark bandana patterned with abstract golden teeth, popular amongst the crowd as a homage to the festival’s folklore. And over a simple combination of a v-neck and shorts, was the festival’s long linen jacket. His was delicately embroidered with jasmine blossoms that grew from the hems.

  Had Zhou not approached him, Nico probably wouldn’t have recognized the sage amongst the crowd of festival goers. Probably. He had to admit even dressed like everyone else, something about him caught the eye.

  Zhou looked over Nico’s outfit at the same time that Nico took stock of his. “Hmmm,” Zhou said. “Give me your hand.”

  What. Were they about to hold hands? What was happening?

  His reasoning still malfunctioning, Nico obediently held out a hand. Zhou unwrapped a ribbon from his own forearm and tied it neatly around Nico’s. The ribbon matched the ones in Zhou’s hair and horns.

  So, not holding hands, but coordinated accessories. Cool.

  “Was I standing out too much?” Nico wasn’t the only one not wearing any festival-specific clothing, but defaulting to small talk felt necessary.

  “Not really, but we might as well Tellur you up a bit while you’re here.” Even though Zhou’s mask covered the lower half of his face, his smile could be seen from the crescents of his eyes.

  Zhou started walking, and Nico fell in step beside him, accustomed now to the sage’s lack of communication.

  They stopped at a stall where linen jackets hung in orderly rows. The vendor had arranged them first by tone and then by pattern so the whole wall looked like a gradient rolling upward. “I think this color would look nice on you,” Zhou said, holding a jacket against Nico.

  “I do tend to lean towards warmer tones.”

  “It suits you.” Zhou flagged the vendor and tapped a payment before Nico had time to protest, so he obediently slipped on the jacket as well. It had a slight tan tint that complimented his fur and golden marigold embroidered up the seams. A long slit in the back accommodated his tail.

  “…Thanks,” he murmured. The same happened at a stall selling scarves with stylized teeth prints. There was quite the range of designs that the seller had sorted by judgment of cute, cool, traditional, or silly.

  “The scarf is important for guys like you. You’ll be punished if it looks like you’re not enjoying the festival.” Zhou warned as he flipped through the designs.

  While Nico was used to Zhou’s conversational cadence now, he still didn’t care for the delivery.

  “Know how to put this on?” Zhou picked a design with teeth sharper than the others, gold embroidery on black fabric.

  It felt like he was being asked if he could tie a tie. And if he said no did that mean—

  The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  The scarf was thrown over his face from behind. Nico stayed still, embarrassed, as it was neatly secured at the back of his head in a tidy knot. He tried to ignore the fingers casually grazing the nape of his neck, which only made him hyper aware of them, and of the warmth of breath close to his skin. Nico decided right then that if Zhou mentioned his ears turning red at all he’d just call it a night and go back—to Lumere. A soft chuckle slipped out behind him, but no comment followed, despite his very visible and very tall ears feeling warmer than they usually did.

  They let the crowd carry them. Zhou bought a leaf boat of fried bites, each on a toothpick, and held it between them. It felt rude to refuse something bought to share. He also recommended a stall known for their steamed buns, choosing one with lotus paste and salted yolk for Nico, and a taro one for himself.

  When Zhou asked how it was after Nico took a bite, he held it up to Zhou’s face facetiously. Nico watched with wide eyes as Zhou actually leaned in, pushed strands of hair behind his ears while he looked down towards the snack (which gave a clear view of his long white eyelashes), and took a bite out of it. He looked focused on evaluating the dessert while chewing, not even giving a smirk. “It’s a good balance, not too sweet.”

  “…I think so too.” Looking at the sage, Nico understood the appeal, but he wouldn’t have minded if it was sweeter.

  The crowd felt a bit overwhelming with all the noise and clatter, but Zhou kept a lower speaking volume than the rest of the festival. He spoke lightly, and the mask softened it further, enough that it would have been swallowed by the chatter for anyone else. For a Lycan, it wasn’t difficult to hear. Nico found himself secretly glad that Zhou didn’t raise his voice to match the crowd. It felt intentional, like he knew and only wanted Nico to hear.

  They weren’t talking about anything secretive or salacious… but it felt like Zhou was carving out a space for only him. Nico listened closely, ears angled to catch every word. He had gotten so used to the terse non-conversations it felt weird that they were somewhat sustaining a conversation.

  He did like to push at Nico’s sense of sanity though. Which wasn’t bad per say, it was just a lot. Every time he teased or was tickled by some chatter, Zhou’s eyes cut into crescents. Nico ended up looking at the Sage quite a bit on this unofficial date. In rifts, his attention was usually pulled elsewhere for obvious reasons, poor lighting included. And their first interaction had been short and confusing.

  Huh? Was this only his fourth time interacting with Zhou? And it was a not-date? Wasn’t this guy like a hundred years old?

  Nico tilted his head, looking at the sage’s side profile for the umpteenth time. His thoughts ran through a specific panic of someone who was checking out a century old being. Zhou was a few inches shorter than Nico, which meant he must’ve been super tall for his era one million years ago. There was experience in the way he carried himself, but there wasn’t much time in his face. Sages stopped aging when they became what they were, one of those peculiar core mana effects. If Nico were to take a reckless guess, Zhou looked something like mid-thirties. So just based on appearances they looked like an age appropriate couple.

  Zhou glanced over, as if he had heard the thought. His eyes turned into that crescent shape again.“You get two questions about me.”

  “You get one question about me,” Nico retorted.

  Zhou laughed, muffled by his scarf. “How do you feel about jasmine tea?”

  Nico’s ears gave him away with a fluffy twitch.

  Zhou used up the question faster than Nico had anticipated. And wasn’t this like being invited in for a cup of coffee in the evening, which was rarely about coffee?

  It set his brain cells into overdrive, only to admit defeat. It was hubris to think he could out-flirt a century old hot guy. Was jasmine tea what he was going to call this staircase of mistakes he kept tumbling down?

  “…It has a nice fragrance,” Nico replied in the most neutral tone he could muster.

  “Let’s get some then”

  “It’s a bit late for caffeine.”

  “They brew fresh jasmine flowers here,” Zhou explained. “The fragrance doesn’t keep well when dried so it’s only infused into green tea for export.”

  That certainly explained why he wasn’t getting anything other than hydration out of the iced teas he was ordering every morning.

  “Then yeah let’s get some.”

  They patroned a stall run by three teenagers and one auntie. Zhou paid again. The petals stained the water pale gold with their classic floral fragrance. At the bottom sat a layer of soft tapioca pearls cooked in brown sugar, river agar and marsh seed. They drank and wandered until they happened upon a line that wrapped around half the plaza.

  Zhou read Nico’s mind, “It’s for the lanterns.”

  “The line looks… long,” Nico said, hesitating. He didn’t love crowds, but he also didn’t want to pass on the experience outright.

  Zhou’s eyes curved. He tapped the air in front of him and pulled out two folded frames of bamboo and paper from his inventory. Nico envied of how elegant Zhou made inventory use look and avoided asking why he already had two prepared.

  “Th calligraphy booth on the east side shouldn’t be too crowded,” Zhou said.

  Nico nodded, eager to find a reprieve from the noise. They cut away from the main square and found the booth under an arch curtained by hanging jasmine. An old Virid master sat a low table with ink stones and distilled water. He handed them brushes.

  Nico glanced around to see what others were writing, unsure, not wanting to ask due to a surge of selective shyness. To the left, a young family guided their toddler’s hand through careful strokes, endearing but unhelpful. To the right, a group of friends fussed about school and careers.

  It was wishes. A huge relief for someone who didn’t have a script version of his name to write on a lantern.

  A second wave of bashfulness crept in as they got situated. Having to write a wish in front of an eons-old Sage felt unexpectedly intimate. It wasn’t enough to think of something meaningful; it had to be simple enough to write cleanly. Nico twirled the brush against the practice paper, stalling as he went back and forth in his head

  “I’ll let you cheat off of mine.”

  Zhou tilted his lantern into view.

  The calligraphy was well stylized, guided by a hand that knew instinctively where pressure belonged. The kind of muscle memory often associated people who were very old, before the invention of pencil.

  It was a complicated character for a simple wish: health.

  “I didn’t think you’d still worry about something like that,” Nico commented.

  “Even more so now.”

  What were the rules around living an extended life? Did it come with a stronger constitution? He’d never really thought about Sages getting sick—or about them much at all, despite having been the audience for plenty of venting sessions about Sage Vuong from his son.

  He put his brush to paper and took his time, copying the stroke order of a character he pulled up on his phone. When he finished, Zhou leaned over to look. His eyes curved into crescents again.

  ”Hmm. Me too,” he said lightly.

  Nico did his best not to overthink that.

  Zhou got up and started towards the exit. Nico stalled, realizing he could simply not follow, especially if Zhou was going to keep leaving without saying anything. Or maybe he was just annoyed at that part.

  “There’s a spot that’s not crowded, if you don’t mind a bit of a walk.”

  A braid threaded with ribbons slipped into Nico’s line of sight. Zhou leaned over his shoulder, lifted Nico's lantern and stored it into his inventory.

  ”I have the time,” Nico heard himself say.