Things I Wrote at One Time or Another

The Arcana; "Reconciliation" ?

A/N: I never posted this anywhere so I don't know what to actually title it—

His eyes were wild, like the flickering of the hearth—confusion, fear, excitement? He looked like a deer in the face of an arrow, waiting for it to strike between those hazel eyes of his. He said nothing for a long time, hardly moved at all—his fingers were still along the doorframe, hesitant to step aside and invite him in.

"Oh, would you move out of the way!" Alma exclaimed, swatting Luca's arm so she could get by and give Asra a hug. She barreled down towards him, her tiny frame adorned with a shawl that chimed when she wrapped her arms around him.

"Oh, look at you! Suddenly so handsome, Bibi—" she slipped into Arabic, practically suffocating him as she tightened her grip around him. Faust pokes out between their arms, catching the woman's attention. She proceeded to coddle her just as well, calling her precious and whatever else in her tongue. He did his best to get a word in, trying to catch his breath long enough to try and address Luca again.

He was still standing in the doorway, trying out a smile. He had grown out his hair so it curled around his shoulders. He wore a similar shawl as Alma's but without the extra adornment, and it appeared he had borrowed one of her skirts. He wrapped his arms around himself, looking embarrassed.

He placed a kiss on Alma's cheek once she released him, returning the sentiments as she pulled him and Faust inside. Luca closed the door behind them, following them like a curious ghost.

She inquired about Zadith, leading him upstairs into the apartment. She settled him down in the kitchen, adamant about brewing him some tea and treating him to something—a sort of reintroduction to Vesuvian delicacy, as his taste must have shifted after being surrounded by Zadithian women for an entire year.

"Luca, stop standing around like a sad clown and fetch me the Choan leaves in the cupboard over there," she gestured towards him while she searched for ingredients.

The young man snapped out of his thoughts, his eyebrows knitting together in discontent as a blush reached his cheeks. He fetched the leaves from the cupboard, taking it upon himself to start brewing the tea while Alma mumbled to herself.

"You don't have to, please Alma—" Asra adored the old woman, but worried she'd be too stubborn to spare him the fate of tasting her food. Everyone in the neighborhood was aware of Alma's cooking, but no one could say anything to her face or she'd give them a black eye.

Not hungry! Faust said.

"Oh," Alma said, placing her hands on her hips. "I'll let you go this time, it seems I've run out of rabbit's foot."

Luca and Asra let out a sigh of relief, and then, noticing the other, averted their gaze.

"But you're going to have my tea," she ordered just as the kettle began to sing. She made Luca sit as she went to serve.

"You grew your hair," Asra observed as Alma poured his tea. Luca glanced up at him from his empty cup, his fingers tapping against it rhythmically.

Alma eyed her nephew, signaling for him to say something. He parted his lips for a moment, as if to do so, but quickly stopped himself.

"Couldn't get him to cut it, though I'd say, he makes a pretty girl," Alma resolved, filling Luca's cup. His cheeks flared, having to turn towards the window to avoid catching anyone's eye.

"Maybe not a girl," Asra said carefully. Luca glanced at him, hesitant to, but nonetheless let his eyes trail over towards him. Asra smiled as he took a sip of his tea, "But pretty all the same."