They never ask each other about their personal lives. Never. It's one of their rules.
It makes sense to both of them, and they agreed on it. She lost her memory some number of years ago, and after all this time she's never recovered more than her name. And she'd never pry, but the look on his face when she told him that one bit of information about her let her know that he wished the same might have happened to him, even as he gave his condolences.
They never ask each other about what happened the night that they came together. That's a rule too.
She'd been extinguishing the lamps of her inn for the night when he burst through the door. He'd been sopping wet from the pouring rain outside, delirious with fever from both the cold and a hideous wound she's found on his torso. He'd had a girl with him as well, a child in his arms she later found out to be his daughter. She'd taken them both in without a second thought, and they'd never left. His daughter would run around her inn, playing with the patrons' children and helping her in the kitchen, while he would wait the tables or tend the bar, or whatever she asked of him.
She doesn't mind the mystery. His past was something that he'd clearly not talk about, and she doesn't remember hers at all. So they talk about other things. The weather, the general state of the kingdom, anything but each other.
She mentioned to him once, in passing, that her inn was haunted. One day she was checking the inventory, and the next there were spirits in her attic. Every now and then a passing adventurer would exorcise the spirits in return for a free night's stay, but they'd always return before even a month had passed. He'd gotten quiet and told her that he knew his way around the restless dead and that he would take care of it. She hadn't expected for anything to happen, but when two months had passed and there continued to be no signs of ghost she'd thanked him profusely and offered him a permanent stay. He told her that he'd been staying for quite a while anyways, but thanked her in turn.
He'd mentioned to her once that he could play the piano, as well as the organ and harpsichord. Anything with keys, he'd said. He'd joked about it as well, claimed that his teacher had tied him to the seat and made him practice over and over until he could play Toccata and Fugue in D Minor from nothing more than his own memory. She'd had a reed organ delivered a few weeks later, and told him to make good on his words. While he'd complained that the instrument had one less keyboard that he was used to, the resulting melody was worth every coin she'd spent. She'd never known the song to have such playful notes hiding behind it's intimidating intro, and he'd smiled when she told him so.
They'd both mentioned to each other, on more than one occasion, what an odd couple they made. Her with her beaming smile, her fair hair, her green eyes, her smiles and laughter. He'd told her that everything about her screamed "sunshine", and she'd laughed and told him that table three needed refills. She was called normal. He was not, and she could see why. He was a dour man, though he laughed it seemed to her that he didn't laugh nearly enough, and she'd rarely seen him smile at anything other than his daughter. His hair was a striking red color, one that he shared with his daughter, though hers seemed to be a brighter shade than his, and while her eyes were one of the purest blues that she had ever seen, his were yellow, a saturated, sickly yellow, too cold to be anything but magic.
She'd asked him if he was magic, once. He told her that while he wasn't magical himself, he'd had plenty of experience with it. The way his face darkened when he'd spoken frightened her, and she didn't ask again. It was three days later that they'd came up with their rules.
Perhaps, she thinks, that she might learn more about him one day. While their current arrangement is comfortable as is, she wonders what it could be if they were more open with each other. Perhaps she would ask his opinion on such musings. But that would be against their rules.
This is exactly 800 words, what the fuck. So yeah, a fic dedicated to my beloved crackship of Sepulchure/Serenity. I can't imagine they would have a very open relationship, nor can I imagine them having a working one if Serenity knew who she was doing, but I can dream. This is actually shorter than I'd planned—originally Serenity had an idea of who Sepulchure was, as well as them giving each other names, and maybe Seppy staring out at the ruins of Shadowfall, but the story ran away from me and it felt like it didn't need those scenes.
I'll get back to work on Centilingued. Eventually.