Kvothe looked up from the glass he was polishing absent-mindedly, the final flicker of the memory he had been recounting dying in his unfocused eyes like the last sliver of daylight at sundown. He cleared his throat as if breaking an awkward silence.

'Well, I suppose that's all for now, it seems a good enough place to take a break as any'.

Chronicler put down his pen, shifted in his seat and stretched luxuriantly. 'A good thing too, my poor hand was just beginning to cramp up, much longer and I would be stuck with my fingers jammed round that pen for a span and a day'. He grimaced, clenching and unclenching his fist several times as the innkeeper began putting away the clean glasses.

Bast sat still on his stool, face emotionless. He was at a loss for words. How could he know so little about his Reshi. Yes, he had thought he had known, he supposed he had weaved and sewn the little threads he had understood about his master into an odd sort of garment that could and he had thought resembled familiarity. But, after all, it seemed that he had failed to notice the gaping holes in the fabric of his knowledge. He couldn't explain how he felt. Hurt? No, that was stupid…. But…. he couldn't deny it, he felt miserable and betrayed, like he had some near vital organ stolen from him by someone he thought he could trust.

And that bitch, Denna.

The thought snapped him back to reality like a punch to the gut. He must have been looking odd throughout his musings as when he finally slipped out of his reverie he caught Kvothe eying him worriedly.

'Everything ok Bast?' He said, concern stirring at the edges of his question.

'Fine, Reshi, Fine, Yes. Perfect'. The inside of his mouth tasted sour and strange. He was suddenly and unexpectedly overwhelmed with the horrible feeling he was going to burst into tears. There was a hot pressure behind his eyes and his throat felt as raw as if he had swallowed a cupful of neat whiskey.

'Bast?'

'I'm just tired' He heard his voice waver, threatening to crack. Burning tears pooled behind his eyes and he put all his effort into damming the stream. 'I'll be in my room Reshi, come get me when you start the story again'. And with that he slid off the stool and sped up the stairs behind the bar without a backwards glance.

Chronicler gave Kvothe a confused shrug and began packing away his writing equipment.

As soon as Bast's feet hit the worn wooden stairs the tears spilled over and flowed hot and painful down his cheeks. He stumbled up the steps, into his quarters in the eaves of the inn, slamming and bolting the door behind him. Finally he allowed himself to acknowledge the terrible sense of loss that was dragging at his heart with the weight of bitter iron.

Sobbing he crawled into his bed, tugging the rough woollen blankets over his head to block out the world.

My Reshi.

He knew it then for what it was, and there was no use in denying it much longer. There was much wrong in lying to others, but it could be excused in certain circumstances. Sometimes a situation called for selective dishonesty. But lying to one's own self, that is a pointless and self-destructive activity.

He knew then it had gone way beyond adoring admiration and respect for ones instructor. If that was to be the case the acid green jealousy that was corroding the pit of his stomach would make little sense. He knew he loved his Reshi, but he had always maintained that love was like that between a father and a son, between two friends, or brothers. And when he had looked upon his master's lips and his mind had mused languidly over what they would taste like against his own, he had believed it to be only natural curiosity.

A crush then.

He let himself test the word in his head.

A silly crush. That's what it had to be. And all because he probably hadn't touched himself in a couple span. Yes. That would be it, he was horny. He was just latching on to the first familiar warm body in the room, hell he wasn't even attracted to men, was he? He had only ever had sex with women.

He thought about women. Their supple breasts, letting his fingers brush over their hard nipples, slip between their legs.

He began to unlace the front of his breeches under the covers. He imagined running his tongue over some faceless girl's pert tits and began to touch himself.

After several minutes had passed and he was still resolutely semi-hard and unsatisfied he let his arm drop heavily to his side. He sighed. He bet Reshi never had this problem in his youth.

He began to retie his breaches, letting his mind wander lazily back to the part of the story in which Kvothe had first met Felurian. He imagined them making love. Kvothe kissing her neck hungrily, bodies pressed together…how hard his master must have been. His cock twitched.

And then all of a sudden in his head it was his neck Reshi was biting with such impatience, his body which Reshi's hands danced over like flames of a guttering candle. And when he imagined his fingers twisting in his master's copper hair as his kisses descended ever further south, he felt himself grow rock hard. He was panting by this point, his fingers fumbling at his crotch, turning onto his front, blankets tangled between his legs, and rubbing his arousal against the soft fabric of his homespun breaches when it took too long for his fingers to find purchase on the leather lacings.

Tap, tap, tap.

There was a tentative knock at the door.

Bast jumped about a foot in the air, breath caught in his throat. He rolled over, almost falling out of bed and hurriedly tried to crush his straining arousal back into his pants. 'Just a minute,' he gasped breathlessly.

Tap, Tap…

'JUST A MINUTE!'

Kvothe's voice came through the door, muffled yet the note of concern coating his tone was hard to miss.

'Bast, what's going on?'

When no reply came and it had seemed minutes had crept by he heard an almost inaudible sigh through the rough elm of the door.

'Bast, I am about to begin the telling of my tale again, so if…'

'Oh'

Bast stood in the door frame, looking decidedly nonchalant.

'I'm sorry Reshi, I must have dozed off. I'm fine by the way, just fine. Yes the story, I should like to hear more of that, just needed a break is all, all that listening. You know how it can be. Well tiring. Its tiring, is what I'm trying to say'

Kvothe looked more closely at his student, past his radiant grin and casual stance to his raw, red rimmed eyes, flushed cheeks and dishevelled appearance.

'Bast…. can I come in?'

Without waiting for an answer he brushed past into the small room, seemed to pause for a second at the sight of the tangled sheets, then sat heavily down on the bed which creaked wildly like a stubborn mule being dragged to market.

'Bast I wasn't born yesterday, and it certainly isn't difficult to see. I know when something's wrong'

He waited, not long enough to expect an answer. Still, the short silence seemed stretched as taught as the strings on a lute.

'Was it the story? Did I say something to upset you? Tehlu help me it's not the Ctheah again is it? I thought we talked about that?'

All the resolve seemed to drop out of Bast and he appeared to visibly shrink, as if all the air had left him in one long, exhausted sigh.

His mind skated over a dozen lies he could attempt to stumble through but knew his Reshi would see straight through any botched falsehood he tried to conjure into existence. In the end he resolved to go with some semblance of the truth. Well, half of it anyway.

He sat down at the other end of the bed, tucking his feet underneath him, suddenly self-conscious though he couldn't think why. He had known his Reshi for years now and they were nothing but completely comfortable around each other.

He looked into his master's face for the first time in their conversation, the smooth jaw, the slight crease between his eyebrows that indicated worry. Their eyes met. In the dim light of the sputtering oil lamp they were the deep glossy green of holly boughs in the winter. By Tehlu he was beautiful.

He looked down quickly, fearing his gaze had been too intent, too revealing of his recent self-revelation.

'It's just…. I thought I knew you Reshi'. He swallowed.

'I guess I never asked but… well I thought we told each other most things. But then I find there's all this stuff I don't know about you and its… well. Horrible.' He looked up, met those shade green eyes, ancient and tired and looked away again swiftly.

Kvothe looked mollified. He smiled slightly, a sad smile that twitched at the corners of his lips. He opened his mouth to make a reply but before his tongue could shape the first syllable of an answer Bast filled the quiet with his own soft words.

'And Denna, how could you be taken in by that Reshi?'

The frown was back on Kvothe's face the second it had left. Not the concerned dimple between his eyebrows but a rough stitched knot of irritation.

'What do you mean?' His voice was smooth and cool as polished steel but Bast could sense the danger beneath the still waters that were Kvothe's patience.

'I mean she strung you along Reshi.' He was in his stride now, 'She dangled herself in front of you like an exceptionally sweet carrot in front of a starving ass and watched as you did her bidding like a puppet on a string.'

Kvothe's face was like thunder now and Bast knew he was playing with fire. But the words were tumbling out of him like squash from an overturned cart and there was nothing he could do to stop the cascade.

'And then, to add insult to injury she parades round with a new lover every week right in front of your nose, flirting and lifting her skirts for any man who cares to try like… a… well like a common whore.'

Silence.

'What did you say?' The fury in every word was palpable now. He was on his feet in an instance. His fists were clenched at his sides, knuckles white with tension and Bast could almost taste the crackle of electric rage pouring off his master's body. For one horrific second he thought his Reshi was going to strike him. But, before the storm could hit, the fire seemed to die in Kvothe's eyes. And what came next was worse than any weighted punch his master could have thrown at him, worse than all the boiling rage and heated words in the world.

'I thought more of you Bast.'

And before the last quivering word had spiralled downwards and touched upon the stagnant surface of the tension in the room, before the ripples had truly taken effect, he swept out through the door, leaving Bast sitting still on the bed, his mouth bitter with the taste of his own poisonous words.