Author's Note: Blame Twitter. And also maybe Maya: I can just imagine him working through these while Darklaw stares at him from across the room.

Meh. Owning things is so last century.

She couldn't stop staring.

Thankfully, Sir Barnham didn't seem to be worried about it. In fact, she doubted he even knew she was looking. It surprised her; if she'd been in his place, she'd have been sure to notice the eyes boring into her. But he just sat there, unmindful to what was going on around him. Perhaps part of the fact had been that she'd threatened to punish him if he didn't catch up on his workload. The knight's desk was on its last legs, and the amount of paperwork on it had piled up enough to be utterly ridiculous. He'd procrastinated and now she was concerned that one more memo would be enough to make the entire thing collapse.

"—and if it does, you're not getting a new one. You'll sit on the floor and write reports like a schoolboy with his homework." He'd argued with her about how hard it was for him to fit working three days of unpaid overtime in his schedule along with regular training at the garrison and keeping up his apprenticeship at Mrs. Eclaire's bakery, but she was adamant in her order for him to finish. "Nonsense. When you had to be awake all hours of the night for trials, that was one thing. But now we're only heading a simple reconstruction effort; there's no need for you fall behind."

That being said, she felt like she couldn't leave before he did, even though she never fell behind in her work. She was a stickler for punctuality, and her father had always said that it was better to do today than leave off until tomorrow. So she sat at her desk, pretending to busy herself with the blueprints for a new marketplace closer to the town, even going so far as to pull out her updated map of Labyrinthia and spread it on her desk for reference. But her mind was nowhere near focused on the marketplace, no matter how often she tapped a potential spot with the edge of her nail.

She watched him work instead, scribbling his usual half-legible chicken scratch across the paper with one hand while the other tirelessly worked the dumbbell he kept on the desk. Every so often he paused, biting his lip as he muddled over a potential issue with the report before continuing to write. He only set the dumbbell down long enough to clip each report to its corresponding memos before throwing them into the loosely stacked 'outgoing' pile for Miss Mailer to take in the morning.

She had never watched him so closely, even when they worked together building up the town. Well—that wasn't entirely correct, either. She did watch him, more and more often as of late. It had started off innocently enough, with a curious urge to try and find out what all the ladies of the town found so endearing about him. She hadn't paid much attention to him outside of the workplace, and so she began keeping an eye on him when they were out in town at the same time.

The more she looked, the more she found to like—he was chivalrous with the women, patient with the children and the elderly, and had a strange knack for designing buildings from the ground up. He could throw knives (or anything, really) with a skilled hand, and he was also learning some astounding baking techniques from his apprenticeship. He was, as the Storyteller often liked to hint whenever she was in hearing range, a 'very nice young man'.

And she wasn't blind to his physical features, either. He was built for a life of activity, and the armor seemed to weigh nothing to him; she knew that there had to be some sort of muscle-mass hidden there, but even his casual clothes were modest enough to hide the bulk of his figure. And the scar on his angular face, combined with the unkempt hairstyle, made him look rugged—a word she'd picked up from the bawdy romance novels she couldn't help buying every time she made the trip to the mainland for the Storyteller's various medicines.

She didn't mean for it to get out of hand, but she soon realized she was in too deep. Every time a flouncy little girl flirted with him, tossing her hair and batting her eyes while she sidled close enough to stand in his shadow, she found herself getting jealous. Her hand would spasm with barely controlled anger; once she even wanted to push the scrawny maiden away and order her home the way she would have when she was still the High Inquisitor. It worried her that she acted this way; she had no reason to feel ill will towards the girls, who weren't doing anything wrong at all.

Her only consolation was that Barnham didn't react to these women in any way. He was as polite to them as he was to the married women and the little old ladies, almost oblivious to their subtle hints and wayward glances. They eventually moved away, faces crestfallen, and she felt the proverbial monster in her chest purring in triumph at their love games being thwarted.

And his actions towards her! Every time she thought she had gotten him out of her mind, he'd do something silly or crazy, and the process of figuring out his reasoning would pull her back in. There was an eagerness to please behind his actions that confused her, and she sometimes couldn't help but hope that he might fancy her, too. But that was unlikely, as he never gave any sign of wanting to ask her on a date, or even just to kiss her.

But Espella had been the catalyst leading to this moment. The darned girl had taken Barnham's little 'birthday gift' as an initiative of sorts, and now she was doing and saying things that she had no business knowing of. Most of the time Eve had been able to ignore her, or write off her (and her father's) all-too-helpful hints about men and flirting and courting. No matter how many times she tried to explain to Espella that even if she wasn't shy, she just didn't have it in her to flirt with anyone, the girl didn't seem to hear. And then, just two days ago:

"You know Eve," she'd began, twirling one plait as she watched her older friend working out a rough sketch for a fountain, "I think Sir Barnham's finally getting settled in with us."

"Is he?" Eve replied, only half-listening. "That's good, then. I'm glad he's finally found another niche besides being an Inquisitor." She didn't look up; otherwise she might have caught on at the sight of Espella's wide, mischievous grin.

"Oh, yes. He's a wonderful help to Aunt Patty and me. But I meant that he was settling in to being in a house full of women. He's not shy about going around without clothes on now; not like he used to be." She'd frozen, unable to believe what she was hearing. Did Espella just say—?!

"E-excuse me?" she had asked, trying to keep the tremor from her voice. Her hands clenched on top of the desk, swallowing hard as she glanced towards the door to make sure no one would walk in on their conversation.

"He walks around without a shirt on when he's upstairs in the living area," Espella had explained with an air of wicked glee as she watched her friend stiffen in embarrassment. "everything's just out there, right where you can see it. With muscles like that," she'd added thoughtfully, "it's no wonder he can throw that sword around like it's nothing. Have you ever tried to lift it? It's so heavy!"

"W-well, that's nice," Eve had finally choked out, knowing that her face was as red as Espella's cloak. The jealousy had returned, but instead of being vindictive it was more of a petty sort, directed at the young girl. Why did the heavens work against her?! Espella didn't even know how lucky she had it, getting to see a sight like that on a daily basis! The girl couldn't appreciate the view as well as she could, she was sure.

"Mhmm, and when it gets really hot in the kitchen, he'll even strip down there as long as it's after-hours. He gets all sweaty since he has to run the fires while Aunt Patty works the dough and I do the icing and the decorating. Not dripping-down with sweat, mind you," she noted, "but more of a fine sheen." She too had read some of the paperbacks lining Eve's bedroom shelf.

She hadn't been able to stop thinking about that for three days, the words 'fine sheen' echoing in her mind like a bard's song that got stuck in your head. Her mutinous imagination kept popping up with different images of a shirtless Barnham, grinning roguishly as he went about his daily business. She couldn't imagine the right sort of chest for him, but she'd seen the way his forearms looked when he rolled his sleeves up; the thought of his bare arms, the prominent muscles covered in glistening sweat as he worked above the wood-fire oven at the bakery, was a curse to her. She had no idea when arms had become arousing to her, but the mere mental picture of his arms had her drooling.

"Is something wrong?" She immediately snapped out of her reverie at the sound of his voice, blinking twice before raising her head off her hand. He was looking at her now, his brow furrowed in confusion. She noticed that his stack of incoming paperwork had gone down considerably, the outgoing stack wobbling precariously on its unbalanced base.

"Ah—er—no, everything's fine." She straightened up, hoping that she hadn't been actually drooling. No amount of witchcraft or purging fires could save her from that sort of mortification! "You've made considerable progress," she noted, nodding at the smaller stack. "The rest can wait until tomorrow." She stood, pushing in her chair and muffling a yawn. He stretched, and her traitorous eyes followed the lithe movement of his arms above his head as he cracked his neck before rubbing one shoulder beneath the plating.

"Shall I walk you to the gate?" he offered, and she saw he was wearing the same puppy-esque expression of amenability that he often donned when he spoke to her nowadays. She almost consented, but something in the back of her mind reared up and gave her an idea. She shook her head, but motioned for him to follow her.

"No thank you, Zacharias. I'm actually going to stop by the bakery first to see Espella." She had no idea where the thought had come from, but now she felt compelled to follow it. He faltered before coming after her, a sleepy Constantine on his heels.

"So late?" he asked, puzzlement evident in his tone.

"She won't be asleep," she replied easily as they passed the main amphitheater where the plays were now held on a monthly basis. He didn't ask again, but instead loomed over her like a silent, protective vulture as they headed through the darkened streets towards the bakery. The town was peaceful enough; most people were in the comfort of their homes this late in the evening. The only sound came from the direction of the tavern, where the rowdy late-night crowd was just getting started with their usual drunken antics. She wondered how Rouge even dealt with it.

They reached the bakery in no time, Mrs. Eclaire letting them in the door with surprise. She immediately fell upon Eve like a mother would, complaining that she was far too skinny, she was wasting away, she needed to eat more, would she not sit down and have some fresh bread?, etc. Barnham cast a last strange, sideways glance at her before rushing up the stairs. Mrs. Eclaire chuckled at him but said nothing, only mentioning that if Eve was certain she wouldn't take refreshment, Espella was in her bedroom.

Espella was all too happy to see her, even if it was unexpected. Eve hadn't really had a reason to come, but Espella pulled her onto the bed and began to show her the highlights of her newest book, on loan from the Archive. She ended up staying later than she had meant to, the time slipping away as they giggled over the book and then lapsed into an animated discussion over whether Dewey might harbor some feelings for her (Espella thought not, but Eve had seen the way they'd bonded over their love of books after the events of the Bezella trial).

"Oh goodness, look at the time!" Espella had exclaimed when the conversation had lulled. Eve looked to the small clock on the window, a birthday gift from the Storyteller to his daughter. It was nearly midnight.

"I didn't mean to stay this late," Eve admitted, standing up and brushing out the bedclothes where she'd been sitting. "I guess I'll go home now." Espella sat her book on the pillow and stood as well.

"Let me see you to the door, okay?" Eve nodded and they both stepped out onto the small landing that stood as a loft above the hallway leading from the bakery to the root cellar stairs. She was about to head down the steep staircase when she heard a rattling sound. Turning, she saw a small door she'd never really noticed before built into the alcove. She looked questioningly at Espella. "Oh, that's—"

Before she could say anything more, the door opened and Barnham stepped out, looking down at his bare feet as if lost in thought. He wore a pair of loose-fitting pants that she'd never seen before, and… that was it. She felt her cheeks redden, a small, irritating part of her mind rejoicing at the fact that it would never have to imagine again—she had the whole thing right there in front of her, just like Espella had said. Even the pants seemed intent on helping her, riding down his hips and making her heart thunder in her chest. It seemed that the air had been taken out of the room, and she tried desperately to draw in a breath. She meant to say something if she could get around to speaking, but Espella beat her to the punch.

"S—Sir Barnham!" the younger girl cried, her own cheeks dusted pink as she began to giggle hard enough to snort. The man's head snapped up and he saw Eve standing there; she managed to pull her eyes up from his chest hair to his face, and felt a sad sense of pity. The man was immobile, his eyes wide enough to see the whites and his mouth hanging open in a horrified expression. She watched in fascination as he turned a shade that rivaled his hair, the color spreading down his neck. He gaped a moment and they stared at one another while Espella shrieked with mirth; suddenly, he made a noise that sounded like a downtrodden goat before turning and running back into his bedroom, slamming the door behind him.

"O-oh." She didn't know what else to say, her mind still trying to process what she'd just seen. Espella was leaned against the wall, holding her stomach as she tried to stifle her laughter; clearly, the girl found the whole situation to be hilarious. Before she could scold her for laughing, his door opened again and she found him wrapped up, using a bedsheet like a cloak; for some reason, he'd even covered his hair up in it and clutched the front to his neck, panting as his legs shook.

"I—I apologize, Miss Eve!" he all but shouted at her. "I had no idea that you were still here!" He ran past her, tripping on the sheet and hitting the threshold of the lavatory before running in there and slamming the door to it as well. She stared after him, unsure of what to say. The door next to the lavatory opened and Mrs. Eclaire poked her head out, already dressed for sleep.

"What's going on up here?" she growled sleepily, but her mood lightened when she saw Eve. "Oh, are you still here? As late as it is, why don't you spend the night?"

"Oh, no, I couldn't—" she raised her hands and shook them dismissively along with her head. Not after what just happened; it was going to be hard enough to face him at work tomorrow, much less again tonight! But the baker wasn't taking no for an answer.

"Nonsense! You'll get mugged or worse, walking home this late by yourself. Come, I'll let you borrow a spare gown and you can bunk with Espella in Barnham's bed—it's bigger. He can have your bed for the night, Espella," she ordered, finding her spare gown to give to Eve. "I'll see you at breakfast, then." Her door shut without another word. The lavatory door opened a crack and a single hand came out, brandishing the blanket. Espella took it and the door shut immediately, no sound coming from within.

"It'll be okay," Espella assured her when she saw the anxious look on Eve's face. "He's just mortified. Give him two days and he'll be over it, just like with the whole Wild Ride incident. At least it was only you and not the whole town that saw," she laughed as she prodded her in the direction of her bedroom, where she shut the door and then began to undress. "Though he was never that way when I first saw him half-naked. I learned to knock before coming in, that's for sure… but maybe it's just because it was you, Eve."

She didn't reply, stripping down and throwing on Mrs. Eclaire's gown. It was too big in the shoulders and only came to her knees, but it served its purpose well enough. Espella's gown would have been far too tight and small, as slender as the girl was. Espella unwound her plaits and brushed them out before handing Eve the brush to do the same for her own hair, and then bundled up the blanket and let the way to his bedroom. His bed was bigger, taking up a good half of the little alcove room, and Espella fixed the blanket back onto the bed before crawling into the space beside the wall.

"Hang on a moment," Eve said, turning back. "I'll be right back."

"Oh.. okay," Espella said, lying back and closing her eyes. "Hurry back then." Eve closed the door partway before walking across the landing and knocking lightly on the lavatory door. There was a moment of hesitation before the door cracked open, this time a lone eye taking the place of the hand.

"May I come in?" she asked, feeling unsure of herself. She hated being this shy—it irked her even more that until she really began noticing him, she had never felt this bashful around him before. The door shut, and she was beginning to think that he might not open it before she heard something swish before he called for her to enter. She opened the door and was faced with an empty room—no, not empty. He was in the shower stall. She sighed, shutting the door behind her and locking it before throwing back the curtain. He made the same sound from the hallway and looked sheepishly at her, his cheeks no less red than a half-hour ago.

"Miss Eve," he began, his voice stumbling, "er—uhm—" He gulped, looking away.

"Zacharias," she sighed, staring him down with her best no-nonsense expression, "do you call yourself a man?"

"Yes!" he fired back, crossing his arms before immediately uncrossing them to scratch his chin. "Wh-who do you take me for?"

"Then why are you acting this way?" she retorted, ignoring his question. "Many men run around Labyrinthia without shirts. It's nothing I've never seen before. And Espella says that you do it often when I'm not around," she added pointedly. He mumbled something under his breath, but when she kept staring he finally climbed back out of the shower stall and leaned against the sink.

"Well, I—" He met her gaze steadily enough. "I don't make a habit of—"

"Yes?"

"You see, it's because, um…"

"Because?" She stepped closer, peering up into his face.

"M-Miss Eve!" He was gawking at her now, eyes darkening as they flitted between her exposed collarbone, her face, and the door. She felt the smallest tremor run down her spine, wishing she were bold enough to reach out and touch him. The air in the room thickened and the next thing she knew he was bending down to her, head tilting and she realized that she wouldn't stop him. Her eyes fluttered closed and she awaited the touch of his lips before hearing a creak in the hallway. Gasping, she jerked around and their faces nearly collided.

Woof?! Bark, bark bark! She breathed a sigh of relief; it was just the mutt. For a moment, she was worried that Espella might have been sneaking around; she wouldn't put it past the girl, who seemed dead-set on knowing exactly what went on in her life. Barnham looked relieved too, but he backed away and opened the door.

"Um… goodnight, Miss Eve. May your dreams be pleasant." With his usual over-the-top wording, he was gone and she watched him disappear into Espella's room, the dog on his heels. She quickly walked back along the landing to see Espella was already dozing in the bed. Eve crawled in, but the girl only mumbled in her sleep and rolled over, her face squashed against the wall.

She lay back against the pillow, pulling the blanket to her chin and humming softly in relaxation. Espella's even breathing soothed her, and she turned over to rest her cheek against the pillow, the smell of sun-dried cloth and Zacharias filling every breath. She breathed deeply, wondering what he might do if she came into Espella's room and made him finish whatever foolish excuse he'd been trying to make in the bathroom. Then, as he stammered, she'd lie down with him on the tiny bed, listening to his quickening heartbeat and running her hand over the exposed skin of his stomach like she really wanted to do. He'd probably throw himself out of the bed and onto the floor in a display of gallantry, but she'd find a way to stop him before he could even throw back the sheets.

Her eyes drifted closed, her mind turning over various scenarios that she only wished she were brave enough to try.

Afterword: Afterwards, he wouldn't let Patty wash the pillowcase, but couldn't bring himself to say it was because it still smelled like her hair. Ah, the cowardly man-boy. (OwO)7