The epidemic was over; their own bout with the flu ended. Anders leaned back against the wall, watching Sebastian. They'd done laundry the day before, hanging their sopping clothes and sheets to dry in the breeze that blew in through the door-sized opening overlooking the channel leading to Kirkwall's harbour. A breeze that left everything smelling of clean sea air, rather than the assorted stinks of smokey, filthy Kirkwall.
Anders was back in his coat and feathered mantle and knee-high buckled boots now, Sebastian once again wearing the simple robe of coarse undyed cloth and the rope sandals he'd been wearing when he came to help in the clinic during the worst of the epidemic. The archer's hands were empty; everything he'd brought here – the food, the fuel, the kettle and kitchen knife and the endless piles of warm wool blankets – were either used up, or being left here for continued use in the clinic. He looked around, bright blue eyes meeting Anders, and smiled slightly. "I should go."
Anders nodded, and straightened up, suppressing a sigh. Not one of relief; one of regret. He'd become used to Sebastian's presence during the long weeks just past; knew he was going to miss his company, miss his help. "Thank you," he said, "For all your help." He wished there was more he could say; wished, briefly, that they were different people. Wished that he could dare to ask Sebastian to stay, to continue helping; to offer him a place, here, as Anders' partner in running the clinic.
"You're welcome," Sebastian said, and ducked his head, looking down at the ground instead of meeting Anders' eyes. "I would not exactly call it enjoyable... but it was satisfying to work here." He glanced up, blue eyes briefly meeting brown. "With you," he added, voice barely above a whisper, cheeks colouring just faintly.
Anders swallowed nervously. His turn to look away, head turned to focus on a distant crack in the stone wall rather than facing Sebastian. "Your help was much appreciated, by myself as much as by my patients," he said. "Anyway... they'll be wondering where you've vanished to all this time, up at the chantry."
Sebastian smiled crookedly, gave a brief laugh. "I suppose so," he agreed, then took a few long steps, closing most of the distance between himself and Anders. Anders turned back to face him, both of them hesitating, both studying each other's faces for a long, long moment.
"Well," Sebastian said finally, reaching out to touch his fingertips lightly to the side of Anders' face. They both smiled, Anders turning his head just a fraction of a degree to press against Sebastian's fingers, before leaning back enough to break the contact. Sebastian's smile deepened, warm and amused, as his empty hand dropped back to his side. "Good bye," Sebastian said, then turned away and left.
Anders watched him go, regretting... many things, in both their pasts. Finally he sighed, deeply, and walked over to the door, boots scuffing against the rough stone floor, to open the doors and light the paired lanterns. If they were different people... but they were not. And what they were – apostate mage and noble-born priest – could not be more than the most tenuous of friends.
"We each act as we must," he muttered as he lit the first lantern, remembering Sebastian's words. In that, at least, the man was correct. Another cause for regret, when it came right down to it.