The days after Sorrin's first spark of Flow were consumed by repetition. Morning bled into night with little distinction, each one anchored by the same routine: close his eyes, breathe, listen, fail, repeat. When he wasn't chasing the faint warmth in his chest, he was pacing their cramped apartment, fidgeting with his revolver, or staring at the wall as if it might suddenly split open to reveal a meadow or a root. He carried the exhaustion in his shoulders now, the set of his jaw, the shortness of his patience.
It was Renn who finally broke the cycle.
"Wow, you don't look too good," he remarked one afternoon, lounging in his armchair with his cane propped against the wall. His blind eyes flicked in Sorrin's direction, unerring despite their cloudiness. "You sure you're alright?"
Sorrin shot him a wary look. "What do you think?"
"I think we should go out." He said with a deadpan expression.
Sorrin blinked. "Dude... I don't swing that way..."
"Huh? I was just suggesting we get some good food. Fresh air, food not cooked in a single dented pan. A table that doesn't wobble every time you lean on it." Renn reached for his cane, testing his weight as he stood. "There's a café near the central hub. Regent's Respite. Famous for their honey-braided loaves. If you don't get me there, I'll drag myself through the streets alone, and then you'll feel guilty forever when I'm run over by a tram."
Sorrin pinched the bridge of his nose, but there was no stopping the reluctant smile tugging at his mouth. "I suppose it would be a change of scenery at the very least..."
The Regent's Respite was alive with warmth and chatter, a haven of amber light and polished brass tucked between two towering steam pipes. Its wide windows framed the bustling heart of Solamen: trams hissing along tracks, gears grinding overhead, vendors calling out wares beneath rising plumes of smoke. Inside, the air smelled of sugar, cinnamon, and the faint tang of roasted coffee.
Sorrin guided Renn to a booth by the window, easing him into the seat before sliding in opposite. For a moment, he simply breathed it in. The clatter of cutlery, the laughter, the low hum of conversation. It was all so different from the hollow quiet of their apartment.
"Alright," Sorrin said, glancing at the menu etched elegantly into the table's inset brass plate. "What do you want? And don't say 'surprise me.'"
Renn tilted his head, smirking. "Why not? You have good instincts."
"I have good instincts when it comes to not being stabbed. Not when it comes to pastries."
"Fine." Renn leaned back, tapping his cane lightly against his boot. "Get us the honey-braided loaf. And the spiced apple tart. And..." he paused, tilting his head as though listening to the scents wafting through the café "...something with chocolate. Dark, if they have it."
Sorrin arched an eyebrow. "You're going to eat all of that?"
Renn's smirk widened. "I have a big appetite."
Their attention was grasped for a brief moment by a chef seemingly producing fire with nothing but his bare hands.
"Pretty special, huh?" Renn excitedly stated.
The server returned a few minutes later with a tray laden with plates: a glistening braid of golden bread, still warm and shining with honey; a tart topped with thinly sliced apples dusted in cinnamon; and a small, dense cake rich with chocolate. Steam rose from two cups of strong, bitter coffee.
Sorrin tore off a piece of the loaf first, honey sticking to his fingers. The taste was immediate, sweet, soft, almost decadent. "Alright," he admitted, "this was worth leaving the apartment for."
Renn chuckled. "I'd tell you I never steer you wrong, but that would be a lie. Still, sometimes I know best." He tasted the tart next, savoring it with a hum. "And sometimes, Sorrin, it's about remembering we're alive. Not just surviving dungeons and curses and contracts, but actually living. The Flow isn't all battles and burdens. It's also this."
Sorrin studied him for a moment, chewing slowly. Renn's blind eyes reflected the lamplight, serene despite the cane at his side and the bandaged leg beneath the table. The contrast hit him hard. Renn, who carried both blessing and curse, who had every reason to despair, was the one reminding him of joy.
"Sometimes I think you're the better man between us," Sorrin said quietly, breaking off another piece of bread.
"Sometimes?" Renn teased, a rare, full smile breaking across his face. "That's generous of you."
They ate until the plates were bare and the coffee had cooled, the weight of their world held at bay by sugar and warmth. For a few hours, no curses and no battles were waiting in the dark.
When they stepped back into the streets of Solamen, the sky overhead was stained with the first blush of evening. And though the world still loomed heavy around them, Sorrin carried a quiet certainty in his chest.
For now, that was enough.