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Fjord was so tense, but the water felt so good. Sure, a bath was no boat, but at least it was the little piece of home, a piece of him. Letting out a big sigh, he leaned back and let water wrap around his legs. He could feel his legs twinging in pain. It was so painful and so good at the same time.
He slid down, just enough so that his mouth was covered. The tub was big enough for someone three times its size, and it was quiet, calm, and, most importantly, private. Or at least that is what he hoped, as he heard a faint creaking sound from the hallway.
He froze.
“Don’t,” he muttered to no one in particular. “Please don’t.”
The door slammed open.
“FJOOOORD!” Jester’s voice rang out like a bell dropped down a well. “Are you taking a bath? Because I brought snacks!”
Fjord closed his eyes, raising his mouth just above the water. “Jester. I locked that door.”
“You did,” she said cheerfully, stepping inside with a plate of pastries balanced on one hand. “But you locked it like someone who thought they locked it, not like someone who actually locked it.”
He sighed, and his words must've been written on his face.
Jester looked down at her plate. "I can go."
Fjord pushed himself back up in the water, enough that the ripples settled and the steam curled around his shoulders. Jester hovered in the doorway, pastries in hand, her earlier brightness dimmed to a worried flicker. Her sadness prickled in his chest. "It's alright."
He hated that look. Hated that he’d caused it.
“It’s alright,” he said, gentler this time. “You can stay.”
Her tail perked up a little. She stepped closer, setting the plate on a stool beside the tub. “Cupcake?” she tried again, hopeful.
“No, thank you. Uh, I am in the bath.”
"Anytime is a good time for a cupcake." Her eyes weren’t on the pastries anymore.
They were on him. On his green body. On his chest. Her expression softened, the way it always did when she saw something she wasn’t supposed to see but cared about anyway.
"Fjord…” she whispered, kneeling beside the tub. She put the cupcakes aside. “What happened?”
He swallowed. The water suddenly felt too warm, too heavy. He shifted, instinctively trying to cover himself, but the scars were too many. Too many white rips that were once red across his chest, down his arms.
"It’s nothing. Old things.”
Jester didn’t look convinced. She leaned her elbows on the tub’s edge, chin resting on her hands. “They look like they hurt. Like… a lot.”
“They did. A long time ago.”
Her fingers hovered over the water, not touching him, just close enough that he could feel the warmth of her presence. “Can I ask…?” she began, then paused, giving him space to say no.
He didn’t.
“They’re from before...before I knew who I was. Before I knew who I wanted to be.” Before I loved you, before I loved myself.
Jester’s brows knit together. “Did someone do that to you?”
She looked at him for a long moment, her expression shifting from sadness to something fiercer, protective in a way that made his chest tighten.
“Fjord, you don’t have to pretend it’s nothing. Not with me.”
He let out a slow breath. The steam rose around them like a veil. "I know. I just don't remember... It isn't just one. It is so many, it is so many stories."
Jester reached out again, slowly, carefully, and this time her fingers brushed the water near his arm, not touching the scars, just close enough to ask without words.
He put his wet hand over hers and pressed her hand onto his body.
Her fingertips traced the surface of the water, following the line of a scar without ever crossing the boundary of his skin. “I have time. We both do, and to be honest...” she murmured. “They make you Fjord.”
He huffed a small laugh. “Not sure that’s a good thing.”
"It is. Fjord, you're a good man."
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The room was quiet again, still not private, not really, but somehow safer than before.
Then Jester brightened suddenly, as if remembering her own nature. Who she was. Fjord loved who she was.
“Also,” she added, “I brought the cupcakes because I thought they’d make you smile, and they’re very cute, and you’re very cute. In a big, grumpy, bath‑taking way.”
“Jes—”
She grinned. “See? You’re smiling already.”
He couldn't help it.
Jester’s grin softened into something smaller, something real. The kind of smile she only ever gave when she wasn’t performing for anyone, not even herself. When she wasn’t trying to distract herself.
She scooted a little closer to the tub, knees tucked under her, tail curling around her ankles. “I like it when you smile.”
Fjord shook his head, but the smile stayed. “You make it difficult not to.”
Jester’s eyes flicked back to his chest, not staring, not gawking, just… noticing. Seeing him. All of him. The scars, the tension, the way he held himself like someone waiting for the world to take something else from him.
“Do they still hurt?”
“Not the way they used to. More like… memories that haven’t figured out how to fade.”
Jester nodded, thoughtful. “Memories can be stubborn. Like little ghosts.”
She tapped her chin. “But not spooky ghosts. More like… ghosts that need hugs.”
Fjord huffed a laugh. “I don’t think hugs are going to fix these.”
“No, but maybe talking will. Or sitting. Or cupcakes. Or just… not being alone with them.”
Her voice was gentle, but not pitying. Jester never pitied him. She just cared, loudly and earnestly and without hesitation.
Fjord let his head rest against the back of the tub. “I’m not used to people wanting to stay when things get… complicated.”
“Well,” Jester said, leaning forward until her forehead almost touched his arm, “I’m not people.”
“No, you’re not.” He closed his eyes and placed the rag over his face, folding it over his eyes.
Jester’s voice dropped again. “If you ever want to tell me one of the stories… even just one… I’d like to hear it.”
“Maybe,” he said. “Not today. But… maybe. One day.”