Ah beans.

There really is only one spot to sit, isn’t there? The prospect of sitting on Amali’s knitting - or worse, of asking her to move her knitting - is unthinkable. He doesn’t even run the math. It simply isn’t done. He could stand, true, and that is going to be awkward and weird immediately, trying to have a casual conversation while looming over everyone else. And juggling hot wings and curry without the benefit of a lap? Impossible.

“Excuse me,” he says in a small voice, and makes himself smaller still as he slips onto his seat. Being a bit of a beanpole, there’s a lot of room for folding in, you see. Feet tuck under his seat. Head hunches down. Shoulders squeeeeeze in, hands in his lap, and he turns his torso juuuuuuuuust a little bit, so he’s not poking into her side quite as much. Not the most comfortable. But he’ll live. A lifetime of morning school bus rides have trained him well. He takes his helping from Amali, leaning down to take careful bites without elbowing Anat, and he listens.

It’s nice, just listening. Amali and Anat chat away about work, about family, about travel, and he gets to soak it all in. The food is tasty; all the better for the work it took to walk this far. The fire’s a little stuffy with three people packed in here, but from outside (and possibly Outside) there’s a faint breeze, picking up the smoke and carrying it up and out. It’s just enough to keep hands and faces from toasting like the flatbread. Smell, heat, and [i]song.[/i] 

Even just talking, she sounds like she’s singing. 

Is he bothering her, sitting here? He hopes not. He’s probably not? When he stops, and listens, he can forget that his shoulder is lightly pressing against her side. And his knee. And his other side. And a bit of his leg. When he listens, all of it sinks into the faint, pleasant presence of another body sitting close. 

Not quite pleasant enough to still the restlessness pacing through him. He can forget where exactly she’s touching him. He cannot forget she is sitting next to him. It never rises high enough to be a thought. But he cannot forget she is here. She is speaking. She is aware of him.

The Crysthanamum.

“Oh, thank goodness,” he breathes a sigh of relief. “I’m glad you could find a new place to stay, and on short notice too.” And his eyes are big as he looks up at this traveling celebrity(?!) and singer, perhaps a little wider than they were before. Maybe that’s a flicking hearth playing tricks. Maybe that’s a fluttering heart playing tricks. A tail flicka-flicks.

Of course he doesn’t give anything away! If even Yuki doesn’t know where he’s going, he’s not going to tell someone he met yesterday either. Besides, Amali was playing things pretty close to the chest. Best to follow her lead, rather than unintentionally spoil something.

He chases a bit of curry with a scrap of flatbread. Thinking. “What’s it like, being a traveling singer?” He’s contributing to the conversation. He’s doing a good job of conversation. “I mean, I’ve never met one before. I definitely haven’t gotten the chance to traveling sing,” this he says with full seriousness and a smile in his eyes. “I can’t really picture that kind of life, you know?” How did she get started? What’s it like, really like, on a day-to-day basis? How does she manage to live in so many different places? Does she still have a place she calls home? 

A boy who’s spent his whole life at home will ask all these and more.

[Activating [b]Friendly Benefits[/b], Anat gets a string too!]