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There was a light dusting of snow over Erion, making everything look cleaner and brighter. On the walk back from the city, Korin's fingers and hands had started to turn white around the edges, and his breath hung in clouds in the air even when he stepped into the palace. He went straight to Sai's rooms, having not seen him for a couple of days now. But by now he shoudl have finished his work, and if he hadn't Korin fully intended to throw it to the damn crocodiles.

He let himself in without knocking, and saw Sai sitting by the windows. For a moment - even now, even after all this time - Korin's breath caught in his throat, and he couldn't move. Sai was so beautiful sometimes it felt like a physical pain, just below Korin's heart. He didn't want to remember large parts of the last year, but this he would remember: Sai was happy now. The shadows under his eyes had fled and the hollows below his cheekbones had disappeared, and now he smiled at Korin as if Korin had painted the sky.

Sai laid down the book and Korin remembered how to move. "It's cold out there," he remarked, shutting the door behind him and taking out the hot cakes he had bought at a stall in the city and saved for Sai. "Here. I hope they're still hot. He looked up at Sai and his expression quirked a little, all that feeling that they seldom ever said. The way they looked was enough. "You'll catch your death with your window open like that," was the only thing Korin said. But his hand brushed Sai's shoulder casually as he leaned over to look at the book - a gesture just between two people who wanted to feel the other's presence. "The Manyoshu? I haven't seen you read poetry in a while."

Korin's finger traced the words as Sai's voice read aloud. It was only since he had met Sai that he had understood that joy was not the same thing as happiness. Happiness was a little flickering candle. Sai was the sun. He gave a little smile that seemed to spread the warmth and joy to his bones, and he turned his fingers to catch Sai's hand and kissed him there, in the cool air with the reflected light of the snow coming in the window. His eyes rested softly on Sai's face, never able to get enough of simply looking at him. "I had forgotten that poem. My loss."

Surprised by the feel of Sai's fingers, cool against even Korin's chilled hands, Korin encased his hand in both of his. "You're freezing," he said. "Let me make tea." He turned away to get out Sai's tea-making things, lifting away the square of tatami to put in the hot water. By now he was as familiar with Sai's room as with his own.

Then he suddenly remembered what he had really come to talk about. "Have you heard Rou's news?"

"What do I think of it?" Korin said, in slight surprise. He realised he hadn't really thought about that. He'd been too concerned with what Rou thought of it and how that was going to affect things. Rou hadn't seemed to take it well.

"Well, I think it's - not really surprise," he admitted. Korin himself had noticed several weeks ago. It wasn't hard, when Fei Lin had been throwing off a soft glow that very nearly illuminated distant corners. "I mean, I know Fei Lin has wanted children for a while - the one normal ambition that girl has ever seemed to have - so it would have happened eventually. I mean, I think everyone apart from Rou must have noticed a while ago. I'm surprised Rou didn't. I thought he prided himself on being observant."

Korin had never been particularly observant. He was poor at reading other people's body language, but had a very few specialised areas where he had more of an eye for detail. He had very highly developed detectors for other people's anger, but never knew why they were feeling like that, or how to use the knowledge. He could tell to the minute when Aiko's next demand for sweets would be. And, after growing up in a house of nine sisters, he was somehow more attuned to noticing how women felt other people. So it hadn't been difficult to note the imperceptible change in Fei: the way she walked, the way she smiled, a new confidence and yet a new caution for her body. "I don't know," he said at last. "It's just a thing, I suppose. How did you not notice - and wait, hangover? Have you two been drinking again?"