It was nearing supper time when Able made his way down the back stairs into the shop with all the dignity his aching legs could muster. He would go up to the Bear Star to hear if there was news, but first, he would reward Lark for his kindness and patience by at least answering any questions he had.
Hatling was at the front counter chatting with two elderly ladies...about the events in Kettlebrook. This nearly cost Able his new-found serenity as he considered how to hobble across the back of the shop without drawing attention. But none of them said anything, and he found Lark alone in the workroom standing over the table with his back to the door.
Lark seemed a woman again. His powder-blue dress hung to his ankles and his black curls were mostly loose, just the top tied around back with a ribbon. The way he leaned over the table with his hip jutting to one side even made his bottom look round, which perplexed Able as he knew rather more than he'd like that it was not.
More perplexing was that the sight of it stirred his loins, and he flushed right to his ears remembering how he had fallen asleep on that broad back the night before. He moved to back out of the room but unwittingly kicked an empty box in the process.
Lark turned around. "Ah, you're up! Did you get any sleep?" His deep brown eyes lacked their usual shine; they were sunken and a bit bloodshot. His smile, however, was as bright as ever.
"Uh..." Able grimaced at the box then stepped over it and fully into the room. "I did, yes. You clearly didn't, though. Was something the matter?"
"Does it show?" Lark winced, then left the table for a mirror in the corner, where he peered at his face in concern. "I had thought I'd done a fair job of covering it."
"Covering it? Why would you bother with...covering it?"
Lark's reflection raised an eyebrow. "I like to look pretty."
Who says something like that, and what are you supposed to say in response? "Lark, look, I've been holding off asking..." Able trailed off and needed his hand to prop up his ever-heavier forehead. He'd just gone over one precipice last night. Why on earth was he standing on the edge of a second?
"Asking?" Lark raised his eyebrows. "Asking what?"
"Just..." Well, better to be forthright when it was only going to keep bothering him anyway? "Just what is the deal with the dresses and the makeup? Just...why?"
"I like them?" Lark looked at Able more out the side of his eye, again thinking this something that should be apparent.
"But..." Able threw his arms up. Over we go, then. "Sometimes you're like a woman, and other times like a man, and then sometimes—oh, only god knows! Which is it? Which are you trying to be?"
"Have you ever asked yourself if that even really matters?"
"What?" sputtered Able. "Of course it matters!"
"So, you haven't." Lark nodded as if having expected this confirmation.
"But it matters! People mistake you for a woman!"
Lark only shrugged. "People also mistake me for a man."
"Wait, aren't you?" Heart-in-throat, Able strained to orient himself in this free-fall. He looked up Lark's chest, then down Lark's arms, trying to see again what he had seen before—what he was so certain he had felt under his hands yesterday.
But Lark turned away as if to hide. "Not today," he said softly, looking at the ground then bit his lip. Like an embarrassed woman, sorry to cause anyone an inconvenience with her broad shoulders.
"Lark, are you just...having a laugh at me? Is it funny trying to embarrass me?" But even as Able said it, he knew it was neither true nor fair.
"Why would the way I dress be about you? Be about trying to embarrass you?" His lips were pressed tight, and he wouldn't meet Able's eyes a moment. But then he pulled his head up again and gave Able an apologetic smile. "I think you should ask yourself, not why it matters, but if it matters. Because maybe it doesn't."
That expression, perfectly honest, retiring yet brave, was what did matter. Who was Able to fling himself into this world and make demands about how it did or didn't seem? Whatever else he...or she? was, Lark was someone who had, despite Able's best efforts, spotted his inadequacies and chosen to accommodate him. So, clearly, his friend. When he was terrible at keeping any.
"...I'm sorry," he gathered up his shame and turned to go.
"Able, I'm not offended," Lark called helplessly after him.
Able stopped and leaned his arm against the door frame and his heavy head on his arm a few breaths. His tired mind recoiled frightfully from the task before it. Lifting his head to shake it was the most he could manage. "I don't think I can ask myself these questions right now."
"That's all right. To be honest, I am curious that you even noticed."
Able turned to frown incredulously at him. "Noticed?"
"Sure, like..." Lark rolled his eyes up thoughtfully. "Most people will see me in a dress the once, and, okay, so I'm a girly. And whatever their reaction to that, that's what they see again, every time they see me."
"And that's..." Able settled against the door frame and took a deep breath. "Not right...and it bothers you?"
"I don't think it bothers me," Lark shrugged again. "I certainly don't expect everyone to keep up with the...the changes. Honestly, I don't think it really matters. I wear what I feel like wearing when I feel like wearing it. I present what I feel like presenting, or acting or whatever, the same way. Maybe it means nothing at all. And I'm always aware how fortunate I am, as here people may not like it, but it's hardly an 'affront to god's order' or anything like that. And then most people like me, and enough of them stand up for me to those that don't. So, you know, I can."
Able heard all he said, but distantly. "And you see no reason to...not?"
"None whatsoever," he affirmed. "Should I make myself miserable for fear someone will make something I do about them? What's the point of that?"
A fair argument. Able's discomfort was his own problem and his own responsibility to address. He'd...known that already. If only he had heeded his own reluctance to broach the topic, he would not be trapped between a door frame and—and whatever Lark was trying to do here.
"So...none of it bothers you? Nothing at all?"
"I don't know..." Lark screwed up his face thoughtfully. "When I was still a kid it was kind of obnoxious that ladies would say stuff like 'Oh, what a darling dress!' and then whisper 'poor traumatized thing' to one another. Like, thanks? I almost preferred the boys who would try to knock me down! But nowadays I think the sticker is that...well, most of the time people refer to me as "he" and most of the time I don't even notice it. But then there are days when people call me "he" and it feels all wrong. That's weird, isn't it?" And he...she? laughed.
"I think that's weird, yes," Able could finally agree. "And I don't know why I noticed when most people don't. Maybe I'm...just observant?"
"You're pretty observant," Lark agreed, then after an awkward pause, he blessedly decided to change the subject. "Did you still want to go down to the docks today to see about mailing your letter?"
Able had forgotten all about that. "...I am the worst son. Yes, I will go do that before it gets any later."
"Would you like me to—"
"No," Able insisted, perhaps too quickly. "I can find my way. Besides, you don't like Larbant enforcers."
Lark chuckled. "Oh, I don't know about that! They might be perfectly fine people when they're not harassing 'Bors.'"
"You know...I can't actually tell if you're being sarcastic or are simply that good-natured," Able admitted.
"Because it's both. If you're wondering an 'either or' about me, it's probably just both. I am both like that." And Lark chuckled again, but...intimately somehow. As though he were relieved Able had cleared the air. Well, of course, since it seemed he could read Able like an open book. That was the most discomforting thing of all.
"New rule of thumb," Able noted before leaving, his sore legs fortuitously preventing him from doing so too quickly and rudely.