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16th of Rosefire

I would like you to forgive me for the story I'm about to tell you, even if I do not deserve it. You could blame my lapses in memory for my atrocities, but I personally wouldn't. Thanks again for bringing me my Potions Belt, by the way. I realize how heavy five-hundred Cure-Alls can be, so I apologize for the strain on your body. Still, there are several other things I cannot afford to forget, and this little event is one of them.

Why'd I choose now to write this out? Well, it's been quite a while since that little event at the Rupies. You nearly died, then I nearly died saving your life. When you brought me back from the Rift, I believed that we'd be linked forever...

And just the other day, I felt like I broke that link.

It was a hot day in Fluorgis, and I was melting in my robes. I sought shade under the sweltering sun, so I sent myself to the sketchy slums. Out of the heat, I conjured a Water spell to quench my thirst, and most of my body cooled down. However, the air weathered my will and solidified my shaft. I wanted to get off, and mere masturbation was not going to cut it.

I needed a hole to fill.

Whores lined themselves along the shady streets. Every last one of them was male, as if they planned for my arrival. As I walked past the groups of gigolos, my left hand lay firmly on my crotch. They ran the gamut from Moogles to Revaji, but they all had the same thought plastered on their faces.

It wasn't even about the money for most of them. They just wanted to share the experience of climax with another man, just like me. Still, I turned down most of their offers and continued on ahead. None of them really had enough meat on their bones for me to consider them attractive.

None of them, that is, except one.

He sat there on a stoop, waiting for someone to request his services, a Seeq with a sword at his side. He didn't even look like a whore. I mean, as far as I remember, Seeqs were always dressed on the skimpy side, right? Anyway, he seemed more like a sellsword than anything else, driven to prostitution by the cruel force called poverty. However, an apparent lack of affluence didn't translate to a lack of amenity.

When he looked at me, an expression, one different from those of the other men around me, filled his face. Warmth radiated from his mug, more akin to a blanket on a winter day than the hot sticky mess that festered around every last inch of my body at the time. Perhaps it was just a façade. Maybe it was genuine kindness.

All I know is that I fell for it.

In a heartbeat, I pulled out my wallet, letting the sound of money ring in his ears. His eyes lit up as he rose up to his feet, towering high over my stubby, hunched, Nu Mou body. When I asked if I could spend the night with him, he wrapped an arm around my body and took me inside the building behind him.

Most of the interior exceeded my expectations of a whore's house in the slums. Simple furniture with a few facilities in need of light maintenance, but a paradise compared to what waited outside. The layout reflected his personality, at least what I perceived to be his personality.

He sat me down on an unfinished wood chair and slipped off to another room. When he returned, he had two bottles of liquor in one hand and two iron mugs in the other. He plunked the bottles and mugs on the table one at a time, and I checked the ages of each drink. Both of the liquors were older than I was, by a wide margin. I raised my concerns about the price, but he told me not to worry. He said it was free of charge, so I drank to my heart's content, which more or less meant two drinks. After that, we spent the rest of the day in his room.

It might've been the booze blurring my vision, but his bedroom looked like one you'd find in a palace. Red was everywhere, from the linens to the walls. The pillows and mattress shimmered with gold trimmings, which were hidden behind a crimson veil. To say nothing about what we did on it.

Actually, I couldn't tell you about the sex. No matter how much I try to recall it, I draw a blank. What I can tell you about it is the feeling. I felt like I could spend every day in bed with him. Just thinking about the feeling I got from it makes me leak.

Yes, pre and sweat, along with a few tears.

You might be wondering, "Why tears?" if you aren't seething with rage at this point. You can owe that to what happened after the fact. When I woke up the next morning, I found myself lying on the same stoop, naked with my clothes lying next to me. The Seeq was nowhere to be found. Not a trace. When I hurried back in his house, everything was gone, as if he never existed.

In this vacant abode, I was left with nothing but time. Time to reflect on how much I deserved this outcome. To be abandoned with nobody by my side. I was on my knees, ready to make these hollow halls my permanent home, when a noise broke my line of thought.

I shuffled through my Sage's robes and pulled out a plant. A sprig of Whisperweed, to be precise. I brought it up to my drooped ear, and what else would I hear but your voice? The sound of you brought me back in the warm embrace of your arms. However, it was the words behind the message that pulled me from my self-inflicted Rift and up to my feet.

"If you figure out what you need, I'm here for you."

After the obligatory wall to the face for my stupidity, I shook my head and left the empty house. I paid no mind to the stench of my clothes, or to the heat of the day as I slipped out of the slums and back to the inn.

When I made it inside my temporary quarters, the Hume at the counter called for my name, saying that a Bangaa in white left me something. You already know what it was, considering you were the sender, but I still can't get over the presentation.

Each plank that made up the crate came from a different species of tree. Every one of them were in different stages of rot and painted a different color, as if you took them from various fences. Why would you make the box yourself? I love the sentiment, but why would you do that? It's just my potion belt.

The letter that came with it... There were no words, save the usual "To: Milt" "Love: Noah." The message itself consisted of a giant heart with crude sketches of our faces on either side of it. All of this left me blushing and giggling contrary to my Job. Even now, I can only think of two words in response to all of this:

"Thank you."

After receiving such a painstakingly-packed "gift," I knew I couldn't lose you like I did that night. And thus, I write to remind myself how badly things could have ended up if it weren't for you. I'm not asking you to stay with me after what I did; that would be unfair. I just wanted to let you know how much you mean to me, and how I finally came to realize this.

Just...

Thank you, Noah.

Milt