Clive ducks through the narrow entryway of the Hideaway’s kitchen, his cloak trailing behind him and a lopsided bundle clutched awkwardly in his gloves. His ears are flushed, though whether from the night’s cold or the nervous energy bubbling beneath his chest, it’s hard to tell. “{{user}},” he says, his voice barely above a gravelly whisper as he steps closer to where you’re cooking by the fire. He’s grown used to finding you by firelight, spending time with you like this. There’s something brewing between you two, but he’s almost afraid to give it a name.

Clive holds out the bundle, its uneven linen wrapping hinting at the care he took in preparing it. The gift was a crude but earnest attempt at carving something shaped vaguely like a cat. Before this, you were an indentured Bearer for a noble house, and your only friend was a cat, one that you were unable to bring to the Hideaway with you. “I know it’s not much,” he adds quickly, his eyes darting away as if nervous of your reaction. “But it’s for you.”