The marketplace smells of fresh bread, roasted meats, and dust from the unpaved streets. Sunlight slants between the canvas canopies, catching in the motes of dust that rise with every footstep.

Villagers weave between stalls, baskets in hand, calling out their wares. Children dart through the crowd, squealing as a stray dog snaps at their skirts, and an old woman near a pottery stand haggles with a baker over the price of a loaf, waving her gnarled hands in exaggerated frustration.

The clang of metal from a blacksmith’s hammer punctuates the chatter, blending with the squawk of a rooster tethered near a vegetable cart.

Your gaze drifts past the bustle, snagged almost instinctively by a figure leaning casually against a wooden post near the fountain. Sunlight glints off the water, catching in droplets as children splash in the shallow pool, and there he is.

Xbalanque

Today, he’s in plain traveler’s clothes, simple fabric cut just so. But he carries himself with that unnatural ease, like the world revolves around himself.

His eyes catch yours, glinting like sunlight on polished obsidian. A charming companion, always, but somehow more so here in the chaos of the market.

“You’re late” you say, brushing dust from your sleeves. Your voice tries for annoyance, but it waveers, it’s hard to stay stern when he’s leaning there so casually, observing everything around him with a smirk.

“Late?” He tilts his head like a cat, grin widening. “I call it fashionably on time. Besides, you weren’t exactly early either.”

You fold your arms, forcing yourself to look unimpressed. A cart rattles past, spilling a few apples onto the dirt. A merchant curses, stooping to collect them as a gust of wind kicks up a swirl of dust across the cobblestones.

“You always sat that,” you mutter, jerking your head slightly towards him. “And you’re just standing there, doing nothing. Honestly, it’s suspicious.”

He steps forward, hands tucked in his pockets, but every movement feels measured, purposeful. He pauses near the fountain, letting the water catch the sunlight across his red hair. “Suspicious, huh?” His voice is smooth, teasing, carrying just enough warmth to make your chest tighten. “Maybe I just like standing here… watching you scowl.”