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Compared to the Spire, the neverending winding roads, raucous the markets, and rows upon rows (upon rows) of buildings in the city are overwhelming. Chaotic. Beautiful? Terrifying. Aeran seems relatively at ease, barely even taking note of the odd occurrences that have Neavh mustering all eir self control not to run from; Clattering gilded chariots that pass too closely with horses better groomed than ey is, merchants meeting eir suspicious gaze with smiles that show too many teeth to be genuine, someone throwing knives into the air! A “juggler” ey barely hears someone call them over the off-tune symphony of sound that assaults eir ears.
“-eavh… Neavh!” Aeran has to grab eir arm to finally pull em from eir tense focus on scanning eir surroundings.
He, in contrast to Neavh (and surely to anyone with any sense, ey thinks), has a bright smile on his lips. Wide enough to make his eyes and nose crinkle. He’s pointing ahead excitedly at a banner strung up between two nearby buildings reading “Harvestide Crops Festival”. Beyond that lies the source of the greatest disturbance; An even dense crowd, tinny and repetitive music, swirls of colour so bright it makes em dizzy, laughter from dozens at once…
Anxiety grips eir heart, coiling and contracting unpleasantly and sending shivers rippling across eir skin, making hairs stand on end. Nausea scratches at the back of eir throat, as ey makes a disgusted noise and forces emself to look away from the almost hypnotic pull. Back to Aeran, to find his crestfallen face. He’s looking down at his hands, his golden hair falling down to obscure his eyes.
“Oh,” Aeran says, so quietly even Neavh has difficulty picking it up. He chews his lip. “Yeah, it’s stupid, it’s probably for babies anyways. Let’s go somewhere el- Ah!”
Aeran squeaks as Neavh cuts him off with a pinch to one of his rounded, apple cheeks, where the last remnants of his baby fat still remain. A smile twitches at the corner of eir mouth, as his whole face scrunches up into the start of what is probably supposed to look angry, but is more like a pout.
“You are a baby,” Neavh reminds him, pursing eir lips to keep eir smile from growing further at the way he sputters indignantly.
Aeran flushes and bats eir hand away, grumbling a “no you are” in their native Artanisian, but his voice cracks at precisely the wrong moment to disprove his point. Neavh turns back towards the festival to let the smirk ey can’t hold back anymore spread across eir face.
Ey squints into the crowd, eyes darting around, trying to look for anything suspicious, wanting keep track, but there are too many- How can there be so many people in one place at once? Impossible to navigate safely, impossible to get away quickly, not safe, not safe, not safe, but… ey looks back at Aeran. He is looking at the same thing ey is and he doesn’t look afraid.
Trust his instincts or run?
“Looks like you’re getting cranky,” Neavh teases after a long pause, poking Aeran’s furrowed brow, “let’s go see if they have snacks.”
Aeran huffs in startled protest, but no fully-formed words make it past his lips before Neavh’s hand finds his and holds his tightly, leading the way towards the cacophony. Ey hopes he doesn’t notice how sweaty eir palms are or the tremors ey tries to calm in eir fingers, but his momentary silence as he falls into step beside em, followed by a gentle squeeze to eir hand tells em he probably has.
His grip on eir hand grows tighter as they approach. Neavh pushes down the last of the panic that screams at the back of eir mind, focusing on Aeran’s joyous expression. He’s almost bouncing by the time they breach the fray. Willing his enthusiasm to grow infectious and spread to em from his fingers digging excitedly into eir hand. Rooting there, grounding em.
Nothing really bad can happen, as long as we’re like this- Neavh tells emself, determined, repeating it every time eir surroundings are too much. Focusing on this stillness amidst the storm- together.