he was happy, once. the thought comes unbidden to jem as they watch the doctor order their drinks. he seems content, certainly — as though he were at home here, among outcasts and criminals. they suppose he belongs here. but content and happiness… jem never thought they knew the difference, but julian seems to be a study in that divide. every once in a while they’ll catch something in his eye that says yes, he was happy once, and from time to time he approaches happiness again like a child hesitantly returns to the dog that bit them. he approaches, but never reaches out. it does something to jem heart, makes it twist in on itself unpleasantly. this is pity, jem thinks, and tries to push it down. julian doesn’t seem the type to tolerate being pitied.
he gives them a smile when he slides back into his seat, pushing the drink towards them and winking. “there you are, then,” he says warmly. “drink up.”
jem does, and only after a large sip does it even occur to them that it may have been tampered with somehow. they know of poisons that can kill a man in seconds: they’ve held such poisons in their hands before, tiny, brightly-colored vials that used to fascinate them until asra inevitably swiped them away with a quick but gentle admonishment about the perils of curiosity (as though he hadn’t been the one to bring it to the surface in jem, to tend to it the way you would a newborn flame). they should know better. but something about the doctor disarms them, and jem supposes this trust must be instinct. and for all their caution, they’ve never been one to go against instinct.
they can feel his warmth even across a table. his skin burns warm; even now they can still feel the ghost of his hands at their wrists. but it’s more than that, it’s something in his one eye, in the soul that jem can feel simmering beneath his chest. something, maybe the soft light of the tavern, maybe jem’s own romantic spirit, tells them that the doctor is innocent.
which they suppose is why they allow him to bodily carry them out of the tavern when the raven wing-stumbles into the warning bells, curled into his chest as though they were something valuable. and why they trust him when he gives them directions to their shop, for all the good it does them when nadia’s carriage rolls up beside them later. the ride to the palace is dark and romantic, the streetlamps illuminating late-night wanderers, but jem doesn’t notice. julian’s gaze haunts them the whole way home, and even still as they fitfully try to sleep. they wonder to themselves — how long can someone skirt warily around happiness without touching it? what will become of the doctor?