Chapter Text
Kaladin ⚡︎
Kaladin wasn’t quite sure how he’d ended up here.
Bridge Four had dragged him out for drinks… or more accurately, Lopen had come pounding on his door. He’d waved a hand in Kaladin’s face and declared, “It’s time you left your room. You have to come. It’s basically Bridge Four protocol.”
Adolin, of course, had agreed with Lopen before Kaladin could even say no, and then spent the next ten minutes practically begging him.
That had been harder to resist.
And now… here he was. Sitting stiffly at a long table in one of the open-air taverns in Urithiru.
Bridge Four laughed and passed around drinks and stories. Adolin sat beside him, relaxed, smiling, and sipping something brown-ish. The prince’s arm brushed his whenever he shifted, and Kaladin was overly aware of it.
They were telling stories now… love stories. Rock spoke about how he’d met his wife, “She made me stew,” he said, “The very first time. That is how I knew.” Lopen was recounting his long list of flirtations, exaggerating most of them, Kaladin assumed, “And then there was this Herdazian girl,” he was saying, grinning like he’d just won a fight, “She said I had the eyes of a poet and the body of a soldier. Obviously, she wanted to kiss me.”
“Did she?” Teft asked, raising a brow.
“Well, no,” Lopen said, unfazed, “But she thought about it, and that’s what counts.”
They all laughed.
Kaladin forced a smile, but his stomach was tight. He didn’t have anything to add—not that he wanted to. It wasn’t like he cared about that kind of thing. He’d never dated anyone or even kissed anyone. He hadn’t had time for things like that, not with the constant chaos of his life. And even if he had… well… he wasn’t the type for it. He wasn’t soft like that. He wasn’t good at those kinds of things.
He wasn’t… anything.
And it wasn’t as if there had ever been someone who made him want that, not really. He’d never had a crush before. It just wasn’t how he worked. He was… broken and too occupied with surviving to notice feelings like that.
He’d told himself that often enough, so it had to be true.
Right?
His friends were still laughing. He was happy for them, he was. He didn’t want what they had—didn’t need it—he was fine like this, lonely sometimes, sure, but fine.
He felt Syl land lightly on his shoulder. She leaned over like she was watching the others with him. She didn’t say anything, but when he glanced at her, she was looking at him with a knowing sort of tilt to her head.
What? he thought at her, frowning.
She just smirked and swung her legs like she was terribly entertained, “You keep telling yourself that. But I know you.”
What are you talking about?
Her grin widened, and she said nothing else.
He scowled and turned back to the table, but the words from earlier kept echoing in his head. All the things his friends had said about love and feelings and how they’d known.
Then, he heard someone approach the table. He didn’t look up at first. It wasn’t uncommon, people came by to greet Bridge Four all the time these days. They were heroes now, somehow. But then the person stopped right in front of him.
He raised his eyes and saw a darkeyes woman, dressed in a neatly fitted tunic and trousers, hair tied up with a simple ribbon. She looked maybe a few years younger than him, confident but clearly nervous, her hands fidgeting at her sides. Her cheeks were tinged red and she met his gaze for only a second before glancing down and biting her lip.
“Hi,” she said, “Sorry to interrupt. I just…” She laughed a little, shaking her head, “I normally don’t do this. I swear I don’t. But I saw you here and—I couldn’t just… not say anything.”
What? Was she talking to someone else? But no one else had moved. Everyone at the table had gone still. Even Lopen.
“I just wanted to say… you’re a real inspiration,” she said, voice trembling a bit now, “Truly. You saved so many people. You saved me. I mean, you don’t know that, but—you’re a hero. And you’re also… um,” She ducked her head, “You’re also very handsome.”
Kaladin’s brain broke. Handsome? Wait… no. She couldn’t mean him. That didn’t make any sense. There were other people at this table.
Adolin Kholin was literally sitting right there, glowing like a painting come to life, smiling in his charming way like he didn’t even have to try. He had that casual sort of beauty people noticed from across rooms. He looked designed.
Kaladin was… well, he didn’t know what he was. But nothing like actual handsome men—like Adolin. She wasn’t talking to him.
…Except she was still looking right at him.
She cleared her throat, “So, I was wondering if maybe… if you’d be open to going on a date sometime?”
A date?
This wasn’t supposed to happen. This kind of thing didn’t happen to people like him. Women didn’t walk up and say those kinds of things, they didn’t call him handsome, didn’t look nervous and hopeful and blush in his presence. That was something other men lived through. Men who knew what to say. Men who weren’t broken down to the bone.
He looked to his friends in desperation. Lopen’s jaw was slack. Skar was elbowing him, hard. Rock was giving him two enormous thumbs up. Adolin was watching with a lopsided smirk and raised eyebrows, the universal expression for Well? What are you waiting for?
Syl flew in front of Kaladin’s face, “Wow,” she whispered, “She likes you. Can you believe that? I mean, I can. I’ve been saying it. You’re finally catching up.”
But he felt like he couldn’t breathe. He looked back at the woman. Her eyes were braced for rejection but still hopeful. It would’ve been easier if she were arrogant and pushy—but she wasn’t. She was brave and vulnerable, doing something he’d never had the courage to do himself.
And he… didn’t want to go on a date. Not with her. She was lovely, truly. She was kind, respectful, and brave enough to walk up to a war hero and ask for his time. But Kaladin felt no stir of anything.
Not when someone else was sitting beside him And yet that someone beside him… wasn’t offering dates, wasn’t saying he was handsome, and wasn’t putting his heart out there the way this woman was.
Kaladin’s mouth was dry, “I… I’m sorry,” he said, stumbling over the words, “I—thank you. That’s… really kind of you. But I’m not… interested.”
He flinched as he said it, wincing. It sounded harsher out loud than it had in his head. But what was he supposed to say? He didn’t know how to be gentle with this sort of thing. He didn’t know how to do any of this.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his friends’ disappointed reactions. Rock’s smile faded just a little. Lopen gave a soft, “Aww.” Even Adolin’s smirk slipped, just for a second. That hurt more than Kaladin wanted it to.
The woman’s smile faded, “Oh,” she said softly, “That’s… alright. Of course. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I just—” She hesitated, then offered him a sad smile, “If you ever change your mind, I’ll be around,” She turned and walked away, her back straight, but Kaladin could see the way her hands curled at her sides.
He let out a breath like he’d just run a sprint, then looked down at the table. He didn’t want to see their faces. Didn’t want to read whatever was on Adolin’s: disappointment, confusion, or pity. He wasn’t sure which would be worse.
Syl floated in front of him. She didn’t say anything right away—just looked up at him with soft eyes, like she knew exactly how he felt and didn’t want to make it worse.
That almost hurt more. He looked away.
Teft was the first to speak, his voice quiet, “You alright, lad?”
Kaladin nodded once, though it felt like a lie.
Then Lopen leaned in, voice unusually gentle, “You don’t have to tell us, gancho, but… why’d you say no? I mean—she was nice—pretty, too, and respectful,” He scratched his head, “Didn’t seem like the pushy type.”
Skar added, “She even knew who you were. And still asked.”
“Yeah,” Drehy chimed in with a half-smile, “That’s saying something.”
Kaladin swallowed. The words kind and encouraging—they weren’t meant to hurt. But they still sat heavy in his chest.
“I just… wasn’t interested,” he muttered, “That’s all.”
Rock tilted his head, “You have been lonely. Maybe it would be good for you to… connect with someone.”
He had been lonely. And for so long, it had become part of him, like another scar. He carried it the way he carried everything: silently, without letting anyone see how deep it ran. He could stand on a battlefield, shield his men, and save lives, but this? This vulnerability? It made him feel like he was standing bare in front of a mirror.
Kaladin gave a short, humorless laugh, “It wouldn’t have worked anyway,” he said, eyes still fixed on the table, “I’ve never dated anyone before. Never done any of that. I wouldn’t even know where to start.”
Syl sat down cross-legged on the table, her face full of something like sadness. But not for herself. For him.
He kept talking—maybe if he explained it, they’d understand. Maybe then it wouldn’t feel so shameful, “I was too busy surviving and trying to keep others alive. I didn’t have time for… for parties or dates or whatever normal people did. And by the time things settled—” He broke off, shaking his head, “It’s too late now. I don’t even know how to start. What would be the point? I’d just mess it up.”
There it was, the truth. He felt it all clawing at him, the embarrassment, yes, but something else too—a grief he hadn’t acknowledged. Grief for all the things he never let himself want. All the milestones he missed while dragging himself through storms, watching others live lives he didn’t think he was allowed to have.
A part of him had always told himself it didn’t matter—that it wasn’t for him. That love was for people who hadn’t seen the things he’d seen. That kindness, affection, intimacy, those were luxuries, and he’d forfeited the right to them long ago.
But here it was now, offered to him. And he’d refused it. But not because he hated it, but because he didn’t know how to accept it.
“You can learn,” Syl said softly, “You’re allowed to. It’s not too late.”
Kaladin shook his head. He didn’t trust himself to answer.
Bridge Four went quiet again, but not in a judgmental way. It was like they got it, in the way only Bridge Four could. Maybe some of them had felt this way too, once.
He couldn’t bring himself to glance at Adolin. He didn’t want to know what he thought. He already felt exposed enough. He just wanted to be invisible again.
A warm hand settled gently on his arm.< Kaladin flinched and looked up without meaning to.
Adolin’s expression was soft, his brow creased with worry, “What do you mean?” he asked quietly, “Why are you saying that? That it’s too late, that it wouldn’t make sense?”
Kaladin wished Adolin hadn’t asked. He hated this—hated talking about himself like this and how raw it made him feel—as if his skin had been peeled back to expose every flaw he worked so hard to hide. Why did Adolin have to look at him like that? Like he was hurt for Kaladin. It made him feel small.
He pulled his arm back and shook his head, gritting his teeth, “It doesn’t matter.”
“Kaladin—” Adolin started, but Kaladin cut him off.
“I said it doesn’t matter,” The words came out sharper than he intended. He stared at the table, “Forget it. I’m not interested in dating anyway.”
Silence followed his outburst.
He hadn’t meant to snap, but the words had forced their way out anyway. He hated that about himself, that even now—even surrounded by people who loved him—he couldn’t keep from lashing out when emotions got the best of him.
Adolin drew back slightly. His face didn’t change much—Adolin was good at keeping his composure—but there was a flicker in his eyes. He looked down at his hands and didn’t speak again. Bridge Four didn’t speak either. They all glanced at each other, exchanging silent messages with their eyes. They maybe even felt a little guilt for bringing it up.
And it was all Kaladin’s fault. Once again.
He swallowed hard and stared at the ring of moisture beneath his drink. His fingers tightened around the mug, needing an anchor.
Why did he always do this? They were just trying to include him. And what did he do? He rejected it. He rejected them and snapped at them like they’d struck a nerve, which they had, but not on purpose. It was like he couldn’t help himself. Like any time someone reached out a hand, he flinched so hard it pushed them away.
He ruined it. He ruined everything. He didn’t even want to be this way. He wanted to be someone who could laugh with them, who could smile at a pretty girl and mean it. Who could let Adolin look at him like that without feeling like the breath was being ripped from his lungs.
But he wasn’t that person. He didn’t know how to be him. He’d spent so long in the darkness that light felt like a lie, and love felt like a language he’d never been taught, one he wasn’t even allowed to learn.
He hadn’t meant to hurt Adolin. But he had. And now, just like always, he didn’t know how to take it back. He didn’t deserve to ruin their night. He should’ve stayed behind... maybe then they would’ve kept laughing and Adolin wouldn’t be sitting there with hurt in his eyes, nursing a wound Kaladin hadn’t meant to inflict.
Kaladin closed his eyes, and tried not to think of how warm Adolin’s hand had been, or how gently he’d asked, or how much he wished he could’ve answered.
⊹˙⋆ ⛧ ⋆˙⊹ ⊹˙⋆ ⛧ ⋆˙⊹ ⊹˙⋆ ⛧ ⋆˙⊹ ⊹˙⋆ ⛧ ⋆˙⊹
Kaladin ⚡︎
They returned to their section of the tower under the hush of late hours. Kaladin walked near the front of the group, just ahead of most of Bridge Four. He stared straight ahead, jaw clenched so tight he thought he might crack a tooth.
He heard footsteps behind him and then Adolin was suddenly beside him.
Kaladin’s heart sank. No, no, no, no—
He knew exactly what Adolin was going to say, and he couldn’t take it. Not after everything. He didn’t want to be pitied. Especially not by him.
Adolin leaned a little closer, lowering his voice so the others wouldn’t hear, “Can I ask you something?” he asked, “It’s personal.”
Kaladin kept his eyes forward. He almost said no. The word almost tumbled out. But there was something so genuine in Adolin’s voice that he couldn’t ignore him any longer. He gave a reluctant nod.
“When you said earlier that you’ve never dated anyone… never done anything…” Adolin hesitated again, “Did you mean, like… absolutely nothing?”
Kaladin felt his body lock up. There it was. The question he’d known was coming—the one he didn’t want to admit the truth to, not out loud, and certainly not to Adolin. But then Adolin added, quickly, almost stumbling over himself, “I’m not judging. Really. I just… I was wondering if that’s what you were embarrassed about back there.”
Kaladin didn’t answer right away.
Syl appeared on his shoulder, “You can tell him,” she said softly, “He means it. He’s not making fun of you.”
Kaladin looked down. He didn’t want to say it. Saying it out loud made it feel worse, like solidifying his failure in stone. But Syl was right. Adolin wasn’t mocking him. His voice hadn’t had even a trace of cruelty in it. And storms help him, Kaladin wanted to say it. If only to not be holding it alone anymore.
“…Yeah,” Kaladin answered, voice hoarse, “I meant… nothing,” He didn’t look at Adolin, “I’ve never—never held hands with someone. Not like that. Never kissed anyone. Never…” He shook his head, hating the heat rising to his cheeks, “Never flirted. I don’t even know how,” Kaladin’s tone turned bitter, “I didn’t really have the chance—when I was younger, I was too busy trying to become a surgeon. Then a soldier. Then a slave. Then a… whatever I am now,” He gestured vaguely, “I just never had time. Or space. Or… or room to want anything like that.”
His throat felt tight, but he kept on talking. He couldn’t stop now—hating himself for for simply being, “And now I’m… what? An adult? I don’t know how to do any of it. And it’s embarrassing. It’s humiliating, actually. So I don’t talk about it. I don’t want to. I’d rather just… not. Better if no one knows.”
He wished he could disappear. Just vanish out of existence and never have to see the expression on Adolin’s face. He was tired of feeling like this, like a man perpetually out of step with the rest of the world.
“So, yeah. It’s easier just to leave it all alone. Pretend I’m not interested. It’s… better that way.”
Adolin didn’t answer right away. Kaladin half-expected Adolin to back away, to give him the polite “thank you for sharing” tone and then drop the subject forever. He wouldn’t even blame him.
“Kal,” he finally said, “You don’t have anything to be embarrassed about. Especially not with everything you’ve been through.”
Kaladin didn’t respond. Because what was he supposed to say to that? He hadn’t asked to feel broken. He hadn’t asked to grow up this way, but it had happened, and now all he could do was pretend it didn’t hurt.
He just scoffed, shaking his head, “That’s easy for you to say.”
“What do you mean?”
Kaladin gestured vaguely toward him, exasperated, “You. You’ve dated people. A lot of people. Every other week someone’s mooning over you, and you actually know how to talk to them. Y—you’re charming… and… confident.”
Adolin looked caught off guard by the bluntness. Kaladin wasn’t sure if it was the tone or the compliment. He continued, “You’ve got all this experience. And people want you. Of course you don’t think this stuff is a big deal, because it’s never been something you had to worry about.”
Adolin’s brow furrowed, “That doesn’t mean anything, Kal,” He shoved his hands in his pockets and let out a breath, “I’ve dated all those people,” he said, voice quieter now, “And yet… I’m still single,” He said it with a kind of sad smile. That caught Kaladin off guard.
“You deserve to experience all of it,” he went on, almost too softly, “You deserve to find love. To learn it. To know what it’s like to want someone and be wanted back. To want yourself, even. That’s not embarrassing.”
Kaladin was suddenly unsure what to say back. He opened his mouth, then closed it.
Adolin hesitated, then cleared his throat and pressed on, his voice going tentative, more vulnerable now than Kaladin had ever heard it, “Would you… be offended,” he said slowly, “If I offered to help you?”
“Help me?”
Adolin rubbed the back of his neck, visibly flustered now, “I mean… I could show you. If you wanted. Teach you how to talk to people you’re interested in. How to flirt. How to… y’know, kiss,” He coughed, looking away briefly, “Only if you’d want that. No pressure or anything, just… I figured, maybe… I could help.”
Kaladin was stunned. What?
There was a part of him that wanted to laugh, not out of cruelty, but sheer disbelief. Was Adolin Kholin—prince of Alethkar, known heartbreaker, walking embodiment of everything Kaladin wasn’t—really offering to teach him how to flirt? To kiss?
His first instinct was to recoil… but that instinct was old and worn thin, especially when it came to Adolin.
Why would he offer that? Why would he care? Why would he look at Kaladin, broken and closed-off and, and want to be the one to show him softness?
Kaladin’s mind spun, “I…” he said, but the words failed him.
“He’s not playing with you,” Syl whispered, “He’s nervous. Look at him.”
Kaladin did. Adolin was fidgeting with the edge of his sleeve, refusing to meet his eyes. He looked… almost scared… of him. That realization rooted Kaladin in place—someone cared enough to be nervous around him.
Kaladin’s heart pounded unevenly in his chest. He shook his head, “Are you serious?”
“I am.”
Storms. Kaladin ran a hand through his hair, looking, “Why?” he asked, frustrated and overwhelmed, “Why would you offer something like that? That’s not—it’s not something casual, Adolin. That’s not just a sparring match or a favor. That’s…” He didn’t even know how to finish that sentence. It was too much.
He looked back at Adolin, and finally said, “That’s… serious.”
Adolin’s cheeks colored, but he didn’t look away, “I know it is,” he said softly, “But I meant what I said. I care about you, Kaladin. You’re my best friend. And I want you to be happy—I want you to have a chance to know what it feels like to connect with someone that way.”
Adolin continued, “If that’s something you’d want, I’d be honored to help you… really. I promise I wouldn’t push you into anything you don’t want. You’d set the pace, and I’d stop the second you asked.”
Kaladin could feel the truth of it in Adolin’s voice, he wasn’t playing around. Kaladin stared at the stone beneath his boots, “You don’t have to do that,” he muttered, “You don’t owe me anything.”
“I know I don’t,” Adolin replied, “ But I want to.”
Kaladin’s hands curled into fists at his sides. A part of him wanted to argue, to say no, to retreat to the safety of loneliness. But another part of him… another part…
“You want this,” Syl said.
I don’t, Kaladin whispered back.
“Yes, you do,” she said, smiling gently, “Maybe not the way you think you should. Maybe not in a way that makes sense yet. But I’ve watched you look at him.”
Kaladin’s breath caught. He looked away again. He didn’t know what she meant—or he did—but he didn’t know how to hold that knowledge without feeling like it might undo him. What would it even mean to say yes? What would it mean to let Adolin in that close?
“…You’d really do that?” Kaladin finally asked, voice low.
Adolin just smiled, “I would,” he said, “Only if you want me to.”
Syl rested her hand on Kaladin’s shoulder, “You’re allowed to want good things. You’re allowed to say yes.”
He didn’t say yes… but he didn’t say no either.