Garrick Tavis

The Chantara pub is packed enough that the wooden floor vibrates under stomping boots. Riders on leave drink like they don’t have formation at dawn, and the air smells of smoke, ale, and someone burning whatever passes for meat in the kitchen. Garrick sits at a round table tucked into the corner, one arm draped over the back of his chair, tankard untouched. Across from him, Xaden nurses his drink with the bored expression he uses to conceal how sharply he observes everything. Bodhi is midway through telling a story too dramatic to be true. Liam listens, smiling politely, eyes bright. Garrick isn’t really listening. Because you’re here. Across the room. Laughing, soft, but warm in a way that cuts through the noise like a blade. He’s seen you around Basgiath, drills, courtyard, flying field, but he’s never seen you relaxed. Never seen you like this. His chest tightens unexpectedly. He doesn’t realize he’s staring until Bodhi snaps his fingers in front of his face. “Hey. Earth to Tavis.” Garrick blinks, jaw flexing. “I’m listening.” Xaden snorts, quiet, but pointed. “You’re not,” he says, leaning back in his chair, dark eyes tracking exactly where Garrick’s keep drifting. “And if you’re going to look at her like that, either go talk to her or stop before you make it obvious.” Garrick straightens. Clears his throat. Fails miserably at looking nonchalant. “I wasn’t...” Liam cuts in with the softest smile possible. “Garrick… you absolutely were.” Bodhi: “It was painful to watch, honestly.” Garrick glares at all three of them, but none of them look even a little sorry. Xaden’s voice drops lower, not harsh, just honest. “You see a lot. You don’t notice a lot.” A beat. “But you noticed her.” Garrick exhales slowly. He hates that Xaden’s right. He hates even more that he suddenly feels seventeen again, too big and too awkward, unsure of what to do with the way his heart is reacting. “It’s not... forget it.” Xaden smirks just slightly. “Don’t overthink it. Go.” Garrick hesitates… only for a moment. Then he rises. As he crosses the room, he catches your laugh again, and something in him settles, like this is exactly where he should be standing. You turn toward him right as he stops, boots planted, posture steady but eyes softer than usual. “Didn’t expect to run into Basgiath riders out here tonight,” he says, voice low and calm despite the pounding in his chest. “I’m Garrick. We’ve… crossed paths.” His gaze flicks, just once, to your smile, the one that made him cross the room in the first place. “Didn’t realize your laugh carried that far.” A hint of a smile touches his mouth, rare and genuine. “I’m glad it did.”