Face your daylight horrors!

He does not loathe the standard robes simply because they are ugly. They are, of course, completely hideous and downright visually offensive, but ugly on its own is something he can deal with. He has to, or he would have gotten an aneurysm by now, considering how many times he has been sent to Irving’s office.

What irks him the most is how they all look the same, how they force them to look interchangeable, how they strip them down to nothing more than their rank. Apprentice. Mage. Enchanter. And nothing more. He hates it, the feeling of being forced into some kind of box, the demand to fit the mould of a proper Circle mage as if it was a good thing. To blend in, to become not much more than a slightly more mobile part of the background, to not stand out in any way.

It is unnerving, having them all look like shadows of each other.

There are ways to get non-standard robes, though, once you are Harrowed. Robes like these, dark blue silk and glorious gold thread embroidery, slit sides and feathers. They are beyond all doubt the most beautiful robes in the entire Circle tower. The way they move when he walks is an invitation to dance, to spin around in joy, to move in complicated patterns to some inner tune.

At his request, a recently transferred girl has showed him some steps she knows. It might or might not have started as an excuse to get to know her better, but there is a certain joy in it; moving with purpose, and why he asked to learn no longer matters to him, he is simply glad that he did.

And what matters now is showing off these robes to Karl, to impress him with how well they fit and how much they show of him. Even if he has to pry a book out of his hands to get his attention.

Turns out he has to.

“Anders –“ Karl begins, a protest falling on deaf ears as Anders removes the book from his hands.

“No, no, this is much more important, you have to see this,” he insists as he is backing away, before stretching his arms out to do a little spin, blue silk swirling around his legs, the slits in this robe exposing so much more of them than a standard one would.

“What do you think?” Anders asks as the skirts settles around him. He can guess from the way Karl looks at him, but he would like to hear him say it, as well.

“Yes, yes, very nice,” is the answer, which is not answer enough, longing looks or not. Well, if that is how he is going to be, Anders knows how to deal with it.

“Suitable for dancing, don’t you think?”

Karl raises his eyebrow and voices his doubt, but that does not matter either; what matters now is that a body is meant for moving, and how it was made to move. Complicated steps he knows well enough by now to dare show someone, and the arm movements that goes with them. There is no music in the tower, but he imagines how music meant for these movements would sound, and he lets his body follow the imagined tune, smiling as much to himself as he does for Karl.

What they say afterwards does not matter as much as what they already know, and the smile Anders gives him is not his deliberately seductive, carefully practised one, but the kind one smiles when a dear wish has been granted.