Yossef (Fragment)

Yossef leaned back in his chair, smiling in sardonic amusement as Tavel pulled himself back to his feet and lifted his chair. The younger rogue glared at him as he re-seated himself, and Yossef leisurely took a pull from his drink.
"That was a dirty trick."
Yossef shrugged.
"I said if you kept leaning back like that you were going to fall. It isn't my fault if you don't listen to me." He pulled out his pocketwatch and glanced at the time, then tucked it away and stood.
Tavel looked up at him, eyes narrowing. "Where are you going?"
"I told you. There's some function or other going on tonight. Matteo wants to attend ÷ it's up at the Conservatorium, and I gather some friend of his is going to be there. I fully expect to be bored out of my brain."
"Then why are you going? Since you don't want to, apparently."
Yossef shrugged. "I agreed to go. Every once in a while I do something just to make him happy. Besides, if I let him know I'm bored we'll stay just long enough to make him happy, and he won't complain about leaving early."
"I don't know why you didn't just tell him no ÷ I mean, that would have been enough for him, from what you've been saying."
"Mm," Yossef said, finishing the last of his drink and setting enough tidemarks on the table to cover his bill, "but I am not foolish enough to try and separate a bard from his music, Tavel. He won't argue with me, no, but he'll sulk. And I don't feel like trying to cozen him out of a mood right now."
Tavel smirked. "He doesn't like you being out with me, either. Where are you going to tell him you've been?"
Yossef looked at him out of the corner of his eye.
"He won't ask."

The air in the street outside the Setting Sun was bracingly cool after the steamy interior of the bar, and Yossef casually took a deep breath before striding down the street. Eyvan would be waiting ÷ he was already late, but he knew from experience there would be no complaint on that count. It wasn't uncommon for nobility to be running late anywhere they went, and where Eyvan was at odds with his family, Yossef was not.
He tugged at the grey ribbon binding his unruly black hair with his left hand as he continued down Envoi street. It would do no harm to remind Eyvan that he operated on no-one's schedule but his own, as well. He had agreed to meet his lover at the Conservatorium gates, well aware that Eyvan would arrive just after dusk. He wondered absently if the tall blonde would have brought his harp, then decided he probably had not—they were attending as patrons, rather than as performers, and Eyvan was well aware that Yossef did not like sharing his attention when they were together. It rather surprised him that this jaunt had even been suggested, though he suspected the Conservatorium held some romantic significance to Eyvan, since it was where they had first met.
Eyvan was indeed waiting, fidgeting nervously with his collar-length ash-blonde hair as he watched the street. Yossef noted with amusement that he was wearing the same sapphire-blue shirt he had set on the bed before going to meet Tavel. Eyvan knew the color flattered him, and Yossef knew that his own father was going to be at this function. He felt the need to show his conquest off a bit.