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Damissan…

Damis felt his pulse skip a notable beat—and not for the more preferred reason—when Xilarn drew him near, not because he had any problem with the gesture under any normal circumstances. But, the moment Xilarn’s arm hooked with his and there was a drag toward the precipice, his body corded with an instinctive tension, abruptly acutely aware of just how high they were. It wasn’t enough to keep him from being pulled forward in his startlement, but it did mean that by the time he’d been drawn near, his heart was already quick in his throat.

“Xilarn, you’re-” ‘-too close…’ He could see almost directly over, and there was space yet, but the nearness was enough to threaten vertigo such that his gaze snapped anxiously back towards Xilarn’s—more steadying than a cliff view, in any case.

You must trust me to some extent, hm?

Damissan swallowed, and there was a fraction of an instant where there was every instinct in him to retreat, take some physical action to put himself back closer to his point of comfort—where he’d come on his own already having toed the line in that regard. But Xilarn’s fingers were trailing his skin, catching loosely at his nape, and as combined with the adrenaline already making his pulse quick in his veins and the headiness of their location, it was too easy to indulge just a moment when their lips caught, pressing in, and catching at Xilarn’s hips-

And I have promised you on multiple occasions that I would never let anything harm you.

“Nnnh-” There may have been some unintended sound that escaped him then, in the moment Xilarn moved and Damissan knew he had waited too long. “Xilarn, please don’t-”

But what might have started as speech rapidly, in the instants that followed, deteriorated to first a yip of outright surprise as the fear of a concept — which he had thought, if he’d thought about it at all, Xilarn surely wouldn’t actually follow through upon — abruptly became an immediate reality. It would have been difficult in retrospect to parcel out the exact sequence of events to follow, but as control of the situation slipped from Damissan’s grasp, so too did most rational thought. Instinct had his fingers clamping on the first solid thing they could find. Had he had opportunity to think in the upswell of panic that overcame in those fractions of instants, it might have occurred to him that it would likely have been safest if he allowed himself to be tossed freely, clear of the edge, without complication, and without endangering anyone else in the process.

Desperate and momentary all-consuming terror suggested otherwise, and as his weight and momentum began sailing him past the point of no return, he clung to whatever of Xilarn’s he could hold and—it was not enough. For a moment, there was nothing but air, and Damissan wouldn’t recall screaming so much as he would feel the effects of it in his throat after. At this particular moment, he was going to die, and he had only a fraction of an instant to feel guilt for pulling Xilarn into the precarious moment with him when-

Liquid ice swallowed him.

Damissan couldn’t breathe, and if he had thought, perhaps it would have occurred to him that letting out all his air on the way down was poor planning, but he couldn’t swim. Motion in the water near him drew his notice, and over the drumming between his ears and dizziness to his headspace, he reached, attempting to clasp and pull—

—which way was up?

Xilarn knew which way was up.

For all the chaos of the rest of the moment, there was no question as to the identity of the guiding tug which pulled at him, and like the leading hand of god, Damissan latched onto the opportunity for direction immediately. His first breath after breaking was a choked and greedy gasp dragged as deeply and as quickly as his lungs could pull, managing only mostly to avoid taking in water, and resulting in a series of coughs followed by muted sputtering. If the desperation in his eagerness to cling at that point was pitiable, it never occurred to Damis to check himself.

Instead, all that mattered was not going down again and plastering himself as near as could possibly managed to the sole reliable source of warmth, stability, and not dying. He was only minutely aware of the fact that he probably oughtn’t make Xilarn’s maneuverability any more difficult than it might already have been, but he had few rational thoughts to spare for the first several instants at least.

-learn than by doing…

Damissan was not certain he’d ever so heartily disagreed with the application of a concept to practice before, and if words were not immediately possible, an offended squawk of a scoff would have to suffice. He could feel the cold — which had somehow felt so absolute already — seeping in beyond clothes and into the skin, and became aware of an involuntary shiver already having begun to take over. He puffed through chattering teeth, feet awkwardly beating the water beneath them and at least attempting to be less of an anchor on his company. It did little to relax his pulse, and his fingers remained steadfastly fisted to the cloth of Xilarn’s shirt.

If he meant to come off cross, however — as the entirety of the situation was Xilarn’s fault to begin with — the combination of bone chilling cold and gratitude to have lived and have Xilarn there at all effectively knocked most remaining fire from his belly. Thus, when he did manage to find his tongue, it was more muted fussing than anything else.

“Y-y-you…p-pushed me…off a cliff…”

And you dragged me…

Damissan managed an offended snort some mid-way through Xilarn’s commentary. It wouldn’t have even begun to be a risk if Xilarn had not started it—but he surely knew that, and they weren’t hurt, somehow. Though Damis’ heart still felt the need to race in his chest, it wasn’t the same intrinsic fear that had overtaken him before. He was above water, now, and in Xilarn’s hold, and even if there was further risk, Damis didn’t fully appreciate it. Nothing was going to actually happen to them between now and shore.

Encouragement that they could get there quicker if he attempted to contribute was inspiration enough, and though Damis was not personally accustomed to the water, it didn’t turn out to be an especially difficult concept—particularly with adequate guidance and motive. The shore was little less wet, in soaked clothing and still mostly encased in water, but after all the effort it he’d expended to get there, Damissan was inclined to be pleased that it was solid if nothing else, though his teeth were still chattering when his boots touched pebbles.

“‘E-enjoyable’, he said,” Damissan repeated. “‘Y-you like surprises, don’t you, Damissan? How about cliff div-ving at dawn.’ It—”

It…should have been overall more displeasing, he thought, but as he got real ground under him and the prospect of dying was no longer remotely on his list of concerns—he found there was, instead of anger, some peculiar breed of miffed, amused elation upon him. Xilarn deserved more scolding. He had shoved him—them off a precipice into an icy lagoon, and yet, Damissan found himself reluctant to disentangle. His fingers kept themselves knotted in Xilarn’s shirt likely well after they had to be anymore, and as they came in on the shore enough to stand, he huffed against the wet column of Xilarn’s throat.

“Cruel, strategic man…” he accused, brushing lips and then pinching skin with teeth in turn. “Taking advantage of innocent, unprepared and hopeful youth-” His thumbs traced under wet cloth to the skin of Xilarn’s stomach, and he kissed his ear. “Would you marry me?”

In retrospect Damissan would have admitted he hadn’t been expecting affirmation. ’Yes, a hundred years from now’ perhaps might have been the closest to it that he would have imagined plausible. The words had come on him spontaneously, and since he hadn’t yet said anything to Xilarn to invite permanency or even elaborate upon his own sentiments, he probably didn’t deserve a proper answer. Thus, even though the offer tripped from his lips somewhat without his personal preparation, he wasn’t inclined to feel especially dissuaded by Xilarn’s quick rebuttal.

If anything, Xilarn’s tension inspired a peculiar hope—the words were serious to him, on some level—and Don’t be ridiculous, Damissan, sounded almost like every denial he had received thus far.

Negotiable.

Damissan smiled. “Oh?” he asked. “Is it the talking? Too much talking. I’d be impossible to live with, I know…” When he leaned back to meet Xilarn’s gaze, however, there was a curious seriousness to it as he eyed him. “I suppose I’ll have to ask again at a later date…”

The thought had occurred to him, at least, and though perhaps he would not have even known what to do with agreement at present, it was oddly pleasing to have the words voiced between them just the same. Mentioned, so that they might also be on Xilarn’s mind from time to time and perhaps, if opportunity and motive did come again, the sentiment would not sound quite so ‘ridiculous’ the second time.

For now, however…

He dipped to kiss. “If I don’t manage to catch my death of cold in the meantime. Thank you for the ‘surprise,’ Xilarn…”

If he had to be pushed from a cliff at some point in his life, this hadn’t necessarily been the worst way to go about it at least.