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“That you need, like, thirty more throw blankets? Tell her I’m working on it!” Waru was ever agreeing, assumed Beans was on his side, even if the cat didn’t answer back. He spoke as though she could answer him though. Talked over Aelius’s head that way. Beans was such a nice balm to every situation, a tactical bit of fluffy, cute distraction that he could pet while she coiled by and trodden off to claim her respective couchtop throne. Waru eventually finished, as much as he could, rinsed his own plate because he wasn't an entirely mannerless beast every minute of every hour, and could lift the singular finger it took to wash his own items and simultaneously put away the remnants of food.

None of them would be eating any more tonight, he could feel it in his soul, and just in case his own mantra of ‘how much worse could any of Aelius’s memories actually be!?’ turned back around to bite him firmly in his large a**, he wanted the remnants of the menial tasks done. He wanted to take his time with it– to pick up where Aelius left off, to pad with socked feet into the bedroom that felt warmer than the whole rest of the home with – it didn’t take him long to find the delicate device in question and don it once more.

“I promise–” as he sat to meet those eyes, settled and resettled and nestled up across from Aelius in a way that felt comfortable without needing to crowd up the space and make Aelius feel more penned in then Waru felt he must already have. “That we’ll talk. Not sure how quick it ever is? M’in there while you’re out here afterall…” tried his best to say what he meant this time around.

To mean it.

“The civilian memories went a little ********’ wry last time, so maybe we’ll try something else? The way it works— if you lay your hand over one or the other then you open up different pathways to different memories,” hummed as he clasped the delicate bit of magic, felt the way it thrummed; lively, ominous, cold until his own heat seeped into its slow embrace around his palm.

A motion to Aelius head, his heart, haphazard as the explanation he tried to form with words.

“S’head for one, like–mundane civilian life, yeah? Then the heart for the other, say–all the magical s**t we get into? M’sure there's more limits to this than just the ‘once a day’ provision, but I do occasionally forget the rest of the rules, or which touch gets ********’ which thought…..” occasionally, when he didn’t care, when it didn’t matter enough that he had to care. Today he had to care and so today he had to pick correctly, no eenie, meenie, miney, mo’ing things. “It’s kinda poetic, isn’t it? That it’s designed like this. For all the ******** drama it causes—though considering it was designed for Velvet, maybe it wasn’t meant to ever be used like this? I think sometimes our ancestors' relics should stay that way…unperverted…buried…Course then I wouldn’t know even a quarter as much about Faustite, yanno?”

He could admit that sometimes it was just easier to take it upon himself to sort s**t out and ask after—to take the memory and hold it quietly close and demand no context whatsoever as he mulled over its meaning. If the questions were hard then the taking should’ve been easy, bloodless, no mess to sort save the one he wanted to, right?

“That makes sense right? Whatever—tell me your ready golden-boy,” and where he hadn’t felt the rush before, the prickle of a need to hurry, he certainly did now. Wanted permission— still — in case Aelius had changed his mind.

One of these days, Waru thought, Aelius would hand him a proper nickname to use. They’d be close *enough*, or maybe distant *enough*, that the only thing on his tongue would be something other than the man's first name every time. Aelius was a collage of traits— tiny shining intricacies; golden eyes, hair that made him think of the price of purple as it was spoken of in ages past, as if quoted directly from a matronly museum worker.

Expensive, royal, golden little s**t of a man! How soft he looked swaddled up in the one thick throw, fending off the cold. The image of a lie that shivered and breathed and steeled itself in readiness. Waru smirked to himself, looking at Aelius and believing beyond a doubt the man was secretly sharp, strong– in both body and will.

Had to have been, right? Cause there he was saying yes *again*, forgoing the easy enough out —

“Attaboy–” and he didn’t waste his chance with waiting a second longer, not even to breathe, had left everything to stall long enough that taking the plunge – bridging that gap between touching and not – came easily, came with urgency on its heels chasing away any latent hesitancy.

His regrets were instantaneous as they were intangible in spite of all the bland, boring, banal of yet another ******** office that met his eyes – their eyes? Helios—

It was easier this time, doing *this* feeling the parts that were himself - the parts that were Heliodore - to pick apart the two. The way his own nonexistent hackles wanted to rise for a fight at hearing such a pretty predator spout words that went way the ******** over his own head – the twist of a knife that was Helios apprehension – *his pride* – and Waru heard himself speak as someone else and wished he could’ve bitten his Helios tongue for the *look* he caught on Faustites face. That ******** to the nines *laugh* colder than any winter in DC that made him want to crawl the ******** out of the deep-a** waters he’d thrown himself into. Maybe spend the rest of his life under that throw right alongside Aelius.

Captain Faustite–

Was Faustite always so ******** young, hunted, and sleepless looking? Always. Was Schorl always the brighter fire in the room? A ******** furnace, for being the more obvious threat? Earthen greens and perfectly ponied platinum and lounging youma on display–

He wanted a ******** mirror, just to see if Helio looked so different here and now from the man he currently knew – wanted to be out of body and above it all – more a fly on the wall than a damn skinwalker in someone else’s memories. That was no more an option than hitting the eject button was, and everything ran on– and he *felt* Helio catch on far too late – the mental snag as everything clicked and the other shoe began to fall. No point in trying to follow anything outta Schorls mouth – he would’ve needed a translator – needed one right the hell now.

But not for her face—

Her obvious mirth was as sweetly confusing as the secretions of a carnivorous plant. He wondered, briefly, if that was where Faustite got it from? That particular brand of smile. The expressiveness he’d mastered with little more than a curt gesture, with a twitch of a brow. The ability to dissect a being with just one's eyes. All the times he’d felt those same yet different looks from his boy and called them loving! How all of Faustites smiles were cute enough to die for!

But not hers, never hers–

The drowning sense of unease dragged at him, the quicksand of worry that swallowed himself as Helio, that was made all the worse by Faustites silent compliance and Schorls endless speaking. He snarled for being stocked, quartered, tied. He couldn’t understand in the rush of Helio’s waves – oh, no ******** end of things - like moon phases, hopeful denial, the fact that he naively didn’t know he was in the room with a predator breeding yet more predators like dogs in a ring. The clarity of understanding that Helio didn’t know - couldn’t have known - was acting the way he did because he’d never been ******** warned otherwise!

That had to be it – ******** had to be –

Not that it mattered as whatever understanding he believed he’d gained was flayed away in white-hot, endless strokes from his mind; not nearly as hot as the spike of betrayal that was driven in by the hands of his all to silent Captain. The silence only broken by the sound of cane over flesh, the slow murder of his one other joy, and of course? The voice of the woman who’d handed the sentence down with language too flowery for him to pick the very meaningful petals from.

Did Helio scream? Had he screamed eventually? Or was that sound in the room just him—

Waru was angry enough to weep and hurt enough that he was snarling for how stupidly wet his eyes were, for the lingering phantom wounds that he couldn’t convince his mind of belonging to someone elses body. How he was somehow no longer on the ******** couch, a trembling heap that of tension that couldn’t shove Faustites device free of his own hand quickly enough, couldn’t throw it far enough for it to actually end up out of view in Aelius too small living room.

There should’ve been blood — bile — some visceral, physical manifestation. Something he could touch, until he could make some semblance of sense from it all. But there was nothing, it was all in his head, ghosts haunting someone else’s body— a shared pain — a shared insanity…

Except for how those ghosts were actually people; real, alive, present in the room with him now. Making soft sounds and calling his name like they wanted him to say something. As if there was any damn thing to say in the face of all *that* — He wanted to snap some sour sound, to ask for patience he never had for himself as he found himself bereft in the worst way of words.

And then he noticed Aelius had fled, didn’t know how he’d missed the moment, had blinked an entire passage of time out of existence. <********—“ it was eerie to find himself alone— breathing curses like prayers until he dredged up the courage to try his feet. The short lived relief of standing and shaking off the echos of something that should’ve left him maimed. That should’ve left Aelius never wanting for walking again, let alone dancing!

Aelius—

Aelius who was calling him. Not from the couch, or the kitchen, but further in.

Waru followed his own name like a siren song, dashed himself open all over again on the too clean tiles, to the sound of wretching. Of sobs. That Aelius was crying. Why was he crying? He shouldn’t have been crying!

It was a fresh, new layer of confusion. A question for the future, to be asked somewhere warm and dark and as far away from the light of understanding as was humanly possible, right now? The floor with Aelius seemed like the only place he needed to be. To kneel there where the cold could leech into his skin and remind him of where he *wasnt*, till he could drag the man clumsily into an sideways, and continue to say not one ******** word at all.

It was enough to just keep breathing, wasn’t it? To sit there and cry quietly alongside him without filling every last inch of air with asks. To be angry —

And keep that to himself a few minutes longer.

So there was a word for it then? A label, nice, neat, easy to swallow. The whole of the experience packed down and tied up pretty in a single word.

It didn’t feel like enough.

“*Torture—*“

And there was surprise clipped to the end of the sound, to his desire to correct Aelius’s term however accurate it may have been. The way he felt sucker punched by the apology that Aelius uttered soppenly against him.

‘He’s apologizing to me?’

Heaps more silent surprise that followed as Waru chewed through the meaning of what he was hearing, buried it in the softness of Aelius hair, the scent of the man’s lightly scented conditioner. How he wanted to quietly breathe that in for awhile longer —-

‘He saw the memory!?’

That wasn’t supposed to happen. Something had gone wrong, cosmically wrong. And Aelius was apologizing to *him* for it.

“Don’t—“ shaking his head as his fingers found purchase points in Aelius's soft, loose clothing while he shifted to accommodate the weight, to make room for himself within the cramped space. To make room for Aelius to lean on him comfortably, if such a thing could be comfortable here. “You weren’t supposed to see….”

He knew it sounded silly even as he said it, that it shouldn’t have mattered more or less if Aelius saw. What was an old memory compared to living through it the first time?

‘Still—-‘

He wasn’t sure yet if he was happy to be spared the need to explain what he’d witnessed in any kind of detail. Wasn’t sure if anything, except for the fact that he wasn’t going to sleep any time soon.

“But I’m glad I did.”

And they were going to talk about it, his ragged inhale and thin exhale promised that talking would, eventually, happen. That his words wouldn’t lay stolen for long— just for a little bit longer. Five more minutes maybe?

“He would’ve been good at track—“ deadpan and devoid of anything close to humor, an empty observation to fill the space with sound as he wove his thoughts into something useful. Like acknowledging how his husband's penchant for fleeing had been bred into him early on, earlier than Waru was sure he knew, and yet this revelation wasn’t a new one. How often his love got the ******** out of dodge when things became overwhelming? Emotionally. Physically. When the two were tied together too close for comfort—

How many times had Schorl taught Eion that lesson personally? How long had it taken him to learn?

The thought made him bare his teeth at nothing, made him clutch Aelius a little closer for the shared warmth and feeling of life twitching beneath his fingertips. Easier to hide his face if he kept the pinned near, easier still to utter words over a muffling of sweat soaked indigo lengths. Of course Faustite had run. Of course he always ran— Waru didn’t want to believe it was out of cowardice, though. Had seen him fight countless sure-ends and hellbent enemies without thinking twice. Without blinking– and wanted to call some part of that urge his love had to flee these kinds of situations something like self preservation.

Even if thinking that now felt like a lie– just a small one.

He knew Faustite sought to preserve himself just about as often as he did! Which was more often, recently, sure, but before? Every cliff was jumpable and every enemy a chance at skirting the edge of eternity. He was equal parts impulsive thoughts and self-destructive tendencies, the very things that let him love the wild-fire half-youma as purely as he did, recklessly and without end–

He knew too, that sometimes when Faustite ran, it was out of the desire to preserve those around him. Saving people from himself just as often as sparing himself the inevitable. That he would’ve always, always, always rather fled than harmed what he loved most! Waru wondered if that was a habit born here, maybe? Because of this. Because Aelius had *died* so many times, in so many ways, and eventually *for good*. Even if some time later Phoenix-like he was reborn!

Aelius had still had to die first, and Faustite must have blamed himself for it every step of the way.

‘How could he not? ********, I’d blame myself too!’

“Do you wish he’d finished it himself? Not that I think she would’ve let him at that point—but then he could’ve stayed and–well, ********…” Would Faustite have done it if ordered to? Probably. But what if he wasn’t– would he have come back if he’d known that Aelius needed him there? To stand silent witness – to exist in his periphery — so they could suffer together, in separate but equal ways.

“Did you ever tell him you wished he’d come back? That you wished he’d stayed.” The words were whispers punctuated with a shudder. The lingering cold that wouldn’t unlatch, made him want for blankets, bed, Beans furry weight! An icy mental knife that screamed no one cared, the throb of that particular pain, impossible to ignore, worse than the ******** lashing. Bodies healed and the physical he could compartmentalize–could wade through eventually and come out fine on the other side of it. Aelius’s feelings though? At the beginning – at the end – the sensation of being so utterly abandoned and alone.

That was a b***h of a thing to muck through. To shake out of his own head because his time with Faustite had been so different than Aelius, a sign of growth sure as anything!

‘But he always comes back, always, always, always! No matter how far off the grid he goes—- even scared, and hurt, and ******** done with humanity, he’s always come back before, hasn’t he?!’

They’d always made sure he had something to come back for.

Like Aelius— how Aelius had clearly been someone worth coming back for, even if the staying in that moment had been too much to bear. Faustite had to have come back to Aelius afterwards—

‘And ********, then what?’

The after was suddenly as important as what came before. The moment in the memory mattered so much, a core pillar in time, shattered and broken in ways that left the very ground beneath too shaky and uneven to build anything on. For all that Waru believed with every ******** fibre of his being that these two people were meant to be with each other – some way – some how. He wished he’d known even a tenth of this *first*.

The sudden loss of Aelius' warm, soothing weight was something to mourn, to grouse over and hiss at as he was left to find his feet on his own. Trying to piece himself back together in the other man's all too brief absence, where the distance of a few steps felt far more vast than what it took to simply cross some cold tile and slip into the open hallway behind him. Aelius was right there, yet also? Wasn’t nearly there enough. A hesitant ******** shadow where there should’ve been loud, roaring, vibrance. A family of fierce dragons–and here this one stood, no less lovely than the rest, sharp boned, thick manned, but seeming somehow defanged and dull scaled to Waru in this particular light; indecisive, wrong. It was all wrong, had always been wrong, would maybe never be quite right ever again. Waru wondered, if he tried to piece back together the shattered vase of the other man's life, used gold to fill the cracked seams? Would there still be pieces missing, chinked, needing to be supplemented with parts of other earthenware and things far stronger than that, in order to maintain the shape's structure.

To be even remotely close to what Aelius had before, to what he and Faustite ultimately deserved from each other! But hadn’t that been Schorl's point? The one thing that particular predator had cored out of the boys first? Their egos, their pride, their ability to trust even the people closest to them—

Waru bore his teeth at a ghost for what felt like the thousandth time, wished himself a King who could summon her for the sake of putting her down, even if it was only a corpse that answered his call. Wished himself a Praxidike of a distant past, however briefly, so he could’ve brought the failed powers of a thousand years gone by down on that woman's head; his army, his moon. No, all the Moons and Jupiters searing wrath combined, brought to bear against just one evil...

An actual evil.

And then he blinked, remembering that this wasn’t about him, or his wants, or his feelings. Not here. This was about Aelius, Faustite, and every terrible thing they’d been put through to wind up where they were now. As they were now. He sighed as he steeled himself, inhaled air that didn’t smell of old office, rotted lion fur and leathers, linseed oiled wood. Waru decided, finally, that he wasn’t having any more of Aelius’s hesitancy. He stepped forwards while pressing the palm of his hand to the center fo Aelius’s back, shoving the man towards his own damn room. It was Aelius’s space after all, wasn't it? All of it. Watching him falter for a second longer was a pain too much to bear on top of slipping the memories noose. That Aelius faltered at all on whether to take a right or a left?

Waru wasn’t having it, not tonight.

“Beans, baby! S’bed time—and it's the *how*, Aelius. Not the act of pushing itself. Maybe I’ll teach you…” terse, tired, yet ready to stand like a freshly planted log in Aelius hall for all his remaining days. A nice Waru shaped obstacle blocking out Aelius’s other options; he looked from the man to the beckoning darkness of the bedroom, nodded towards it sharply. The realization that Faustite should’ve been the one to explain these things to Aelius an age ago, in small, firm words spoken oh so ******** so slowly that they’d have penetrated even Aelius’s thick skull! As if there were any words a petulant and prideful Aelius would’ve heard back then, as if Faustite could’ve spoken anything so plainly when his agenda was to keep Aelius *alive*, above all else, above even Aelius’s own desires, above his feelings…

As long as they both survived, right? And ******** all else that came of ******** the cost of living..

Lightning quick on the heels of that revelation was the one where he understood, with ice-pick to the hindbrain painful levels of clarity, that the Faustite he knew now? The man with skills to run a team, a team with *him* on it, of all ******** people, simply hadn’t existed before. The man who so carefully and precisely explained things to *him*, who fought tooth and chipped, black-laquer claw to be as close to nothing like the General that had raised him up and lashed into him what he should’ve been.

How different those two men truly were. How different the short haired child, with pitch eyes, and pipes for a spine had been from the taciturn, yet fiery adult he’d become. To expect anything more of a pair of teenagers? A bridge too far, a want too much, that either of them blamed the other at all made his head swim– Not ******** to stay away from each other all these years later of course! But Waru himself was a ******** sap for love against all odds, for love in spite of all those same deadly, tragic, traumafilled odds. He couldn’t blame those two for that either, not when he was no better himself.

“Nah, I’ll definitely teach you. S’ah good skill for your pretty, charismatic self. ‘Specially since you threw all your stats into everything other n the ‘self-preservation’ category. You’ve got the danger sense of a ******** lemming, Aelius…” and he did listen for the thump, mewp, murr sound of pitter pattered paws racing from whatever spot behind the couch Beans had been. Watched her calicat-self pull into view hesitantly, and wanted to kick his own damn a** for having scared her so much to begin with.

“Which means you’re exactly where you should be, yanno that? On this team, with all us other lemmings…With him—though, I am sorry. Useless as that is to say? ********...” eyes downcast and it was hard to look back up at Aelius, right until it wasnt. Empty as it felt to offer those words once more, he meant them, for everything. For pushing in his own ways, for continuing to push long past the point where it seemed sane, or prudent, or fair! Told himself in a thousand different ways how necessary it was, how many doors, windows, walls a simple glimpse of something unpleasant knocked down in the span of seconds, instead of the spending the years it would’ve taken him to drag even a spit of that information free.

“N’ js’tbe clear? You’re not his failure. You're not a failure at all…He’s just…Heh..he’s inexcusable sometimes, isn’t he? I wanna say that in a way where I believe it, I wanna mean it, even. But every time I look at you two? Especially in these ******** memories. All’s I end up doing is thinking bout how young you both ******** were, and it just pisses me off in way’s we’re not exploring right now–yeah? So! Howsabout this! I’ll get you that ‘talk’ you’ve always wanted. The long overdue one that you deserve —the one you need. I can promise to do that much, kay?”

He let his disbelief exist, thick, silent, present in the room like an army of shadows ready to pounce and gnaw after every single one of Aelius’s stunning words. Viciously hungry things, they strangled him, and so he paced around Aelius’s moving form. Watched with ruddy eyes the man corral himself into position while going through all the motions on automatic–

Following those same motions himself once Aelius was done, finally meeting the other man’s eyes again already half way through pulling off the old rumpled shirt and putting on one that was even more rumpled and sleep soft, this one stained with less tears, holding no discernable smell. Until he could meet those golden eyes, though all he could see in Aelius just then was akin to a hollowed mound of earth, baked dry and cracked at every edge. A headless dragon, and if he tilted his gaze just right? He liked to believe he could see into the body of that beast, a glow of jade, a flash of strength like the dying light of a sunset.

Pain curled on pain and knowing he could do nothing to alleviate the cause of it pissed him off endlessly, that Aelius remained ever in view yet always just out of reach in all ways—-

That he couldn’t comfort him in this? The frustration of being useless, of being ever at arms length even now gave way to the flicker of rage he’d not at all wanted to explore. Caved to it brittly.

“Holy ********? That's so not at all what I was thinking of when I was thinking about how glad I am that the two’ve you are still alive! What a goddamn miracle she didn’t outright *kill* either of you! Like it’s by her ******** grace you can still walk—As if she deserves any praise for the fact that you’re still ******** on this plane of existence n breathing air?!” His tone of shocked disbelief rising as the old shirt tossed into the corner as he went to kill the lights in the room and plunged it back into a more comfortable darkness worth pacing in, till all he could aim his voice at was the shape of Aelius and the pillow crevice Beans and claimed. All the calm he’d told himself he needed to have! And where was it when he ******** needed it?

Gone, and gone, and g o n e —

‘Maybe I should’ve gone on patrol? Maybe I should go now? Find something to scratch or claw or bite at till I feel better—‘

It was a terrible coping skill to cling to, the urge to run off and make ruin until something, somewhere, ran as red and hot as he felt inside.

“If I ever hear the words ‘she had the right of it’, out of anyone's mouth? Yours, Eions, ********’ Justices? A clones! A past-life clones distant relatives ******** memory of that sentence in relation to her-—” the words seethed, and he didn’t want to get into bed angry, going to bed angry was a decidedly bad thing to do, it’d just lead to nightmares, or icky feelings or some other ******** magical mishap that he didn’t want to forbodingly invite into his life right now!! But there Aelius was, way the hell over there, and just because he was getting into bed didn’t mean he had to sleep, right?!

“So help me…Aelius—Aelius…Say it with me now—’I was a child’ — you were children! Between you and Eion? ********’ babies—Or teens, if you wanna play at being ‘semantical’ or some bullshit, but m’not playing here,” growled intot he air between new heaves of air, and suddenly it made no sense to be standing across the room and saying anything, not when Aelius was right there. Not when he could crawl across the comforter on his own side of the queen sized bed and sit in the dent of it; perched on his knees and all but praying for patience with his tired bones and Aelius’s frayed, crumpled self.

“Just—-Do you ever wonder why Aqua tries to make it so damn good for the rest of us? For Jet? *With Jet*. Or why Axonite spends, what m’gonna stab at, is his every waking hour baking his bones off? Why ********’ Almondjoy; demicubus-lord of the space-dandies, with enough wares at his fingertips to level the playing field of any war, throws any of us so much as a chew toy?”

“Why Faustite runs—-“

“Why you don’t think you deserve ******** scraps from him? When you more n ******** do. I’ll bet you my starseed some unpleasant s**t happened somewhere down the line n even if it made ‘em who they are today? They probably didn’t deserve to go through any of it then—-“

“You didn’t deserve any of it.”

Was he looming? He didn’t mean to be looming, that was never the intent — but gods did he want to be heard — no — understood, in this, to have the point he could never aim straight for goddamn hit and hit hard. As if he could ever have both, the conversation and the more than necessary cuddle time that served as aftercare for his own frazzled synapses and worn soul as he was sure it would’ve served Aelius softly cocooned form.

Kolina

Gods he wanted to argue, terribly so, to tear it all apart and never let the argument go. Aelius plaintive begging was hard to ignore, the way it doused ever fire he’d stoked up all on his own, hearing that sorrowful plea.

He thought Aelius was lucky he was the kind of person who understood *stop* — wondered if the other man could apply some of those same right minded sentiments towards all the other jagged, rocky interactions in his life. Except Fauatite didn’t know how to ask people to stop— not when he could run — not when he could simply make them.

There was a language barrier between those two so clear, and seeing it now? Waru wasn’t sure how to bridge that gap of ‘dealing with it’, not if it was going to be like this. Not if wveything was going to be this bad whenever he looked far enough back, but what good did the two even have to build on? How much or before could be used to stabalize the heat and now — could be relied upon to save their future!

It was a ******** exhausting line of thought to follow, all tangents, no holds barred speculation on his part. It solved nothing. Helped no one. The opposite of the point and so his ability to hold a flame for it slowly fizzled and died—

“You’re just trying to distract me, aren’t you?“

Waru groused petulantly, finally flopping onto his side, on his half of the bed, near hard enough that it bounced beans a bit. It mattered to him. It all mattered. The context, the timeline, the horror of it all. But Aelius was right about the fact that all the damage had already been done, long since done, and there was no point in going back over it and picking it apart.

All they could do was deal with it. So he’d deal with it.

“Lucky for you? I’m easy to distract—“ And it helped that he was truly tired, tired enough to finally lay something like still; shoving his face into the pillow and heaving an exaggerated sigh, before squishing it into submission, a shape he could shove his hands under while facing Aelius’s curled form. “—like—the most, for you, because you asked nicely! Distractable ******** on Earth tonight…m’tabeling it—shelving it—goin t’sleep...”

Not lightly, not with any ease, but he would certainly try to stop driving Aelius deeper into the bedding by his presence alone. The poor guy deserved one whole night in a bed, didn’t he? With him n beans and— all the ways he’d meant that to be comforting rather than the entrapment it felt like it’d become.

“I just care about you, alright? You n him, n everybody, but also you! Soo—so I’m pissed—was, past tense, cause m’letting it go for tonight! Gonna count sheep—or beans—definitely beans…” she seemed very countable, exceptionally so. Especially when she finally showed herself, an ear, a tail, the tip of a nose. He thought I’d he dug far enough beneath a pillow he could almost catch her warmth—

Or maybe even Aelius’s, for all that the man was absolutely in cuddling distance. Maybe someday, when he seemed more willing to allow it. Waru wasn’t going to push for more tonight, was finally content enough to settle his own nerves in his own space on the mattress without having to talk every firing synapse down—