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“You’ll live,” Shiloh laughed. “It’s not like I tried to eat you or anything.”

Then Ian was quiet again, the soft sigh that he exhaled making Shiloh follow suit. Ian’s fingers still moved lightly over Shiloh’s face, the touch gentle and soothing. It lulled him into a sleepy calm, and he listened with eyes half closed. The comfort of it reminded him of how his sister had calmed him down with a hug, or soft words when he was sure he’s seen something in the closet, or lurking in the shadows beneath his bed. It was different with Ian, so many things about the situation with Ian were different but as his thumb massaged gently at Shiloh’s temple, the Life hunter was comforted from his fear all the same.

Yet the tone of Ian’s voice was sad, and his story even sadder and Shiloh frowned. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he said genuinely, resting his hand on Ian’s upper arm with a sympathizing squeeze. Loss was hard, even more so when it was someone special, family or otherwise.

“Do you miss him?” he asked gently, searching Ian’s eyes.

Shiloh was trying to sort it out too, his eyes still innocently questioning Ian’s answer. He still missed his sister, and he didn’t think he would ever not miss her. He would heal, of course, and he’d think about her less often as time grew on, but ultimately he would always miss her. But then again, his sister had been the bright spot in his life, she had been cheerfully upbeat and positive and so he had learned to be like her, rather than what his circumstances would have suggested he become.

But then, Ian hadn’t lost his sister. He had lost Patrick, and Shiloh remembered that Ian had said the person who tried to teach him to cook had been ex-boyfriend, and putting two and two together, he could only imagine what It felt like to lose someone you’d loved in that way. Sadly, he wondered if that was the reason Ian had referred to Patrick as his ex.

“What do you mean?” Shiloh asked, again his voice soft. He let his arm slip from on top of Ian’s, resting it between them as he nestled against the covers. He looked up at Ian again, his expression gentle, but curious.

Unfortunately, Ian was trying to make him understand something that was entirely foreign to Shiloh. But even still, he listened as Ian tried to explain, watching with the sort of rapt attention a child has for a riveting fairytale. But as Ian began to stumble over his words, Shiloh realized that there was no happy ending to this story. Ian was choked up, and his hand fell away from Shiloh’s face to grip the sheets tightly, and Shiloh felt a pang in his own chest for the poor guy, for him to be so tormented by his emotions, for him to have to go through this.

He knew when he had grieved there was nothing anyone could have said that would have consoled him. They hadn’t know his sister like he had, she hadn’t been their sister, and everything they said no matter how kind came off as false, as pandering and only made things infinitely worse. Considering that he only barely knew Ian, and Patrick not at all, there was nothing Shiloh could think to say that would make Ian feel better, so did the only thing he knew how to do.

Carefully he pulled the sheets from Ian’s hands, and pushed the hunter’s arms out of the way so he could squeeze between them, gripping Ian in the best hug he could manage, wrapping his arms tightly around him.

Shiloh had never dealt with someone so distraught before, nor did he let himself indulge in those sorts of emotions, at least not since he’d been at home, and alone. He didn’t think they were weak emotions, on the opposite, he knew how strong and crippling they could be, and how they could threaten a person’s entire being. The only way he’d thought to combat them was to simply not feel them, because at home there had no longer been comfort or anyone to hug him, only the same disapproval as always, manifested even more by the loss of a favored child.

It wasn’t the case here. He didn’t have to hide here, or worry about consequences. Shiloh could hold Ian as tightly as he wanted, as though he might squeeze the sadness out of him. And that’s what he did, until Ian’s gasping ceased.

It was impossible not to notice Ian’s own arms, at first hesitant but then closing around them, the material of his sweater sleeves soft against Shiloh’s back. It was impossible not to notice, and to feel awful about noticing, because Ian was grieving, and Shiloh had only meant to comfort him but here he was, suddenly acutely aware of how close they were, and there was the notion that he should let go, that it would be the smart thing to do, because letting himself feel anything substantial, especially in such uncharted waters, was foolish, and he should be afraid.

But he was unable to tear him away from the warmth, from the warm feeling of someone finally embracing him back. Shiloh could only hope that he was helping Ian at this point, because his feverish mind had no intentions of letting go, and in his weary state, he was inclined to let it rule.

When Ian finally spoke, he surprised Ian with an apology. Shiloh knew why he was apologizing, but there was definitely no need to.

“It’s okay, Ian.”

“It’s okay,” Shiloh said again, his voice resolute. His body belied the firmness of his voice however, and thought he didn’t release Ian, or move from him, he instinctively curled into himself a little when Ian swore, as though to somehow make himself smaller, to become less of a nuisance. He knew he wasn’t and that this was different, Ian’s feeling of frustration wasn’t directed at him but old instincts died hard, and he’d never been around so much emotion in a setting that didn’t involve him being a part of the problem.

But he was determined, and loopy just enough to not fall prey to his insecurities. He wasn’t going to pull away, because Ian needed him, his friend needed him and he was Shiloh, this was what he did, he made people happy. The only problem was that Ian was a sort of melancholy enigma, and every piece unraveled seemed to lead to only more sadness.

“It’s okay,” he said again, leaning his head gently against Ian’s. “It’s okay.”

It was okay, truly. He didn’t fault Ian for having emotions, and certainly not over something as life changing as what he described. He selfishly didn’t want Ian to run away, and to take his warmth with him. He even more selfishly didn't want to admit that that was what he wanted.

One hand curled gently into the fabric of Ian’s sweater, while the other moved to gently rub his shoulder in another attempt to comfort Ian, as words finally failed Shiloh. He couldn’t think of an appropriate way to lighten the situation, or how to take the hollow bitterness out of Ian’s laughter. But he could reassure him, and be steady where the Mist hunter faltered, and that was what he tried to do.

“No, you’re not,” Shiloh answered, just as firmly as he had assured Ian that it was okay. But he didn’t want to sound curt, or for Ian to think he was dismissing him, so his face was smiling as he said it, and he pulled back just enough to let Ian see. He was dismissing the idea that Ian was anything other than human, with all the emotions and flaws and feelings that came with their existence.

Like his own flaws, he thought, his heart suddenly racing as he stared at Ian.

Shiloh wasn’t going anywhere, though he met Ian’s eyes with a deer in the headlights sort of look, wondering if it wouldn’t have been smarter to slip away. It would certainly have been easier for him in the long run to not have to explain his actions to himself outside of the moment. What was easy right now, however, was staying put. Ian’s fingertips trailed over his cheek, then his jawline, and all Shiloh could do was stare, doe-eyed and frozen, his body thrumming with an anxiousness he could describe as neither good or bad, only that it seemed expectant, as thought something were about to happen, a feeling Shiloh hadn’t been privy to experiencing before.

Words failed him again, though he wasn’t entirely sure what he would have broken the silence with anyway, or if he even wanted to break the silence. Suddenly his head was swimming, and he didn’t want to make sense of the thoughts running through it, he was too tired to care about making the right judgment, about being good. He wanted to just bask in the warmth, in the heady feeling of butterflies in the pit of his stomach but he had no idea at all of how to proceed.

It seemed like ages that passed by, instead of the seconds it actually took, time moving incredibly slow as Ian’s raised his fingers to Shiloh’s face again, sliding them into his hair. Shiloh barely remembered to breath, the build-up entirely this time than the last, now that he expected it and that he had allowed himself to admit that he wanted it. It was freeing and frightening all at the same time and he was absolutely certain he was out of his mind, but it didn’t matter.

It didn’t matter because this time there was no hand on his wrist as Ian kissed him, there was no pressure to run away from but that coming from himself and he was far too exhausted to fathom surrendering to anything but the lips pressed against his. There was only the surprised hitch in his throat as his breath caught in it, and sudden realization.

He was kissing someone. He was kissing a man. He was kissing Ian. Some part of him sung, like a little caged bird that had finally been set free and as they parted, he couldn’t help the dazed smile that graced his lips; he couldn’t hide it quickly enough for it to not be noticed.