TUNNEL SNAKES RULE.

It had been a long and weary road to the last light inn. The relief of finally being somewhat safe, despite the pressure of moonrise towers and the shadow curse, had manifested instantly. And with the seemingly near unlimited supply of wine and beer still in the inns cellar, it had not taken long to get most of the party comfortably drunk. Halsin had abstained, for the most part, the sense of guilt over the shadow cursed lands urging him to keep a clear head. And perhaps that had been for the best, since their little group’s fearless leader had clearly elected to deal with their own pressing sense of responsibility by trying to drown it. You had easily drunk enough to drown a fish, promptly engaging in a drinking game with Lae’zel and Karlach, both of which had gone decidedly pink in the cheeks. It was a somewhat shameful, but nonetheless joyous sight to behold.

Alas, in the smaller hours of the morning, knowing the day that doubtless lay ahead of them. Halsin had felt a certain responsibility to care for you. It was just responsibility, he vowed himself that it was. There was no time for anything else, no time for the way his heart seemed to beat out of his chest when you smiled at him. The fear that had lanced through him the first time he had seen you wounded in battle, the fierce protectiveness that blossomed somewhere from his hind-brain manifesting as your assailant getting struck down by 200 pounds of angry bear.

It had felt natural in the moment, springing to your defense, your smile and thanks, a tentative hand reaching out to stroke over his snout, blood still rushing from the fight. It had been delectable. But somewhat indefensible. His focus should lie elsewhere. On lifting the curse. Only then could he let himself free, only then he could let himself feel. But until then, responsibility would have to suffice.

“Alright,” his voice was soft, trying not to disturb the arm-wrestling contest that had broken out between your two drinking partners. You had slumped against the table, laughing along merrily, if a bit sleepily. Strong arms wrapped around your shoulders, lifting you upright bringing you to your feet. “I think it is time for you to head to your bunk.” The voice was familiar, it made you think… pushing away from the body next to yours you raised an accusatory finger.

“Hey, hey” you slurred, Halsin raised his hands pacifyingly. “If you think you’re getting any tonight you are wrong!” you raised a finger at him, swaying unsteadily. “I’m already spoken for bucko! I’m in love!” you proclaimed, your voice deadly serious but your inability to keep steady on your feet somewhat undermined the severity. It stung nonetheless. Not that he had any right to hope for anything other than your leadership. Not that he wanted anything more, it was just responsibility, care for the team, right? Nothing more than that, no need to get his feelings hurt over the inevitability that you would find someone to care for.

“Let me help you upstairs, at least.” He urged, not relishing in the possibility of you trying your own luck. He would gladly heal you after you fell down the stairs, but better yet avoid it altogether. This seemed to pacify you somewhat, allowing him to extend an arm for you to lean on. The conversation dropped out as your entire focus was redirected towards the herculean feat of lifting one foot high enough to clear the next step.

You’d made it halfway up when it all got tangled in your head and you began to fall back. Halsin caught you effortlessly, strong arms cradling your body. For an instant he went perfectly still, cradling you to his chest, expecting another round of drunken yelling. But to his surprise you cuddled closer, making a noise of vast comfort against his chest.

Guilt flared up, hot and sickening, traveling from the base of his spine to the pit of his gut. He debated setting you down, but your drunkenness had shifted from hyper activeness to vast exhaustion, if he set you down he’d never get you up the stairs. Resigned, and battling the guilt of going against your wishes, he wasn’t who you would want to carry you like this, the guilt of his own reaction, the soft covetousness he felt radiating from the place where your temple rested against his chest. A soft grumbling brought him out of his fog.

“What, sweetheart?” he mentally scolded himself, regretting the usage of the endearment as soon as it had slipped out, shoulders tensing. You tried again.

“He’s so beautiful and strong…” your words were slurred nearly beyond understanding. Halsin began on the stairs again, traversing them with ease, moving towards your room. “And valiant, so much just-ness, and he caresss..” you continued on your tirade. Halsin was faintly aware that he must be blushing stained pink from where your breath tickled his neck, where your forehead rested against his skin. Fumbling with the door he finally managed to get it cracked, shouldering it open, and depositing you on the bed, ready to flee.

He did not get far, one of your hands finding purchase on his wrist. One final slurred question.

“Do you think he’ll ever want me?” it nearly broke him in half, but he would be a good friend if nothing else.

“Who, sweetheart?” there it was again, falling from his tongue unbidden and unstoppable. Your face lit up, eyes bright around a sleepy smile.

“Halsin..” you replied, eyes falling shut, sleep finally dragging you under. Wildfire spread trough his limbs, emanating from where your fingers still wrapped around his wrist. Elation rose and fell somewhere behind his ribs. He couldn’t.. but by Silvanus he had to. Devotion took up war with guilt.

Moving slowly, not wanting to startle you awake, he removed your hand, moving to cover you with a blanket. Pausing to brush your hair out of your eyes. Without thinking, instinct taking over entirely for just one sweet moment, he bent lips pressing against your forehead.