quinsilie

He admires your intent, he really does. Fuck, one might have even called it noble, with that kind, pleading twinkle in your eye; how you held his then steady hands with your own shaky ones, all but begging him to follow you to your homeland.

You had solid reasoning, you always did—it was one of the many reasons he fell in love with you in the first place. And his heart stung as he saw you slowly begin to fall apart when he declined your offer, the sight replaying in his mind relentlessly; as if trying to brand itself againt every fiber of his nervous tissue.

"Wriothesley, I beg of you! Please, come home with me."

He shook his head solemnly, "I... I can't."

"'Can't?" your hands squeezed tighter, "What do you mean you 'can't'?!"

"I can't leave, y/n. I can't just- fucking... ditch Fontaine." his eyes flicked from your eyes to your hands, as if staring at one or the other for too long would cause his heart to shatter. It would anyway. He knew damn well there was no way he could back out of this battle unscathed.

"Why not?!" You almost screamed, "Is it Sigewinne? We can take her with us—anyone, anything—please Wriothesley."

"No! No, it's not her." he paused, swalloing nothing, as if trying to keep himself from choking on his words (and your pleas).

"Then why not?! Is it Mondstadt? Shit- it doesn't even matter, we don't even have to go there! We can go anywhere—just come with me!"

"It isn't that either‐ i just fucking can't! The guilt would eat me alive knowing I booked it to somewhere else and left everyone else to drown knowing I could have done something!"

"What the fuck can you do?! This shithole is doomed anyway!" You held back a sob, "...It's done nothing for you... Just fucked you over time and time again... What even is there to feel guilty about abondoning it?"

"...I know. Yet I was raised here. Smiled, cried and clawed my way to where I am now, here—in this 'shithole'." The corner of his twitched up momentarily at the fitting name, "I don't know anything about anywhere else Y/n, this is basically the whole world to me, y'know?" He smiled weakly.

You muttered something quietly, your words slurred against the force of your unshed tears. Wriothesley squeezed your hands gently as he hummed, beckoning you to repeat yourself.

You hiccuped as you spoke up, "I said that I'll just stay here with you then! There's a just we won't die, i'll just bet on that!"

"What? Are you insane?!" His grip tightened subconsciously, "The chances of that are slim at best, otherwise it's just damn right fucking impossible!"

"I don't care, Wriothesley!" You had finally broken at that point, begining to fully cry, "You say you would feel guilty leaving everyone here—do you think I wouldn't feel fucking guilty leaving you here?!"

You were right, he couldn't deny any of it. It would be selfish to play hero for Fontaine and leave you to grieve him, with not even a corpse to bury to top it off. Yet, as much as he hated the thought of making you go through such a thing, he still couldn't imagine living like that himself—grieving a whole nation while trying to adjust to life in a whole new one.

Would he even fit in amongst it's people? Could they truly take him in as easily as you claimed? It was probably possible considering how kind you were—still such an ideal place simply couldn't exist, not within such a cruel world such as this one.

Well, looking back on it now, it might seem a bit nonsensical for him to do so. It would be kind of funny if it was not so pitiful. What sane man would even shed a single tear for a place where he could count the amount of people who helped him through life on one hand?

Such a shame Wriothesley seems to have gone nuts ages ago.

Your sobs were agonizing. They pulled, twisted and tore through his heart relentlessly, all with the goal for him to cave in. But what was The Duke of Meropide if not a stubborn fool? A fool that stood his ground in disagreements just as firmly as he did in the ring.

A fool he was, and he has been cruel to many before, but never once to you; who he saw as the light of his life. Wriothesley almost instantly began to coo, to comfort and console you the best he could.

It was barely any use, you were both keenly aware of it. What use were the sweet nothings of a walking dead man?

Yet they're still sickeningly sweet in their own awful way. Akin to finding comfort at the bottom of a bottle; the first few sips are hard to stomach, they almost cause you to wince. But a couple more and you start feel the words blur together, becoming a puddle of murky throughts and feelings—slowly trickling into silence.

The silence that Wriothesley broke as he caressed your tear stained cheecks, calling your name quietly to finally get you to look him in the eye.

The quiet returned as he took in the look on your face, his own fought to maintain the reassuring look on it.

"Y/n," he began slowly, chewing on the inside of his cheek as he pieced the words together, "...You don't deserve to die here. You should go, you don't need to suffer beneath these tides with me—where it's closer to hell than the gentle tides you call home."

You couldn't even muster a response anymore, your quiet sobs and hiccups killing any words that tried to leave your hoarse throat.

Wriothesley took it as a chance to continue, plastering on his best boyish grin as he wiped your tears, "C'mon, no need to cry sweetheart. Your smile's so pretty, don't hide it now!" His own voice cracked as he pinched your cheeks into a smile.

You sobbed louder, slapping his hands away as you sprung up from him.

"Y'know what? Go on and fucking die! See if I c-care!"

"Y/n, wait!" He almost leapt after you, but something stopped him. Something that told him what you were both aware of—that it was futile to chase after you now.

He dropped back down on the couch as he heard the door of the office slam shut, rattling through the whole prison. He was shaking. A bitter laugh bubbling in his throat.

So many years on the streets. So many years in the underworld. And this was what had him truly shaking?

Of course it did. The quiet of his office never felt as crushing as it did now.

Yeah. It's the silence that's squeezing these foreign sobs out of him, weak and pitiful as he cradles his head in his shaky hands—still warm from your desperate grip.

ノㅤ﹕QUIN'S NOTE ⋮ uhhh... yeaaah. quacwkwardddd... idk what came over me to write this tbh

You hum, contemplating on giving him any answer at all — ultimately you concede, spilling the beans on what was bothering you: "...It seems that the 'Chicken' got to them first, again." a standard, slightly vague reply leaves your lips; the kind you offer up when you're too tired to think — let alone speak.

Pantalone clicks his tongue, "I'll say, that piece of work better learn to keep to his own coop. The more he mingles in my affairs, the less I'm willing to cooperate on those funds..." His hand moves down from your face and snakes around your shoulders instead, gently tugging you closer.

A fatigued giggle escapes you as you lean further in, resting your head against his chest. "Hm, that stubby fool is probably the least of my concerns," amusement drips from your voice, but it soon dries out when you continue, "What is weighing on my mind however, is what to gift the countess' daughter for her engament..."

"Ah yes, the picky ones, i assume?" Seeing you nod, Pantalone hums, "There was that parfum you were gifted recently, perhaps you could give them that."

You snort, "Fenya, I cannot do that! It is in poor taste!"

"Their horrid taste in wines is in poor taste. I hold back the urge to gag every time i attend one of their banquets." He rolls his eyes playfully, a small smirk creeping onto his face as he feels you punch his chest lightly.

"Apologies, darling," Feofan leans in, pressing a kiss to your temple to appease your wrath, "But it is still the truth, let us not lie now." He chuckles.

"Fenya I am not regifting them that awful fragrance. I would die thrice over of emberassment if someone were to find out I did such a thing!"

"Well, I cannot allow that to happen. We do have an opera to see tonight." He all but drags you closer, pulling you into a hug, "My, what would I do without the light of my sad, little banker life there with me?"

"Oh hush," You feign complaint as he tucks your head under his chin, "You hardly appriciate the fine arts, all you do yammer on and on about banal nonsense."

"My topics of conversation are anything but banal."

"Yes, ofcourse, gossiping is quite the important topic. I'll say how do your coworkers and subordinates deal with your ludicrouses..."

"Perfectly fine, just as you do darling." he teases, hands combing through your hair. You roll your eyes, losing all energy to bicker with this blockhead, as you press your cheek further against his chest.

Silence overtakes the cabin for a good while, the only sounds being the steady rhythm of the harbingers heartbeat, and the light patter of the snow against the window. It's nice, and it relaxes you almost instantly. The familiar warmth of this atmosphere letting you cleanse yourself of all worries.

Alas, one pesky question still weighs on your mind, "...Hey, Feofanushka," you pause briefly, snuggling closer.

"...Are we still going to dinner first? The food they served was almost as awful as the wine..." you ask, voice a bit muffled from your face being smooshed against him.

"Certainly darling, I already reserved seats for you favourite restaraunt."

ノㅤ﹕QUIN'S NOTE ⋮ i dunno how this is for other eastern europeans, but where I am from regifting stuff is kinda seen as tacky ykwim? Like you don't really gaf about the person who gave you the gift nor the one you're regifting it to. Incredible inspo ik

So you dig into both your snacks and the book, and man you have to treat Lisa to a drink sometime soon — the book she reccomended you was pure bliss!

So good in fact that you did not notice the click of the front doors lock, or the tired stare that accomponied it.

Crimson-swirled eyes dance across your form, observant and incredibly heavy — a step or two more and Lohen felt as if he would pass out.

Thankfully the couch was quite close, so he swiftly removes his shoes and with a few long strides stands before you, watching you read as you layed on your tummy. By the time you get out of your literature-induced trance and noticed him, he had already made his move — laying himself down across your back.

You watch him carefully for a few moments, almost feeling him untense the moment he gets his hands on you. A small hum leaves your lips, "...Rough day?"

He nods, nuzzling closer in the process.

Huffing a small laugh, you continue, "Wanna go to bed early tonight?" You offer gently, moving to grab your book mark off the coffee table.

Lohen beats you to it, grabbing it for you. His face heats up a little seeing how it was the one he bought you while in Nod Krai. He shakes his head as he hands it to you, "Nah, too tired. Let's stay like this for a bit..." His voice is gentle, yet heavy with sleep — each syllable dragging on a little longer than it should, fatigue weighing them down tremendously.

You hum, setting the book aside, "Mind if we changed positions though? You're kinda crushing me over here hun..."

Lohen remains silent for a few moments, as if gathering the strengh to move. When he finally does, the difficult little prick hardly moves over — giving you just enough space to scoot over to the edge of the couch.

Eventually you both manage to worm into a spooning position, with Lohens cheek smushed into your nape and his arms wrapped tightly around your waist.

He mumurs a small 'Good night' and 'sweet dreams' as he lets sleep consume him, squeezing you a bit tighter subconsciously.

Now you are left all alone, still not tired enough to conk out alongside him. Decinding to read a little more, you grab your book again.

In the back of your mind, you hope that Lohen doesn't wake up complaing about how numb his arm has gotten after cuddling. He lies through his teeth every time he does though, as Lohen enjoys the pins-and-needles feeling in his limbs a stupid amount — always feeling enamoured by the tingles.

Like most things, such as this fatigue that has consumed him, it is just a means to get to his goals; and that ofcourse entails you panpering him with cuddles.

ノㅤ﹕QUIN'S NOTE ⋮ shh... ignore how this is my third lohen fic in a row... mkaaay?? Shhh... let him rot my brain away in peace >////<

Lohen glances over subtly, peering over to see you reading his case file — sipping the coffee Jean made for you, a miniscule apology for having to basically babysit a fellow knight.

If he had to be frank, what surprised him most was the fact that you agreed to this idea. Who could possibly tolerate sitting inside a stuffy office instead of enjoying the beautiful, sunny day outside?

Lohen quickly snaps out of his very subtle staring when you set your mug down on the coffee table. You hum as you flip through the khaki folder, your face motionless and absolutely undecipherable; what a dread for the would-be "Benevolent Knight".

How would he convince you to spar with him now?!

He had been dreaming of such a moment ever since he saw of your prowess on the battlefield! Each calculating strike, so swift and efficient — yet filled with so many tiny intricasies. The slight flicks of your wrist, how your hands grip your weapon when you change stances... Even watching you maintain it enamoured him down to his very core, the care and attention you gave a simple tool made him ponder what that kind of attention would feel upon his skin.

Would your hands be warm, or cold like the metal of the cuff? Would they be soft, maybe callused or scared from years of training and fighting?

Would you hold him revently, like a small drop of pure sping water on your palm? Or would you push him away, then pull him even closer? (Would he even be able to stomach being pushed away by you?)

"Got yourself in the bit of trouble, hm?" Your voice breaks the heavy silence, both a relief and another weight to his ever-sinking conscience;

He loathed it, how he just couldn't figure out what you were thinking. Every glance, every word you exchanged — Lohen hated this, he hated when he couldn't predict the next move of his prey. The lack of control makes him feel so weak, but it never had his head spinning just as much as it did with you.

Was this what it felt like, to be prey? And of the worst monster of all, no less — Lohen had fallen deep into the clutches of his fellow man.

This was much different from being cornered by the Rächer of Solnari — who was more akin to some demon from the deepest pits of hell — back then the lightheadedness mainly came from the severe blood loss — now he has no reason to feel such a way, or rather there was no excuse for it.

Lohen offers a nod, "It was mostly Theodores work. Real piece of work, that one." He lets his head rest against the back of the couch.

So much for trying to relax his stiff posture (when did he get so rigid?), hearing you huff that small sliver of a laugh had his whole nervous system go for a loop. His eyes widen, two heterochromatic iris' making the slow drag towards your face; and Lohen swears he sees you smile behind your coffee cup.

The gears start turning in Lohens head as he stares at you again. He slowly realises that he won't be needing to ask you for that spar any time soon, as he was already far deeper in — For he agreed to engage in psychological warfare the moment you so readily concured to his punishment.

And now, it was the rabbits turn to lay helpless in a trap.

ノㅤ﹕QUIN'S NOTE ⋮ gets infected with the lohen plague and dies... okay he may be very cutie lemme get this outta my system >//////<

You have already seen the new content teasers that previewed the summer update, counting down the days until you got to play it with your online friend group! And wow, the update was even cooler than in the teasers! It was downright addictive, and before you knew it — you had been playing for a good three hours with your friends.

The familiar jingle of a notification rings out through your headphones, with a small hum you click open your Discord group chat;

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kinich 16:36

brb im going to go get smth to drink

⤷ y/n, Jahodaaa!! and HatGuy liked this message.

Jahodaaa!! 16:40

guys istg if i see ONE more fly in my room i think i might just burn my place down

HatGuy 16:41

The place you can barely afford as is??? Sure you will

Jahodaaa!! 16:41

Hat guy no one asked u shit

Boo Tao~ 16:42

I don't think it's that bad of an idea actually

She could get that some of that sweet sweet insurance money 🤑🤑

HatGuy 16:42

Do you deadass think that the shoebox she lives in is worth any more than like 5 bucks and a Redbull??

Jahodaaa!! 16:42

Ngl i would take just the redbull

y/n 16:44

We can tell dw

Jahodaaa!! 16:45

y/n wtf i thought u were on my side 😞😞☹️

y/n 16:45

Sorry girl you dug your own grave on this one 😭✌️

Jahodaaa!! is typing...

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You giggle to yourself, watching your friends break out into their usual banter. It was nice to see that they were still so lively, even in this blistering heat!

Deciding to go level some of your characters new gear, you minimize the tab and return to the game.

Just as you landed your first crit roll on a relic does the chime of another notification ring out. Then another, and a few more after that. You choose to ignore it for a bit, it was probably just Hat Guy and Jahoda fighting again — and such a juicy piece was hard to come by, it would be a waste to stop leveling it now!

The second roll, crit damage — alongside it come two more notifications.

The next, crit rate, and another little ding.

While you were selecting some fodder relics to put into your new piece, the notifications just kept on coming! It was freakishly rapid, the sound effect barely finishing before another played. They couldn't be having that bad of a fight in the group chat, could they?

You pause your little leveling session, opening Discord again; to your surprise, the group was completely calm! With only a few texts comparing their luck with relics and some light conversation.

With this possibility crossed out, it only left one likely culprit for this onslaught of messages. You glance to the side of your screen, and lo and behold — 9+ new messages from your boyfriend, Lohen.

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Lohen 16:52

N/nnnnnnnn

Hellloooo?? N/nnnn???

I can see ur online yk

Boooooo don't ignore me

Y/nn???

You there????

Helllllllllooiioooo

World to y/n

I miss uuuu

Y/nnnnnnnnn 😭😭

y/n 17:00

Damn im here calm down

Wheres the fire whats wrong???

Lohen 17:00

I miss you

Being sick suckkkkssss

y/n 17:01

You don't say?

Lohen 17:01

What took you so long to reply anyway?

Usually takes you just a sec

y/n 17:01

I was playing w my friends

Wanna join us? I'm sure they wouldn't mind someone new

Lohen 17:02

Mm naaah

Tnx for offering though

Have fun liebling

y/n 17:02

Okk i'll call you after i'm done

Love you sweets<33

Lohen 17:03

Love you toooo!!

╴╴╴╴╴⊹ꮺ˚ ╴╴╴╴╴⊹˚ ╴╴╴╴˚ೃ ╴╴

Yeah, you could clearly tell he was sulking.

With him catching a cold and you two just both being busy recently, he has not had the chance to see you at all for a good week.

It was a little pathetic, with how clingy he gets i mean. Then again that supid, sulky look on his face is quite cute.

So, just as you promised, you play another round or two with your friends and hop off — with only a few teases from Hu Tao this time!

After shutting off your pc, you grab your phone; Lohen answered almost immediately when you call him — so quickly in fact, you would think he was waiting for you to call him (he probably was.)

"Hello?" You call out first, turning on your phone on speaker and placing it on your desk.

"Hey babe! How ya doin'?" Your boyfriends voice echos out into the room, cheerful, but still quite nasally; he was definately still a bit ill.

"Hehe, I should be asking you that," you lean back in your chair, "Feeling any better?"

He hums, "Now that you've called, I feel almost brand new~"

Your silence from the other end makes him clear his throat a bit, this time he gives you a proper answer: "...My nose is still runny, but the fever is gone."

"Good!"

"Mmhmm. Whatcha up to now, schatz?"

"Waiting for my washer to finish, why?"

"Oh? I thought you would still be playing with you friends."

"Haha, yeah well, i was actually just playing while I was waiting for my laundry to finish."

"You could've called me ya know." You can practically hear the pout in his voice.

You were about to let out a retort when you heard the distinct sound of Lohen yawning, "...You tired?"

"Mm.. A little." His voice is a bit quieter now, noticably more mumbly too.

"Maybe you should take a nap..."

"But I wanna talk to you N/n..." he whines lazily, his sulky tone immanent even through the phone.

You let out a small snort, "I'll be right here on the phone, doing laundry. So get some rest, alright?"

Lohen sighs, a clear sign that he has relented.

With a pleased smile on your face, you grab your phone and head on over to your laundry room. You engage in some light conversation with your boyfriend as you fold your clothes, until he eventually quiets out and falls asleep.

"Sleep well, darling." You whisper softly as you fold another towel.

QUIN'S NOTE ⋮ hello, hello!! Here is my try at a smau — do tell me whatcha think, and if you like this way of formating! Also srry for not writing much, i've been in a major slump ｡･(つд`｡)･｡

Experimental, testing the waters and trying to decide where the delta of longing begins and where it melts; where it seeps into the nothingness that is the ocean of simple human intimacy, the need to be as close as your mortal cages allow you, to feel — to understand — every inch of eachother in and out. You tasted iron on your tongue at that moment too, didn't you? When you bit too hard at those dry lips.

No matter, something needed to moisturize them, it just so happened to be his own blood. You lied to yourself that it was nececary.

How did you even get so close? By sheer force of fate? Nonsense, how destructive is the world to be bringing you two together? Nevertheless, you ended up working closely together, mostly fueled by your shared intrests, thoughts and opinions.

That same pair of the past would question this closeness between the present two of you. In all honesty neither of you understood the appeal of this attachment back then, finding it to be just another weakness, another fatal flaw that managed to scurry past evolution of humanity.

But something changed your opinions when you let him drag his teeth over you pulse point. It finally let you understand — the trust, the push, the pull, and the power.

Having him there, worrying the skin with sharp teeth that with one wrong move could cause you to keel over and croak. This time, Zandik was the one to taste the familiar flavour of old, weathered coins. Feeling how the pulse of your heart beat through your flesh, the way he could so easily bite down, watch you bleed out. Alas that would be waste of a perfectly good test subject and lab partner.

He had half a mind to burst out laughing, and to think closeness was this intoxicating! And that neither of you had never realised it, too! To think that the perfect ginnea pig had been standing across the operating table all along as just a mere lab assistant.

But maybe seeing that very same assistant laying on that very same operating table was much more appealing to a certain mad man.

Which is where you are lying currently. With your thoughts rushing a hundred miles a minute trying to figure out why or how you had agreed to this.

Its a cold, metal table that you are laying on. It is much akin to Zandiks touch. With how cold he runs, it usually leaves goosebumps in it's wake. Albeit it is kind of ironic how the table has warmed from your own body heat faster than he does.

You watch The Doctor from the corner of your eye, as he carefully prepares his instruments; diligently polishing each one, one by one. He's stalling, you note.

(Funny that a man who so adamently declines his humanity is reflecting typical human behaviours. Best to note that too, could be useful.)

"Doctor," you begin, the sound of your voice in the near silent lab serving as a perfect announcement for what you wish to say; The sedative is half-assing it's work. This causes Dottore to pause in his stalling, he hums for a moment as he ponders his next course of action.

He turns around to face you, pinching at various points of your arm, "Feeling anything?"

"No." It's a short, curt response; one you would usually consider a waste of breath. But when you attempted to shake your head, you noticed that you had difficulty doing so.

"Conscious, yet numb... Intresting..." he mutters in thought to himself as he moves to begin the procedure. He reaches back behind himself, grabing the iodine with practiced ease.

It's clear proof that you're not the first person to grace this table, The Doctors exact knowlage of the whereabouts of his tools was proof enough of his many encounters with the body — but it does bring a small sense of comfort to know that he has done this enough times that, even if something does go horribly wrong, he will be able to manage it perfectly fine.

Yet you are, once again, rudely pulled out of the cushy seat of this train of thought, this time by an iodine-soaked cotton ball. It's warmer than it usually is, as Dottore does not typically bother to have it warmed, leaving another oddity to note. You observe the way it drags across your skin, how the orange substance stains it near instantly.

It's a familiar process, one you've done on patients and subjects dozens of times, but this time theres a glaring difference — He is stalling again, draging the disinfectant slowly, you would think he was doing this leisurely if it was not for how quiet he was.

You hear him let out a small huff of a laugh as he catches your unamused glare, a surefire way to signal for him to get on with it.

He does thankfully, his motions smooth and almost graceful if it were not for the subject matter at hand.

And in his hand lies a scalpel; lightwight, standard issue, and familiarly cold. It glistens in the light, spotless metal slowly coming into contact with the skin of your abdomen. Thank those blasted Gods for the sedative, otherwise instinct would have caused your breathing to go wild — a pesky instinct you just cannot seem to get rid of.

The sharp, icy edge causes you both to pause, more or less preparation of what is to come next. To most, this brief moment of collection would not appear to last more than maybe three seconds; to a mad heretic and his right hand it feels much more akin to three minutes. The intimacy behind that three second stall is something that neither of you could bare to ponder more for than those very few seconds; the very idea of feeling lingering behind actions brings back that iron taste in your mouth.

Finally, the thin blade pierces the first few layers of flesh. You do not feel it, thankfully; still the sight of being flayed alive is not something anyone else would consider appealing.

Well, apart from The Doctor here; who cares naught for the norm of natural reactions.

Drops of crimson start to sprout like flowers along the path of the blade, their delicate forms fall apart when the many layers of skin and tender muscle are pulled back. The Doctor is careful with his proding, uncharacteristic for someone who revels in disruputing the natural state of many things — the human body a primary example.

So when he peers inside what should be a familiar cavity, what lies inside it leaves him momentarily stunned. Dottore gazes at the fleshy pinks and browns, the way veins spread across in the same way vines do on cobblestone walls.

One part of him dares not peek further, for he may never comes acorss such a perfect specimen again, while a different part of him yearns to dig deeper, to count the many tiny branches of your lungs in astonishment as they add up to be perfectly equal and symmetrical.

You watch him keenly, with your heavy stare you can almost see through his mask; how his eyes have lit up akin to how a childs do when they enter a candy store.

"...Any findings, Doctor?" you speak up eventually, gaze lingering on how he paused in his exploration (usually he continues on with surgery when asked this question, what has gotten into him to stall so much?)

He lets out the smallest of amused chuckles, "Oh, plenty," he points to your lungs, rising and expanding with every breath, "See here, notice how the lungs are perfectly shaped? And how the liver is perfectly smooth?"

His pointer finger trails over to your stomach, he smiles upon seeing its lining adopt a rosy colour, "Oh, and this reaction happens flawlessly."

"Your point being?" You stop him in his observations, watching how his motions still as a smile creeps across his face.

"It's all perfectly textbook. I cannot find a single thing wrong within you."

You pause, silence hung between the two of you once more. The Doctor reaches for his needle and thread, and his next words slip past the cracks of a smile:

"Since everything here is in order, I say we pick your brain a bit instead, hm?"

ノㅤ﹕QUIN'S NOTE ⋮ not too sure how i feel abt the final product tbh, kinda wanted it to be weirder. still, hope you enjoyed reading!! i'll try to post more often since im on summer vacay now, yippe!!

The way you wince when you stand up or sit down, how you squirm in your seat as you try to get comfortable, and how you toss and turn late into the night.

(That last one is the biggest pain in the ass, as it rouses him awake too. Still, his lips remained tightly sealed about it; it would be rather cruel to bitch about that while you were already in pain.)

And now, he's sighing quietly as he watches you try to get comfortable on the couch. Tonight the two of you agreed to relax a bit and watch a movie, yet how can one truly relax if his darling is uncomfortable?

"Sweetheart, this is why I sleep in a fridge. Helps with the pain, y'know?" He drawls lazily, letting you move to lay on his chest.

"I'm not sleeping in the fridge, Ashveil. I don't care if it helps. It's cramped and then some in there, plus it has that freezer-burn stench." You smush your cheek into his chest, it's a little cold due to his usual place of residence, hence why you cuddle up closer to try and warm him up a bit.

"...A what stench? It does not smell, I make damn sure it doesn't y'know!" He scoffs, flicking your forehead lightly in mock revenge, "When did you get so cruel, hm? Your words can cut deep hun." He all but pouts, albeit you can tell that it's mocking, rolling your eyes at it playfully.

You can feel how his chest rumbles as he laughs at your antics, a little ironic with how much warmer it is than his body.

He lets out a sigh as he calms down, sighing again as he brushes a hand through your hair. The pair of you stay silent for a good while, focusing back on to the movie that was playing in the background for the past hour.

It's actually a rather boring movie, if you wish to get technical with it, the pacing is pretty crummy. It causes you to turn your attention back onto something much more of intrest, Ashveil, obviously.

Like many things in Planarcadia, this could be considered pretty funny too, no? To have who was once La Mancha, lazing about on your couch, questioning you on if you're in pain again.

Ah right. The pain.

Bumming around with loved ones must be some miracle cure, because laying here with him made you completely forget about how much you were hurting. It's nothing life-threatening, but still annoying to deal with. A dull, drumming ache that uses your spine as some sort of highway, shooting up and down with record speeds.

It's your turn to sigh now, albeit yours is more akin to a groan, as you press your face further into his chest. You can feel him hum, the vibrations are gentle and grounding, unlike the shockingly cold hands slowly creeping under your shirt and up your back.

"...m' bad..." their owner mutters quietly. You relax as you feel cold fingers start to rub soothing circles.

They're focused, precise. Deftly working to try and soothe the pain, even if just a little bit.

"...Here?" He presses down a little more firmly, increasing his efforts against the epicenter.

"Mm. Little higher..." He nods at your reply, doing exactly as your requested.

This is a simple, temporary solution. You're both pretty aware, this silent agreement based upon past experiences dealing with such pains. Yet, these moments of the past are why Ashveil knows that this gesture does bring comfort to the mind along with the bodys brief relief.

You feel him press a kiss to your temple, not really listening to his sweet nothings in your ear as you begin to drift off to sleep. At least for tonight, you need not toss and turn; as the monster under your muscle and skin has been temporarily quelled.

A/N ⋮ self-indulgenceeeee.... mmmm... goooshhhh if only i had a big, strong, handsome, bum ass detective to come rub my backkkkk.. 🤤