chilchuck's mutt

You didn’t realize it at first, but Chilchuck liked to be praised. Everyone does, naturally. It’s always nice to be encouraged or considered useful. Marcille loved to feel smart, Laois liked knowing the most about monsters, Senshi knows all there is to know about cooking or dungeon living, and even Izutsumi was nicer after hearing she did well. Your whole team had their strengths. And your pick lock was no exception. But his reactions… were cute.

And Chilchuck didn’t like being considered cute. Or anything adjacent to that word. Which you knew and respected. Being one of the shorter races on height and life span has a plethora of issues. Downsides that he complained about often. And you tried really hard to ignore the growing affection you had for the half-foot. 

Tried to ignore the pout he had when he and Marcille had to eat something they didn’t want to. The grimace that would twist his face when Laios said something cringey. The way he scratched his face in his sleep. Little moments you catalogue for yourself and only yourself. 

If you were in the business of upsetting him you’d share these observations with Marcille. But she wouldn’t be able to keep it under wraps. Not only does he disapprove of inter-party romance, he could potentially change his behavior to avoid doing things that would make you feel that way. He was a secretive person, going as far as to lie about cheating on his wife to get your party’s half-elf to leave him alone. So it was better to play it safe, to watch from a distance and find simple joy in the little things. Like how he reacted to compliments. 

Thinking back to your first time experiencing a trap-room with them, you remember quite clearly the pride he took in his craft. The silence of your team as he worked. What stood out most to you though, was his dedication. He removed his outer layer of scarf and gambeson, his gloves, even his shoes. He was tall for a half-foot, and without the extra weight of his clothes and accessories, you could see his build better. Toned and lithe as he tip-toes around a room. When Marcille complimented the speed he had worked, he simply shrugged and said it was nothing. But you saw it, the tell tale signs of a blush on his ears and dusting his cheeks.

The second, when he was disarming a trap in the walls of a thin walkway they had to get across. It was the shortest path, but had the most risks, especially with party members as tall as Laois and wide as Senshi. There was no way to not accidentally touch any of the hidden triggers in a hallway so cramped. He worked quickly and efficiently. His tongue sticking out at particularly challenging sections. A red berry against his pale skin. His face pressed against stone walls as he reached his arm into places the rest of your party couldn’t see. It took a long time but he got it done. Again, the members of your party showered him in praise, in thank-you’s, and in warm smiles. 

It was like you could see the stress melt off his shoulders. See the vigor it filled him with to be appreciated like that.

It made you want to be the reason he glowed in that way. You had started to be more vocal in your appreciation of him. Sprinkling in praise here and there with the rest of your party. But you were greedy. Wanted to be the only reason he felt that way, just once. It was selfish and silly and difficult to do in a place like a dungeon. There was always another listening ear, some road-block or monster.  And so you had an idea. 

The night was just beginning to wind down. Dinner had been eaten, dishes washed up, and bedrolls laid out. When your party draws straws for watch duty, you keep your gaze fixed on Chilchuck’s hand. Eager to plan out your approach. Laios had pulled the shortest straw, so he started first.  And when Chilchuck bids on going after Marcille you’re quick to put your hat in to go after him. 

You can hardly sleep despite having three turns to cycle though before you can go. You were worried you’d miss your opportunity. Yet your eyes get heavy and your breath evens out. Luckily, you’re up before it’s your turn. The sound of threads being pulled taut over and over again is a quiet reminder of your mission. In the lamp light, you can see him seated against a wall. His gaze fixed on repairing a torn shirt. You watch the way his fingers move deftly, the practiced motion coming to him easily. The way the needle glints orange from the fire. 

You sit up, sleep an ache in your muscles. 

“You’ve still got time to sleep, I’ll let you know when it’s your turn.” His voice is quiet to avoid waking the others. 

He looks up when you don’t say anything, but you're not looking at his face. Your gaze is fixed on his hands. They slow the longer you stare. “Sorry, it’s just soothing to watch you work.” That’s when you look up at him. 

“What?” He’s caught off guard. 

“Your craftsmanship is always impeccable. You really have an eye for detail.” You’re yawning now, stretching your arms as you stand. “Do you mind if I sit with you? Just feel like I could learn a thing or two.” 

“Um, sure.” He sounded more surprised than hesitant. The tell-tale blush starting already. Alas, he’s always wary. Proven by how he makes space for you to sit next to him but still eyes you suspiciously.  “What are you trying to learn?”

Well, you didn’t actually plan for this part. And you have to scramble. 

“You’re always sewing things up for the party…” quick, think. Think! “I’d like to help out, since you already do so much.”

"At least someone notices,” he half mutters to himself. “it’s fine, I don’t mind doing the repairs.” He sees your face fall and backtracks. “But! I’m sure it wouldn’t hurt to have an extra set of hands.”

“You’re starting to sound like Senshi,” you joke. And to your surprise, he laughs. 

“He pisses me off sometimes,” he has a content grin on his face, contrasting his words. 

“He means well.” You don’t have to say it, Chilchuck knows. 

“Sometimes that pisses me off more.” And this time you laugh. Your shoulder bumping into the half-foot beside you as you try to keep it quiet. But you don’t move away. It’s with a flutter in your heart that you notice he doesn’t either. You try to stay impossibly still. Worried that if he noticed that he’d pull away. He was warm. Warmer than you thought he’d be. Or maybe that was you becoming overly aware of where your bodies connected.

It’s silent for a bit. Again, the sound of a needle popping through fabric followed by the wishy washy whisper of thread being pulled taut falls into a rhythm. You’re a bit startled when he speaks, “This is called a blanket stitch.” His voice sounds so nice as a whisper. A slight gravel in it.

“Huh?” So eloquent of you.

“The stitch I’m doing. It’s good to close edges. Not the most efficient, it’s a bit more visible than I’d like for these fixes to be,” he pauses to shift his work closer to you. And now your arms are almost flush. “But it’s a way to reinforce the fabric.” You watch carefully as he pinches two sides together, poking into panels with his needle. He works quickly, like he always does. And you struggle to follow his movements.

“So you don’t pull the string all the way, you sew into that gap first?”

“Yeah, it catches on itself and makes the edge that way.” You only hum in response, eyes getting heavy again. This was soothing.

“I think so too.” Chilchuck’s hands pause.

“Hmm?” You’re wide awake again. 

“It’s a good way to wind down.” Oh, you must have said that out loud. He laughs softly, “you should go back to bed.”

You're tempted to. The softness of your bedroll calls to you. Still, you stay. “You’re warm.”

He sighs, and you worry you’ve overstepped at first before he speaks. “Izutsumi says the same.” You’re both looking at her sleeping in his bedroll. Her limbs sprawled out in a way that only she could find comfortable. When you turn back to him, you see that he’s looking at her in such a content way. You half wonder if she reminds him of his daughters when they were young. A vision forming in your mind of three small girls crawling into bed with their parents. 

“Why’d you learn to sew?” You were taking a chance with this question. He wasn’t one to share personal details, but this night started because you were feeling greedy. So you delve deeper. “It’s a good skill to have, you have so many.” Hoping the compliment could ease the sharing of details for him.

“You’re not without your pluses too ya know.” He’s looking at you when he says that. “You’re a valuable member of this team.” Your face heats. A deep deep heat must be working its way up your neck. 

“Th-thank you.” It’s not that you weren’t used to compliments of your own, but Chilchuck doesn’t hand them out lightly. 

You want to ask him what they are but you don’t get the chance. “It’s cheaper to fix things than to buy new ones. And it’s lighter on packing too.” It’s a fair response, though you were hoping for a story about making something for his daughters or fixing torn dresses. Imagining him being a father in those ways warmed your heart. Not that you think he’d ever admit to doing that without persistent bugging from Marcille. “I’m surprised you don’t know how to, seems like every adventurer has to do it at some point.” 

“I do know how to sew, just basic things though.” He keeps working while you talk. “Figured it’d be good to get a refresher from someone who does it so well so often.” A part of you wondered if you were laying it on too thick. Yet another part is thoroughly enjoying sitting next to him like this. Watching him work at an angle you’ve never had the chance to view from. Seeing the way he sits straighter with each compliment or word of praise. There’s a hiss of pain from the half-foot before he drops the cloth and thread. He had pricked himself with the needle. 

“Guess I’m not used to someone watching me do this stuff.” He wets the tip of his finger with his tongue before wiping it away gingerly on his pant leg. 

“The whole team watches you take care of traps?” Your confusion is fair. What he truly meant was that he wasn’t used to being distracted this way. When you turn to rifle through your own pack he’s surprised to see you pull out two small jars and a scrap of gauze. 

“It’s not worth bandaging.” He says it a bit softly as you gesture for him to give you his hand. Before he realizes what he’s doing you’re rubbing the sore digit with some ointment. 

“We need our picklock to take care of his hands.” He nods at first, taking note of how you suddenly are avoiding his gaze.

“You know, if it was serious Marcille could always heal it.” It’s a mix of confusion and amusement in his voice. 

“I know.” You give his hand a squeeze before letting it go, trying desperately to ignore giddiness at such an intimate moment. You pass him the second jar. “This is a lotion, your hands are very dry. It’ll be easier to hurt yourself with them like this.” 

He hums a thanks as he starts to gather his things, his shift is over. He pockets the lotion before standing. “Well, did you learn anything?”

“Yeah, I think so.” You smile at him while he gets settled.

He was tired and certain that he’d fall asleep right away. Still, when he lays in his bedroll, his hand goes to the jar. Rolling it around in his palm he thinks to himself that maybe he had learned something too. 

╚═*✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*.·:·.✧-✦-✧.·:·.*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧*═╝