#lear writing

Self improvement was one thing Lear never slacked on, not that he slacked on much to begin with, honestly. But through all his years of studying psychology and sociology, the importance of working on your own faults and soothing your fears had been hammered in and he wasn't going to try and convince himself his reactions in the last few days were not signs he needed to sit down and school himself once more.

So he had pulled out all his old journals - they had been stored in the Silvermoon bank when he stopped by the city after the boot from Dalaran - and all his new ones and set to reading. It was an odd process, analyzing his own feelings and misgivings; writing down what he should do, instead of a client. Even trying to read the journals like they were some artifact he had unearthed didn't unseat the feeling of strangeness… would his biases change how he would instruct himself? Probably. Did he want them to? … No, no he did not.

He spent hours - at least - pouring over those eight journals; all laid out on the grass around him in the woods as he jotted down notes and mumbled to himself. 

His lack of sexual experience makes him nervous in such situations, waning confidence outside of studies and emotions, over worried as of late, needs better ways to communicate wishes and wants.

As he closes the last journal and carefully stacks them all, he sighs, shoulders drooping. More things to fix and work on than expected. Two things to improve, he had been ready for. But four? That felt like so much more than he could handle… 

He would handle it. He would and nothing would stop that… he wanted, he needed to work on this. For the sake of maintaining a healthy relationship with Sath and Ris... for the sake of staying healthy, himself.

The question brings Lear pause, stalling his string of practiced motions, a trained sequence. He wipes sweat from his brow and rubs his eyes, peering at Rhadris with a frown.

"Like… a sword? Or did you have something else in mind?"

The warlock smiles, inclining his head, "Sword, that is what you are best with, right?" There's an amused glint in his eyes and Lear glances away as a flush takes to his face. If anything, Rhadris could just flirt his enemies to death.

"The least I can do is try. Come here," he taps the tip of his sword against the dirt at his feet. "First things first, I'll show you how to hold it."

The plate Lear had been washing falls from his hands, clattering against the bottom of the sink as he whips around to face the guilty and sheepish Rhadris standing behind him.

Waking up with Sath gone and Rhadris still asleep next to him wasn't really abnormal, but when Lear makes it to the kitchen, he can't help but be surprised by the flowers on display. Carefully, he pulls the note off the stem of a blue flower, reading it slowly as a lovestruck smile takes to his face.

Oh Sath... you are sweet some days.

Lear had been a bit concerned when he had come home (admittedly very late) to the sounds of someone moving around the house. Even when he called his lovers' names, no answer came. 

Nervously, he steps in to the hallway leading to their rooms, snapping his fingers to call upon fire for a bit of light. The noise seems to startle something and suddenly a large shape is rushing at him; a flash of blonde hair and a tattoo'd arm -

Sath headbutts him, right in the stomach. The two of them fall to the floor with pained and uncomfortable grunts. After a few moments, all sounds from the brawler seem to cease.

When Lear peers down at the man on top of him, he's met with the vision of a sleeping face. Gently, he brushes hair from the man's face.

Lear wasn't quite sure if the words made him want to laugh or cry; but in the end, he was in no shape to do either. It was exhausting to breathe, even more so to talk; he had expended too much energy and taken too many hits in the - admittedly foolish - fight he had lept head-first in to.

Making plans was easy, putting them to work was much harder; Lear knew that by now. He had spent most of the morning (a true surprise that he was up in the morning) fussing over putting his plan to take Rhadris and maybe Sath (if the stars aligned) on a date. A good beach had been found, he had counted coins very carefully to buy good ingredients for the food he wanted to make as well as what he deemed an acceptable blanket to sit on. He was a bit too short on money to buy more than a few candles but they should be plenty.

Really he wasn't sure if either of them would enjoy what he had done but the coin and energy would be more than worth it if even one of them did. 

I wonder if they will be willing tonight? Maybe tomorrow? He sighs, staring down at the bags on the counter. In the end, as long as I do not incur wrath for it… it will be a success. He grins to himself, starting to clear the counter top, hide the groceries and other things he had bought.

Yawning, he rolls over and buries his face in the pillow to his left, taking slow breaths through his nose. Smelled like Sath… and Rhadris, but mostly the Brawler. It was a pleasant kind of scent, really, nice to wake yourself up with at the very least.

The mage stayed like that for a while, face down and slowly rousing himself, keeping an ear on the quiet house. Seems the two were out… Lear wondered absently if they would be home for dinner. Maybe they could make noodle soup, he hummed happily at the idea. He'd make it. He should start now, so it was done when they got home.

A good plan, but he would need to get out of bed for it…