#sanctummiles

He meant to ask one of the healers about Guerrique's state of being after the encounter with his brother rather than the knight himself, because, even though Zephirin wouldn't admit to it, nor make it overly obvious throughout the past days, he had avoided the other since the incident during their spar earlier in the week.

However, with how things had been for Zephirin as of late, it didn't surprise him that the healer firmly encouraged him to visit the knight instead of simply telling him what he wanted to know and allowing him to leave. On top of it all, he also thrust a glass of ... something into his hand. A mixture that, once drunk, was supposed to help with the pain, apparently and which he was now to bring to the other. Of course.

Just his luck.

A few moments later he walked into the room Guerrique was resting in. Zephirin closed the door behind him with his free hand before he made his way to the bed. He held the glass out to the other knight.

"For the pain," he explained curtly, taking in the other's appearance, the bruise that stretched across part of his face most of all.

@sanctummiles sent: “it reminded me that I'll never truly know you.” @ zeph from Guerrique? // sanctummiles

quotes that broke me starters

The statement catches him off guard, the very way it is said conversationally, nonchalantly, as if Guerrique has long since accepted it as unshakeable fact and it only recently has been brought back to his attention.

It halts Zephirin's steps, the two of them just on their way back to the Vault from a mission just outside city bounds. The evening air puts a familiar and yet despised chill to his form, his long ears ache with the cold and his cheeks are colored with a mild flush because of it, too.

"Why would you want to?" He asks with his brows deeply furrowed, confusion clear in bright green eyes.

He curls his fingers into his palms, forming fists against the cold, hands numb with it. "You already know more of me than any other." Far more than he should have let him see, of his weaknesses, insecurities. It never fails to tighten his throat to think on what Guerrique knows of him, of his failings, having fallen for him being the most severe of all.

he has power untold now, yes;  but he cannot help but think he lost himself in the process.  more than himself,  even.  “ haldrath  ━, “ the name comes out on a shuddering breath,  raw and nigh unbidden.  he wonders where he is now.   whether he will ever see him again.  the way this battle is going, it seems unlikely he will walk out of it with his life;  but he no longer fears death.  no,  at this point he would even welcome it. 

@sanctummiles sent: Guerrique rests his head atop Zephirin's, standing behind where he is sat, and silently loops arms around his shoulders.

It was late.

The halls of the Ward's quarters were quiet and dark during this time and Zephirin should have made his way from the common room down the hall to his own an hour ago, and yet he remained seated were he was, idly staring into the hearth, watching as the fire was slowly dying down into nothing more but ember.

There was a reason for his ...hesitance to return to his own room and it had nothing to do with restlessness, or a lack of fatigue, and everything with his slowly waning selfcontrol, for between this room and his own there lay another... one he had more and more trouble passing with every night he spent here.

By now, weeks had gone by since he last shared a bed with Guerrique to help him find the rest he needed to overcome the worst of his withdrawal. The marauder was back on his feet and after it was apparent that he would be fine on his own they simply stopped seeking eachother out.

Zephirin's brow deeply furrowed. It were but a few nights they spent together at the time and yet Zephirin found he had become somewhat dependent on the other's warmth to find the sort of restful sleep he hadn't had in years.

Sometimes he thought he saw something in Guerrique's eyes when their paths crossed during the evenings they both spent here. A moment of hesitance in his movements down the hall, in which Zephirin thought he was about to ask him to follow him, or in which he expected Zephirin to ask instead, but neither of them did. The only things exchanged then were wishes of a good night and then they'd carry on until their respective doors clicked shut behind them, leaving them alone. Apart.

As they should be.

Zephirin did take note the other's arrival, his footsteps pulling him from his thoughts as they drew closer, but still, he expected nothing in terms of conversation for the exact same reason they did not speak of what had happened when Guerrique was at his weakest.

However, arms encircling him came as a surprise, as did the resting of the other's chin atop his head. But instead of tensing up Zephirin felt himself lean into the touch almost immediately, melting into the source of warmth with a small almost inaudible sigh. He closed his eyes and took a deeper breath then, the other's scent faintly registering in his nose. It shouldn't be as familiar as it was. He should not be able to so clearly pick it out.

The offer -- or the question, was clear. As was the answer. We can't.

He thought fiercely, even as he raised a hand to rest fingertips atop the sleeve of Guerrique's shirt. The touch was gentle at first and lasted far longer than it he should have allowed before he curled his fingers around Guerrique's wrist and tugged at it, silently dreading how easily he was let go by the other when prompted.

Zephirin withdrew swiftly and stood, leaving himself no room for hesitation even though he already missed the warmth that had come with the brief embrace. He didn't meet Guerrique's eyes as he rounded the sofa to head for the door.

It irked him, he told himself, that Guerrique had begun to enter his quarters without announcing himself first. The door slid open with nary a sound, which Zephirin didn't notice as he was in the process of pulling his shirt over his head after a long day, leaving him only in the trousers he had chosen to wear throughout.

He reached for the shirt he used for sleeping in order to quickly change into it, but the chill of the air of his room barely had time to fully register for the Archimandrite before Guerrique stepped closer and Zephirin felt the warmth of familiar hands upon his person.

"Guerrique," Zephirin's tone had a warning edge to it, one he noticed the marauder had long since taken to ignore when they were alone. It seemed this time would be no exception, and even though Zephirin did not turn towards him, he did throw him a halfhearted glare over one shoulder, only to then let out a shaky exhale as roughly textured fingertips wandered along the edge of a scar. A distant memory came to surface because of it. An explosion. A piece of wood. Weeks and weeks of recovery after...

"What is your fascination with these," Zephirin asked referring to the scars as he turned his head to look down at the shirt in his hand, trying to hide the slight flush on his cheeks caused by the near reverent touch to his skin.

Normally he was not fond of any disturbance of his time off, but he still simply looked up at Guerrique for a moment before he marked the page of the book he was reading and put it away.

"...Alright."

It spoke volumes about the trust he put into Guerrique these days that the Archimandrite didn't even think to question the other's words. Or mayhap it was the fact that he had been in particularly good spririts today, for the whole week even, starlight season tended to ease his woes. Everything seemed warmer, easier, too, even within Ishgard.

Zephirin would even go as far as say that he was relaxed for once, enough so that he kept smiling to himself as he enjoyed the quiet afternoon with a cup of hot chocolate and a good book.