#scaeva

So many different insects in the garden (Scaeva pyrastri)

Nero:

While a man of many sensibilities and talents, he’s still more confused than if tossed head first into relics from the Crystal Tower when he wakes up, rolls over, and comes nose-to-back with one (1) passed out Warrior of Light. 

He’s no brute, pray mind, so there’s no way he’d throw them out of his bed. But he does groan. Loudly. And with much purpose. When they don't wake up, he settles in for what would either prove to be a great way to get them to murder him, or court him. 

He kisses at their neck and does his best to recite the entire first three pages of Garlond Ironworks’s employee manual in the sweetest of whispers as if playing at being lovers, waiting until they wake up. “While I’ve no recollection of the night, I’d say you certainly live up to your reputation─given the aches I feel are proof enough.”

Cid:

Despite his experience with amnesia, Cid nan Garlond has exactly zero ideas on how to handle what has to be the most stressful moment of his career, life, and budding relationship with the Warrior of Light. He stares at their ridiculous sleeping bose and scrubs a hand over his face. This is something he could handle after coffee and painkillers. 

He brews them a cup and leaves it on the counter, opting to search for their clothes same as the missing pieces of his own. When they wake, it’s with a shuffle of feet and a muffled “Hydaelyn’s tits, I drank too much.”

He waits until they’re within view to pick up the extra mug and ask, “So I take it neither of us remember, this time?”

Zenos:

He’s a hunter, born and bred for it, and yet he wakes to the Warrior of Light staring down at him with naught but sheets protecting either of their modesties. “Morning, your Imperial Highness. I’d say good,” they laugh, “but you don’t seem particularly pleased to see me.”

The vulnerability of being around his own self-declared prey without his armor on is disconcerting. The Warrior just reclines in bed, marks standing out against the curve of their throat like they’re not a vision of opulence and sensuality. They pay no mind to his discomfort in favor of stretching languidly and slipping from bed to collect their things. 

Among all his worryingly dangerous exploits, Nero has come to expect one constant variable in play: the Warrior of Light. They see no issue chasing him down between worlds, within voidgates, and even braving the fresh hell that is Omega’s experimental dimension. 

They like to check in with him and needle him for details. At first, he’d assumed them to want details for the sake of reporting back to Garlond (as if the man needed any further reasons to test laser jets and crystal-powered particle weaponry), but he’d come to pick up on their genuine interest when they’d respond to his snippy summaries with legitimate questions. He’d come to expect (and respect) their council.

Antōnius Iommi scaeva citharā canit | Fōns - CC BY-SA 3.0

scaeva, scaevae -

(m.) homō quī manuī sinstrae favet