"Absolutely not," Gungir’s voice is harsh—sharp, cutting through the air like a final verdict. There's no room for argument, no chance to sway him.

"Please, Gungir. Only once!”

The both of you stand at the end of a bed. Gungir’s chest is bare, yet yours is not. The sight of his powerful form, tense and crossed has you frowning. But the hunger from his naked skin clouds your mind and you can’t help but focus on anything but.

The rustle of the leaves is the only sound you hear apart from your managed shallow breath. The reindeer chews at the grass below meters from where you sit. You and Thyra had scared it away from its herd moments before and now, you crouch behind a tree attempting to catch your breath, though not loudly enough to scare the reindeer away and fan the flames Thyra had so desperately tried to restrain.

You take a breath that seems too ideal to relish, immediately eyeing Thyra. Her jaw clenches, tightening then releasing. She squints sharply at you, a warning to hush. You nod slowly, turning to the reindeer before she can notice the smile forming on the edges of your lips. It seems the reindeer doesn’t know you’re here. If it did, it would have run away by now. Before that can happen, Thyra lifts her bow, slowly and calculated, following the path she marked in her head to avoid rustling the leaves in front.

Her left palm faces you, open and waiting for an arrow. You take one out your quiver, making sure to hold the contact of her skin when handing it over. You feel a shiver run through her and she freezes, shooting you a glare before snatching the arrow a little too vociferously. Her breath is as shallow as yours was seconds ago and her hand shakes with the absence of the steadiness she always owns.

You can’t help but smile, the need to feast gone from your mind. As she focuses on her target, you lean towards her, the tension in her shoulders rising the closer you get. Just as she’s ready to release the arrow, you blow and the arrow goes flying, but not in the direction she had planned for. Both of you stare at the reindeer that takes this chance to run, but only you follow it with a proud smile on your lips.

Thyra huffs, standing. “Are you a crown idiot?”

Your smile grows. “This waiting was a bore.”

Her lips rise into a snarl, though her tone far from angry. “You’re a bore.”

You chuckle, walking towards her with a slow teasing step as she finds herself backed into a tree. “Oh stop! I might fall for you if you keep insulting me like that, I quite like it.”

Her brows fly up and her lips press together. She doesn’t say anything, but her shallow breath returns. You find yourself comfortable with your arms placed between her, the skin of your palms digging into the tough bark behind. You lean close enough to see the details of her eyes, she inhales, waiting for you to do the very thing you choose not to do.

“Are you going to kiss me or do I have to do it myself, Thyra?”

The sun had gone a long while ago. It had whispered its goodbyes with a promise of rising again in the morrow, leaving you without warm comfort or light to see the door you stand before. In this dark, it’s a daunting one. A perfect symbol of all the fears you didn’t wish to face, but here you are. You had gone over every edge of its wood, taking in the nicks and dents, the dried herbs that decorated the sides and the metal handle which had been tilted and stuck like that ages ago. By this time you raised your fist to knock more times than you could count, each time freezing moments before the flesh of your palm would meet with the door.

You will do it this time. A tenuous promise you make to yourself. Slowly, once more, you raise your hand, taking in a deep breath before swinging your fist forward. The door opens and you break the promise that was meant to be. Before you stands Gungir. It shocks you, though it shouldn’t. This is his dwelling. Still your breath escapes you and you mirror the shock in his eyes.

“Why are you here?” he asks first, not with ire nor with irritation, but with ready understanding. He never reacts the way you think he would or maybe you want him to react so. It could light the match and set the raging fire you hold inside yourself, forgiving you of any abuse you spew afterwards, but the match never lights and the fire always dulls.

You stare at him, your voice gone. His brows quirk downwards before releasing themselves along with the slightest tension in his shoulders. A realization passes through his eyes. It is now that you find the courage to speak. “I had no where to go.” You sound pathetic, even to yourself. You voice is hoarse and quieter than the gentlest breeze in summer. You cheeks burn. You hope he can’t see it.

He nods with a smile so small you’re glad you didn’t miss. “Come inside. I’ll get you some water.”