#souldanced

“It was hardly noticeable until moments ago,” not a lie, but a cold truth - Veritas was so submerged in his own sleep, he hadn't felt the tug of the sheets as Aventurine made to his feet, to paddle along to the living room. “I rolled over. You weren't there.”

Dismay was poignant in his tone. Veritas wasn't always forthright with his affections, but the implication was there: once I noticed, I couldn't return to sleep. Then Aventurine opened wide his embrace, and with a puff of air, Veritas wordlessly accepted the peace-offering. More-so on the couch than on Aventurine, chest-to-chest, knee on either hip, Veritas breathed a breath he hadn't been aware of holding.

“In venturing for the opposite, you achieved your feared result. Most times, stasis is better than running out into the battlefield. Given the sheer amount of blankets scattered about, this area isn't far off from such a scene. As you know, I've grown rather used to your presence... that, and it seems you need a reminder: I wear a sleep-mask to bed.”

Bringing his arm to snake around Aventurine's waist, he squished his cheek against the plane of his collarbone contently.

“Perhaps it would do you well to pick out the next living room arrangement. Of course, it won't be without my critiques.”

Revali's wing kept her upper half mostly dry, though her shoes and the the bottom of her skirt are soaked. He wasn't so lucky. He looks absolutely miserable. She sits down beside him and takes off her boots, then peels off her wet socks, setting both of them aside to dry while they wait.

Then she takes off her shawl, turning to him. "We can dry your feathers off with my shawl. It's only a little damp." Considering he kept her mostly dry, she feels it's only fair to try and return the favor.

She's never liked hospitals. With the smell of sterile surfaces and the bright lights, it was not a welcoming place. One might think as the child of an automail mechanic, such things wouldn't dare cause her distress. But this was all the more reason for her to feel sorrow.

She'd admit that when Aurora first told her that the Colonel and her dearest Second Lieutenant were injured on a mission, Amelia's response was to demand tearily to be taken to the hospital right then and there. But she was swayed otherwise by the Major, who told her quite frankly her emotional state would only make things worse.

So, she took a deep breath, waited for Aurora to return from her own visit, then took the car to head right back to the hospital alone.

She's been standing in the hall, back against the rail, with her arms full of flowers for about five minutes now. What was she to say? She's never been the best at comforting people. (and from what Aurora's told her, it was not good.)

The woman sighed. Alright, no more of this waiting around, just go in. She turned to the door, which was left slightly ajar, and slowly opened it.

"Knock knock," Her voice called from the doorway like a melody. Amelia peered in from the doorway, looking at Jean. Oh, what a relief; he didn't seem too bad for wear apart from his legs. (She was expecting bruising, deep lacerations, and overall more physical damage than what appeared.) && it seems the Colonel wasn't around, which was to their benefit, she supposed. So, she tries to smile, "Hey you. Can I come in?"

It wasn't often that Niamh visited the Rito village. She tended to stick to the coastlines, near the sea, but it was nice to travel inland sometimes. She'd bundled up, a scarf wrapped around her neck, to try and ward off the cold. The mountains certainly weren't the warm beaches she was used to.

❝  Five hours without you was excruciating. Let’s never part ways for that long again. How I’ve missed your warmth, your softness, your comfort… ❞ Face nestled on a certain someone’s chest, he lovingly traces circles on skin. Suddenly Aventurine startles, glancing upward, visibly surprised. ❝  Veritas! There you are! How long have you been there? Don’t you know it’s rude to eavesdrop? ❞ He jests. Sort of.

Aventurine illustrated affection in a myriad of ways. Drowning one in gifts (response triggered by trauma; an intense fear of abandonment and thus urge to make one's self appear useful... even if Veritas didn't hurt for cash), actions (another trauma response: less detail needed), and lastly: selfcare. Not in regards to Veritas himself, however Aventurine oft ran him a bath, cozied his bed prior to nighttime, or allowed him serenity to complete a highly anticipated page in his book (in terms of discovering more holes for Veritas to poke in theories, anyway).

This was one of the ways not brought about by unfortunate circumstances, or littered here and there in a history of pain. This one was unique to Aventurine, and frankly, he was no stranger to perversion around ... this specific area. Veritas was thankful he forwent his usual robe for dressing in a hurried manner, for reasons he could only believe the Aeons gifted him foresight on. Had he not, his wish of another book accomplished would've been dashed long before it took off.

“Excuse me?”

Referring to his chest as a separate entity was a new one, though.

“My apologies; it's difficult not to eavesdrop when it's your ear being bent to listen.”

For all his tenacity, a shiver rippled down his spine.

“Damned gambler. Couldn't you warm up your hands before thrusting them upon me?”

Still inclined to finish his book however aware that, once set in place, Aventurine's seal was unbreakable... thus, thrusting his book into Aventurine's unsuspecting chest (a mirrored image Veritas believed amusing), Veritas bent, braced his forearms 'round the crooks of Aventurine's knees, and lifted up, up, up.

“If you're so intent on busying yourself, might I suggest a place to sit instead? Where we both can focus on what's truly important to one another.”

Sprightly awakenings were a regularity.

No one needn't be a scholar to decipher the myriads of agony Aventurine had endured. Restlessness was a commonality for each and all, feet untucking the sheets, arms flailing about, sputters... in the short time they had shared bedding, Veritas had witnessed most, if not all, of these occurrences. Never did he awaken him with a start, always with sensible motions, a palm eased along the column of Aventurine's spine, a hand reaching for his; clammy, twitching.

Veritas was aware, too much so, this was the reasoning behind a lack of stays after curious activities, the hesitation, springing upright before the threat of sleep could descend upon him. One of Aventurine's many fears, and as with each of them: locked away and cast aside, buried beneath layers of foliage. This one - less guarded, blissfully. Each would be dug up, water eroding away the vegetation in time, enough for Veritas to ask, to grasp them in his own hands, not readied to fix, no... but to make anew, to let courage blossom from which terror once stood.

It would take decades. Veritas ventured that his life-expectancy was higher than that of most, anyway.

When Aventurine awoke this time, there was little resistance. Panic, of course, an underlying thing that burrows through the thinnest of materials to make its presence be known. Panic was Aventurine's most familiar friend, so: the visitation was expected. Veritas soothed his own breathing, kept one hand at Aventurine's hip, the other tightened - barely noticeably, surely - on his book. In one breath, out. With each exhale, Aventurine followed physically, however the goal strived for...

A sigh, expelled against the warmth of his neck. Thank the Aeons.

“Rest,” Veritas murmured, lips pressed against a golden curl, formed only by sleep. “You've a long day tomorrow, and I needn't hear another word of your complaining.”

It would be heard sooner rather than later. Though Veritas opted for stealth, it wasn't so easy transporting Aventurine from couch to bed, roused at the lightest of footfall, the slightest brush of wind. It couldn't be helped, but for now, Aventurine could achieve something he hadn't been granted before:

It’s  it  the  blithe  way  he  says  it  that  abrades  upon  Gepard’s  nerves,  has  the  vergals  blue  of  his  eyes  narrowing  upon  his  visage  with  slithers  of  exasperation.  of  all  trials  and  tribulations  he  could  endure  was  relying  on  Sampo  Koski  so  wholly  not  something  he  could  have  ever  anticipated.  Their  chase  was  a  recital  so  familiar  that  easing  into  came  like  breathing,  his  gloved  fingers  snaring  around  the  cuffs  hanging  pendulous  from  his  belt  and  the  ever  elusive  criminal  just  a  hair  beyond  his  reach.  The  Captain  also  wasn’t  a  stranger  to  the  snow,  the  endless  white  that  encompassed  much  of  jarilo  vi,  turbulent  storms  that  whipped  across  his  vision  and  tore  at  his  skin.  What  he  had  not  anticipated  was  being  effectively  immured  in  any  way  alongside  him,  his  baritone  grating  when  scoured  against  his  mind,  trying  desperately  to  determine  what  course  of  action  was  best  to  take.