The
strangest thing about being—about being
in love,
Evrard supposed, was how soft it made you. Oh, he was no stranger to
the feeling of a heart melting in his chest (over
a sick orphan, over wounded knights returning from battle, over a
fledgling pigeon),
but it had never felt personal; never in his life had he looked at
another person and felt an emotion calve off his heart like ice from
a glacier.
Behind
him Busari rolled over, one arm landing heavily across Evrard’s
midsection. He winced slightly, but it was far too late and he was
too tired to move. They had had a very
long day. Even with almost a dozen people and a Dravanian, moving an
entire free company’s worth of building supplies into place took
time, and his shoulders still hurt. Busari had rubbed them for him
earlier, which had helped, but all his muscles felt like lead. And
he must
be in the same shape, but never once has he made it known, and says
he is fine! Ridiculous,
stubborn man…but he
is so good to me. So good…Halone, how did I deserve him?
A
quiet rumble sounded next to his ear; he sighed in answer. I
don’t. But for some reason…he had clothes and skills, he could
have so easily left and found fortune as an adventurer, but he
stayed. He stayed and he loves me—me! The
thought still made something float within him, and he grinned to
himself. It had taken far too long, but the day Busari had taken his
hands and told him he was loved
had etched itself in his mind. And then he’d told him that he
wanted to join him on his mission, and then they’d bought a house,
and now…
Now
they would have a life. Together. The idea of it made him want to
melt into the mattress forever.
I
have to do something for him.
The thought jarred him awake, and he stared unseeing at the potted
plant on the nightstand as his mind fizzed. It wasn’t nearly the
time for Starlight, and they hadn’t had anything like an
anniversary yet, and he—gods, he had no
idea when
Busari’s nameday was. He
was a terrible lover. But
if anyone deserved a gift with some meaning to it, it was the Xaela
who’d managed somehow to take possession of his heart. He rolled
over to stare at the ceiling instead.
Plants?
No. Spears? No. He has entirely enough of those.
The thought of his company
made the room suddenly feel even warmer than it was; besides which,
he knew damned well he wasn’t that
good. Not
as good as Busari deserved, anyway.
Hmm.
Something
he’d heard—well, read—from Enkhtuya tickled his memory,
and he frowned. There’s
a drink the xaela make, very hard to get here…oh, damn it, and what
was it called? Fermented mares’ milk…
Ah.
Kumiss. That would do for a present. He
wondered if it came by the keg.
The
thought of Busari’s smile at
seeing things from home was
enough to make him grin foolishly into his pillow until sleep claimed
him.
ffxivswarm 