Chapter Text
Coen was not back yet.
Ambrus stared out of the cave in which he currently resided. A blizzard raged outside; he could not tell where the ground ended and the sky began. The world was swept up in a whirlwind of snow and ice, stark white as far as the eye could see (which wasn't very far in this weather). The wind howled relentlessly, not unlike a trapped animal, and it all nearly made Ambrus remember the feeling of being cold. He sat just within the mouth of the cave, trapped inside by the waning sunlight. He itched to go outside, to search for Coen himself, but he'd be burned up in an instant if he set foot into the blizzard. All he could do was wait.
The two had journeyed out into the mountains from the Uriashi village two days ago, as Coen had wished to search for more sacred sites around the valley. Why the man insisted on entwining himself even further with witchcraft, Ambrus had no idea, but he had had little choice but to tag along. He sighed and stood up, peering out uselessly into the raging storm outside, looking for some sign of the foolish dawnwalker. The blizzard had hit suddenly, so Ambrus couldn't exactly blame Coen for heading out into the mountains, but it didn't mean he had to be happy about it. The last thing Ambrus wanted was to spend his precious time scouring the snowy slopes for Coen's frozen corpse. There was nothing he could do for the man if it got to that point, anyhow, given the daylight faintly illuminating the thick carpet of snow.
The soft crunching of footfall interrupted Ambrus's exasperated musings, and he turned his attention back to the raging storm outside. A faint, stumbling figure emerged from the depths of the snowy haze, puffs of hot breath cutting through the icy air. Ambrus strode as close to the cave entrance as he dared.
"Coen?"
There was no response. However, as the figure got closer, Ambrus could make out black hair, then a scarred face, and finally Coen came staggering into full view. Ambrus stood rigid in the cave mouth and glared out at the other man, unable to do anything but watch as he struggled through the ocean of snow building at his feet. Ambrus's hands twitched at his sides, and he willed himself not to reach out and pull Coen to safety, and perhaps shake him senseless for his recklessness.
At last, Coen lurched forwards into the cave, met Ambrus's eyes in a panic, and then collapsed in a heap at his feet. Ambrus shut his eyes and sighed. "Coen." He nudged him with his foot. He got a meek groan in response.
With an even heavier sigh, Ambrus knelt at Coen's side and rolled him over so that he could see his face. He was unusually cool to the touch, and if Coen had been a vrakhir at this moment, Ambrus would not have found this so concerning. Coen eyed him warily — as warily as he could while he struggled to keep his eyes open — and Ambrus found that the mans eyes were dilated.
"Wh… Ambr's? Wha'r you doing..? I'm fine, s'fine, just…"
Slurred speech. Excellent. Ambrus did not dignify this with a response. He hooked an arm around Coen's torso, another around his legs, and lifted him with only a little effort. He was shivering uncontrollably. Ambrus set Coen down on a bedroll towards the back wall of the cave, away from the harsh weather, and got a proper look at the man. Upon closer inspection, Coen's skin was paler than normal, looking as lifeless as he did in his vrakhir form, and his cracked lips were tinged a greyish blue.
"Coen, do you know where you are?" Ambrus asked curtly. Coen looked around drunkenly, and then back to Ambrus with lidded eyes.
"Cave?"
"Very astute, Coen." Ambrus exhaled sharply through his nose, then stood and went to gather up what little firewood they had stashed away for their journey. As he set the firewood in place, he heard a shuffling behind him, and turned to see Coen sitting upright and staring determinedly at the bundle of wood. "No, Coen, stay there. You'll burn yourself."
"Nnn.. no I won't," Coen feebly scooted himself towards Ambrus, throwing off his blanket and scrunching up his bedroll in the process. "I c'n help…"
Ambrus snorted. "No, you cannot. Do not touch anything." Ambrus watched Coen in his periphery as he set about lighting the fire. Coen's eyes squinted shut as sparks flew from the flint and steel, the fire eventually catching alight. A warm glow flickered to life, dancing across the cave walls and casting the shadows of the two men across the floor. Ambrus turned back to Coen to find his teeth chattering violently, trembling arms wrapped around himself in an attempt to fend off the cold, despite the warmth of the fire. Ambrus furrowed his eyebrows and wrapped Coen's blanket back around his shoulders, and when the shivering didn't cease, stalked over to gather up his own blanket and threw that over Coen's shoulders too. Ambrus silently wondered how he'd ever made it through the winter as a human. Probably not by stumbling out into a blizzard, no doubt.
He wordlessly sat beside Coen at the fire, crossing his legs neatly beneath him, and looked over to the shivering man. Coen looked… cozy, if Ambrus ignored the blueish hue his skin had taken on, and the chattering of his teeth. He need only make it to nightfall, and he would be able to recover with the help of a blood vial or two. Ambrus just had to ensure the other man remained warm. As he observed the other man, he felt a heavy weight settle in his stomach, and a tightness coiled around his lungs and made him feel queasy.
Although Ambrus had a reputation to uphold as a charming and untouchable vrakhir, it did not mean he was oblivious to the cause of the butterflies that made their home in his gut. He was not ashamed to admit that Coen was nice to look at. The sharp angles of his jaw were offset nicely by his kind eyes and the soft curve of his mouth. Even with a mouth full of fangs, he was handsome. He was very well muscled, too, which had not gone unnoticed by Ambrus when he caught glimpses of Coen as he changed. Right now, though… He looked small. Ambrus fought the urge to lay a hand on Coen's trembling shoulder and pull him close, knowing his vrakhiri skin would do little to help him fend of the cold. Proximity and a common goal had made him care for the man, Ambrus supposed; it would be inconvenient if Coen died, nothing more.
A yawn sliced its way through Ambrus's thoughts, and he started as he realised he'd been staring. Coen, it seems, had not noticed, or simply didn't care; his eyes slid shut and he curled in on himself even further. Ambrus was nearly surprised that the man could make himself so small. "Coen?" He called out softly, to no avail. Coen swayed a little, and began to fall toward the stony floor.
Ambrus lurched forwards and caught Coen's bicep in his clawed hand, halting him in his descent. "Don't go getting yourself concussed now, you poor fool," Ambrus muttered as he pulled him upright. "You've caused me enough trouble already today."
He stayed like that for a moment, watching Coen's head loll forward as he held him in place. What on earth was he supposed to do with this man? Ambrus sighed and gently manoeuvred Coen until his head was resting in his lap, then leaned back on his hands and stared resolutely into the fire. Coen sniffled and shuffled a little, as if trying to get comfortable on the hard floor, and smacked his lips. If it were still beating, Ambrus's heart would have stuttered.
Maybe his care for Coen was a little more than just forced proximity, then. Ambrus sighed and looked down at the mop of black hair splayed in his lap, and noted that it was still tied back into a knot. It looked uncomfortable to sleep in. Ambrus furrowed a brow and got to work on undoing the hair tie. Once it was out, he carded his hand through Coen's hair, smoothing out the bump left from having his hair tied up for days on end. Coen leaned into his hand, seeming to melt under Ambrus's gentle touch. He gently ran his claws across his scalp and through his hair, occasionally brushing it back whenever a stray piece fell into Coen's face. The colour was slowly returning to his skin, the ceaseless shivering finally easing.
Ambrus felt a sharp twinge in his chest as he realised he had never seen Coen look so at peace. His mouth was relaxed into a subtle pout, his lips slightly parted. His usually clenched jaw had loosened, softening his face a little. The near permanent crease between his eyebrows had smoothed out. He looked younger like this. Happier.
Ambrus turned his attention back to the mouth of the cave. The wind still howled outside, and snow still coated every surface in a thick blanket, but the sky had darkened considerably. As if on cue, Coen shifted around in Ambrus's lap. His nails grew into sharp claws, and as his eyes fluttered open, they had shifted to a stark white. Coen blinked a few times and lifted his head a little, as if trying to figure out where he was. As he turned to look up at Ambrus, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment, and he bolted upright and all but scrambled away from him.
"Did you enjoy your nap, Coen?"
"Uh… yeah, thanks," Coen mumbled, looking pointedly toward the ground and rubbing the back of his neck. Ambrus simply watched him and handed him a vial of blood, which Coen promptly drained. The tiredness around his eyes dissipated and any traces that the blizzard had left on him quickly melted away. "Thank you for helping me, Ambrus."
"You're lucky you got back when you did. Any longer and I would have had to spend the night digging your corpse out from the snow." Ambrus huffed and set about extinguishing the fire; they'd have no need for it now that Coen was vrakhir once more.
"Aw, you'd really dig me up Ambrus? That's sweet of you," Coen said with a teasing lilt. "I must be growing on you."
Coen was right, unfortunately. Ambrus kept his back turned to the man, ensuring that his face did not betray his thoughts.
"In your dreams, Coen."