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The night was cold, but the fire was warm.
Guardian prodded at its embers with a sturdy stick and some of them came apart, shifting in lazy bands of disgruntled red from the disturbance and releasing little sparking motes like primordial fireflies to dance around the hunk of meat they had resting solidly over the flames, the poorly butchered remnants of one of the small deer that danced and clattered their pinpoint hooves over the weathered stone, watching from afar and, this time, a little too close.
It wasn’t one of the cooler months, though up here the nights were always cold like this, so the deer were fat and plentiful, and Guardian found the whole scenario quietly pleasing. It’d been too long since they’d come up North, with its solitude amongst the ruins and stars above like silent companions, what with so much to do back down at Central. Particularly with the drifter. Especially, Guardian thought with fond exasperation, with the drifter.
One day they’d get along with the rest of Central Town as well as they seemed to like Guardian.
Guardian shifted a log of their low, steady fire, and glanced up as it broke in two and fell a little lower amidst the ring of stones around it, blinking smoke and the imprint of the flames from their eyes, and nearly jumped out of their skin.
Out in the darkness, which by all means should have been the same empty black as before, were the fixed gleams of two unmoving eyes.
Now, this wouldn’t be an unusual sight, or at least not an especially concerning one, if Guardian had been most anywhere else. Wolves were quick to startle with a sword or gunfire, the otterfolk tended to misjudge the distance to stand from a light source to make themselves known, and Guardian wasn’t unused to company.
What was slightly concerning was that they had hauled themself and their deer up half the mountain and across a split in the stone that went so deep as to meet the sea below, and then up again until even the vultures’ timeworn ruins were just a distant thought, with the explicit intent of making camp where none of the locals or local beasts would think to bother them. Or even be able to physically reach if they did happen to think to.
Even then they might have expected a friendly vulture or two to drop by for the evening, drawn in by the irresistible scent of cooking food, but the vultures were anything but quiet even when they tried, which was a rarity in itself.
And still the eyes hovered bodiless in the black, only visible for the flickering, uneven orange light they reflected back. Unblinking, staring, and-
And unexpectedly short. If the being they belonged to came higher than Guardian’s shoulders, they’d have to be standing on tiptoe to get there.
There was only one person Guardian knew who fit that description, and had both the capability and incentive to creep around in the middle of the night, terrifying travelers.
“Drifter?” Guardian ventured.
The eyes blinked, the reflective light going out for a split second.
Of course.
Guardian’s first thought was to reflexively offer them some of their food and happy chatter to ward off the night’s chill, but the drifter hadn’t been quite as receptive to such social niceties as most in the time they’d known them, though admittedly they’d never been rude. They were only a standoffish sort, which, from Guardian’s own long-past history as a drifter, they could respect.
But then again, it was fairly cold up here tonight. Guardian’s cloak was worn and had been weighing down their shoulders for longer than they cared to remember, but the fur lining was fantastically warm when nights cooled down, and almost always enough to keep them comfortable.
Perhaps it was how low the fire had gotten, or the uneven, gusting breeze that pulled at the licking flames every so often and stole beneath even Guardian’s tightly wrapped cloak, but they couldn’t help but worry for the drifter. Guardian rarely saw them anything less than securely covered by both of their own cloaks, but they also rather thought their legs were a little slender to imply the rest of them to be in good condition for running around up North at night, when the temperature dropped so low that by morning there would be a thick frost over the stone, only to be melted even in these warmer months late in the day by the afternoon sun.
They couldn’t just leave them out there to freeze. The thought made Guardian’s own heart go cold. They would rather die themself than leave anyone alone to their death, but the drifter… Guardian saw themself in them, and not only for the obvious.
They weren’t an unkind person, only quiet. And a little odd.
They were still staring at Guardian.
Well, if they hadn’t left yet, might as well invite them in. Guardian quirked an unseen smile at them, fondness plucking at the corners.
“Would you like to come sit down? It’s cold out tonight.” Guardian offered, patting a little ways down the fallen stone pillar they rested on. They’d been intending to go to sleep once they’d eaten, but perhaps one-on-one was simply how Drifter preferred to talk.
Talk in a manner of speaking, of course.
Flecks of firelight in the night can only express so much, but to Guardian they seemed… Uncertain, now. Yearning, even. They tilted some on an angle, like the drifter had minutely cocked their head, but didn’t leave.
The lights flashed and the darkness shifted some, uncomfortably.
Ah, perhaps that, then.
“I’ve got plenty of food to share, if that’s what you’re worried about.” Guardian reassured them, trying very hard not to laugh and accidentally upset them. Of course their reclusive, mysterious drifter would be so motivated. They were only mortal, and everyone liked a good steak.
That got the eyes to move. They shifted around as though Drifter were shuffling their feet, hesitating, though Guardian couldn’t hear anything else that would suggest it. Then Drifter edged into the illumination of the firelight.
Guardian was glad they’d offered. Drifter was shivering. Not badly, but enough to unsettle their shoulders every few seconds. They had their cloaks drawn tightly around them and, now that Guardian could see what was exposed of their face, were staring at the fire in open longing.
So open that it was almost startling. Could they truly have been so reserved when they’d interacted with Guardian and the others back at Central? Or had they only been out in the elements too long, chilled to the bone and far too cold to be distant?
“Come sit down, I’ll add something to the fire. The food’ll be just about ready by now.” Guardian urged, reaching down for the little stack of scavenged wood they’d recovered to last the night. They selected a larger branch and snapped it in half, to a good length for the fire.
Drifter flinched at the sound, eyes flashing wide, but before Guardian could think to apologize they visibly steeled themself and rounded the firepit, nearly too closely as the hems of their cloaks caressed the heated circle of stone containing the flames, and sat down just inches from Guardian.
The drifter stared resolutely into the light, now playing across their face and illuminating the faint dusting of snow collected over their shoulders, though as Guardian watched to get some clue as to how to react their gaze drifted upwards to the cooking food and they had to snap it back down, like Guardian would take offense.
Guardian could understand playing it safe, but it was still an interesting difference from the vultures that made more common dinner guests, who had no reservations at all from asking, repeatedly, when the food would be ready. It was half refreshing, and half something odd that tugged at Guardian’s chest. Hm.
They tossed the branches into the fire and watched it burn up around them, and then turned their attention to the rough chunks of roasting deer.
Guardian was a little embarrassed for their butchering job, having just carved off the best cuts of meat and skewered them on the neatest branch of appreciable resilience they’d found, leaving the rest to the wolves to take care of, and hoped Drifter hadn’t found that before they’d found them. They’d been tired, and not especially keen on going through the whole process to keep the hide and all, and they’d mostly been banking on the wolves to hide the evidence.
Drifter freed their companion bot from the confines of their cloak and reached an arm out to tap at its screen, shivering picking up even in the wake of the fire.
“The deer down the mountain was yours?” They typed.
Like they could read minds, Guardian thought desolately. “Ah, yes. It was.” They said aloud.
“Good,” Drifter replied. “Was worried about wolves. Thought they were just very violent up here. And choosey.”
Guardian chuckled. “No, they’re just as they are everywhere else for the most part. Do you have a knife?”
Drifter gave them an intensely suspicious side-eye.
“I mean to eat from,” Guardian elaborated. “I’m not the sort to keep a fork and plate on hand, really, and I’m sure you don’t want to pass the spit back and forth.”
Now Drifter was looking at them very oddly indeed. It took Guardian a beat to realize why.
“The stick! The cooking spit.” They said hurriedly, that odd tight feeling in their chest blooming and clinging like algae in still water. “But if you don’t have one, you can use mine.”
Drifter looked at them a moment more, and then gave a strange rasping snort that trailed off into soft, rhythmic wheezing, their shoulders shaking from it.
Guardian was concerned for a moment before they saw that it looked very like a laugh. And indeed, when Drifter looked back up their eyes were narrowed with humor, practically glowing in the dancing light. They drew a knife from their belt, a truly old-fashioned one with a metal blade, and held it up jauntily to indicate they wouldn’t need Guardian’s.
Then their stomach rumbled and they froze in place, and it was Guardian’s turn to muffle partially-suppressed laughter behind a hand held over where their helm protected their mouth as Drifter glared up at them.
“Alright, alright, my apologies,” Guardian chuckled. “Take whatever you like, I’ll have the rest.”
Drifter made a face like that was one of the dumber things they’d ever heard Guardian say, which shifted to reluctant consideration when they allowed themself to look over how much meat Guardian actually had cooking. Not one of Guardian’s finer moments, actually getting the cuts off the deer, no, but they’d cooked up nicely, faintly charred around the edges and still dripping fat to sizzle down amongst the coals.
Drifter selected the thickest one and detached it neatly from where it had seared to the wood with a slice of their unexpectedly sharp knife and a deft stab to carry it, pulled down their cowl, and took a huge bite.
And abruptly hissed around their mouthful and retreated, blowing cooling air over the still steaming meat.
“It’s hot.” Guardian offered belatedly, though they hadn’t thought it would be necessary considering the food was still directly over the fire.
Drifter rolled their eyes and typed a message, one-handed, onto their bot’s screen. “I know that. Forgot. Usually don’t cook meat. Raw is better anyway.” They tacked on accusatorily.
Guardian huffed. “It’s not, but what you do with your own food isn’t any of my business. If you’re expecting to share mine, however, expect it to be cooked to a safe temperature.”
“But that’s so slow. Fresh is more efficient.” Drifter argued with half their attention, already diving back in and tearing at their chunk again as though the thirty seconds would make it palatable, fangs flashing white.
Guardian shook their head, at a loss, and pulled out their own knife to retrieve a piece for themself. They made a point of blowing on it first, listening with amusement to Drifter’s disparaging snort squeezed in between hurried mouthfuls, and then pulled off their helmet to take a measured bite of their own. It was good, to Guardian’s satisfaction and soothed pride, definitely one of their better attempts, probably helped by that it was a good, healthy deer.
Guardian chewed in peaceful ignorance for a few moments before they realized Drifter had stopped eating, and was staring at them with huge black eyes. Guardian made an inquiring noise around their mouthful.
Drifter swallowed what they were eating with difficulty, though Guardian privately thought they needn’t have bothered, and typed again at their bot. “You’re blueskin too?”
Ah. That.
“Yes, of course. Didn’t you know?”
“No. Does the town know?”
“I may have been a drifter, but that was long enough ago that I’m not too shy of showing my face on occasion, or if it’s especially hot out.” Guardian replied with a lopsided grin.
Drifter, however, was gazing at them in open wonder inconsistent with Guardian’s joking. “And they like you?”
“They’ve never expressed otherwise.” Guardian said honestly. A thought occurred to them, a suspicion. “Is that why you’ve been so reserved around town? You thought they’d dislike you?”
Drifter glanced away, frowning. “Of course. I’ve been many places. Met many people. Always. Thought that here, if anywhere, wouldn’t be a warm welcome. They carry weapons.” They took another huge bite of their food and chewed like they could work out their frustrations that way.
Guardian, to be fair, hadn’t been a drifter all that long, and when they had they’d never taken off their helmet in front of another. It had been very soon after-
After what they were leaving behind. They hadn’t wanted to speak, let alone expose their face. It would make sense that no one in the lands they’d crossed had known their origin, and that if they had been the sort to hold a grudge for such things, Guardian wouldn’t have known.
Perhaps they had been luckier than even they’d thought to find Central.
“If anyone has an issue with you, tell me. I’ll sort them out. They’re good folk, Drifter, and they’ve never been anything but kind to me.” Guardian assured them.
Drifter chewed thoughtfully, then typed their reply. “If you say so. I’d thought it strange that you kept trying to be nice. Thought you were going to try to kill me, actually. Glad I was wrong.”
“And you came and sat down anyway?” Guardian exclaimed.
Drifter shrugged. “I was hungry. And you’re right, it’s cold up here. Thought I could take you if you tried anything.”
Guardian gave a quiet, exasperated laugh. “Well, I’m glad as you are that you were wrong about my intentions. If you’d just walked off, I’d have been worried all night.”
“That I’d come back and kill you while you slept?” Drifter asked with an expression like they hoped Guardian knew better.
“That you’d go be hungry and cold in a corner somewhere and I’d find you frozen in the morning.” Guardian admitted with a small smile to soften how genuinely terrible it was to imagine.
“I wouldn’t die.” Drifter wrote with a concerning degree of certainty, turning to look them full on with those wide-dark eyes Guardian so rarely saw outside of a mirror. “Don’t worry about me. I should worry about you, letting just anyone eat your food and share your fire. Ridiculous. What if I really had been trying to kill you?”
Guardian’s smile widened, became more sincere. “I don’t think you’d do that.”
Drifter narrowed their eyes a moment, like they were considering being contrary for the sake of it, then relented, reaching back over the fire to scrape off another hunk of meat. “I wouldn’t. But someone would. Someday your relentless decency is going to kill you. I guess I have to make sure it doesn’t.” They wrote casually, biting a hunk of gristle off from their chosen morsel.
“Do you?” Guardian laughed, finishing off their own and wiping their knife clean in the sparse grass growing up around the pillar they sat on.
“Yes. I owe you that, at least, for the company. And the food.” Drifter decided.
Guardian hummed through another smile, though the first had never actually faded away, and it came out a little fonder than they’d anticipated. “I appreciate it. Let me know if there’s any other basic necessity you’ll pledge protection for that I haven’t covered yet.”
“Honestly, I think you’ve got the whole set.” Drifter wrote without an ounce of irony. “Think about it. I live in your house, I’m eating your food, so unless you’ve been knitting me a secret scarf or something, I think you may have it all.”
Guardian thought it might be the wrong time to inform them that they had, actually, been crocheting them a sweater to wear under their cloaks when it got cold. Guardian was a person that worried easily.
So instead they hummed again, this time in unconvincing agreeance, and took a bite of their food to cover it up.
Drifter squinted suspiciously at them but let it slide, and together they spent a comfortable time polishing off nearly everything Guardian had prepared. And it was a very good thing that Guardian had all but anticipated that someone would find them and want to share, because Drifter was, apparently, not the sort to eat lightly.
When they’d finished all they both could manage, Guardian added more fuel to the fire and Drifter braced themself and scrubbed their face and gloves mostly clean in the shallow layer of snow a little ways off, and came back shivering again.
Guardian scooted down to sit propped up against the fallen pillar they’d used as a seat, one of many remaining, broken, from the vultures’ long-destroyed cities, and when Drifter padded back over they threw themself down into Guardian’s side, wrapped securely in their cloaks and staring fixedly into the fire but a warm, solid pressure nonetheless.
Guardian blinked down at them, unperturbed but curious. “Are you alright?” They asked tentatively.
“Fine. Cold.” Drifter wrote out shortly. “Move if you want. Or don’t. If you want.”
“Oh, if that’s all,” Guardian said, firmly crushing the disappointed flicker next to their heart, and scooted away for a moment.
Now it was Drifter’s turn to blink up after them, clearly having not actually expected them to move, until Guardian opened their cloak and wrapped it and their arm around Drifter’s shoulders as well. They stiffened, and for a moment Guardian feared they’d drastically overstepped as the silence and the crackling of the fire crept on, impossibly loud.
Then Drifter sighed harshly and wormed up against their side, still shivering and cold to the touch. In contrast, Guardian thought they might melt at how decisively endearing it was to feel Drifter lean against them, forcibly, like if they put enough weight into it Guardian might actually spook and make their escape. Guardian stared firmly out into the middle distance to keep from making some inexcusably soppy face. Drifter was tense just a beat longer, then forcibly relaxed muscle by muscle until they had their entire weight draped against Guardian, not just pushing against their ribcage with what felt like every sharp and bony joint in their body.
Like they were trying to figure out how to configure themself so that they’d fit together. Awkward, slightly painful before Drifter removed their elbow from Guardian’s stomach, and far too precious in some indecipherable way for Guardian to say a word. They were still shivering, so Guardian fixed the lay of their pink cloak until it was securely wrapped around them both and pulled them close.
All was quiet for a minute or so, as Guardian tried not to appreciate the heat and comfort of another too acutely. They were only cold, after all. Guardian felt Drifter’s shivers lessen and then cease altogether, and then, when nothing bad happened, heard Drifter give a tired sigh and finally relax, boneless, into the warmth they shared.
Then they moved their head so that they looked vaguely upwards, indicating that they were talking to Guardian, and lazily skated their claws over their bot’s screen.
“Relax, I won’t hurt you.” They wrote. “Your heart might explode if you don’t calm down.”
Ah. They could feel that, could they? How embarrassing.
“I’m calm.” Guardian protested, clearing their throat to level their voice.
“No, you’re not. Don’t you do this all the time? You’re close with all sorts of people.”
Oh, if only. Guardian wasn’t the sort of approachable, for all their efforts, that typically made others want to become very close in the physical sense, however dearly they loved their friends. They rather thought they were idolized in Central more than truly loved back, which wasn’t a bad thing, if it let the people of the town have a little more security. But it got lonely.
And Guardian, while they found something to like in most everyone, was not the sort to easily fall in love, which was funny because this, now, felt so much like-
The long-impending realization hit them unnecessarily hard, and it was all Guardian could do not to disturb Drifter, who had apparently given up on a response and only burrowed their chilly face, obvious even through Guardian’s thick, insulating shirt, into their side, rubbing their cheek somewhere over Guardian’s collar. It felt very nice, too nice to be entirely from the simple, uncomplicated pleasure of another’s closeness, and warm and sweet. Guardian was growing… Affectionate.
That hadn’t happened in a while. For the longest time, they’d rather hoped it would never happen again. Drifter was so different from their-
Guardian sighed gently.
At any rate, there was little to be done but keep their peace. They could be kind without expressing anything more, couldn’t they?
“Are you alright?” The words flashed bright in front of Guardian’s face, startling them from their faintly miserable reverie.
“Yes, of course.” They mumbled. “Just fine.”
And they were just fine. Even if it was only to keep the cold from being unbearable, Drifter’s presence tucked comfortably under their arm was soothing in a way they didn’t especially want to think too closely about, even now, after so long. It felt almost too hopeful to touch, even in the privacy of their own mind, like truly considering it would expose some unforeseen angle from which how very impossible it all was would be obvious. And now that they’d chased off the worst of the cold, Drifter was incredibly warm where they rested against Guardian.
“Don’t sound fine. What’s wrong?” Drifter wrote with a muffled, impatient huff.
“There’s nothing wrong.” Guardian insisted. “Are you sure you’re comfortable?”
“Yes.” Drifter typed with emphasis. “It’s too cold for summer up here, and I’ve been cold all day, and you’re an idiot for coming. It’s a good thing I like you. It’s a very good thing you’re warm.” They wrote, and Guardian got the impression that it was supposed to be half a threat.
“Ah.” Was all Guardian could express, weakly, the words repeating through their mind, chased by entirely too much helpless delight. “Did you follow me?”
“Yes. Got worried.”
“Was this before or after you ruled out that I might try to kill you?” Guardian asked, unable to resist and desperate for any distraction.
“Before. Never said I didn’t like you, just that you might’ve been murderous. Couldn’t trust your kindness was honest. Liked you anyway. Not smart, but there it is.” Drifter explained with a wide yawn. “Hope you’ll let me stay.”
“Of course I will,” Guardian said earnestly, mindlessly rubbing a thumb over their shoulder to reassure them. “Why wouldn’t I?”
Drifter didn’t respond for a while. “You’re uncomfortable. Might dislike me now.” They wrote slowly, gone very still.
Guardian gave a hearty laugh that was perhaps a little too enthusiastic and relieved for the volume of their conversation.
“Drifter, trust that that isn’t something you need to worry about. I like you very much.” They said, and the soft affection crept into their voice anyway.
“Then calm down and go to sleep.” Drifter typed vehemently.
They curled more tightly into Guardian’s side and, unable to crush down the brightness in their chest, Guardian rested their cheek against the smoother part of Drifter’s helmet, cool and solid, and finally relaxed. Drifter shifted some to lay their head more comfortably against Guardian’s shoulder, careful not to dislodge Guardian in a way that made the brightness sear incandescent, and tucked their bot resolutely back up under their cloak.
“Of course,” Guardian murmured, feeling Drifter’s shoulders rise and fall with their breathing and feeling just as well the way their own slowly shifted to match in time. The fire burned warm like a banked, captive sun before them, and Drifter felt like another, closer fire beside.
Whatever tomorrow might bring, Guardian had learned very well in their life that the moment, especially moments that were so dear as this, were not to be used to fret.
The night was cold, and Guardian was warm.