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When the door to his hut swings open, Muriel figures he oughta be startled, but he’s not. There’s only one person alive who can open his door so easily: the same person who never knocks, despite countless reminders.
“Asra,” he grunts in greeting, eyes fixed on the stick he’s whittling.
“Muriel,” comes the breezy reply. Muriel doesn’t have to look to know Asra’s got that playful, sleepy smile on his face. It comes through his voice, clear as clean water. But there’s an edge of something else, something bubbly. Asra plops down next to him in front of the low-burning fire, and Muriel eyes him suspiciously. Sure enough, he’s got that mischievous gleam in his eyes.
“...What do you want.” He doesn’t mean to sound so gruff, but at this point, he doesn’t know how to turn it off.
Luckily for him, Asra’s never been put off by his tone. Or his appearance. Or his words, even when they come out carelessly and really oughta sting. He just smiles like he always does, with a fondness that drives Muriel’s gaze back to his hands out of embarrassment. “Stop that.”
Asra tilts his head innocently. “Stop what?”
Muriel catches himself before he can blurt out ‘smiling.’ “...You didn’t answer me.”
“You didn’t give me much of a chance,” Asra shoots back, barely containing a laugh. He rummages through his bag, then presents Muriel with a small drawstring bag. “I come bearing gifts.”
Muriel stares at the bag. “What is that.”
With a grin, Asra opens and tilts the bags so Muriel can see inside. “What does it look like?”
Two dense, green, lichen-like balls rest inside. “...A plant.”
Asra snorts, holding the bag out. “Okay, but what does it smell like?”
Muriel takes a tentative sniff and grimaces, his nose scrunching up. “A smelly plant.”
“No!” Asra laughs. He plucks one of the little green things from the bag, and from this angle, it’s easier to make out the different sections. Muriel wonders if it’s some kind of dried herb. “Have we really never smoked together before?”
“Smoked?” Muriel pulls a face. “You smoke that?”
“Yeah,” Asra says around another fit of giggles. He pulls a small glass pipe out of his bag and sets to work tearing the herb-ball into pieces. Muriel watches, equal parts wary and intrigued. “Have you ever smoked before?”
Muriel furrows his brow. “...When I was a kid, I found a tobacco pipe someone lost. I tried it because I was curious, but…” Growing tired of his whittling, he casts his knife and stick aside, muttering, “I didn’t like it. Tasted bad.”
“Tobacco does taste terrible.” Asra nods. “And honestly, this doesn’t taste much better, but it’s so much more fun.”
“How is it… fun?” Muriel pronounces the word like it’s completely foreign to him.
Asra hums contentedly. Muriel tenses at the noise. Nothing good ever happens after Asra hums like that. He looks over just as Asra offers him the pipe. “Why don’t you find out for yourself?”
Muriel blinks in disbelief. “You want… me to smoke that?”
“I just think it’ll help you relax a little,” Asra says. “You’re always so tense… it’s probably why you have such a hard time sleeping.”
“Relax…” Muriel echoes wistfully. For a split second, his expression softens at the idea. Asra barely has time to appreciate it before it’s gone. “Why would I want to relax?”
“Mmmm… Because it’s nice?”
Muriel scoffs. “Sure, until something happens, and I’m caught off-guard.”
Two warm hands suddenly slide over his. He jumps, a blush crawling up his cheeks. He thinks about pulling away, but knowing Asra, he wouldn’t be able to escape that easily. He decides to pout instead, watching as Asra’s thumbs stroke slowly over his knuckles.
“Muriel, look at me.” It takes some effort, but he does. Asra’s eyes are so soft, so sincere, it makes his heart ache. “Nothing bad is going to happen to you as long as I’m here to protect you, I promise.”
Muriel fishes for some angle to argue from. “But… But what if…”
Asra hushes him gently, and he immediately complies. “No more ‘what if’s. We’re in your magically secured hut in the middle of the forest. No one knows we’re out here. Muriel... do you trust me?”
Muriel’s blush creeps to the tips of his ears. He twitches like an anxious deer, ready to bolt at the slightest provocation, but Asra holds steady. After a long, long pause, he slowly nods.
A small weight lifts off his chest as Asra says, “Then trust me to keep you safe while you relax.”
His answer bounces around his mouth, eager to burst forth. He takes a deep breath, holds it, then lets it out as a long sigh through his nose. “...Okay.”
“Okay?” Asra raises his hand to hold Muriel’s cheek. Flustered by such an unexpectedly bold move, he flounders.
“Y-Yeah,” he finally says, clearing his throat. “Yeah… I-I trust you.”
Asra doesn’t say anything right away. He just looks at Muriel and smiles, basking in the moment. Self-consciousness slowly squeezes Muriel’s ribcage until the pressure is unbearable. He pulls away from Asra with a huff, unable to meet his eyes again. “Wh-Where’s the pipe?”
Asra’s surprise melts into warm affection, which does nothing to help Muriel tame the stampede in his chest. He grabs the pipe from where he set it on the floor and lifts the stem to Muriel’s lips. Muriel wonders if he can hear him gulp, and judging from the teasing curl of his mouth, he probably can.
“On the count of three, I’ll light it,” he says, voice and eyes hypnotic in the low lighting. “All you have to do is inhale.”
Muriel jerks his head once to show he understands.
Asra holds a finger over the bowl. “Okay. One… two… three.”
The tip of his finger ignites, and Muriel practically swallows air as he sucks in. Almost immediately after, he doubles over in a coughing fit. The smoke burns going in and coming out. He vaguely feels Asra rubbing his back as he shudders and catches his breath.
Swallowing dryly, he croaks, “That’s awful.”
Asra pats his arm. He pulls a canteen from his bag, and Muriel gladly drains half of it. “It’s pretty rough the first couple times, but it gets easier.”
Muriel frowns as he hands the canteen back. “Do I have to do it again?”
“Only if you want to.”
Pressing his lips together, Muriel considers the pipe with a quiet intensity. Asra pretends to scratch his nose to hide his smile.
“...One more,” Muriel decides. Asra lights him up again, and again, he hacks and wheezes, but this time, it is a little easier. He takes another drink from the offered canteen, only realizing he’s emptied it when no more water comes out. Sheepishly, he holds it out to Asra. “Sorry.”
Asra shakes his head. “It’s okay, I brought extra.” He pulls out three more canteens and sets them to the side. Muriel stares at them, bemused, but before he can comment, Asra lays a hand on his arm. “How are you feeling?”
Muriel purses his lips. As he exhales, the knots in his back and shoulders gradually untangle. He feels… calm. Weirdly calm. And a bit lightheaded. And every beat of his heart reverberates through his throat, which isn’t… unpleasant, he supposes. With each passing second, he sinks further into these sensations as if sinking into a vat of honey. He tries to swallow. When did his mouth get so dry? “Wha… What’s happening…?”
Passing him another canteen, Asra says, “You're okay, you’re just relaxing. Don’t fight it, just let it wash over you…”
He scoots a bit closer, rubbing Muriel’s back. His touch is so soft, his voice is so soothing… how couldn’t he trust that voice? His instincts urge him to resist the encroaching fog, but his body refuses to budge. He’s never felt so heavy and so light at the same time. He manages to nod as he raises the canteen to drink deeply.
“So…” he slurs, mouth working one step behind his brain. “I’m supposed to feel…” He gestures vaguely.
From the way Asra laughs, he knows the answer is yes. A smile tugs at his lips, and before he can think to stifle himself, his shoulders shake with quiet chuckles of his own.
“This is weird.” He looks to Asra and his shining grin. He doesn’t know why, but all it does is make him laugh more. It’s so easy to laugh. He shakes his head, running a hand through his hair. “Weird, weird plant.”
“Good weird, or bad weird?” Asra asks. Muriel swears he’s inching closer.
“...Good weird.” He nods, as if he’s agreeing with himself. “Kinda like you.”
They lock eyes, then burst out laughing. Asra leans into Muriel’s arm, and, almost reflexively, Muriel rests his head on top of Asra’s. Were he in his right mind, he would likely remember himself and scramble away, grumbling half-hearted demands to get out of his hut, but right now, he’s too comfortable to move. Asra’s hair is so soft. He smells like spiced fruit and home… which is a startling thought that comes at the exact same time something starts scratching at the door.
Muriel jolts upright. His hand finds Asra’s shoulder, one second away from pulling him close to shield him with his body when a familiar whine sounds from behind the wood.
He deflates, sighing heavily. “Inanna.”
He looks down at Asra, who gapes right back at him, something like wonder in his eyes. He opens his mouth to say something, only to get cut off by a more insistent bark.
“I better…” Muriel’s first attempt to stand doesn’t end well. Neither does his second. The world is just slightly too diagonal. On his third, Asra stops him with a hand in his shoulder.
“Let me,” he chuckles. And for once, Muriel does.
Inanna bounds in as soon as the door opens, positively chuffed to see both Asra and Muriel are there. She butts up against Asra’s legs until he stoops down to scratch both of her ears, laughing as she licks his cheek. “It’s good to see you, too!”
Satisfied, she trots over to Muriel and nudges him for pets, as well. He doesn’t need much persuading. A smile blooms across his face as he strokes her fur. “Hey, Nana. Have you always been this soft…?"
She gives him a dubious look, boofing softly. Then she sniffs the air, snuffles his clothes, and boofs a little louder.
Muriel snorts. “Blame Asra. He’s the one who brought the weird smelly plant.”
Inanna shifts her gaze to Asra, who rolls his eyes as he sits beside them. “The weird smelly plant you really seem to be enjoying right now.”
“You can’t prove that,” Muriel says as he continues to bury his fingers in Inanna’s fur, almost obsessed with the softness. She doesn’t seem to mind. She flops over to expose her belly, her leg thumping in delight as Muriel obliges with some expert tummy rubs.
“Cuuuute…” Asra coos. He rests his head in his hand as he watches. Muriel levels a glance at him, but before he can fully process the implications of that word, Asra continues, “Well, since Inanna’s here now…” He picks up the half-smoked pipe. “Would you mind if I relaxed a bit, too?”
Muriel shrugs. “It’s your plant.” Then it occurs to him what Asra’s really asking. “Oh. Yeah. I think it’s fine. I mean… my door has, like… a million locks on it. And there are tons of charms outside. So yeah, it’s fine.”
Part of him wonders how he wasn’t able to come to that conclusion before, but that part, along with the rest of him, quickly becomes distracted as Asra lights up. He sucks in with practiced ease, letting some smoke tumble from his lips before inhaling. He doesn’t cough at all; he doesn’t even flinch. Only after he exhales, turning his head to blow the smoke away from Muriel and Inanna, does he clear his throat. Muriel watches the muscles in his throat contract. His profile is stunning. Not that this is the first time Muriel’s noticed.
He doesn’t realize he’s staring until Asra smirks at him and offers the pipe. “Do you want more?”
Muriel blinks. “No.” That’s not what he wants.
Shrugging, Asra takes another hit. And another. And two more before he puts the pipe away, seemingly satisfied. Then he drinks from one of the canteens. It takes Muriel a moment to figure out it’s the same one he last drank from. There are two others, so why…
“Are you hungry?” Asra suddenly asks.
Muriel starts to answer with his usual automatic ‘no,’ when his stomach growls. He frowns at his traitorous abdomen, flushing slightly. “...Maybe.”
“Hmmm.” Asra’s mouth curls playfully. He starts pulling things from his bag: two loaves of sweet-smelling bread, several miscellaneous frosted pastries, some dried fruits, some jerky, a sleeping Faust (which he replaces with a thoughtful hum), and a bundle of butcher paper he unwraps to reveal a pile of freshly smoked eel. After setting this bounty between them, Asra gestures out with both arms. “Dig in.”
Muriel hesitates. He opens his mouth—
“Yes,” Asra interjects. “I’m sure.” He smiles encouragingly, pushing the eel in Muriel’s direction. “Go on, before it gets too cold.”
With a huff, Muriel relents, taking an eel to nibble. His bites grow progressively bigger and more enthusiastic as he goes. Food has always tasted like food, but somehow, this food is on an entirely different level. He doesn’t think he could stop eating it if he wanted to.
Across from him, Asra nearly moans as he tucks into one of the bread loaves. The noise sends a shock down Muriel’s spine. He tries his best to ignore it by shoving more eel into his face. It only partially works, but if Asra notices the redness of his cheeks, he doesn’t say anything.
When Muriel wakes up, the hut is dark. The fire must have burned out… wait, no. That’s not right. He never falls asleep without putting the fire out. He must have put it out. But then, why doesn’t he remember doing it?
Blinking the sleep from his eyes, he takes a deep breath and stretches his shoulders, barely registering the weight draped across his side. Inanna rarely sleeps on the floor anymore, not when there’s room for her on the bed. He’ll never admit it, but he’s glad to have her next to him... even though her morning breath is beyond foul.
As he stirs, so does the weight, and through his uncharacteristic grogginess, Muriel recognizes its waking noises as decidedly not wolf-like. A pair of arms snake around his neck. He tenses, ready spring out of bed, when a nose nuzzles into his neck and a familiar voice murmurs, “Mmmm… five more minutes…”
“Asra,” he breathes, his panic subsiding. Memories of the previous evening resurface in his mind like blurry, half-developed photographs. After they’d eaten, they spent some amount of time talking… Then the cards came out, and they played until they could barely keep their eyes open. That’s when Asra suggested a nap. He put out the fire, and then…
Their current position hits him like a ton of hot coals. Asra’s whole body is pressed up against him. He can feel every subtle movement, every wisp of breath against his skin. Asra’s lips brush against the hollow of his throat, and he tries his hardest not to shiver. He clenches his jaw as he struggles to center himself, his face and chest burning. This isn’t the first time they’ve woken up tangled together. Back when they were kids, they’d often huddle for warmth (and comfort). But they were kids. They were orphans doing whatever they could to survive. There were never any deeper implications then, there couldn’t be, but now…
Asra, seemingly oblivious to Muriel’s inner turmoil, yawns and stretches his back. “How are you feeling…?”
A million answers fly through Muriel’s mind, a great majority of them too embarrassing to ever say out loud. It’s hard to concentrate on making words happen when he’s practically pinned to his own bed. “...N-Not… bad…”
He feels Asra’s chuckle more than he hears it. “Well, I guess that’s better than the alternative.”
Muriel only grunts in response. He’d hoped Asra would move once he’d gotten his answer, but he seems perfectly content to stay where he is. Frustratingly so. A strange irritation stirs in Muriel’s chest alongside his usual shyness. Even after all these years, after everything they’ve been through, Asra remains an enigma. His hopes, his wants, his motivations… they’re just as much a mystery as they’ve always been. It’s maddening. He knows he has no business judging someone for staying quiet, but would it kill Asra to be straightforward with him, for once?
“...Why are you here?” The question almost sears a hole through his lips. Nothing could have kept it in.
Barely thrown off, Asra says, “Because I wanted to see you.”
“Hmph.”
Asra laughs at his doubtful noise, raising his head just enough to look him in the eyes. “Is it really so hard to believe I’d want to spend time with my oldest friend?”
Immediately looking away, Muriel mumbles, “...Yes.”
“Oh, come ooooon.” Asra sighs in mock exasperation. “You don’t really mean that, do you?”
Muriel grimaces, trying not to squirm. “...I don’t know. Wouldn’t you rather spend time with… her?”
Asra tenses. “...You mean Azalea?”
The name grates against Muriel’s ears. “Who else?”
After a pause, Asra sighs. There’s no mistaking the genuine emotion behind this one. “Azalea… She’s obviously important to me… But, honestly, she does more than fine on her own. She’s just as independent as she’s always been. I’m there for her as often as I can be, but, sometimes, it feels like… like she’d rather run the shop herself, without all my stuff in the way.”
His dejected tone somehow makes Muriel bristle even more. He looks back to Asra with a frown. “That’s not true.”
“Huh?”
“She cares about you more than you know. She’s just… not good at expressing it.”
Asra’s eyes brighten slightly, like he’s just figured something out. “...She’s not, is she?”
Muriel can’t look into those eyes for too long, lest he fluster more. “Yeah.”
“How do you know?”
“I just do.”
“Hmmm…” Asra lays his head on Muriel’s chest. He must hear the frantically beating heart below his ear, but he doesn’t comment. “I really care about her, too. I wish I could be more open about that.”
Muriel’s voice comes out shakier than he’d like. “Wh… What’s stopping you?”
Asra shrugs, slender fingers drawing absent shapes on Muriel’s skin. “I don’t know if she’d be comfortable with it.”
Every nerve in Muriel’s body screams at him to run away. And he probably would if Asra wasn’t literally on top of him. He’d rather be doing anything other than having this conversation, which, really, is probably the biggest reason he has to have it now. “......I think she would be,” he says softly. “If you… gave her some time to adjust. B-But she doesn’t want to ask too much of you.”
Shifting to face him again, Asra says, almost pleadingly, “Doesn’t she know I’d do anything for her? Nothing is too much after all we’ve been through.”
Muriel feels something inside him crumble. “Sh-She probably knows, deep down…” Slowly, so slowly, he wraps his arm loosely around Asra’s waist. “...but it’s easier to believe when you say it.”
Already completely off-kilter, Muriel has no idea how to react when Asra takes his face in his hands and presses a soft kiss to his lips. He’s barely registered the action by the time Asra pulls away, looking just as mortified as Muriel feels.
“...Did you just--”
“Yeah--”
They stare at each other in stunned silence. Asra looks like he’s trying to figure out how to move on while also saving face, and Muriel cannot keep his eyes off Asra’s lips.
To everyone’s surprise, he’s the first one to speak. “...That… i-it wasn’t awful.”
Asra’s face softens. “It wasn’t?”
Muriel shakes his head. “You could… we could--”
Mercifully, Asra cuts him off with another kiss, and this time, Muriel has enough sense to kiss him back.