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Dorian was unhappy.
Sure, their little band of misfits made him feel at home for the first time in a while, but Dorian couldn’t shake the sense of unease. The gnawing in his stomach, the need to fidget, had been growing in the recent weeks of traveling.
Looking across the campfire at the sleeping form of a certain dwarf, Dorian could easily pinpoint the source of the problem.
It was a still night, the air clogged up with the promise of rain. The campfire that Fearne had lit hours ago was slowly dwindling, spitting sparks and illuminating their little camp in short flashes. Dorian had volunteered for the first watch, and the rest of the crew were sleeping on the far side of the campfire.
Dorian thought back to the week before, as disconcerted as always by the missing memories. He wondered if the others were quite as bothered by it as he was. If they were, it certainly didn’t show. The bard had come to town in search of a new beginning, and along with it he’d seemed to get a side serving of sinister problems that he wasn’t quite sure how to deal with.
And of course, this was where the dwarf came in.
One of the seemingly few memories that Dorian possessed of recent events was the memory of said dwarf kissing him. A night in the townhouse, everyone horrendously drunk, flirting, singing, Orym trying his best to babysit Opal. Dorian and Dariax further away from the group, the dwarf recounting some adventure or other. Dorian didn’t even remember what he was talking about, just how animated Dariax had been, coming alive in the retelling of a story. The dwarf had said something funny, Dorian had laughed, Dariax had joined in and called the bard cute. Dorian remembered feeling his ears turn purple in a blush.
And then, suddenly, Dariax had grabbed his collar, dragging him down to his level, and kissed him.
Well, who was Dorian to complain? He had just been kissed by the person he’d been quietly crushing on for the past week (or so he assumed, he didn’t have any memories from that time, but he didn’t see a reality in which that wasn’t the case). They hadn’t exactly discussed it in the moment, and afterwards they’d been preoccupied with Opal leading everyone up to the roof for what she called a “chance to prove yourself”.
Now however, Dorian regretted not asking what the dwarf’s motives were, although he wasn’t exactly sure the dwarf ever had a clear plan. Dariax seemed to have no memory of that night, pissing contest and all. It really shouldn’t matter, since it didn’t seem to matter to the dwarf, and yet Dorian couldn’t shake the sharp hurt that crawled up his throat whenever he thought about the night. It was kind of eating him up, to be perfectly honest, and there was nothing he could do about it. Every little remark and look that the dwarf sent his way seemed to have more weight than before. Ever arm across a shoulder, every wink, a reminder that Dariax did. Not. Remember.
There truly didn’t seem to be an easy fix for this particular problem. Explaining the situation to Dariax would inevitably lead to more hurt feelings, with a side serving of awkwardness in the group. Dorian could picture it perfectly. Dariax would dismiss it as being drunk (which was very much the valid and probably factually correct response), Dorian would say that, yes of course, they were both very drunk, and they’d never speak of it again. Which seemed like an obvious thing to point out, but to Dorian, the idea of dismissing the kiss so easily seemed near impossible. Dorian would be left in an even worse situation than now. At least his current situation was a buffer between him and the sting of rejection.
(Rejection? When had Dorian started thinking of acceptance from a dwarf with a drinking habit and no self-preservation instinct?)
But his current situation also came with the constant reminder that Dariax hadn’t thought enough of the evening to remember it. At least if Dorian recounted his evening to Dariax, he would perhaps, perhaps remember parts of it, and Dorian would at least know why the sorcerer had kissed him.
Dorian really shouldn’t be left with his own thoughts; it had only been half an hour of his watch and he was already down a rabbit hole.
It had started to rain, the quiet hissing of the campfire a backdrop to Dorian’s restless thoughts. He could hear Opal shuffling in her sleep, the small breaths of Orym, a snuffle from Fearne as she got an elbow in the face from Opal. Dariax snoring quietly.
Dorian made a split-second decision, one that he would surely regret later. He got up, feet filling with pins and needles from sitting still too long. Carefully picking his way round the camp and around the sleeping forms of his friends, he crept up to the dwarf and tapped him on the shoulder before he could talk himself out of it.
Dariax muttered and turned, before blinking and sitting up.
“Is it already my watch? I feel like I’ve only slept for half an hour!” the dwarf whispered, once he was awake enough to register who had woken him up.
Dorian sighed. “You have only been asleep for half an hour, Dariax.” Bracing himself for the coming conversation, the bard added, “I just want to talk to you for a moment.”
Dariax seemed to study Dorian’s face for a confused few seconds, before finally standing up.
“We should probably step away for a bit, just so we don’t wake the others. Unless this is going to be a short conversation. Which is also fine. I- Shall we go over there?” Dariax whispered, pointing out into the rain. It did not look appealing, but neither did interrupting the others’ beauty sleep.
Dariax seemed oddly fidgety as the two adventurers sat and watched the road they were near for a while. Almost immediately after silence had settled between them, the dwarf was filling it.
“Okay, so, uh, is everything alright? If something is bothering you, you can always tell me. My friend’s problems are mine,” Dariax inquired with a smirk and a light nudge of Dorian’s shoulder.
Dorian had already made enough bad decisions for one day, but he thought this conversation was one best got over with quickly. Here went nothing.
“You know that night when you woke up on the roof?”
“Yes, what about it? I already apologised for barging into your room but I’m- “
Dorian took a deep breath.
“You kissed me. A while before that, over drinks,” the bard threw the information at Dariax like it physically hurt to keep it in.
“Yes?”
What?
“Wait, what? What do you mean, yes?” Dorian got out, stuttering. That had definitely not been the expected response.
“I do remember that bit of the night, of course I remember! I wasn’t drunk enough for memory black out at three in the morning! What kind of dwarf do you take me for?” Dariax asked, chuckling.
Dorian had brought the kiss up in search of answers, and yet somehow the infuriating sorcerer was giving him none. “Then why didn’t you say anything? I’ve been worrying about, well, everything to do with this!”
“Erm, may I ask why you’ve been worrying?” Dariax seemed oddly shaken by the question, almost apprehensive.
Dorian decided that at this point in this weird conversation, it was better to lay out all his cards.
“Dariax, I’ve been watching you for weeks. You must have noticed. You’re dumb and handsome and the exact kind of charming I like. I was going to be quiet, going to respect the rest of the group and stay out of it, but then you kissed me. You kissed me. You said you didn’t remember anything, so I tried to move past it, but I guess you can tell how well that went, since we’re having this conversation. But apparently, you do remember that part… Why didn’t you say anything?”
Throughout Dorian talking, Dariax had been curling up more into himself and picking at the compass rose around his neck. The bard had never seen Dariax wearing a sheepish expression before, and yet here they were.
“We aren’t dating?” the dwarf seemed exceptionally confused.
What?
“No! Wait, you assumed that after one kiss?”
This was officially the weirdest conversation in Dorian’s entire life. Dariax was rubbing his arms now, even more uncomfortable.
“Kinda? I have a feeling that’s bad.”
“I mean…” Dorian put his face in his hands. “I can’t believe you sometimes. I really can’t.”
Dariax smirked. “Is that a good or a bad thing?”
The bard smiled slightly. “Good, I think.” He considered his options, before settling on the most obvious, glaring one.
“Singe we’ve been “dating” this whole time, how about another kiss?” Dorian teased, laughing at the ridiculous situation they’d landed themselves in.
Dariax snorted, chuckling as he once again grabbed the back of Dorian’s neck and brought him down to the same level.
Needless to say, their second kiss was better, and significantly longer than their first.