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Laudna had a tell.
Imogen couldn't say specifically when she had first noticed it, but it had been somewhere around when they had begun to frequent taverns.
Until then, all their cabins, all their camps, while generally being much smaller than the average tavern room, had been free. Something which in hindsight had had an unnoticed impact on the development of the two women's relationship when it came to touch.
Because there was never any practical need that spurred it to happen. They made camp, they had bed rolls. They found a new cabin, they made beds. It wasn't uncomfortable even though it was more close-quarters than either of them were used to, and they never paid a single coin.
By the time they began to brave the cities, that changed. They couldn't simply pitch camp in the streets, and they couldn't sleep on them if they wanted to keep the words 'exposure' and 'mugging' out of their obituaries. Taverns became the norm, their new camp, and taverns weren't free.
Taverns in many places weren't particularly safe, either.
And so with a sudden uptick of space at their disposal with the upgrade from huddled campsite to furnished bedroom, the irony of life came out of the woodwork. In the extra space, they got closer.
It made no sense to pay for two rooms when they could share one.
It made no sense to risk being separated by walls and doors when they could be less safe than they realised.
It made no sense to use the extra space to make a temporary single bed on the floor when the one provided fit them both.
It just made sense that they got closer.
And it had been hell on earth.
Imogen had had it rough the first week, a rougher second, and then had needed a serious pep talk from herself before suddenly, magically, Laudna had found the answer. Completely by accident, as was her nature.
The sensory onslaught that came with sharing a bed hadn't been something Imogen was prepared for, even though she had braced herself substantially. She couldn't move. Couldn't breathe. Held in every cough or flex or itch until she was so uncomfortable her pillow became damp under her cheek.
Paralysed.
Hearing Laudna's slow breathing behind her and the taughtness that came from the covers being strung between two rather than slouched over one did something to the insecure part of her mind that felt like an uncorked, drug-fuelled adrenaline rush gone wrong. Being that physically close to someone was a bad trip, and Laudna had fixed it in a laughably unlikely manner.
A hug.
After three weeks of not being able to fall unsleep until she passed out from reaching her absolute limit, Laudna had casually given Imogen a hug (not even a real one, they were fending off an overly friendly drinking buddy), which later turned into an arm around the shoulders (they'd gone with the lesbian facade when the hug hadn't done it. It wasn't technically a lie.), which over the next few evenings turned into the yet unfamiliar territory of being close without overthinking it. Touching Laudna made her real.
By the time they were done with that town, they'd spent another week keeping up the pretense of being lovers while in the public eye, and all the while something in the back of Imogen's mind had clicked. She had her first night of restless, but otherwise unremarkable sleep. Then her first night of good sleep. By the time they collapsed next to one another in the dim light of the next towns best effort of hospitality, it felt like a page had turned for the sorcerer.
She had realised that when she kept herself clinically separate from Laudna at night, unable to see her, barely able to hear her, Laudna became something else in her mind. Something that would be angry, something that was more important, that had their shit together like Imogen never did, that wouldn't forgive her. Something that would somehow sense every tiny thing she did as if Imogen didn't well know that people could be robbed while asleep, homes ransacked around them. She lost touch with the reality of the other woman.
Reaching out to hold her wrist or shuffling until their backs met brought her Laudna crashing back, grounding her from taking off into the paralytic depths her mind tried to pull her down into.
Laudna was solid. Cool, soft, real.
The first time she'd gathered the courage, she had barely brushed their fingertips together and her heart had been in her mouth for the fear of retaliations she hadn't even thought up yet.
Nothing happened.
Nothing ever happened more than the warlock stirring softly or gently twitching her hand to hold Imogen's wrist right back.
It gave a new foundation, a new base line to work from. If Laudna didn't wake to that, she wouldn't if Imogen turned over. If Laudna didn't wake to that, she wouldn't if Imogen just coughed and got it over with.
And slowly, Imogen had adapted. Now she doubted if she could sleep without her there.
And yet Laudna perhaps lagged behind in some areas. Because she did have a tell, and Imogen watched her sitting on the floor in front of the fire with a growing fondness.
When Laudna hoped Imogen would curl up with her, she sat by the fire before they retired to bed. Like clockwork, she could depend on it- ever since they'd started their tavern trail, and Imogen had worked through her nerves, even after all the intimacy they had shared since that made laying next to each other seem extremely tame. Somewhere in Laudna's head, at some point, she had realised that she wasn't warm like Imogen was. Perhaps it had even been Imogen's original rigidity towards their sleeping arangement that had started Laudnas mind working, but somewhere along the the same lines Imogen had been treading consumed by her worries, Laudna had developed her own.
She sat by the fire as if warming herself up justified something, as if that squared it that she might want to be close. This ritual by the flames was the rent Laudna felt she need pay for closeness and while Imogen loved the tenderness of it, she couldn't help but feel a pang like it was wrong to allow.
"You don't need't do that, y'know." Imogen leaned forward from her cross-legged position on the mattress, resting her forearms on the wooden foot of the bed.
"Hm? I have to groom him, Imogen, he can't do it himself."
Pâté was laid out on the floorboards being lovingly smoothed over with a toothbrush.
"I'm not talkin' about Pâté."
"Oh."
There was a beat.
"But I'm not doing anything else."
She was completely oblivious and Imogen loved her for it.
"You don't have to sit by the fireplace for a hug. Or anythin' else. You don't hav't'be warm. I'm quite partial to the cold."
Laudna looked at the fire and then back to Imogen.
"I'm quite obvious, aren't I? Or are you good at noticing the subconscious?"
"I think it's quite flatly the first, Laud."
The warlock smiled and carefully rolled Pâté up in Imogen's old bandana. She stood.
"I'll come to bed, then."
"Wonderful. My head's killin' me."
Laudna climbed into bed and without thinking, Imogen was half on top of her like a teddybear.
"It really doesn't bother you? That I'm not warm?"
"Mmno."
"Don't I make you cold?"
"You make me very warm."
"You promise?"
"I promise."