Chapter Text
Bevrian took a sip of the beer that Rovan just offered him. He swished it around his mouth for a bit, tasting it before he swallowed. “How do you like this stuff? It just tastes like… medicine,” asked Bevrian as he felt it warming up his chest.
If Rovan was offended by it he did not show it. “Well. Sometimes it’s not about the taste. Sometimes it’s about the essence that comes with it,” Rovan exclaimed. He took a long swig out of the bottle and lets out a satisfied sigh.
Bevrian made a thoughtful pout and nodded slowly. “That’s a fair thought.” He glanced over at the tower where Pasco was standing. Right below the tower Pasco’s men were chatting. One of them glanced at their direction before looking away.
“Is there something else that’s bothering you?” asked Rovan. Slumped on the bench, Rovan tilted his bottle back and forth, just enough from tipping the beer over. “You look a little troubled.”
Bevrian shook his head. “I just had a dream about Melanie. In particular when she delivered Ruby,” sighed Bevrian as he leaned his head back against the wall. The cold from the brick seeped into his head but it felt nice.
Rovan eyed Bevrian carefully. “You miss her,” he observed.
He kept the bottle balanced on his knee before answering, “There is not one day where I have not thought of her.”
“I guess it doesn’t help to have a daughter who is the spitting image of her,” Rovan mused.
A low chuckle escaped out of Bevrian. “She does look a lot like her huh. She’s missing out on my genes though,” Bevrian said in between a yawn as he stretched.
Rovan quirked an eyebrow at him. Without adding to the comment he continued, “I hear your daughter is doing pretty well lately. A real horseback riding pro and a good shooter too.”
“That’s my girl,” Bevrian grinned proudly. “I wish you guys would get better along though. It’s nice to have another uncle besides Taer looking after her.”
A scowl took over Rovan’s face. “I’m trying my darnedest,” Rovan muttered under his breath.
“Are you though?,” Bevrian mocked.
“Wh- have you not seen the way I cheered for her that time when she was learning close combat?” Rovan said as he waved his bottle at Bevrian.
“Yeah… I don’t think that counted as cheering Rovan,” Bevrian jested.
“She doesn’t even like me. What is there to cheer for?” asked Rovan, crossing his arms.
Bevrian turned his head over to look at Rovan. “Not with that old man attitude,” he smirked.
Rovan blinked twice at him. “Who even are you right now? Wait… are you drunk?,” asked Rovan as he peered over his shades at Bevrian.
Bevrian eased into a smile and replied, “No… I don’t think so.” A hiccup followed immediately after and he threw his head back into a loud laugh, slapping his free hand on his knee.
Rovan spat out his beer before he could swallow. An unfamiliar sensation bubbled up inside him and he hid his chuckle behind his sleeve. “My god, Bevrian. Who’s the old man now?” Rovan teased.
He leaned toward Bevrian and swiftly took the bottle from his hand. “No more beer for you. I think it’s done enough on you.” Rovan started to take a sip from Bevrian’s bottle.
“Wait give it back,” Bevrian pleaded as he reached over to Rovan. “It’s all about the ‘essence’ remember?” he drawled on the word.
“Shut the fuck up,” Rovan grinned. He was suddenly aware how dangerously close Bevrian was leaning into him as he held the bottles from his grasp. Bevrian’s cheeks were flushed and his eyes half lidded. A scent of cedar-wood and jasmine with a hint of clean shave drifted beneath his nose.
Bevrian caught his eye and Rovan felt his own cheeks getting warm. Something was telling him that it was not just from the alcohol. He took a quick glance over at the watch tower and saw the guys eyeing them. “Bevrian,” he whispered, the name suddenly more tender to say out loud. “I think you should go back to bed.”
Slowly Bevrian withdrew his hands and slid them into his coat pockets. He cleared his throat. “Maybe you’re right," he said. Bevrian threw one last glance over at him, a tired smile over his face. "Good night Rovan. Thanks for keeping me company.” He got up from the bench.
Rovan gave a nod. He wished he can prolong this moment, but any longer would lead to giving the watchful eyes something to speak about. And he was keen on keeping their moment theirs. And theirs alone.
Bevrian reached a hand out again. Before Rovan could protest about him having his beer back, he patted him softly on his head, ruffling his hair.
He watched Bevrian return to his room before he gulped down the two bottles in his hands, hoping to fill his void with something. The touch left Rovan deprived. The tightness in his chest growing, growing, and growing. His fingers ran through his hair and over the spot where Bevrian's was seconds ago. “Oh what am I supposed to do with you,” he exhaled in one breath.