Work Text:
The less-good thing about having spent most of his recent time in a tiny tavern room is that there’s really no nook or cranny of it Oli doesn’t know by heart by now. There’s no crack in the ceiling left to catalogue, no notch in the door, nor the bed, nor the wall. He knows them all. Heck, he can probably cite their length, depth and exact position from memory. This space is as familiar to him as the inside of his shorts’ pockets, making the atmosphere highly conducive to meditative reflection. Unfortunately, the one thing he doesn’t want to do right now is think. Definitely not about the past few hours.
So he’s not going to.
Oli rolls onto his side, facing the wall, and squeezes his eyes shut. Immediately, his nose starts to itch. There is a splinter caught in the lower edge of his blanket somewhere, poking his good foot. He tried running his fingers across the fabric earlier, but couldn’t locate it.
He’s getting cold, too, but that’s probably just his imagination. Sanctuary is as close to the hypothetical equator of this world as an empire can possibly get. He digs his toes into the mattress, rubbing them to create warmth.
The stubbornly persistent chill creeps up his ankles. How are you going to speak to him?, it seems to whisper. What will you say around your bitten tongue?
Oli growls, sits up and grabs the soul flame lantern off the nightstand. ‘You,’ he sneers. ‘Stop bouncing and go to sleep.’
It hisses at him, glowing brighter in response to his agitation. The soul flames’ sensitivity to the emotions in their immediate surroundings makes them perfect night lights – they’ll naturally wake close to a child having a nightmare.
Oli brings the intrepid thing up to his face. ‘I swear to– to something; I’m going to hurl you across the room.’
The flame bobs like a slime ball in a bubble column.
What will you talk of?
Oli’s fingers shake. Maybe he should just throw it. Shattering the glass against the wall and extinguishing the fire might give him the darkness he needs to finally sleep.
There’s a knock on the door.
‘Oli? It’s me, Eddie.’
He scrambles to put the lantern back onto the nightstand, making the metal rattle. ‘Uh, yeah?’
Eddie’s face peeks in, cast in a blue glow. ‘May I come in?’
‘S-sure.’
Eddie ducks away, nudges the handle with his hip and shuffles inside, carrying a steaming, moss green mug in each hand. He uses his foot to kick the door until it falls shut again, then approaches the bed. He scans Oli’s prone form before meeting his eyes.
‘I had a feeling you’d still be awake.’
Oli tenses. ‘You did?’
‘Nah.’ Eddie’s lips twitch. ‘I saw the light under your door. May I?’
He nods at the edge of the mattress. Oli shifts his good leg aside, making room.
Eddie takes a seat, then gives him one of the mugs. Blazing heat seeps through the ceramic. It’s almost too much to hold. The sweet smell rising from the gently sloshing liquid inside is one Oli would recognize anywhere in the universe.
‘Cocoa?’ He sniffs. ‘With nutmeg, cinnamon, ginger and… cardamom? And cream?’
Eddie snorts. ‘Your face right now; I should find you a mirror. You’re correct on all accounts. It’s my special blend.’ He waggles his eyebrows. ‘Better than any painkillers, I’ve been told.’
Oli blushes. He can’t help it.
‘Unless you need actual painkillers,’ says Eddie. ‘How are you doing? Anything hurt?’
He could say ‘yes’ and ask for some cooling ointment, or salve, or soft lotion that would make the raw edges of his slightly cooked palm feel less stiff. Eddie would get it for him. He’d unwrap Oli’s bandages, tenderly enough for him to barely feel the gauze lifting off his wounds, and his big, gentle hands would brush along Oli’s skin, easing all the ache away.
He wants it. His whole chest opens at the mental image, yearning.
But it would be a stolen moment, wrapped in circumstance and false context. Something he’s not supposed to have.
Oli pushes the need aside and shakes his head. ‘I’m fine.’
He takes a sip of his cocoa. Rich chocolate flavour curls over his tongue, hot with spices. There’s another note beneath, too, syrupy sweet. He squints into his mug. ‘What else is in here?’
Eddie holds up a finger. ‘A great magician never reveals their tricks.’
Oli stares at him.
Eddie looks back complacently, drinking his beverage.
‘Alright, Mr. Kitchen Wizard,’ Oli grumps. ‘Keep your secrets.’
In protest, and also to show how deeply indifferent he is to the whole issue of Eddie’s wondrous hot-choc-skills, he drains half of his mug in one go.
The harengon smirks. ‘I will.’
Oli doesn’t dignify that with a reply, which makes Eddie’s lips twitch harder. Sticking his tongue out, Oli picks the last of the options available to him: changing the topic. ‘How, um. How’s the smithy doing?’
Considering the unholy amount of water the denizens of Sanctuary were pouring on top of it when Eddie carried him back to his room, it’s probably safe to say that it’s not spewing smoke any more.
‘Surprisingly, not that bad,’ says Eddie. ‘None of the weight-bearing structures were lost and the upper floor is only slightly singed.’
He shoots a glance at Oli.
‘Nothing we can’t rebuild.’
He must have caught the dubious expression flickering across Oli’s face – if nothing got destroyed, why is Eddie sleeping in the tavern tonight? – because he turns fully towards him.
‘I’m serious. Believe it or not, this isn’t the first time something like that happened. It’s not even the first time on Robin’s watch, and Lark has certainly caused her own share of accidents. My son did as well,’ he says. ‘Every time it happens, we fireproof the smithy more. That’s why we already had the vents in place, and the metal staircases and stone furniture. The only thing that really got damaged… is you.’
Eddie’s gaze meets Oli’s, sombre. Even laced with sorrow, his irises’ stormy grey-ish blue is mesmerizing. His whiskers fan out across his cheeks and his dark skin shows where the fur on his face thins around his eyes. He clears his throat.
‘You were going to leave, weren’t you?’
Oli stiffens. ‘Uh,’ he stammers, looking away. ‘Yeah.’
Eddie makes a noise of acknowledgement, but doesn’t say anything.
Oli’s thoughts whir, searching frantically for something that would make his actions less damning. But the truth is, he never planned on having to justify getting up and booking it without saying goodbye to the people who’ve been taking care of him for six weeks.
‘Eddie–’
‘I’d have been sad to find you gone,’ the harengon says.
Oli’s head jerks up.
Eddie’s mouth curves at the corner. He almost seems… sheepish. ‘I’d miss you.’
There it is again, that creeping cold under the edges of his blanket. The question that Oli’s been grappling with for the past few hours, even if he wouldn’t admit it to himself.
Who are you going to be, to him, if you can’t be his?
His stomach squirms like a worm on a fisherman’s hook. Words. He needs words. He needs to show Eddie that he’s heard his concerns from before and has a handle on his feelings. That the love consuming him like a wildfire may be transference – it’s not – but everything else is genuine.
‘You barely know me,’ Oli forces himself to say. ‘I haven’t been outside of this room in all the time I’ve been here.’
There. That’s a suitably innocuous reply.
Eddie’s face does something funny for a moment. Then the ear cocked in Oli’s direction flicks sideways and he shrugs. ‘You made an impression.’
Heat floods Oli’s cheeks. He has to bite his lip to keep in the sound that wants to spill form his throat. Too embarrassing.
‘I like talking to you,’ Eddie adds, curling one finger under his chin in thought. ‘I kind of missed doing that, these past few days.’
Oli hides behind his mug, gulping down the rest of his cocoa without really tasting it.
The harengon quirks a brow, but doesn’t comment.
‘I also like listening to you when you practice your music. I’d like to do it again sometime, if you’re amenable.’ He pauses. ‘Which reminds me. Your instruments are still at my place. I’ll get them for you, if you want?’
Oli groans into his empty mug. In hindsight – considering he’s not out in a grassy field, limping towards a crescent-moon shaped beach he doesn’t even know the vague direction of but is sure he could find if given enough time – bringing the instruments to Eddie’s was kind of stupid.
Then again, he really couldn’t have foreseen the smithy fire. Things weren’t supposed to go like this.
If he were a bitter man, he could reflect on just how many things hadn’t been supposed to go like they did, starting with being yeeted off a cloud. But then he wouldn’t have met Eddie. He’s a gain Oli can’t weigh against any of the losses, making the whole calculation ultimately pointless. No use in crying over spilt milk.
The harengon’s smile softens. ‘Think about it.’
He holds out his hand and waits until Oli gets the hint and returns his empty mug, then he gets to his feet. His ears rotate once, like a wet bird shaking out its feathers. He heads for the door, but stops in front of it.
‘Just shout if you need anything. Or throw something at the wall; I’m right next to you.’ He pauses. ‘Try to get some sleep?’
Oli nods. ‘I will.’
Eddie hesitates for another second, then wishes him a good night and slips away. His footsteps fade on the planks outside.
Oli fingers twist in his lap.
Eddie likes his music. He knew that, of course, but it hadn’t occurred to him to count his practice sessions as a recreational group activity. But maybe that’s something they could do more of. It’d be safe. Something he knows how to do, because he’s already done it.
If he plays for Eddie, it would allow them to spend time together in a completely platonic way. Like… friends.
Oli’s stomach swoops. He feels as if he were stepping onto a frozen lake after just one night of frost, with no idea how deep the icy layer on top actually goes. Whether it will carry him.
A yawn overtakes him.
The lantern on the nightstand flickers, then extinguishes with a soft hissing sound. Darkness falls over the room. With his belly warmed by the cocoa, his ‘morning after’ conversation with Eddie successfully – and non-awkwardly – completed and the string behind his sternum mollified by the harengon’s visit, Oli doesn’t even mind. It’s difficult, right now, not to look at his circumstances with a little bit of optimism.
He can be just friends with Eddie. At least he can try his hardest.