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One would have said that Killian had had too much whisky, but he would never admit it. He was fine—he was not drunk—despite what his now, god forbid, fellow steward, Anya tried to point out. Why was he even drinking with her again? It was a bad decision, but right now they were the only ones left. Killian wished he could think of a way to leave, especially now that she began to talk about courtship! What would she know about that?
“The most romantic thing a man could do is put his hand on his partner’s waist and hold them firmly, but gently, protectively,” Anya said. Her words slurred a little. Killian stopped his glass of whisky right before his lips just so he could snort derisively.
“Complete bollocks, I’d say,” Killian responded, quoting a memory that he could not remember wholly, only enough to support his mission to oppose Anya’s statement. The bird perching on his shoulder puffed and chirped, almost seemed like he was in agreement with Killian. The elf shook her head, confidence unperturbed.
“How would you know? You never experienced it.”
Killian downed the whisky in his glass and groaned, pointing at the other steward accusingly.
“You talked as if you had.”
It was Anya’s turn to scoff. She brought her glass to her lips, tasting another sip of the whisky, before rolling her eyes and pointing a finger at him.
“Not everyone dedicates their entire life to the cause without having a taste of other things life has to offer,” she smugly said, then pressed her finger to her own chest for emphasis, “I speak from experience.”
Killian could not stop himself from bursting into laughter, much to Anya’s displeasure. The undead bird hopped of his shoulder to the arm of the chair, following Killian’s movements excitedly. The ranger continued to laugh so hard that there was hardly any sound leaving his mouth. He slapped his knee and mockingly pointed a finger at Anya.
“YOU?”
“Yes,” Anya replied, annoyed, but remained calm. That just started another bout of laughter.
“Really? You? YOU?” Killian kept repeating, seemingly unable to be persuaded to accept the statement as truth. The dark-skinned elf rolled her eyes again.
“Believe it or not, that’s up to you, but it’s true.”
It took another minute for Killian to chase away the giggle. He poured another round of whisky to his glass and inhaled the content. Its strength was proven by how he grimaced right after the liquid passed his lips.
“I still think the whole hand on the waist is nonsense,” he stated.
“Why don’t you try it and see if I… exaggerate,” Anya proposed, her voice indicated a challenge that did not escape Killian’s ears.
“I’m not touching ya,” Killian answered quickly. Anya shivered and held up her hand as if that was the most repulsive thing she had ever heard in her life. Killian did not know if he was in agreement or if he was offended by that. Both, perhaps.
“Whoever said anything about you touching me? Never in a million years!”—Anya’s eyes flickered to the left, and Killian followed—“How about you ask Solus to do it to you?” Killian turned his face to Anya so quickly, mortified by the fact that she suggested this and brought Solus, out of everyone, into it. The bird flew back to Killian’s shoulder.
“Why?”
The elf shrugged, feigning innocence.
“He is your hero. Admiration will make it feel closest to romance.”
Killian froze and then started moving his hand to put down his glass on the table that separated them. The glint in Anya’s eyes irritated him. The words were true, but where did she hear that?
“I never said that—”
“Wren told me,” she interjected quickly, clearly anticipating it. Killian let out a fake cough followed by a low “fuck” that caused Anya to press her lips together and hide the satisfied smile behind the glass.
“But why would I want to do that?” Killian asked, rolling his shoulders and leaning backwards, consciously stopping his leg from fidgeting.
“Well, if you did it, and proved that I was wrong, I would admit, out loud, that I was wrong and that you were right.”
The bearer of the power of necromancy stared at the shapeshifter across him. No words, just contemplation while his new animal friend tippy-tapped on his shoulder, walking back and forth, observing Killian restlessly. For a moment, it seemed that Killian would refuse, but then he flexed his jaw and breathed sharply.
“In front of the public?” enquired Killian.
Anya uncrossed her legs and placed her glass on the table. She leaned forwards, putting on her most serious expression as she stared right into Killian’s eyes. She nodded first, then uttered, with indomitable certainty, “Everyone.”
The air was so still for a second. Killian’s eyes hardened. He poured the remaining whisky in the bottle to his glass and finished it. The glass returned to the table firmly, but not slammed. Anya’s eyes caught the mild trembling of the ranger’s hand, but she made no note of it to the redhead, who had started to prepare himself mentally. He pulled himself to his feet—the bird flew an inch above his head in response—swayed a little, but quickly recovered.
“I’ll show ya, be prepared,” Killian said, trying to sound confident. Anya leaned back.
“We’ll see,” she responded.
The hunter huffed, muttering something to the bird that caused him to fly away as Killian was slowly making his way to the unsuspecting healer. Anya sighed, taking back her drink from the table. She glanced long enough only to make sure that Killian did go to where Solus was, and then she poured all of her attention to the sound of momentary tranquillity and comfortable solitary in the form of strong, delicious drink she had in hand. She savoured as she finally let herself to relax.
“I thought I would never get rid of him.”
*****
The other elven steward was busy preparing himself for the trip they would embark together in the morning. Medical kits, all checked and safe to use. Dry food, perhaps the only thing that would help them survive in the forest. Water, enough to ration for two days before refill was required. What awaited them beyond the gates, neither of them could have predicted—past experience guaranteed nothing but a sense of anticipation. He hoped Killian prepared well too, though he had his concerns with the amount of drinks he witnessed the man had when he walked past them earlier. Perhaps he should check on the lad—but the train of thoughts was cut short. He was here. The smell of whisky filled the space around Solus. There was time that Solus wished his senses were not as sharp.
“Killi—can I help you?” Solus’s surprise shifted quickly to concern within the seconds of seeing the ranger a few feet away behind him when he turned around.
A visual screening from where he stood only gave him enough evidence to think that Killian was not entirely well. He had expected to see the other steward to be drunk, but there was something different in the way Killian walked. Was it hesitance? Bashfulness? Why would he be bashful, though? If it was—Solus stopped his train of thoughts, eyes shifting attention to the third presence. On top of the skull of the animal Killian had chosen to adorn and protect his right arm, his feathered companion balanced himself casually until he noticed Solus was watching. The bird hopped off to perch on the cabinet. Was he… spectating?
“Hey, uh… What are you doing?” Killian asked, voice soft, almost a whisper.
“Checking my kits and other items that we need for our trip,” Solus answered readily, stepping a little closer to Killian. Now that he had clearer view, he could see the ranger’s face nearly as red as his beard and hair.
“I checked mine, I promise, I’m not underprepared this time,” Killian said, reassuringly, even though Solus did not ask—he did not need to. The redheaded man’s head rolled to the side slowly. His eyelids looked heavy. His breathing light, but a tad too slow, it was as if he was falling asleep.
“Are you all right? You look red. Have you had a fever?” Solus fussed, as one would expect of him. “Excuse me,” he said before touching Killian’s face. Killian hummed and leaned into the touch, which wasn’t what Solus had expected of him, but did not stop. There was a chirp that piqued Solus’s curiosity, but Killian’s hooded eyes were far more interesting at this moment. Solus took a deep breath. He let his hands continue to cup Killian’s face.
“If you are not feeling well, we should postpone to the next day,” advised the elf. Killian leaned forwards a little, then pressed his face further into Solus’s touch.
“I’m fine, Solus,” he tried to persuade, eyes closed and voice drawled, “I just have had too many. I don’t know why I drank so much, but I did.”
“Oh.”
Solus did not question it further, just retracted his hands, and prepared to leave. It was better to turn in as early as possible. However, his plan was foiled by Killian, who tripped on nothing, causing Solus to catch him and prevent the risk of Killian bashing his face on the floor. The ranger’s response to this was to loop his arms around Solus’s shoulders. At first it seemed that the action was merely to stabilise himself, but as time passed, no one could justify it as so. Killian stood still and kept quiet, perhaps embarrassed. Astounded, but soon understanding, the elf patted the back of his companion, hoping that he did not have to feel ashamed that he almost tripped over nothing.
“Anya was spouting nonsense,” Killian said after a long stretch of silence.
“About what?” Solus was curious, but his tone was reminiscence of a father talking with his toddler. Killian huffed, laying his head on top of his arm, next to Solus’s ear.
“About the most romantic thing a man could do, and she said it was just… just putting hands on his partner’s waist. What does she know?” he complained hotly without letting his voice go louder than his normal indoor voice. Solus smiled, tickled by the topic. He couldn’t truly agree because the one he had done it to was no longer here to tell him if it was true. Killian was silent for a moment, then he turned his face away.
“Would you do it to me so I can tell her how puerile her idea of romance is?”
Killian tightened his hug, there barely left any distance between their upper bodies, but his voice sounded so far away. Solus still had one hand on Killian’s back from patting him earlier. He waited. Killian stayed still.
The hands made their way to Killian’s waist, careful as he was not entirely sure what this could mean. Frankly, Solus had no expectation as to what he would feel if he did this, but he was pleasantly surprised with how the ranger’s waist fit in his hands. It wasn’t the lithe, soft one that he was used to, a long time ago. Rather, it was thick and firm, wrapped neatly under the leather armour and rough clothing that the ranger always donned. He would not be able to grab him by the waist as easily. There was tension building beneath, even though it was obvious to Solus that Killian wanted to keep it under the wraps as he consciously tried to stop his body from jumping as a response.
“Right,” Killian let out a nervous laugh, “She was wrong. This is nothing.”
Solus might have imagined it, but there was a cooing noise from the cabinet. However, his curiosity was quelled by the intrigue he felt as he heard Killian’s voice. The sense of ground shaking under his feet that coloured his voice—that could possibly come from his drinking—reminded Solus of a memory closest to his heart.
“Happy to help you, my friend,” Solus said, but he did not remove his hands from the waist.
There was a thought that he was wondering if he should entertain whilst they had not separated. This was when he made notes that Killian’s arm muscles tightened around him, not to enforce the embrace, but to keep it. His pauldron plastered onto the elf’s side of face. He was aware, so he tried to ease his shoulders without letting go, but this only brought clarity to Solus’s mind. Channelling more strength to both hands, he pulled Killian closer—but not too close that no space remained, just enough to declare a shift. It was recalled to him the night he himself must undress Killian and patch him up. The size of his waist had clearly changed.
Suddenly, breeze was felt around his neck. The arms had been uncoiled, Killian was leaving his space, but his own hands firmly rooted on the ranger’s waist. Killian’s eyes were clearer when their gaze met. The movements he made were calculated, but the shiver Solus saw and felt against himself was unmistakably out of his control and it made him curious.
“I…” Killian spoke, his voice breathy as if he had been running, “I think I should retire.” After several small steps backwards, he fully separated himself from Solus. The ghostly trace on Solus’s shoulders left by his fingertips renegaded by deliberate drag of his own on Killian’s waist. A conscious tug was required to make Solus let him go. Maybe Killian had regretted ever asking Solus for this.
“You need help?” Solus offered.
“I’m… I’m fine.”
Killian turned around, visibly looking for the direction to the stairs. He could be dazed because of the amount of drinks he had, Solus kept justifying the glassy eyes and blushing face that his eyes saw with utmost clarity. The drunk steward stepped on his own cloak and tumbled loudly, then laid on the floor in full acceptance of the embarrassment that he could no longer salvage. His new avian friend tweeted so loudly on the floor near him. It almost sounded like he was laughing.
“Don’t laugh at him,” Solus said unto the bird—that did not heed his words, instead started jumping lightly on top of Killian’s back, tweeting endlessly. Solus shook his head, amused but careful not to show any sign of glee. No need to delve more into it.
“Come, I’ll help you to your room,” the elf said. The Black Rock former resident let the healer put an arm over his shoulders and prop him up. The finch flew away for a moment before landing back on Killian’s shoulder. Solus held on his waist to keep him balanced. He could choose to hold him at a higher spot on his side, but he was extremely intrigued by the prior request and the reaction, so he made the choice.
“Solus, you don’t have to…”
Killian’s voice trailed off. He was way heavier than Solus remembered, or perhaps it was the weight of a drunken man, always twice as heavy—so it always felt anyway. Whilst they carefully climbed up the stairs, Killian nuzzled against Solus’s neck.
“Something’s wrong?” Solus asked, thinking that he might have had potion residue or ailment-related stains on his person.
“No, nowt’s wrong,” the ranger whispered, voice drawled even more than before. “I just thought…”—he inhaled deeply—“the scent of flowers, I was curious. It came from you.”
“Strange, I handle herbs, not flowers,” Solus commented.
“…Flowers,” he susurrated, “flowers are herbs, too.”
“Fair enough.”
A smile formed on his face as he noted how Killian’s heartrate slowed down again. He was so close to falling asleep, but there were still half of the flight they needed to climb. Solus tugged him by the waist so Killian stayed awake until they reached his bedroom. The heartbeat spiked and remained unrest even as they arrived at the landing.
“Here’s fine,” Killian told him as they were nearing the door to his room. The bird chirped at that, causing the ranger to side-glare it.
“I have two more minutes to spare, let us make sure you don’t tumble and end up sleeping on the floor,” Solus said.
Killian growled lowly in protest, one that stopped as they stood in the doorway, looking over the bear skin rug between the door and the bed. Painful as it might be, Killian could not deny the high probability of him fumbling over the bear. He tutted in disapproval when Solus was manoeuvring him towards the bed. The bird now flew over to the window. It seemed that was the place he wanted to turn in for the night.
“Thank you,” Killian said once his back hit the mattress, embraced by the comfort possible only because of the magic of the tower. “I’ll take it from here.” A chuckle escaped Solus’s mouth when that was uttered to him.
“Do you need help with your armour?”
“What armour?” the reply came so quickly in the tone of a petulant toddler with which Solus was quite familiar. “I am not wearing an armour!” insisted the armour-wearing steward, slapping his leather-wrapped belly a few times.
“Sit up,” Solus, unconsciously, commanded. Killian’s body stiffened before he started trying to sit up, but it was all in vain. Solus had to push him and then keep him steady.
“You’re strong,” the ranger commented, as if he was in awe. Solus did not respond. “S’ppose you need to be strong to be a doctor—um, sorry, the doctor,” continued the ranger, giggling to himself. The elf smiled, but kept his mind to himself as he assessed the armour again to begin taking it off the drunken man.
“You know, Killian, in my personal opinion,” Solus started after a moment of quietness, “the most romantic thing a man could do is taking a good care of his partner and listen to them.” Killian stared at him, causing him to freeze.
“Will you listen to me?” As soon as the question left his mouth, Solus could see the panic grow in his eyes. The healer could almost see the racing thoughts behind those eyes. “I’m sorry—I don’t… I don’t know—”
Solus firmly held Killian’s side of face, pulling his full attention.
“I have been listening to you since our paths first entangled, have I not?” The rhetoric nature of the question stopped whatever chaos in Killian’s mind. It would have been quite entertaining if it wasn’t mortifying for the man. Solus removed his hand, pretending that it was completely a normal thing to do and say. “I will continue to listen to you.”
“I, uh…”
Killian’s eyes were unfocused even though they were looking straight at Solus. The redness of his face spread to his neck and ears—well, ear, as the other one was hidden behind his red hair. He could not even return the smile that Solus offered casually.
“I reckon that style is very fitting for a healer,” Killian mumbled eventually. Solus hummed in agreement.
“You could say it was a requirement for my job.”
“Your previous job,” Killian dared to correct him.
“Steward or not, healing and taking care of people remains my responsibility,” Solus uttered, unbothered. Efficiently, his fingers undid the belt and straps keeping Killian’s armour together.
“S’ true,” mumbled the owner of the room, “Doctor Solus before Steward Solus.” Silence befell on them for a second, then with genuine confusion, Killian put his hand on Solus’s wrist, stopping him from taking off the armour, and asked, “What are you doing?”
“Taking your armour off, unless you sleep with everything on,” Solus answered, eyes directed straight into Killian’s muddled ones. The redhead looked down and then to both sides, where his shoulder plates were impossible to miss.
“Oh. I am wearing my armour,” he said, looking sheepish. “S’ppose I really am sloshed.” A chuckle that came out was as humorous as it was shy. However, that did not automatically make him remove his hand from Solus’s wrist. He applied enough strength that Solus could not just shake it loose without coming across as harsh.
“May I continue?”
“Oh. Yeah.”
The hand left, sluggishly. Killian diverted his attention to the window, possibly watching his undead finch, as Solus worked with layers of clothing that he should have been able to take off by himself. The wind and rain outside filled the wordless tranquillity, but even that was not enough to mask the accelerating and the ever-crescendoing heartbeat of the human steward. Solus made no note of it, not now.
“Daddy?” a small voice broke into the room.
Both stewards turned towards the door, unsurprisingly left open. At the doorway, Solus’s twin girls stood, holding each other’s hand, in their sleepwear. Concernedly, Solus put the cloak and armour pieces that he had taken off on the bear rug, and squatted to welcome the girls. They entered the room, right into their father’s arms.
“Why aren’t you in bed, my love?” he asked.
“We want to sleep with you in the big bed,” Juno said timidly. Solus could not say no to that, especially because he would not be home for quite some time once they departed in the morrow.
“Very well,” Solus warmly said, “please wait until I finish helping Killian, all right?”
“Can we wait here?” Wren questioned, eyes roaming around the room. Solus did not miss that.
“You can,” he said as he stood up, then added, “but you must promise that you will not mess with anything in this room. And don’t bother the bird.” The twins immediately nodded. Patting them on the head with both hands, he praised, “Good girls.”
“What’s wrong with Nobody-Man?” Juno asked when Solus was back to the bed, resuming his work. Killian had unsuccessfully tried to remove his boots during this time.
“That’s not my name!” Killian protested.
“Sorry, Uncle Nobody-Man,” Wren said. Killian opened his mouth to protest, but then it just died down. Or maybe it was Solus tugging his boot off that shut him up because the timing was perfect, but no one acknowledged it enough to confirm it.
“He just needs a little help going to bed,” Solus explained, oversimplifying the matter. Though, it was no more complicated than that in reality too.
“Are you unwell, Uncle Nobody-Man?” Juno enquired, voice mimicking professional medical practitioner, close to Solus’s, but not quite. She was close to convincing Solus that she had the skills to be a healer herself at this age.
“No,” Killian answered as he worked hard to keep his eyes open and his body straight.
“Why is your face so red?” Wren’s question came like a jab even though she most likely did not intend so.
“I… I have had too many.” Killian was more honest than anyone, but it was not helping when he was talking to two five-year-olds.
“Too many? Too many what?” Wren, as expected, asked.
“Daddy, can I help?” Juno offered when Solus put both boots together on the floor.
“Okay, put the boots at the end of the bed,” Solus gently said, pointing at the spot he wanted Juno to bring the boots to, then he turned to Wren. “Killian meant he drank too much of the adult beverage, and it has made him feel very sleepy and look like he is sick.”—during this, Juno took the boots one by one and then carefully set them down, adjusting the angles until both looked perfectly straight—“Sometimes it makes you really sick too, so don’t follow his example even once you are older.”
“Hey! I’m right here!” Killian said, grabbing Solus by the shoulder. Solus repressed his laughter as Wren giggled.
“It’s okay, Daddy’s going to make you feel better,” Wren said, patting Killian on the knee.
“He already did,” mumbled Killian. Solus wanted to see his face when he said it, but his attention was quickly veered as Juno tugged his sleeve.
“I did it, Daddy, did I do it right?” Juno returned, pointing at the boots. Solus hummed and patted Juno on the head.
“You did very well.”
“I’ll help, too,” Wren said, possibly invigorated by Solus’s praise.
“Here, fold the cloak and put the armour pieces together, then put them on…”—Solus scanned the room for the least risky spot for his girls to work with, then the bird flew to the dresser—“on top of that dresser.”
Solus wondered if the bird was more than just a companion. It was not normal, but some birds were very smart… smart enough to understand Solus’s consideration? The bird understood what Solus was looking for, and it was a low dresser that the twins might have to tiptoe a bit to reach, but it wasn’t too tall that they would have to step on anything. The twins got on to the assignment and began to divide the chore. The bird came down, jumping around like a supervisor. The twins talked to the bird sometimes. They were very interested in the small details the armour pieces had that they had only seen but never touched. They were playing with the animal skull, Wren trying to scare the bird, but the bird fiercely chirped in response, then nuzzled her at the neck to tickle her. She erupted into a fit of giggles. Juno laughed at her sister’s “misery” until the bird turned to her and she, too, was tickled mercilessly by the small bird. Solus would tell them to stop, but he was happy that they had some fun—and then, he caught Killian watching. The first thing that crossed his mind was that he needed to take responsibility.
“They won’t break anything, don’t worry,” Solus reassured.
“I… no, I wasn’t thinking that,” Killian said, distractedly. “It’s just… it feels nostalgic.”
“Your own little ones?”
The way Killian turned to him and the eyes that met his gaze quickly made Solus regret his question. Such hurt, too, felt nostalgic to Solus. All too familiar of a pain he once inflicted on the one he promised to cherish. Young he might be, forgiveness was all too easy to give at that time, but now, he was older, years passed, how could he repeat it? The voice began to coalesce in his mind. The only difference was—
“I’m sorry,” Killian said first, breaking the chaos train on which Solus’s mind had jumped.
“No, I am sorry, I was insensitive,” Solus said, looking down. His hands found purpose in meddling with the rivulets and straps of Killian’s arm protectors, setting free the muscled and scarred forearms. He watched as Killian’s hands opened and closed, itching for action but the desire quickly curbed.
“It’s… it’s not…” softly Killian said, “they just remind me of myself and my siblings. We used to do this with our grandfather’s things.” Solus looked up. The tenderness in his eyes and face made the man before him look momentarily much younger. The boy he used to be, the one Solus saw from afar, one with wonders in his eyes—not burden aplenty and a mountain of losses.
“Anya talked about romance because she knew I never had one,” Killian admitted, voice barely above a whisper. The sigh that followed was weary. Solus knew soon he would drop to the bed again and only wake up when morning came.
“You’ll have your turn,” Solus comforted him. The ranger looked down, shaking his head, clearly refusing to believe it. He tilted his head, aimed his half-lidded eyes at Solus.
“It’s strange how sometimes you are the hopeful one between us.”
“It is because I trust you and I hope the best for you,” Solus responded without missing a beat.
Forlorn of unknown root resurfaced in Killian’s eyes, only this time it felt warmer, filled to the brim with a sense of self-sabotage as his words visibly kept unsaid. Maybe Solus should have approached it with a more honest and open strategy. For a moment, they just held their gaze, wishing to speak, but never did.
“Daddy,” the small voice once again broke the figurative confinement. The twins stood next to the bed. Solus’s face quickly turned warm.
“What is it, dear?”
“We’ve done it,” Wren said, pointing at the pile of clothes and armour pieces neatly placed atop the designated dresser. The finch stood on top of the pile, looking quite proud, just as Juno and Wren did. And they should. They put together everything categorically. Clearly they picked it up from sneaking into Solus’s study.
“Spectacular job, my love,” he said. “I am almost done helping Killian, too. Why don’t you two go ahead and wait for me in our chambers?”
“Okay!”
The girls were about to run out of the room, but Solus held them back. He turned towards Killian, who was just watching quietly.
“Say good night to Killian,” said he. A surprise look appeared on Killian’s face, but he quickly accepted his fate as Juno climbed to hug him.
“Good night, Killian.”
There was never a hug requirement, but it seemed that the girls decided saying good night to Killian must include a hug. Solus had no intention of stopping them. Wren followed Juno’s lead before Juno let him go. The father must hold Killian by the shoulders so he did not topple as the kids did not realise how much they pulled him down.
“Good night, girls,” Killian managed to say as the girls jumped down.
He instinctively tried to hold on to one of them when they did so they did not fall. Solus, too, guarded them because he himself knew the girls could be a bit reckless. They landed on the bear rug, softly embraced by the fur even though Juno did trip and landed on her knees. That single moment almost caused a cardiac attack. Solus had to hold himself back from fussing. The girls, despite not harmed, felt a little bit of shock so they did not run out of the room, just walked hastily. When Solus looked at Killian again, he noticed that Killian might have had a little heart attack.
“A rug might be a good idea for my room,” Solus tried to joke. Killian chuckled.
“It’s nice. I wouldn’t have minded if I fell asleep on it,” Killian said.
“Perhaps I should have left you to fall and sleep on it as you wished,” the healer replied, pressing down a smug smile he had adopted from Killian, but would never admit. Killian nodded, as an answer and an indicator of his impending crash.
“You should have listened to me.”
“You are drunk. Drunk people don’t make decisions,” Solus said, helping Killian shed the last of his tunic, leaving him with only breeches. Solus folded the tunic and stood up to put it, and the arm pieces, on the dresser along with the other pieces. The bird sidestepped, allowing him to place the addition without piling them on him.
“I’m not that drunk,” Killian stated. Solus turned around, finding the ranger standing near the bed. He staggered towards the healer, only to stumble and return to Solus’s arms.
“I understand,” Solus said, very carefully gathering the other steward in his embrace as the weight of his drunkenness continued to increase. “Sleep, Killian. You’ll need it,” Solus insisted, coaxing him to go back to bed. Killian complied, but not without some difficulties. He was afraid of being dropped like a sack, so his hands grabbed Solus, holding him for dear life—so much for “not that drunk” statement. Solus had to take a deep breath as he gently led the ranger to sit and then lay down. Strategically placing his knee between the other man’s legs, he adjusted Killian in bed. He hoped it was centre enough that Killian would not roll over and fall to the floor.
“Solus,” Killian called when the elf was bringing the blanket over.
“Yes?”
“You are my hero, you know that, right?”
“You have made it crystal clear,” Solus said, fighting the blush that rushed to his face as he never knew how to handle that. Eyes heavy from drowsiness that finally sank its claws on him, Killian smiled and seemingly drifted to sleep. Solus put the blanket on him and readied himself to leave. As he approached the door, he heard a faint sigh.
“Maybe the hand on the waist would have been better if it was in bed,” said Killian, thinking aloud. Solus watched as the ranger sighed again, acting as if Solus was no longer in that room with him. Solus was way too quiet, it seemed.
“Good night, Killian,” he said. Killian was startled, looking over with squinted eyes. He looked like he had just woken up, which probably was true.
“G—good night.”
There was that almost continuous tweet again, sounding more like laughter than before. Just before Solus closed the door, he heard Killian gruffly tell the bird to shut up, but the tweet did not stop. Solus would pretend he did not hear anything. For now.
*****
Groaning was the first thing he did when he woke up in the morning. Killian was sure he was not sloshed, but clearly he underestimated the strength of drinks Avis had left them. He remembered most things and he now must steel himself to face the man after all nonsense he just vomited on him last night. His bird friend looked incredibly smug, as if he knew something Killian did not, and the ranger felt as if he was at home with his younger siblings again. With Nell again.
“Don’t say a word,” Killian warned the bird, treating him like a little brother. The bird just jumped around and tilted its head, chirping innocently. Now he played as if he didn’t understand what Killian was saying. Unbelievable.
His heart hadn’t been the same. The first time Solus put the hands on his waist, he truly believed that he had proven Anya wrong, but the second time—when he meant it—Killian panicked. The crave it brought after was nearly unbearable. Through layers of leathers and fabrics, the tingling feeling penetrated and lingered, feeding his mind with impossible wish of tasting the touch directly with his skin. Now he wished he was conscious enough to remember how Solus had manhandled him when he patched him up that night. Killian began to wonder how he would survive this trip without constantly thinking about Solus’s hands on him.
“Killian, you are blocking the way,” a dry voice drew him back from his daydreaming. Anya was sitting at the table, having breakfast with the twins and Astrid. She was visibly unimpressed with Killian, who was just standing and minding his own business. He was about to bite, but his words died at the tip of his tongue when a pair of hands firmly grabbed both sides of his waist, moving him to the side with strength just enough to activate his mobility and not more.
“Sorry,” Solus said, as easy as breathing. He stepped towards the table past Killian. The hands left invisible trace that felt like burning ember. “Have you had yours, Killian?” Solus asked.
“No, I was… lost in my thoughts.”
“I hope it pertains to your quest,” Anya said, irritatingly smug. Killian sat next to Juno, choosing not to take the bait.
Some people might think that becoming co-stewards meant they instantly get along, but that could not be further than truth. Anya was being nice because she felt indebted by Solus, whose child saved her life. Killian tolerated Anya because the affairs of the Isle were more than their petty beef. Killian could see that Anya was itching to talk about their silly punter, but held her tongue as Wren monopolised her attention, asking a million questions about what kind of animals she could turn into.
Killian was eager to have the bet ignored and forgotten. Forever.
*****
After breakfast and readying up, Killian once again was surprised by Solus grabbing his waist. This time, it was to pull him away from a box on the floor that he failed to see when he was about to go back upstairs and take his satchel from his room—that he did not forget when he left the room earlier. Just how many times he would look foolish in front of Solus? He had trained senses and heightened awareness, but sometimes he just…
He counted his blessings as Solus was kind. He was not the type to shame him for making such silly mistakes and accidents. Solus just helped and moved on. Although, it did not mean Killian was not mortified inside. When he saw Solus smile reassuringly after saving him from another shameful display of his inattentiveness, he wished he could shrivel into the nearest chimney, but he could not tear his eyes away, too. The bird tweeted again from where he perched on his shoulder. It felt like being tailed by his nosey little siblings all over again.
“So,” Anya started as soon as she materialised next to him right before he and Solus left the Rest. Killian’s jaw tightened. He hated that the dark-skinned elf maintained a neutral expression right now. She had seen it with her own eyes and he wished she did not.
“We forget about it.”
“Fine with me.”
Surprisingly easy to agree, Killian could not help but to question it. Anya smirked discreetly, but not so discreet from Killian’s field of vision. She was going to hold this against him. Killian needed to find a way to make her keep it to herself, but there was no time. Anya opened the door and stepped out first. Killian, taken aback by the public attendance, stood still for a second.
“It’s time,” a warm, familiar voice invited him. Solus pushed Killian gently towards the door with one hand, taking him to walk side by side.
All Killian could think about was the hand—resting on the small of his back. He turned to Solus, quietly questioning it. The elven steward glanced at him, smiled, and after a swift caress on his back, stepped away from Killian, leaving the only human steward with the question:
“What the fuck did that mean?”