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What a gruesomely long day. By the time you drag your carcass to camp, you're too tired to even socialize. You toss aside your armor, slump on a log by the fire and let Shadowheart tend to any remaining injuries she didn't have time to heal on the road.
You notice Halsin watching you with concerned eyes from behind a scroll he's reading just outside his tent. You wish you could soothe his worries, but your face doesn't feel like doing the work of lifting the corners of your mouth. So you just stare at him wistfully over Shadowheart's shoulder and count the seconds until you're free to leave.
As soon as she's done, you grab the first bottle you find and slither away from the camp, down to the riverbank closeby.
The air is fresh and crisp, the setting sun is casting amazing red light over the grassy clearing and the sleepy birdsongs caress your ears. The peace and tranquility you've needed for hours now. A beauty sparsely found on battlefields and in various cultist camps.
It doesn't work this time, though. It's been too long. You've had enough. All the squirming in your head, muddling your thoughts; all the fighting and pretending; all the cuts, bruises and near-deaths you've experienced since being abducted—it's sapping the life out of you. Your journey is a constant struggle, interrupted only by a few pleasant evenings around the fire with your new friends.
Not to mention the impossible feat of suppressing your ever-growing feelings for a man who'd rejected you.
You exhale all your frustration in one long gulp of air, sit in soft moss and lean the back of your head against a tree. Surviving wasn't getting any easier, and neither was your pining.
"Meow?"
You would jump if your body wasn't so utterly deprived of strength and agility right now. Immediately chastising yourself for perceiving an innocent meow as a threat, you register the wild cat cautiously approaching you along the riverbank. Its tail and ears perk up curiously at the movement and the eyes follow your hand as you readily outstretch it in greeting.
"Hey kitty," you sigh in a resigned voice—you can't really offer much better at the moment. The cat slowly steps towards you and sniffs your fingers. "Yeah, sorry. I don't have anything to eat."
You watch the furry body relax a little and sweep its tail under its butt as it sits down, studying you. Your eyes are weary and the peace around you is making you sleepy, but you really want to pet the cat.
"Want some cuddles?" you say, knowing full-well it can't understand you. But you pat your knees anyway; can't hurt to try. "Come on here, I'll give you some nice scritches, hm?"
To your surprise, the cat purrs and slowly crawls into your lap. The soft giggle leaving your mouth surprises you even more, but cats were always therapeutic for you and the magic seems to be working even through thick layers of depression and exhaustion. You quietly stroke the creature's soft fur, feeling its heartbeat and purrs reverberating through its little body. Its claws are softly digging into your thighs and its tail keeps brushing your face and now and then the cat looks up and meows sweetly.
"Aww, such a sweet kitty," you smile. "I've known a couple of cat assholes in my time, glad that's not you."
The cat chirps as if it could understand you and you massage the top of its head with your nails, making it knead your legs. And just as easily as it cheered you up, it breaks the mental barriers you've erected to protect yourself while working and battling and lying your way through the Absolute.
You can suddenly feel the emptiness in your chest swallowing your breath. Despite having others who are suffering the same fate, you feel so alone. Perhaps it's because the very person you really care to know and be known by doesn't have a tadpole that would allow you to effortlessly connect.
He seems so open and honest, but never about the notion of having any sort of feelings for you. You used to probe him with subtle questions, things you could easily explain away as curiosity or making fun, but it led nowhere. Every time you were almost positive there was something between the two of you, his face dimmed and he changed the subject. Until you gave up asking and just opted to avoid him altogether.
"Men, amirite?" you exhale forcibly, gripping the bottle you've left unnoticed next to you so far. You pull out the cork and take a big gulp. You don't even care what it is—whatever numbs your tender insides is fine.
"Well, I mean, unless you're a guy, too?" You raise your eyebrows, gently angling the cat so you can see what's under its tail. Ah, of course. The biggest pair of balls such a little creature is capable of hauling around. "Figures," you scoff. "Well, at least one man wants to cuddle with me, I guess."
You're exaggerating and you know it. You've been propositioned and flirted with by your whole camp—something you've never experienced before. Maybe the tadpole is making all of you horny and romantically inclined—which would explain why Halsin wants nothing to do with you. And maybe it's your suddenly short life expectancy that melted some of your company's inhibitions. You yourself have brazenly offered Halsin "a drink" on his first night in your camp.
The irony is, you are most horny for the one guy that doesn't seem to feel the same way.
Chugging the alcohol in no measured way you slowly relax under the pleasant weight of the fuzzy warm animal over your lap. You talk out loud, half to yourself, half to the cat. You sob for a while, then you laugh at your own recollection of how utterly embarrassing your attraction to the big druid is. The cat is a great therapist, nudging your hand with its head every time you need moral support, purring your sadness away.
In the end, you slide down to the soft moss, still clutching the cat.
"Sleep with me?" you beg gingerly, sniffling, as the creature stirs and regroups. "Don't leave me here all alone."
The cat purrs in your face so loudly it makes you giggle. As if in appreciation, it licks your chin with its rough tongue and snuggles close to your neck in the little enclosure you made with your arms. Its warmth and soft purr—and the bottle of wine in your bloodstream—lull you to sleep almost immediately.
.
You see the sunlight almost before you wake up. It's probably the only thing that could get through your hangover. Your brain feels like mush, slow and sticky. Your very skin aches, as does your hair. Something must've died in your mouth as you slept to leave such a foul taste.
Something very warm is pressed to your face and you don't feel like leaving that comfort just yet. The early sun is warming you up from the other side. You could use a change of position, but the moss is still incredibly soft. Despite your sorry state, it feels quite blissful to be here now, like this.
You hear a heartbeat. It's slow and steady, accompanied by the faint sound of lungs pulling air in and expelling it out again.
Oh dear gods, you're snuggling someone.
You don't dare move as your eyes fly open. A skull-splitting headache stabs you in the eyes, but you blink through it. You can see tan skin in your field of view and it's not yours. It's covered in freckles and dark hair and there's a wrinkle or two. It's very warm and smooth and smells faintly of forest and smoke and sweat and man.
You shiver involuntarily as the scent hits the right buttons of your incapacitated brain. Despite its battered state, your body promptly heats up with desire. You know this mouthwatering combination, although you'd never had the pleasure of being so close to the source: Halsin.
Wait, wasn't there a cat in your arms last night? How did he get here?
You slowly draw your head away from him so you can see the situation better. You're still where you've collapsed hours ago, but instead of a small wild creature, there's a big hunk of an elf between your arms, being your little spoon. He seems soundly asleep, chest expanding with slow, deep breaths. His hair falls over his neck, glittering in the morning's sun like honeyed gold.
You still don’t know how he wound up here, but you can’t help but doubt he would choose to sleep in your arms if he was sound of mind. Perhaps he got drunk last night as well and wandered the forest until he tripped and fell over you? That still sounds more plausible than whatever your hormone-infused fantasy is readily serving you.
You hate the idea of stirring him awake, but as soon as you move you can feel your arms hurt in cruel and unusual ways and you can't help but think how disgusted you'd feel if a near stranger spooned your drunken body without your consent. Firmly believing you're making the only honest move, you gently run your palm over his thick muscled arm, trying your best to ignore the pleasant texture and warmth.
"Halsin?" Your voice is hoarse and speaking feels horrible, but you shake him a little and try again. "Halsin, wake up."
His body softly jolts. He inhales a big gulp of air, limbs automatically stretching. And then he rolls over like it's nothing new.
There's a little shy smile on his beautiful face.
"Are you feeling better?"
Your jaw falls loose. The chewed out bubblegum filling your skull doesn't offer you any explanations, though you feel like there's something very obvious that you're missing. His lack of surprise or indignation doesn't compute.
"Uh... I don't remember you being around when I fell asleep."
Halsin's gaze retreats to the soft moss beneath you, hand suddenly twitching nervously.
"I'm sorry," he says repentantly and you just gape. "I saw how worn down you were feeling, but you didn't give anyone a chance to talk to you. I'm not sure what I would've said, but I wanted to help you and I didn't really know how. So I... stooped to this deception."
His eyes flicker up to yours, searching. You don't have anything better to offer than stunned silence.
"I hope you can forgive me," he continues, probably worried about your lack of response. "You seemed to need that silent company and I didn't want to ruin it by wildshaping back until you needed it no longer." A tenderness you've never witnessed settled over his features. "I should've left during the night, but... it felt too good to sleep in your arms."
"Halsin," you finally utter a word and it's his name in a wistful little moan. Something in your chest snaps and it starts leaking feelings faster than you can shove them back in. "Do you... like me?"
He smiles apologetically. "And here I thought I was being obvious."
You let out a small whimper at his words and bite your lip. It must be the leftover alcohol in your system, but you feel your eyes well up. Is it possible you're still trapped in drunken slumber and this is just a sweet dream?
Ohh shit, he was the cat!
"But..." you peep, feeling panic rising in your chest, "but you... everything I said last night—"
"It made me sad to see you so sorrowful," he interrupts softly, laying a broad palm over your shoulder. "But it made me happy to know you felt about me the way I feel about you. There is nothing embarrassing about what you said."
His hand moves slightly, encompassing an alarming percentage of your skin in his seductive body heat. Your eyes flutter closed for a moment.
"I realize you didn't mean to tell me like that," he continues quietly. "Perhaps you wouldn't have told me at all. I hate to have taken that choice from you. So I'm trying to not celebrate just yet."
His eyes search yours again, a question you can very well guess spread over his features. His palm is still caressing your shoulder, making it hard to form coherent thoughts even if you weren't already impaired by alcohol and a shattering headache. You don't know what to say.
So... maybe you don't have to talk at all.
You cup his face in your hands and draw close to plant a kiss to his lips. They're soft and his scent envelops you again, muddling your sensibility even more. His arms tentatively wrap around you and his head tilts a little to gain better access to you. You feel like you could dance along the riverbank and sing loudly from the crazy happiness he's triggering in you. He's stoking fires in you even the Hells would be envious of. You want to have him right here, right now.
But you really need to brush your teeth first, or you'll die of embarrassment.
You pull away, eyes crinkled in joy and you study his mistied expression.
"Can we revisit this later, please?"
He chuckles and nods. "Of course. I'll be around, hoping you won't change your mind."
You grin and pull yourself up to your feet despite the pain and dizziness. "Not a chance in Hell."