After days of madness, being here in this place feels bizarre. Real? I’m not going to die? I smile then. A small smile but a real one. He catches it, returns it, the softest quirk of his lip, and I dip my head shyly.
He taps a finger against the flasks by the flames. Satisfied with the temperature, he pulls them forward, unscrews the cap, and brings it to his lips to test it before handing it off to me. “It’s not too hot.”
“What is it?”
“It’s soup.”
Soup. I don’t think I’ve been so excited for soup in my whole damn life. I take a careful sip, and warmth encapsulates my mouth. It’s perfectly heated, not hot enough to burn, savory and salty, and I gulp half of it immediately. Famished, wanting. The soup warms me from the inside out. A wave of relief washes over me so thickly I can feel a physical weight falling from my shoulders. A breath of fresh air. Full health after days of sickness, like saturating sunshine after days of rain.
The future is uncertain, but I’m not going to die…and I’m… happy about it? “This is good,” I murmur.
“Yeah?” This time, he flashes me a full smile, revealing those two crooked teeth. Genuine warmth. It’s as hopeful as it is relieved.He didn’t have to save me.
“Mhm, yeah it’s really—“ My chest squeezes, hardening my throat. I try again. “It’s really—“
He didn’t have to save me.
Fuck, I’m going to cry. With nowhere to run. Or no way to run. I try anyway, scrambling to my feet with newfound strength. The cloak falls to the ground. “Pet?”
“I’m going—I just need to—“ I need toescape. I heave a breath with the strain, knees wobbling. I spread my arms, fighting for balance, the canteen still clutched tightly in my hand. The oversized shirt hangs loosely off my shoulder. One step, I teeter. Two steps, and I fold, knees hitting the ground.Stupid.
The dam of my emotions overfills, and I crack, covering my face behind my hands, momentarily forgetting I’m still holding the canteen. Warm liquid sloshes over the back of my hand. “Pet, you’re spilling your soup,” Sitri admonishes, but his tone is gentle.
“Oh, no,” I choke out in alarm and he laughs softly. The next thing I know, he’s at my side, prying the canteen from my grip. He wipes the back of my hand on his pants as I continue to try and fail to hold back sobs. “Come here.”
He ignores my blubbering complaints and tugs me to his chest. I’m always fucking crying in front of him. I think I’ve cried more in the last few weeks than I have in the last five years. I hide my face behind my hands and empty all the panic and terror and misery of the last few days. Or maybe the last week, everything. Maybe I haven’t taken a full breath since I came here.
He didn’t have to save me.
I stay like that,paralyzed, as my chest eases. His hand comes up to brush over the wild tangle of my hair, and his head presses to the top of mine. I draw in slow breaths, each of them carrying his scent. Masculine and woodsy, unbathed but not offensive. It’s too intimate—too intense, and my heart starts racing for an entirely different reason.
His head shifts and then it’s his mouth pressing into my hair as he says, “Are you crying because the soup is good?”
I let out a wet-sounding laugh. He laughs too, but the sound is off—strangled in his throat. “Wait—“ I push back at his chest, lifting a tear-spattered face. “Are you…”
I get a quick glance of his undeniably glassy eyes before he swipes a hand over my face, covering my eyes and lightly pushing my head back. “No,” he says sharply. “Don’t look.”
I let out another laugh, batting at his hand. He simply drags it further down to swipe away the mess of tears. “Why?”
He snorts. “You should see yourself. Your weeping? That would bring anyone down. Not to mention, I haven’t slept in three days. I’m practically hallucinating.”
“Oh.” I dip my head, the immensity again for what he’s done for me filling my chest.
“And, I also have a newfound appreciation for the…soup.”
Another laugh bubbles out of me against my will. Damn him. I shift back on my knees to put space between us, wiping at my face, and his arms wrap back around me.
“Let me put you back.”
“No… I want to get up.” I push back at his arms. The sun is already dipping behind the tree line. “I need to move around a little. Before it gets dark.”
He hooks a single brow. “Didn’t you already try that?”
I ignore him and climb to my feet—or struggle to climb to my feet. He holds out a hand with a sigh, and I take it gratefully. Once there, I sway slightly, forced to grasp his hand again to balance myself until I find a stance I’m more confident in.
“Don’t fall in the fire,” he says, tone accusatory.
“I won’t.” I let go and move around him steadily enough. Cold air brushes my bare legs and bare feet. Stepping carefully, I turn back to find him. “If you want to sleep, I’ll be fine.” He merely shakes his head. The ground is a mixture of soft, cool dirt, jagged rocks, and sharp twigs. I make my way to where Epona is tethered to the tree. I can practically feel Sitri’s eyes following me, waiting for me to fall so he can come rescue me.
