Daromir’s shadow covers him, then Daromir’s arms surround him. Vana buries his face in Daromir’s chest and waits for Daromir to say,This is why we should have left.
We can still leave. Arla is still in town.
Vana doesn’t know if he can articulate why he has to stay. He’s so messed up and vulnerable right now, he can’t even explain it to himself. There’s just his weakness, his fear, his abject terror that if he leaves now, the past fourteen years were a waste. That everything Vana’s dragged Daromir through has been fornothing.
But Daromir doesn’t say any of that. He just buries his face in Vana’s hair and murmurs, “Vana, my love.”
All the pain and regret and love shatter the wall in Vana’s heart. He chokes on a breath, and the next is a sob.
The storm crashes over Vana, each sob shocking and painful. His whole body shakes against Daromir, and he doesn’t even try to hold back the tears. His hands hurt with how tightly he clutches Daromir’s shoulders. Daromir just holds him close, stroking his back, murmuring his name over and over again.
Vana clings to his voice, like only Daromir can remind him who he is.
“I should have exiled him,” Vana manages. “I should have sponsored him into a guild. Even a bound apprenticeship would have been better than going back to smuggling, and the binding would have kept him from…”
“Stop,” Daromir says roughly, cupping the back of Vana’s head. “Stop. This isn’t your fault. If it wasn’t Fleury, it would have been some other poor bastard. Imrik holds executions when he wants to—you know this.”
“I killed him,” Vana whispers.
“And if he knew anything, he was grateful for it.” Daromir rubs Vana’s neck. “I know it doesn’t help, but you did the right thing today, love.”
“I know,” Vana says, then sobs. “I don’t know.”
He breaks down again until he’s completely empty and his eyes burn dry, but it isn’t enough. Vana doesn’t know how to exorcize this nightmare from his chest. He doesn’t know how to pull himself together enough to go outside tomorrow, to bow and scrape at court. To patch the cracks in his soul with politics and grace.
Vana doesn’t have to know how, though. He rubs his nose with his sleeve, too shattered to care what a mess he is, and lifts his head. Daromir’s eyes are red-rimmed too, his attention entirely focused on Vana. Like always. Vana isn’t alone right now, and he doesn’t have to be strong. He doesn’t have to know the answers.
“Tell me what I need,” Vana begs. “Please.”
Daromir takes Vana’s face in both hands. They’re so warm, unlike his magic. Almost as warm as the barely-there kiss he presses to Vana’s forehead. “I love you so much.” Daromir kisses next to Vana’s right eye. “Let me help you forget, just for tonight.” He kisses Vana’s left eye.
Vana shudders with relief. “Please.”
Daromir’s hand is a gentle manacle around Vana’s wrist, leading him into the bedroom. They stop in Daromir’s side of the room again. Vana has never said it out loud, but Daromir probably already knows Vana likes Daromir’s bed better. It smells of Daromir.
“Don’t do anything,” Daromir says. “Just let me touch you.”
Vana wipes his face with his sleeve and nods. Daromir pulls his hands away and rubs his thumbs beneath Vana’s eyes. Kisses his forehead again, then starts undressing him.
Daromir starts with the scalestone pins holding Vana’s hair up. One by one, each pin releases tension, until all Vana’s hair spills cold and dry on his neck. Daromir sets the pins aside and runs his fingers through Vana’s hair, a simple, gentle pleasure that Vana doesn’t deserve today.
But Daromir has never cared what Vana deserves. Vana is weak enough to take the comfort, even though he’s a monster.
Daromir pushes Vana’s hair aside and kisses the back of Vana’s neck, a long, slow touch that heats Vana to the core. “Fuck, Vana. I’ve barely touched you.”
Vana can’t respond. He doesn’t need to. Daromir just kisses his neck again and continues, well aware of the arousal shivering down both their spines. Each layer Daromir strips away is a weight lifted from Vana’s shoulders. Another mask stripped away. Vana tears up again when Daromir slides the shirt from his shoulders, then caresses his right hand again. No sign of scorch marks. No lightning. But Vana can’t forget.
“You’re still thinking too much, aren’t you?” Daromir asks, not needing an answer. He lets go of Vana and steps away. Looks Vana up and down, and Vana can only imagine what Daromir sees. Clad only in boots and trousers, his face wet and red, a half-dressed mess.
Daromir is as gorgeous as ever, but his handsome features are drawn into a frown that Vana, in his distress, can’t quite read. Vana’s eyes dart everywhere. He can’t justfocuson Daromir like he wants to.
“I can’t stop,” Vana admits.
Daromir nods like he’s coming to a decision. “Wait here for me.”
Vana can’t help overthinking when Daromir vanishes into Vana’s side of the room. Only fragile painted screens separate them, but it’s too much. What if Daromir doesn’t want to deal with Vana like this after all? What if Daromir is disgusted that Vana killed Fleury? What if he still wishes they were both away in Kaiskara? What if he regrets anything?
What if Daromir regretseverything?
