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[cozen]

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[cozen]

No, no, it was...

[ Fine, he was going to say again. He catches himself. Not quite a lie, but close enough he steps back from it. ]

I might be a little jealous, too, I think. Not territorial, not like that, but—it seems so much bigger and louder, with the two of you. And the way she focuses, like she has to remind herself anyone else is there. I can’t do that. The only time I am not thinking of everyone who can see me and what they must think and what I should say and what I should be doing with my hands and my face—I only stop when I’m alone, and sometimes when I’m alone with you. If someone else can see, I can’t. I hope that doesn’t mean I don’t love you enough.

[ —steps back from fine and into a puddle of honesty a little deeper than he expected. And sending crystals are convenient, but he also hates them. They’re only a little bit better than letters, so far as being able to gauge reactions goes.

So he makes a quasi-laugh sort of noise, self-deprecating in its awkwardness, and jokes— ]

See what you get when you worry about my feelings? That’ll teach you.

[bouchonne]

Yes, I'm well-taught.

[ It's an awkward little joke as well, because all of that is - well, it's a lot. A hell of a lot more than what he usually gets from Bastien. But he likes it. It's intimate and honest and therefore really special. But what's he going to say, oh, Bastien, I treasure your feelings of discomfort, and the way that you've had paranoia and mistrust drilled into you from childhood? So he just tries to communicate the fact that he is fond, and warm, and touched, through tone of voice alone. And he hopes that works. ]

Lexie is - like an ocean. Like a tempest. And I love a storm. But I also love the deep woods on a quiet day.

[ Is that a helpful metaphor? Maker, his poetry really is terrible. So he goes for honesty instead: ]

I think I've noticed it. When you stop worrying about performing. It's subtle, but I think I've seen it.

[cozen]

[ It’s a particularly comforting metaphor to give to a fellow who struggles to see the appeal of storms, except on a distant theoretical level that allows for other people to go out and love them if they want to, that’s fine, write him a poem to read about it afterwards, but in the meantime he’ll be as indoors as possible, maybe with his head under a pillow, thanks.

Between that and Byerly’s tone, he smiles, and the fear shrinks, and he’s quiet for a moment just to feel it.

Then: ]

Is it when I drool in my sleep? Because, actually, that is on purpose. [ It’s not. ] It’s meant to be endearing. I don’t even do it naturally. I have to work up a big mouthful of spit before I fall asleep so it can leak out overnight.

[bouchonne]

Ha.

[ He smiles slightly to himself. ]

You must take me for a rank amateur, to think I'd be fooled by fake drooling. I saw through you the moment you started to dribble.

[cozen]

Augh. Foiled again.

[ He puts his arms on his desk in front of the crystal, puts his head on his arms, and closes his eyes. ]

Are you sure you’re alright? Not just with Alexandrie. Those were some shitty dreams.

[bouchonne]

[ A moment, and then a breath out. ]

Is there any choice, but to be all right?

[cozen]

Sure. There’s, uh... being angry at the world for being so fucking relentless you can’t even be left alone when you are asleep. You could throw things, if you choose that one.

You could shut down emotionally for the foreseeable future. That option is not my favorite, though.

You could lose your mind with fear for the future and run away to Gwaren with me after all. That one I like a little more.

Or you could pretend for everyone who needs it, since you are important, and then come over here and let me rub your back and talk to me about it.

[bouchonne]

[ Well. That's all - extremely sensible. Actually. ]

I do like having my back rubbed.

[cozen]

You see, that is very convenient for me, because I like rubbing it.

Whenever you have some time. Even if it’s late. I’ll leave the door unlocked for you.

[bouchonne]

Will you promise that you'll let me rub your back, too?

[cozen]

[ He sighs a sigh of great hardship. ]

If you must. And if you promise not to tell me how you know when I’m not performing. I don’t want to know how to fake it.

[bouchonne]

[ That is - unexpectedly charming. And strangely moving. ]

My lips will stay sealed.

[ And later that night - quite late, really - there will be a knock on Bastien's door. ]

[cozen]

[ After a short delay the door cracks open enough to confirm who’s knocking, then wider. On the other side, the room is dimly fire-lit and Bastien is wearing a blanket like a cloak against the cold. ]

After-hours entry fee, [ he whispers, tapping his own cheek and angling it up to be kissed. ]

[bouchonne]

[ And Byerly leans down and licks Bastien's cheek. It's very wet. ]

[cozen]

[ He laughs first, fake swoons second, with a backwards stumble that leaves room for Byerly to come in. ]

Unparalleled kissers, you Fereldans, I have always said.

[ Quiet, since the door is open, but he closes and locks it once Byerly is past the threshold and stops whispering while he herds him toward the bed. ]

You are banished from our office, by the way. I forgot to tell you.

[bouchonne]

[ Ah. His step slows just a touch so that he can eye Bastien, trying to determine the tenor of this exile. ]

Is the peace that fragile?

[cozen]

[ A little shrug. He’s not overly concerned about it, himself. ]

She offered to move out of it, so you could come by without it upsetting her, but I don’t want her to go. I’ve been trying to... She was always your lover first, to me, and my friend second. When she was anything to me at all. It might be easier for all of us if it is less like that, don’t you think? At least a little.

And I like her.

[bouchonne]

[ A nod. He hooks his hand in his pocket, and says, with a quiet sincerity: ]

I'd like her to have more friends. [ Then - ] I'd like you to have more friends, too.

[cozen]

Then I will go ashore tomorrow and pick some out. How many—five, do you think? I could do five by lunch.

[ He sits on the edge of the mattress, twisted to rearrange pillows to facilitate a future of back rubs, and adds, ]

No shoes in my bed. But if you can’t stay the night you have to leave your shirt on so I don’t feel teased.

[bouchonne]

[ He starts to unbutton his shirt with a wink. He's here to stay. ]

I hope your hands are nice and stretched. My back is a rock.

[cozen]

[ For a moment he lets himself be distracted by Byerly’s fingers on his buttons—hot—but then he scoots and settles and demonstratively stretches out his fingers. ]

Don’t worry. I have trained for this my whole life.

[bouchonne]

[ The shoes are kicked off carelessly, and then he catapults himself onto the bed. Full belly-flop. ]

Good. Destroy me.

[cozen]

[ Charming.

Bastien ruffles his hair first, rearranges some of the blankets to cover what can reasonably be covered, and shifts onto his knees to get to slow and steady work. ]

Maker. You were not lying.

[ He’s also not only here for a back rub. But another are you alright would be almost as broad and useless as tell me things now, so— ]

It is probably very selfish to be glad the Herald didn’t end the war all by herself that way, but I think I am.

[bouchonne]

[ The touch is good. The methodical, rhythmic pattern of it is good. He lets a breath out, and tries to force his back to unclench so that Bastien doesn't break a damn finger. ]

A bit shocking, how easily we could have been bastards. Just a few years of piece, and then -

[cozen]

Rotten.

[ He has strong hands, but Byerly’s back really is like a cliff face. When he’s finished a preliminary survey of the landscape he leans over to the bed stand to dig around and retrieve the oil kept there for other mostly-Byerly-related reasons. ]

—maybe. I am not sure how much of it to believe could really happen that way. I hope if a smarmy bastard showed up like that and told me there was a massive conspiracy of elves trying to end the world, I would ask some more questions before I believed it.