Theea
I pause when I catch him with my drawing in his hands. Not just glancing at it—his face has that faraway focus like it’s tugged him somewhere else entirely. I study him while he studies my lines, wondering what in the world could be in his head. But before I can get any kind of read, he’s setting it down gentle as glass, slipping it right out of my reach.
My head tips at his words—you’re wrong—eyes narrowing the tiniest bit. Still, the corner of my mouth betrays me with a fleeting smile as I step closer. “Worrywart,” I murmur, conceding, right before I sneeze into my elbow like the universe decided to punctuate it for me. My body is screaming the truth—fever, congestion, all of it—but I don’t want to be sick. So I keep pretending. Allergies. Has to be.
But gods, it’s been a lonely couple days, stuck in here with nothing but charcoal and the sound of my own sneezing. The sigh that slips out is heavier than I mean it to be as I finally give in, lowering myself beside Aria. I bury my fingers in the thick warmth of the snow leopard's pelt, scritching at her neck. “I’m not letting you clean my house,” I warn, though softer than I mean to. “But… that was the last log I had inside.”
When he asks when I last ate, my brow furrows. I purse my lips, thinking, and finally say, “Bread and tea. Early this morning.” His stare catches me right then—warm and unflinching, like it always is, intense and carrying a vast depth of thought and feeling he makes such an effort to keep to himself, but never does with me. It never feels like he’s trying to impress me, never forced. He just is, and somehow, as always, that makes it matter so much more. It catches right in my chest, and I have to look away, cheeks warming despite the chill running through me.
I clear my throat, trying to make it casual. “What kind of work brought you all the way to Torchline, then? Something had to pull you out of those snowdrifts and into the sand dunes.”
My head tips at his words—you’re wrong—eyes narrowing the tiniest bit. Still, the corner of my mouth betrays me with a fleeting smile as I step closer. “Worrywart,” I murmur, conceding, right before I sneeze into my elbow like the universe decided to punctuate it for me. My body is screaming the truth—fever, congestion, all of it—but I don’t want to be sick. So I keep pretending. Allergies. Has to be.
But gods, it’s been a lonely couple days, stuck in here with nothing but charcoal and the sound of my own sneezing. The sigh that slips out is heavier than I mean it to be as I finally give in, lowering myself beside Aria. I bury my fingers in the thick warmth of the snow leopard's pelt, scritching at her neck. “I’m not letting you clean my house,” I warn, though softer than I mean to. “But… that was the last log I had inside.”
When he asks when I last ate, my brow furrows. I purse my lips, thinking, and finally say, “Bread and tea. Early this morning.” His stare catches me right then—warm and unflinching, like it always is, intense and carrying a vast depth of thought and feeling he makes such an effort to keep to himself, but never does with me. It never feels like he’s trying to impress me, never forced. He just is, and somehow, as always, that makes it matter so much more. It catches right in my chest, and I have to look away, cheeks warming despite the chill running through me.
I clear my throat, trying to make it casual. “What kind of work brought you all the way to Torchline, then? Something had to pull you out of those snowdrifts and into the sand dunes.”
delusional optimism is the only way out
