Theea
Soup. He wants to make me soup? I’m sick as a dog, and he’s actually sticking around? I look back at him, and before I can even form an answer, he’s already in the kitchen, perusing my cupboards like he owns the place.
I start to protest, pushing myself up, but then Aria flops down across my lap like she’s been waiting for this moment, a warm, solid weight that rumbles with a purr as she nuzzles into my sweater. Conspiring with him, clearly.
I can’t help but smile down at her. “You’re working against my pride, little girl,” I murmur, rubbing behind her ears anyway, sniffing as I do.
When his voice carries back—something about expecting the bonfire—my chest gives a sudden, sharp clench. He’d come here just to check on me. No reason but that. I remember sparring with him, the deal we struck. Best friends. And it hits me that this—this care, this showing up—is exactly what best friends do. Warmth flickers through me, chasing out the chill I’ve been living in for days.
I track him as he comes closer, a parcel in his hands, and he sets it down beside Aria in my lap. My brows knit, eyes flicking up to his. “You didn’t have to bring anything,” I say softly. He couldn’t know—there’s no way he could know—but the coincidence of it being today, of all days, feels uncanny.
My fingers hook into the paper and tear it away. Coarse brown parchment gives way to something impossibly soft. I pull free the rabbit fur blanket, eyes lighting up, lips curving with a smile. “Damien…” I press it against my cheek, soaking in the warmth that will carry me through Deepfrost.
A small leather pouch tumbles loose, falling into my lap. I glance up, then untie it, and my lips part in a quiet, delighted breath as I pull free the first fox. Then another. Then all of them, small and perfect in my palm, caught mid-motion as though they’d spring to life if I set them down.
“I love them,” I breathe, voice low and earnest.
I shift Aria gently aside, setting the foxes atop the blanket so I can rise, and before I think better of it I step into him, wrapping my arms around his middle. My head finds his chest naturally, and I hug him close.
“Thank you. It’s like you knew.”
I hold him longer than I mean to, but when I finally tilt my face up, it’s a mistake. All at once, my heart stumbles, my cheeks flush, and my stomach flips traitorously. I flash him a quick, too-bright smile and step back, looking down at the blanket and foxes with another loud sniffle, rubbing my nose like that explains everything. As if on cue, I have to cover another sneeze. Attractive.
Gathering the foxes again, I carry them to the stained glass window and line them carefully along the sill, each one caught in its own clever motion.
“I’m twenty now,” I say at last, glancing over my shoulder with a small smile. “It’s like a birthday gift.”
I start to protest, pushing myself up, but then Aria flops down across my lap like she’s been waiting for this moment, a warm, solid weight that rumbles with a purr as she nuzzles into my sweater. Conspiring with him, clearly.
I can’t help but smile down at her. “You’re working against my pride, little girl,” I murmur, rubbing behind her ears anyway, sniffing as I do.
When his voice carries back—something about expecting the bonfire—my chest gives a sudden, sharp clench. He’d come here just to check on me. No reason but that. I remember sparring with him, the deal we struck. Best friends. And it hits me that this—this care, this showing up—is exactly what best friends do. Warmth flickers through me, chasing out the chill I’ve been living in for days.
I track him as he comes closer, a parcel in his hands, and he sets it down beside Aria in my lap. My brows knit, eyes flicking up to his. “You didn’t have to bring anything,” I say softly. He couldn’t know—there’s no way he could know—but the coincidence of it being today, of all days, feels uncanny.
My fingers hook into the paper and tear it away. Coarse brown parchment gives way to something impossibly soft. I pull free the rabbit fur blanket, eyes lighting up, lips curving with a smile. “Damien…” I press it against my cheek, soaking in the warmth that will carry me through Deepfrost.
A small leather pouch tumbles loose, falling into my lap. I glance up, then untie it, and my lips part in a quiet, delighted breath as I pull free the first fox. Then another. Then all of them, small and perfect in my palm, caught mid-motion as though they’d spring to life if I set them down.
“I love them,” I breathe, voice low and earnest.
I shift Aria gently aside, setting the foxes atop the blanket so I can rise, and before I think better of it I step into him, wrapping my arms around his middle. My head finds his chest naturally, and I hug him close.
“Thank you. It’s like you knew.”
I hold him longer than I mean to, but when I finally tilt my face up, it’s a mistake. All at once, my heart stumbles, my cheeks flush, and my stomach flips traitorously. I flash him a quick, too-bright smile and step back, looking down at the blanket and foxes with another loud sniffle, rubbing my nose like that explains everything. As if on cue, I have to cover another sneeze. Attractive.
Gathering the foxes again, I carry them to the stained glass window and line them carefully along the sill, each one caught in its own clever motion.
“I’m twenty now,” I say at last, glancing over my shoulder with a small smile. “It’s like a birthday gift.”
delusional optimism is the only way out
