He hadn’t thought he’d been particularly clever or funny, but hearing Rory laughing, short-lived though it was, gave him a little respite from the shadows around them. He wished he could have stayed in that moment, but there was one secret he didn’t dare keep for too long. A little longer, yes… but not forever. He knew that, if left to his own decisions, he wouldn’t be brave enough to bring it up again so he gave Rory the key to that particular drawer in his heart, trusting the blond to know when they would both be strong enough to open it and face what he had done in a moment of impulse and desperation to not lose the ear of a god who had deigned to speak to him.
The hunter didn’t push him, for which he was grateful. The joy of being accepted by his friend competed with the stress of sharing more than he had with anyone else on Caido… with anyone of his own homeworld, even. He had kept some parts of himself secret for so long that he didn’t know how so share them, and so he stumbled through his explanation with a hesitant desperation and a subconscious fear that, eventually, he would say too much, that it would be too strange or too alien for Rory to accept.
That he might be too strange for the gentle Natural to accept, when he revealed that he was something other than the white fox who had grown to cherish his friendship with the blue-eyed defeater of gourds and rider of ponies and singer of songs.
But through it all Rory refused to let him go, soothing and comforting with the way he kept Jigano’s hand in his and stroked his skin when anxious worry left him tense enough to tremble. Even when he looked horrified at things the lorekeeper said he refused to let go, and in so doing he gave the fox the strength to continue until his words finally ran out.
It wasn’t silent after he finished speaking, for his heart beat loud enough for those down in the Rathskeller to hear it. He had said too much, he knew, too soon, and in all the wrong ways at the worst possible time. He was a bard, and he was supposed to know better! … but Rory had a way of stripping away his masks with a look, and stealing the silver from his tongue with a smile. He wasn’t a bard or even a loreseeker around the blond, he was just a fox, and a man, and the soul that balanced in between those two forms with nothing left to hide behind.
Of all the things the wounded hunter might have said, his gentle remonstrance held more weight than a thousand words and Jigano’s ears flicked down guiltily… but then rose slowly again with the light of hope in his slit-pupiled blue eyes. He didn’t reply at first, the tension still thrumming through him changing in tone and tempo as he bowed his head, letting pale hair slip forward over his shoulders again to pool on the sheet covering Rory’s thigh. His fingers were trembling in the hand that held them, and for a moment he didn’t realize that the purr that rumbled quietly against his knuckles was coming from Isuma and not himself.
”I’m sorry,” he said softly, but when he raised his head again there was a suspicious dampness at the corners of his eyes, and a quiet joy underlay his words. ”You’re right. It’s… not easy, putting this into words. But I wouldn’t be doing it, if I didn’t trust you. It’s… trusting myself that’s the hard part.”
The hunter didn’t push him, for which he was grateful. The joy of being accepted by his friend competed with the stress of sharing more than he had with anyone else on Caido… with anyone of his own homeworld, even. He had kept some parts of himself secret for so long that he didn’t know how so share them, and so he stumbled through his explanation with a hesitant desperation and a subconscious fear that, eventually, he would say too much, that it would be too strange or too alien for Rory to accept.
That he might be too strange for the gentle Natural to accept, when he revealed that he was something other than the white fox who had grown to cherish his friendship with the blue-eyed defeater of gourds and rider of ponies and singer of songs.
But through it all Rory refused to let him go, soothing and comforting with the way he kept Jigano’s hand in his and stroked his skin when anxious worry left him tense enough to tremble. Even when he looked horrified at things the lorekeeper said he refused to let go, and in so doing he gave the fox the strength to continue until his words finally ran out.
It wasn’t silent after he finished speaking, for his heart beat loud enough for those down in the Rathskeller to hear it. He had said too much, he knew, too soon, and in all the wrong ways at the worst possible time. He was a bard, and he was supposed to know better! … but Rory had a way of stripping away his masks with a look, and stealing the silver from his tongue with a smile. He wasn’t a bard or even a loreseeker around the blond, he was just a fox, and a man, and the soul that balanced in between those two forms with nothing left to hide behind.
Of all the things the wounded hunter might have said, his gentle remonstrance held more weight than a thousand words and Jigano’s ears flicked down guiltily… but then rose slowly again with the light of hope in his slit-pupiled blue eyes. He didn’t reply at first, the tension still thrumming through him changing in tone and tempo as he bowed his head, letting pale hair slip forward over his shoulders again to pool on the sheet covering Rory’s thigh. His fingers were trembling in the hand that held them, and for a moment he didn’t realize that the purr that rumbled quietly against his knuckles was coming from Isuma and not himself.
”I’m sorry,” he said softly, but when he raised his head again there was a suspicious dampness at the corners of his eyes, and a quiet joy underlay his words. ”You’re right. It’s… not easy, putting this into words. But I wouldn’t be doing it, if I didn’t trust you. It’s… trusting myself that’s the hard part.”
