#(really hope i did dew justice im not sure if i portrayed him correctly but!!! yay!!!!

[inkwell-and-dagger]

Ruaridh couldn't ignore it, even if they tried.

An incessant thumping lulled them out from slumber, a repetitive, painful hang against their head like a hammer. The source came from right above them, as usual. Having two heartbeats around them got annoying with time, but they were able to repress their instincts, and from then they had thought that it wouldn't bother them anymore. But, alas, they were wrong.

Being in the dark made it all the more worse. Able to focus on nothing but the heartbeat of their new friend — or, at least, that's what Ruaridh assumed; they couldn't be certain whether he or their saviour were friends or foes just yet — made it all the more difficult to repress the thought of shutting it up themself. And they couldn't hold it back for long.

On one hand, they knew it'd be a bad decision to even move a muscle; they begged their body to remain still, pressing their pillow firmly against their ear in the hopes the noise will subdue. But on the other, Derwyn's words echoed in their mind: "If you hear something you don't like, you get rid of it. Understood?"

And Ruaridh did understand, they really did. They knew for a fact that this noise irritated them, and they didn't like it — fuck, they hated it. It was like a constant headache, and Ruaridh would do anything to relieve the pain.

So they made up their mind. Their body felt like it was on autopilot; they couldn't exactly control their movements, only able to observe what little they could see in the dark. Snaking out of bed, perching up on the railing of the top bunk and lowering their head so their horns don't bang into the ceiling.

There he was; they didn't remember his name, but from what little conversation they could recall their saviour introducing them to him, his name began with a "D". He looked so oblivious peaceful, pristine wings sprawled out over the railing of the bed, hanging down the ladder as he slept. Tired eyes closed and relaxed, loosely clutching some sort of creature in his arms. It looked to be some sort of duck? It was unnaturally big, and fluffy, and it wasn't moving or breathing, and had no heartbeat. Why would he sleep with a big, dead duck in his arms?

They cleared the thought from their mind, a clawed hand reaching out to turn him over onto his back as carefully as possible. There were no signs of him waking up, so Ruaridh proceeded.

They couldn't help but feel bad at the prospect of ruining the lovely jumper he wore; it looked extremely comfortable. But they couldn't stop themself from snaking one hand around his neck to hold him down, the other pressing right over his heart and digging and digging and sinking their claws into—

A scream knocked them out of whatever state they were in, and they drew back and slipped from the railing, landing on their back with a loud thump. Beads of blood coated their claws, and his new friend — and what would've been their meal if he were to stay asleep, no doubt — shot up in bed.

"What the fuck?!"

Ruaridh stammered for words, but none would come out; they wanted to apologize, to plead that they didn't mean to, that they couldn't control themself and that they were so, so fucking sorry. But it seemed as though he wasn't keen on listening, as when they tried to come closer, he shielded his wounded body with his wings, a frightened yelp sounding in the darkness.

"Don't— Don't fucking touch me—"

And sure, this was probably said in the heat of the moment — their friend was, most likely, distressed and in pain, and he had every right to not want them close to him — but Ruaridh suppressed a flinch, lowering themself from the ladder again.

They tried to explain themself. "I'm sorry, I really am, I just didn't— I forgot that you weren't—"

But Ruaridh paused, hearing the faint sound of footsteps thumping down the winding staircase they'd been led down with the promise of a warm meal and a bath not even a day ago.

Thump, thump, thump, thump.

Ruaridh knew hiding in the bathroom would just be stalling the inevitable, but they couldn't stop themself from dashing into that small, sterile room.

(TLLR and any other character mentioned belongs to @whumpy-wyrms!! only Ruaridh is mine ;3)