#I mean Voryn isn’t WRONG

[trickstarbrave]

Today I did a little drawing and coloring, a bit of writing on moon and star, and I cleaned up the depression nest around my bed that got rly bad (don’t wanna talk abt it. It was a mix of mental illness and bad physical health since this time last year. Lmao.) all that’s rly left in my room to be clean is me going thru my clothes, donating any I don’t rly like anymore and can’t fit into, washing and putting stuff away, and stuff. I probably have a bunch that need altering too tbh but that’ll have to wait until the sewing machine is moved

So I’m feeling pretty great. Hopefully I’ll be able to fall asleep bc I have work but my wife is coming to visit this week :)))))

Funny part of moon and star is they met some Dwemer who only rly trust house Dagoth and they’re looking at Nerevar like “why are you with him. Who is he” and Voryn tries to explain it before lying and saying Nerevar is engaged to him so it’s fine. Nerevar does not know Voryn said this bc it was in dwemeris

[nerevar-moon-and-star]

not as if salt-rose

read on ao3

“I love you,” Nerevar blurted awkwardly, hands twisting in the folds of his cloak, dripping in the doorway. It was a rainy evening in late autumn. The chill in the air demanded an extra layer or two, but the damp was pervasive enough to defeat most fabrics. He felt clammy. It was not, in any sense, a romantic evening.

Voryn looked up from the tea that was nearly ready, glancing over Nerevar’s soggy clothes and shaking hands. “I love you, too,” he said simply, and fished for a second mug. “Where are your gloves?”

“I--” Nerevar began. He blinked. “You. What?”

“You’re freezing. Come over here by the fire, and give me that.” He confiscated the damp cloak and maneuvered Nerevar’s confused and unresisting body into the chair. Voryn’s own cloak was warm and dry and he draped it around Nerevar’s shoulders. He poured the tea and gave Nerevar’s a generous spoonful of honey, then pushed it across the table. “What is wrong?” he asked, finally, stirring his own tea.

“You love me?” Nerevar said in a small voice, nervously. “Really?”

Voryn stared at him for a long moment, then said gently, “Did you not know? After all of this time…? We’ve known each other since we were children.”

“No, I mean--” Nerevar rubbed his face. “I mean I'm. In love with. You.”

“So do I.” He folded one of his hands around Nerevar’s, and smiled ruefully. “I thought you knew.” Nerevar’s hands were cold, but Voryn suspected they were shaking more from nerves than the temperature. Voryn rubbed them in what he hoped was a reassuring way. Voryn had never been exceptionally good at people.

“I’m an idiot. I’ve been worried . That you would be upset, somehow. That I would wreck everything by trying to talk about it, and I was afraid--afraid that you wouldn’t… I don’t know.” Nerevar dragged his fingers through his hair. “You could do better, you know. Someone who isn’t, generally, an idiot, or whose eyes didn’t glaze over when you tried to talk about magic or your research.”

Voryn recaptured one of his hands and sighed. “Nerevar, that is no one better than you, no one I would prefer, no one who would suit me more.”

“Are you sure, ” Nerevar said helplessly.

“Yes. You aren’t putting a curse on me. I’ve apparently had far longer than you to consider it, and I have. What are you worrying over? What scares you, specifically--if you know?”

“I didn’t—” He shook his head. “Don’t know what I’m doing. With anything, really.” Nerevar smiled lopsidedly, and huffed a laugh. “People think I‘m so gifted with words, but look at me. Not sure I could be more awkward if I tried.”

“None of that ever mattered to me, you know. What other people seem to value in you, which tends to only be what they wish to turn to their own ends. I fell in love with an awkward and earnest boy who smiled like the sun and had a heart made of gold. A long, long time ago. You haven’t changed, and I haven’t wanted you to.”

Nerevar took a sip of his tea, looking down at the table.  “Sometimes I’m afraid I will. That I’m going to lose myself, or my understanding of myself, somewhere between the politics and negotiations. I worry about it too much, maybe. But you still feel like home, so I can’t have, yet,” he said softly, fiddling with the spoon while he tried and failed to distract himself from the tears prickling his eyes.

Voryn made a quiet sound and pulled Nerevar to his feet to enfold him in his arms.

“Going to get your shirt wet,” Nerevar murmured into the curve of his shoulder, muffled. It was silk. Soft under his cheek. Voryn smelled like sandalwood.

Voryn combed his fingers slowly through Nerevar’s hair. “Fuck the shirt.”

“Going to get snot on your shirt.”

“Fuck the shirt.”

“I’m not even sure why I’m crying,” Nerevar said after a moment, trying and somewhat failing to reassemble himself.

Voryn leaned his cheek against Nerevar and hummed quietly. “You were very afraid.”

“I was very afraid.” Nerevar rubbed his eyes gracelessly on one sleeve and sighed. “And tired. I’m so tired, Voryn.”

“Then put it down for a little while. All of this. It can wait.”