#i love drawing gray hair. i love drawing wrinkles. his longer hair wound up covering up his crows feet rip

[californianedgeworth]

haven't posted art in a while because of finals. nothing like drawing a portrait of a character i've drawn a million times before to get me out of art block though

[flowerfan2]

One Night in Milwaukee - Chapter 3

David x Patrick, 10k so far, read on A03

Summary:  Being stuck in the Milwaukee airport is bad enough.  Then David realizes that the man who broke his heart is sitting right next to him.

Chapter 3

David says goodnight with a quick peck to Patrick’s cheek, and shuts himself in the hall bathroom, ostensibly to shower before bed.  But before that he spends a while leaning his palms against the sink and taking slow, deep breaths in and out, trying to steady himself.

It’s been one of the most uncomfortable days of his life, and given his life, that’s really saying something.  Within the past twenty-four hours he told Patrick he still loved him, Patrick said that he wanted them to be together, and a crowd of sleep-deprived strangers in the Milwaukee airport security line cheered as they kissed.  Since then, David has felt like he has been walking a tightrope, waiting for his balance to fail him and send him crashing to the ground.

David knows that he can’t expect their relationship to snap back together like a puzzle, connected and perfect like it shines in his memory, at least not without some awkwardness along the way.  And Patrick is injured and hurting, understandably not at his best.  Even with all that, though, he can’t shake the feeling that something else is wrong.

He sits on the closed toilet and checks his phone.  This afternoon he finally texted Alexis to tell her that he was in Florida with Patrick, which, not surprisingly, resulted in a flurry of messages.  He really wants to talk to her and hear her voice, but the house isn’t that big and he doesn’t want Patrick to overhear him voice all his insecurities.  Maybe he’ll call her when he goes out for a run tomorrow morning.

Alexis has apparently told his parents, who have sent both encouraging (his dad) and vaguely foreboding (his mom) well wishes. David sends back polite responses, not wanting to get into a detailed back and forth with either of them.  Then he spends a few minutes sending instructions to his assistant purchaser at the motel group, and emails the director of operations to let him know that he’ll be taking a week off.  It’s not as if he can’t work remotely, but he’d like to have the freedom to spend the time with Patrick, and he’s got plenty of vacation time saved up.  At least taking care of this item on his mental list quiets his work-related anxiety for the time being.

Just a little while ago, sitting on the couch with Patrick, David had tried to raise the topic of exactly what they would be doing here in Clint and Marcy’s little retirement fantasy home, but Patrick had rebuffed his attempt.  David doesn’t even know if Patrick has a job.  Patrick only stayed in Schitt’s Creek for a few months after their break-up, and David’s pretty sure he took a consulting gig after that, but Stevie was light on the details.

As he thinks of Stevie, David’s fingers automatically find her name on his phone, and he considers filling her in, but he’s not sure how she’ll take it.  His break-up with Patrick had caused a rift in his relationship with Stevie, one David has never been able to fully repair.  Because of Stevie’s role in the motel group they kept working together, but they were never as close again as they used to be.

Stevie stayed in touch with Patrick, at least for a while, but they don’t talk about him.  David didn’t press; he wasn’t entitled to know more.  He plays out in his head Stevie’s likely reaction to the news of their reunion, and given all that he still doesn’t know about what’s going to happen, he decides not to contact her yet.  He’d like to talk to Patrick about it first.  He’d like to talk to Patrick about a lot of things.  

David absolutely doesn’t mind spending time taking care of Patrick, like he did today.  In another context, he would cherish it, being able to show the love of his life how much he cares.  He knows Patrick is in pain, and not just from his wounds.  It makes David physically ill to imagine what happened to him.  He hopes Patrick is able to share more details with him sometime soon; he shouldn’t have to bear it alone.

David tries not to believe that Patrick’s distance today was some kind of test – he doesn’t think it was. Intentional or not, though, something is definitely off.  

More than anything, David wants to reestablish their old connection.  He felt it a few times, sparking across the distance like electricity, but mostly Patrick hadn’t seemed open to letting him in.  They had been more in tune sitting in the darkened food court at the airport than they were on the couch this evening.

David sighs and stands up, opening the bathroom cabinets and poking around to see what kind of products the Brewers have on hand.  He’s pleasantly surprised to see the Rose Apothecary label on the shampoo and conditioner, body milk and cleanser.  While the newer items aren’t quite the same quality as the originals he and Patrick had first sourced (quality gave way a little bit to quantity, and price), they are still products David is proud to have his name on.

David spends a long time in the shower, which does make him feel marginally better.  He towels off his hair, leaving styling to the morning, and scoots into the bedroom he’s staying in.  He hasn’t unpacked yet, so he opens his suitcase up on the floor and finds clean boxer briefs.  Unfortunately, the rest of his clothes really need to be laundered; he had thought he’d be back in Toronto yesterday evening, not on a spur of the moment trip to the land of sunshine and tourists.

He frowns as he pulls on a wrinkled black t-shirt and soft gray sleep pants.  Regardless of what else happens tomorrow, he’s going to have to do his laundry.

The air conditioning comes on with an annoying whir, and David looks around, spotting a vent in the ceiling. The noise doesn’t bode well for getting any sleep tonight, although there’s nothing wrong with the rest of the room.  While ostensibly Patrick’s, the bedroom has very few personal items in it, maybe in case the Brewers decided to rent out the house.  The bureau drawers are mostly empty except for swim trunks and some sweatshirts, and the closet contains one windbreaker, two pairs of sneakers, and a vacuum cleaner.

There’s a fluffy white duvet on the bed, with a seafoam green sheet and matching pillowcases peeking out underneath.  Not a very Patrick color-scheme.  Marcy must have been going for some kind of Florida feel.  David feels lucky the whole place isn’t covered in a Hawaiian flower print, although that would probably be more practical than white if they anticipate having strangers using their linens.  The whole concept of renting out one’s home makes David cringe, although it’s no worse than living in a motel.

David climbs under the blanket and top sheet and closes his eyes.  He makes himself stay there as the air conditioning cycles on and off two more times, and then gives up.

The house is quiet as David wanders around, taking a closer look at the rooms he saw earlier today.  There are a few framed photographs on the desk in the office.  The one of Patrick seems to be relatively recent, him and his dad outdoors.  Patrick’s smiling, but he doesn’t look happy.  There aren’t any of David and Patrick together, for obvious and yet still painful reasons.  

David wonders what happened to all their mementos from Patrick’s apartment – the posters from Cabaret and the Apothecary’s open mic night, the ticket from the ropes course that they stuck on the refrigerator with a magnet.  It would be nice to think that they are still boxed up safe somewhere, not tossed in the dumpster behind Bob’s Garage.

The open plan kitchen and living room is nice enough, and the couch is comfortable, covered in a safe tan twill with throw pillows in shades of white and blue.  David draws the curtains open and looks out through the sliding glass doors to the back yard with its screened-in pool and lanai.

With a shudder, David reminds himself that the screens are to keep the alligators out.  David knows this because he read it online this afternoon, waiting for Patrick to wake up from his nap.  When David told Patrick he would brave the alligators for him, David imagined that this was only a theoretical danger, or perhaps one to be encountered on a wildlife tour of some kind, not one he would have to face every time he left the house to get the mail.

David messes around with the light switches by the door, and finds one that turns on a spotlight under the water in the pool.  It’s pretty, lighting up the water and bathing the back yard in a gentle glow.

“It’s a little chilly for a swim,” Patrick says behind him, making him jump.  The wall-to-wall carpet is thick, and apparently Patrick hasn’t lost his ability to sneak up on David.

“Oh god, sorry, did I wake you?”  Maybe flashing the lights wasn’t such a smart idea.

“Nah, I couldn’t sleep anyway.”  Patrick turns his face up towards David, and David is convinced that he’s going to kiss him, his heart racing in eager anticipation.  But Patrick’s face shifts into sadness, and he looks away.

“Patrick?”  David reaches out and touches his fingers to Patrick’s bare arm.  “What’s wrong?”  He doesn’t say “besides the obvious,” because he can tell that it really isn’t necessary.  And he thinks Patrick wouldn’t have come out here if he wasn’t ready to talk about whatever he’s been holding back.

“I have to tell you something,” Patrick says, crossing his arms over his chest and then, noticing, deliberately uncrossing them.  

“Okay…”

Patrick bites his lip.  “I’m afraid to say it.”

David feels a shiver run through him.  “You’re afraid?”

“Yeah.”  Patrick looks defeated.

“Why?”

Patrick shakes his head and turns away from David, leaning on the back of an armchair.  “Because you’ll leave.  And I don’t want you to go.”

David closes his eyes and tilts his head back.  “Obviously I don’t want me to go either, Patrick.  That’s why I’m here.”  He tugs at Patrick’s shoulder, turning him so he can see his face.  “I promise I won’t go anywhere.  But if you take much longer to tell me, we may well have a panic attack situation here on top of everything else, and I’d really rather not add that to today’s list of events.”

Patrick stares at him, eyes wide, and David just wants to take him in his arms and tell him everything will be all right.  But it’s clear that Patrick can’t be so easily convinced, and frankly, until David knows what the hell is going on, David isn’t so sure himself.

Patrick moves to the couch, and David follows him, sitting on the coffee table and putting his hands on Patrick’s knees.

“I didn’t cheat,” Patrick says, and David frowns.

“I know that now.  You said so yesterday. I believe you.”

“I didn’t cheat,” Patrick says again, “but I think Mark wanted me to.  He was flirting with me, and I didn’t stop him.”

“You’re cute.  People flirt with you, there’s not much you can do about it.”

Patrick looks at him briefly and then away.  “I could have not flirted back.”

David digs around in his head for the right thing to say, but all of the sex-positive, trusting relationship language he comes up with sounds hollow in the context of Patrick’s guilt-laden confession.

“Well, um, harmless flirting isn’t a big deal.  It’s nice to feel wanted,” he tries.

“David.  It wasn’t harmless.”

“What do you mean?”

Patrick peels David’s hands off his knees and takes them in his own.  “It wasn’t harmless because it hurt you.  It hurt us.”

“But if I had known you didn’t mean anything by it-”

“That’s just it, you didn’t know.  Because I didn’t tell you.  I wouldn’t have felt so guilty about it if there was nothing wrong with it.  I wouldn’t have worked so hard to hide it.  At the same time we were planning our wedding, I was creating an opportunity to let another man flirt with me.  I knew if you met Mark you’d suspect something.  I told him to come to the store for training when I knew you’d be out visiting vendors.”

Patrick’s practically babbling now, his words tumbling out.  It’s so unlike Patrick’s usual calm demeanor, it makes what he’s saying even more unsettling.

David struggles to find an angle where Patrick’s behavior is okay.  He’s done it before, made excuses for partners who toed or crossed the line, but he doesn’t know how to do it with Patrick.  He slowly pulls his hands out of Patrick’s and stands up, stepping backwards with a hand over his mouth.

“I’m so sorry,” Patrick says.  “Please, don’t go.”

“I’m not going anywhere.  Just give me a minute.”  David feels ill, but he knows there has to be a way through this.  His mind is spinning, but he’s not leaving, he’s not, he’s going to figure this out.  “Were you planning on – doing anything with him?”

There’s a moment when David thinks Patrick is going to say yes, yes, I wanted him to kiss me, but then Patrick is in front of him, his face open and vulnerable.  “No, absolutely not.”

“Were you having some kind of… naughty cheating fantasy?”

“No,” Patrick says firmly.  “You remember the Ken incident.  I didn’t want anyone else.  Then or now.”

“And yet…”

“I know,” Patrick says, reaching out to wrap his hands gently over David’s biceps.  “I can’t explain it.”

They stand there in the dark kitchen, both of them breathing heavily.  Patrick slides his arms around David and pulls him in, until David’s head is resting on his shoulder.  David lets Patrick hold him, comforted by his touch even now.  

“I’m so sorry, David.  I thought about it so many times, after you left.  I convinced myself that I didn’t cheat – and I didn’t, not physically.  But what I did wasn’t <i>right,</i> either.  It felt wrong to me, and you picked up on that, and that’s why you thought I was cheating.”

“But what you said in the airport-” David’s voice catches, and he has to stop and suck in a breath.  “You made it seem like it was all my fault.”

“That was not my proudest moment.”  

David forces himself to straighten up and step away from Patrick, wrapping his arms around his own body. Patrick holds his gaze, tears streaking his cheeks.  Patrick lied to him – maybe not three years ago, when David didn’t give him a chance to explain, but just last night, in the airport.  <i>But he’s telling the truth now,</i> David thinks.  He’s put all his cards on the table, and he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop - for David to leave.  To give up on them.

But the thing is, David doesn’t want to drop the shoe.  He doesn’t want this to be the end.  He’s not done with Patrick – he tried that, and it was the worst decision he ever made.

Patrick isn’t just another one of David’s exes.  He’s not someone who was willing to take and take from David and never give in return.  David simply can’t believe that of Patrick.  It’s not who he is.  Patrick gave David everything.

“If when I confronted you that day, back at the store, I had let you explain,” David says carefully, “we’d essentially be right here, wouldn’t we?”  

Patrick’s eyes widen, and he nods.  “Well, not in Florida, but, yeah.  More or less.”

“So…” David closes his eyes and lets himself feel, the pain and the hope and the love, all whirling around in his chest.  “If that’s the case,” he opens his eyes and reaches for Patrick, his hands landing on his shoulders, “then we can just start from here, minus the overreacting, and figure it out.”

Patrick chokes out a wet laugh.  “We can?”

“I think so.  I’d like that.”  David watches Patrick’s eyes as they light up.

“David, I’d really like that too.”

David leans in, cupping his hand around Patrick’s head and bringing him close for a tear-stained kiss.  David’s not sure that the odds are great for them this time around, but if there’s any chance at all, David’s going to take it.

[patheticnugbaby]

Escape

Hello!

Wrote this one really late at night so I might be sorry for that, I don’t know yet.

Solavellan fluff, post fade kiss, pre everything else. Adahla escapes to breathe a little, Solas follows because the Inquisitor shouldn’t wander around alone at night in the freezing mountains.

Enjoy!

It was late. The mountain sky was clear. Thousands upon thousands of stars glittered on a blanket of velvet sky. The moon shone so bright and silver that she didn’t need a torch to see in the night. A light cover of snow crunched almost apologetically under her boots. When she breathed she could see it cloud in front of her, almost like a dragon before it spat fire.

She giggled and did it a few more times before she brought the scarf up to cover her nose and mouth. Adahla hugged the wall as she made her way into the copse of trees just barely outside of Skyhold. The soft gray-blue of her cloak managed to hide her from the eyes of the guards on the wall. She knew that any number of her advisors, companions, and friends would lose their minds if they knew she was sneaking out alone in the dead of night.

She’d found one small, hidden passage that led her just outside the fortress, seeming to lead towards the trees. She didn’t know if there was more to this pathway, it was old there was no trace of where it had once led, only the small door that brought her out here. Her own little sanctuary.

Just a small place, shielded by the ever-watchful eyes of Skyhold by a few trees. Through their needles she could still see the walls, the fires and torches placed near it. It was a magnificent place, Tarasyl'an Te'las. Perhaps, in time, the Inquisition would be worthy of it.

The Inquisitor might be worthy of it.

She shook her head and retreated a little farther into the trees. There was a small clearing, near the edge of it an old, hollow tree stump. Adahla shed her hooded cloak, folding it and placing it inside. She took off her boots and wrapped her feet the way she did when she was with her clan. She reached back and unbound her hair, only tying it back with a headband to keep it from her eyes. There was a kind of relief in unbinding her hair. She always bundled it tightly at the nape of her neck, so tight that it made her head ache.

Another thing required of her to be the Inquisitor. It’d been weeks and she still wasn’t used to it. She didn’t like it. Being the Herald of Andraste was one thing, she hadn’t liked that either but then she was just a figure. Some unfortunate soul with magic branded onto their left hand. Magic she didn’t even understand or remember.

She took off her gloves, flexing her fingers and treasuring the sensation of the dry, icy air on her skin. Goosebumps ran up her arms, legs, and the back of her neck. Without the gloves the eerie green light of her hand flashed against the snow, shone softly through her skin.

She turned her hand to look at it. In the evenings when she couldn’t sleep she’d just stare at it. Any wounds caused by it were long healed and obscured by the jagged slash of green light that scarred her left hand. It was almost too bright to look at directly, a little twinge in her eyes when she looked at it too long.

She turned away from Skyhold, raising her face towards the moon. She closed her eyes. She smelled the snow, felt the icy sting of it on her bare toes. There was a soft breeze, it gently rustled the needles of the trees, tugged playfully at her loose hair. Under the smell of the clear mountain air was the sharp scent of pine sap, the greenness of new buds on the edges of curving branches. She felt the wind tug at the slit in her skirt, chilling her legs and ruffling the edge of it against the backs of her ankles.

If she thought hard enough it was nearly like being home.

She started slowly, drawing a long arc in the dead needles and snow with her foot. Adahla could very nearly hear her father’s voice, teaching her the steps to a dance. A memory so warm and tender it ached in her chest.

So she danced. She was alone, it was dark and it was cold. There was no music aside from the slow whisper of the wind through the trees, the soft sound of the fabric of her skirt swaying around her legs. The moon alone bathed her in a cold, silver light. When her eyes opened they glimmered with reflected moonlight. Her breath came out in a fog, she could feel the dull ache of cold in the tips of her fingers, the edges of her pointed ears.

She leaped, one arm stretched above her head, the other trailing behind her. One of her legs folded over the other, showing what would be a scandalous amount of skin should anyone be watching her.

She landed easily, her legs bending to absorb the shock. Her hair hand ended up in front of her eyes despite the headband. Irritably, she shoved it back with one arm. As she did she felt all the blood in her body rush to her face and ears, tingling with warmth.

“Solas?”

“Inquisitor. Forgive me for not announcing myself, you seemed... Occupied.”

She let out a little distressed chuckle, “How long have you been here?”

“Longer than I should admit.”

“Ah <i>huh</i>,” She sounded a great deal more strangled than she wanted to, she shivered and went to her little stump, wrapping herself in her cloak, “How did you find me? I’d’ve expected you to be asleep by now.”

“My dreams were troubled. When I awoke I saw you leaving Skyhold alone,” He paused, his silhouette straightened like he did when he put his hands behind his back. “I followed to be assured of your safety.”

She narrowed her eyes, tilting her head, “You would’ve been well assured of my safety well before now, Solas,” She felt a smirk pulling at her lips that she couldn’t stop if she wanted to, “Why did you stay?”

In the heavy silence she took a few slow, quiet steps closer to him, immensely pleased when he didn’t pull away. It had been a week since that little kiss, then that very much not a little kiss in the fade. She was giving him the space he requested but now she decided to press him, just a little, after all he followed her out here, watched her dance, wild and unbound in the moonlight.

“Solas?” They were scarcely a hand’s breadth away from each other now and he hadn’t moved a muscle.

She wasn’t sure what it was but in moments like this she felt powerful. Not because she was the Inquisitor, not because she was the Herald, but because she was Adahla Lavellan. Here, with just a sliver of moonlight falling on his face she could hardly see his expression, only the sharpness of his cheekbones, the shape of his brow bone and the eerie glow of elven eyes in the dark.

“I was <i>captivated</i> by you,” He finally admitted, something in her chest felt like it soared with quiet triumph, he stepped back, just a little bit. “Why are you out here, Inquisitor?”

Adahla huffed and wrinkled her nose, “I will tell you on one condition,” she waited for his little nod before continuing, “So long as we are not in earshot of anyone else you call me Adahla.”

“You don’t wish to be called Inquisitor?”

“Not out here,” She grimaced and gestured vaguely towards the clearing full of mussed snow, “not in this place.”

He nodded more firmly, walking past her almost close enough for their fingers to touch, but not quite, “It is a quiet place,” he turned, a little smile on his face, “you haven’t answered my question.”

“I haven’t,” She sat on the edge of the hollow stump where she stored her things, “I am out here because I need to not be ‘The Inquisitor, Herald of Andraste, Ally of the Rebel Mages, She Who Dropped a Mountain on Her Head and Lived Through the Will of Some Stupid Shemlen Deity!” She finished her little rant with an expansive wave of her hands, green light flashing from her left hand; Adahla sighed and rubbed her right hand over her face, “Ir abelas, Solas. I didn’t mean to shout at you.”

“It’s quite alright, Inq- Adahla,” He was slowly pacing around the clearing, hands at his sides, “You’ve suffered much since the Conclave. I cannot fault you for your escapism.”

She chuckled a little, running a hand through her hair, fluffing it a little where her head still ached, “I am escaping out here, aren’t I?” She looked around her little clearing, the trees, the snow, it was safe here. “Will you tell anyone?”

He laughed. It occurred to her that she’d never heard him really laugh before. He chuckled, he smiled, smirked with closed lips. She decided that she would keep the sound with her, among all the other things she kept to make her feel warm in long nights.

“I won’t share your secret, da’len. We all need the things which keep us sane,” He was on the other side of the clearing now, right where she landed when she saw him.

“Are you-? Are you tracing my steps, Solas?” He looked back to her with a soft half-smile, she smiled back, tucking her chin a little.

“I said that you were captivating, Adahla, I meant that,” He looked down to the snow again, eyes tracing her footprints, “Did someone teach you or-?”

“My papae taught me that one. Clan Lavellan has always fostered a love for dancing and music,” She smiled fondly, touching the little wooden pendant she wore around her neck, “I remember many of them. I dance that one because there is something wild about it.”

“Yes,” She almost didn’t hear him say it, he barely breathed the word. She was sure he didn’t mean for her to hear him.

“If you like I could show you how,” She smiled, standing and huddling in her cloak, “If not that one I could show you others.”

He shot her an incredulous look, clasping his hands behind his back in his most professional posture, “I do not know if that’d be appropriate Inquis-”

“Adahla,” She sidled up to him, still keeping a few inches between them but close enough to feel the warmth of his breath, “you said you’d call me Adahla so long as we were out here.”

“I’m beginning to think that was not wise of me,” There was almost a sheepish note to his voice but she could see his lips smiling.

“It wasn’t wise of you to follow me out here, to stay and watch me dance wild and unbound in the moonlight,” She gave him a predatory grin, eyes glittering devilishly.

“Adahla,” He trailed off, there was the tiniest note of a plea in his voice; she decided that she loved that tone coming from him.

“Solas.” There was a flickering behind his eyes, like a fire he was trying to stamp out, involuntarily she shivered, from her toes to her ears.

“We should go back,” Some of the firmness was back in his voice and he stepped away, quickly, like she was a flame he was far too close to touching. “You’re getting cold.”

She rubbed her arms, groaning internally at herself for getting this cold, “It doesn’t get this cold in the Free Marches.”

He smiled at her, grasping his staff from where it lay against a tree, “No. It’ll take you some time to adjust, if you ever do.”

She wrinkled her nose and huffed, slipping her boots and gloves on, “Would you like to take my way back in?”

“I can’t imagine Cassandra being happy if she heard about your sneaking out in the night,” There was a slyness to his voice that made her heart flutter, with apprehension or something else, she wasn’t sure.

“You wouldn’t,”

He shot her a smirk that was absolutely diabolical, “I suppose I wouldn’t, under certain conditions.”

She threw her head back with her best impression of Cassandra’s usual groan of disgust, one that made him laugh again, “What are your conditions, Hahren?”

“Should you need to escape again leave a small note on my desk when you leave, mark it when you return. Then, if anything happens to you we can find you.”

“I wouldn’t want to wake you,” She frowned a little, Solas was grumpy in the morning, she wasn’t sure she wanted to know what he was like when woken in the dead of night.

“I would not mind much if it’s you waking me, lethallan,” He smiled softly, leaning on his staff as they crested the hill. “Especially not for easing my peace of mind.”

She smiled, finding the small door hidden by the brush that surrounded the walls of Skyhold, “I suppose I’m eventually going to have to tell Cullen that this exists should we be subject to a siege here.”

“I doubt it’ll come to that, Adahla,” She smiled over her shoulder and opened the door, slipping into the small tunnel.

“Should you feel the urge to follow me again, Solas, know that you are welcome,” She was intensely glad that she was facing away from him, even in the darkness of the tunnel she could feel the blush on her ears and her cheeks.

“I shall bear that in mind,”

She felt her ears twitch and prayed to all the Creators he didn’t notice, though she felt almost certain in the fluttering of her stomach that he had.

They surfaced in the depths of Skyhold, a maze of hallways that led up to most of the rooms, aside from hers. She’d have to come up outside Josephine’s office and slink into her rooms. They came to the junction where she’d have to dart to Josephine’s office and he’d go back to the rotunda.

“I will see you in the morning, Adahla,” He said and started up the stairs.

“Solas,” He stopped, slightly leaning on his staff as he turned to look at her, tilting his head; she bit her lip, “thank you for tonight, you don’t know what this time meant to me,” Her heart thundered as she watched his expression, butterflies rising in her chest.

There was something nearly imperceptible in his eyes, as small as the quiet, sudden intake of breath she just barely heard, “It was my pleasure, Adahla. Should you require my company, you know where I’ll be.”

“And should I merely <i>want</i> your company?” She felt that steady rise of power swell in her chest, not unlike the one that made her kiss him.

“Then you know where to find me, Lethallan.” He smiled, opened his mouth as though he was going to say something else, then shook his head a little, “Goodnight, Adahla. I will see you in the morning,”

Then he hurried up the stairs.

She knew she was grinning like an absolute fool. She knew that she <i>was</i> an absolute fool.

That didn’t stop her from giggling all the way up to her rooms.