thefeywood | why don't you figure my heart out?

He knows that Estinien is really well and truly asleep when his own voice dies down and there is naught but the gentle sound of his breathing. Good. He may have made a few missteps earlier, but now Aymeric can be contented that he has at least ushered in a moment of rest for his friend.

Feeling tired in his own right, Aymeric exhales through his nose and then is suddenly caught by a yawn which he hides behind is hand.

"Mayhaps it best we all retire..."

Ser Croquembouche seems to agree, if the fact that he seemingly teleports into Aymeric’s lap indicates as much. Aymeric blinks, looking down at the cat, then his friend, then the clock.

"Well, then..." He swallows, gaze flitting back to Estinien. "I suppose we shall keep our vigil for a while longer."

A while longer, of course, extends far beyond his intent. Aymeric, on the other hand, has always had trouble finding sleep, yet it is not more than twenty minutes before he nods off, propped up against the headboard with a lightly purring cat curled up onto him and the gentle rise and fall of his friend's breaths.

Estinien stays as he is for a while after even Aymeric has fallen asleep, only shifting slightly as he rests. It isn't a dreamless slumber, even from the start - but at least the rumblings of his subconscious are more on the benign side. That he hasn't immediately launched back into the exact same nightmares is a relief on its own.

After an hour or two has passed, though, things do start to become more restless. Estinien shifts, rolling into the side as he had before when he was clutching blankets in his sleep - but this time Aymeric is there. Though he isn't at the point of grabbing him in his sleep, he does come to rest his head again Aymeric's side - whether Bouche is there or no.

Finding contact there seems to slow his movements - at least for a while. The touch of another person does something to calm the tumultuous waters of his mind.

The minute movements are not enough to rouse him, at least not into a full waking state. He is used to Ser Croquembouche moving about the bed at night to find a more comfortable position, after all, so such things are a given as far as a night's rest is concerned.

But while he is used to sharing a tent with other Knights while out on missions or patrol, he is not used to sharing a proper bed with another person. Even in the former case Aymeric oft has difficult time ignoring the manners of his bedfellows, and in the latter, well...

The shifting of the mattress is enough to being to rouse him, but to have Estinien suddenly resting against brings him into full wakefulness. Aymeric blinks blearily upwards, finding the ceiling at first strange--

--ah, yes. The guest room. Where he--

"..."

Ah, yes. Estinien.

Oh Halone, he hadn't intended to actually fall asleep here! A little closeness out on the field is one thing given tight quarters, but these are different circumstances. Though, Estinien did allow Aymeric to stay until he had fallen asleep as means to try and stay the nightmares, but...did that really give him permission otherwise? Aymeric would hate to make his friend feel coddled, wanting to respect his need for privacy and autonomy while still being attentive.

It's a dance he's still learning. But Estinien does seem to have stilled. Nay, he almost looks peaceful? Even Ser Crqouembouche only twitched and peeled open an eye before going back to sleep.

By the Fury...

Aymeric rests his head back against the headboard. He cannot, in good conscious, suddenly peel himself away. (Truthfully, there is a large part of him that does not want to.) It would likely be best to extract himself once Estinien has rolled in the other direction. Then he can discretely take his leave and check on his friend at a proper interval...

Estinien certainly doesn't make escape easy, seeming to curl more and more in Aymeric's direction as time passes. On the bright side, that sleep seems to be steady, at least at first. Whatever is going on in his head, it doesn't show on the outside.

It'll be another hour or so before the signs of agitation begin returning. At first, it's in the form of him growing tenser, grasping at whatever gets close to his hands. Then, gradually, it begins to look as it had before.

His breathing becomes heavier and faster, his body seeming overhot and perspiring as with great effort. His arms twitch as if he's trying to do something with them, but too weight down by sleep to be able to do so.

Finally, he makes a soft sound beneath his breath. Like he's saying someone's name.

Aymeric notices at time Estinien gets closer, gets more comfortable--at least at first. With each movement he feels himself stiffen and glance down as if to see if his friend is awakening, if he will be scared or repulsed by what he finds--

--but...no, no he does not seem to be. Steadily, Aymeric allows himself to be at ease and simply think of the combined warmth of both Estinien at his side and Croquembouche on his lap.

It is...calming. Nice, even, although a little more embarrassing when he finds himself staring down and catching the even minute fluttering of Estinien's eyelashes against his cheeks. Aymeric has to force himself to look away. Since that gala nearly a year prior, he has accepted that he finds Estinien attractive. And there is nothing wrong with that, is there? He can...appreciate his friend's physicality and leave it at that. Estinien is first, and foremost, a dear friend.

It does make him worry if said dear friend will question Aymeric's own intentions...

But those thoughts die away as Aymeric starts to drift back off himself, only to rouse back to full wakefulness when the air about them shifts. He can feel the rise and fall of Estinien's chest quicken, the tautness of his form.

"Estinien...?" he asks gently, moving a hand to rest on his upper back.

Though the subject matter shifts and changes, Estinien's nightmares follow certain themes. As opposed to the real-life battlefield where Estinien viciously asserts his presence, in his dreams he is always on the defensive - no amount of fighting or struggling ever wins him the day. He can claw himself bloody trying to save himself or others, but in the end, it's always the same.

Memories of the recent battle have infected his subconscious with images of illness, swelling and melting skin, and like so many other dreams he finds himself hopelessly battling against the affliction: seeping, burning wounds that seem to spread by touch.

He remembers more about where he is this time. He remembers who he was with. So, when the gruesome dreams begin to haunt him again, that presents twines into the vision, and he finds a whole new victim beyond his ability to save.

He feels the touch on his back, he hears his name, but it comes through as something else. Something he can't bear.

Suddenly he rouses, jolting beneath Aymeric'd hand and against is side. With a surge of adrenaline and terror, he is immediately left shaking. He chokes out a breath as if being strangled.

Aymeric startles just a little when Estinien does, though he had been mostly prepared for his friend to wake. He can only hope that the dream did not take hold of him for too long. Ser Croquembouche startles much more, jumping back a fulm down Aymeric's legs and looking decidedly off put.

Aymeric increases the pressure at Estinien's back, slowly rubbing in a wide circle to try and ease some of the tension there. He keeps his voice low and calm.

"You were here in Ishgard, Estinien. All is well. You only need to breathe..."

Estinien trembles, momentarily beyond the purview of pride or shame. His eyes open, and he seems to realize where he is a bit more quickly this time - with Aymeric right there, it immediately draws his attention. Yet, the terror of his dreams has followed him here.

He grabs Aymeric's other wrist, clearly looking for something - in that moment, he fully expects to see scarring from caustic wounds. Yet... his skin is not pit-marked by acid - only old familiar markings that Estinien has seen many times before.

"You..." he begins, his voice tight. "You were not there. You..." Fact and fiction interlace, the heat in his skull making it difficult to untangle them. His heart is heavy with events that didn't quite occur, and with retellings of ones that had. Estinien shifts, trying to look up to his friend's face, though the illness causes him to fumble as he tries, grasping at Aymeric's clothing.

"I am a fool," he whispers, and sinks down again, his strength leaving him.

Images of the village still, he imagines, and his heart feels heavy thinking about it. Now having a small glimpse into his childhood through what few words he had been afforded, the weight of Estinien's loss feels more real.

As Estinien gropes for confirmation, both physical and mental, it slowly dawns on Aymeric what form his dream may have taken. His eyes widen with the realization that what he had heard earlier--what he is seeing now...had Aymeric, in that instant, become one of the many lost in that tragedy?

Aymeric swallows and shakes his head.

"Not a fool." He resumes the slow ministrations, heart aching in his chest. He reaches out with his other hand now that Estinien has released it, just to straighten out a few long tendrils of hair from sticking to Estinien's face. "You are just a man who has seen too much."

Some part of him realizes that this is the closest he's ever been with Aymeric, even above and beyond that one night in the dining room. To be curled up here, rested against Aymeric's side, shivering and scared and hurting - it's more than he'd allow in the past. Even the fact that he's partially unclothed, showing off his wounds, doesn't strike him as important. They're beyond that, right now - so far beyond.

His perception of events is dulled, perceived through a haze, the layers of stress turning his discomforts into an all-consuming buzz. His worries about intimacy mingle seamlessly with his overwhelming fear, and in these moments, neither can take meaningful precedence. He craves comfort more than pride.

He feels Aymeric's hand on his back and finds that he doesn't want it to leave. If Aymeric hadn't been here... upon waking he would have been unsure of if he was still alive. To have the horror of his nightmare so swiftly disproven is a mercy.

Aymeric is allowed, he decides. He can rub his back, he can touch his hair... as hollowed out and contaminated as Estinien feels, to have anything like this should be a blessing. Especially when it was something he was just tricked into thinking he lost.

His breath stays labored, even as he stays curled at Aymeric's side. He's become lucid more quickly this time, but the shivering is intense. The constant cycle of this is wearing him out, and trying to fight it only does worse.

"Twas as I feared," he murmurs. "It takes everything..."

Estinien had almost found rest, found peace. That he be once again so rudely confronted with fresh and old horrors is simply unfair. But Aymeric knows that fairness has nothing to do with it, nor is he able to pluck those images from Estinien's mind and rid him of them indefinitely. He wishes he could.

Really, all he can do is offer his presence and try to understand. Understand that he speaks now of the visions, a mixture of truth and horrible fantasy. Things that have happened and things that could, even Aymeric must admit that. He would not beguile Estinien's trust in him to pretend otherwise, however good the intent would be.

He shifts only a little so he can sit more comfortably, inevitably brining Estinien more flush against his side. The motions of his hand resume immediately.

"The same as before?" The village, he wonders? "Pray...do say if you wish not to speak of it. I would not take offense.l

This one is harder to remember - at least up till the parts at the end. Those stick out vividly, as the contents of the dream had wandered closer to home. He lingers in silence, at first.

"I dreamt that the sickness came back with me," he eventually explains, no longer even trying to look at Aymeric. "That I could not escape it. And neither could those near to me."

Nor dear to him, most importantly. Though there was a blending of events, and the house he was in seemed to change, towards the end he has understood the primary victim as Aymeric. He'd had time to face what that loss would feel like.

"I am filled with wretchedness," he murmurs. "Every wound lingers within."

That he was the cause of he destruction? Worse than seeing it done by another, Aymeric feels. He knows naught of what will alleviate the pain and guilt that comes from such notions, unjustly given though they are. Aymeric moves his other hand to rest solely on the edge of Estinien's shoulder, half holding the other man against him. It is little to offer, but he offers it all the same.

"I would free you of them if 'twere within my power to do so--your wounds and these thoughts." He sighs. "It is of little solace, I know...but this sickness will be purged. And these visions will not come to be made anew."

Estinien is beginning to become more aware of what he's done here, now - what they are both doing. To lay so close, to accept Aymeric's consoling physicality... he wouldn't have humored doing so, before all of this, and before this moment.

The more conscious he is of what it means the more tempting it is to try to withdraw, to re-establish boundaries. He could survive this on his own, he tries to assure himself. He doesn't need this comfort or this closeness, he doesn't need to be helped, were he to become alone again he would live...

Isn't it Aymeric who keeps saying, though, that he doesn't have to bear the burden alone? Isn't that what this is? Has he finally given in?

Why shouldn't he?

He stays against Aymeric's side, dwelling on the nature of their contact until it becomes somehow surreal. Is this real? Will it survive the night into the morning beyond?

He's so tired.

He falls into silence for a while longer, the sound of his own heartbeat filling his ears, and Aymeric's hand against him preoccupying his focus. Finally, when he speaks again, it's in a rasping whisper.

"Did you... intend to stay? In this room?" he asks.

Edited (words) 2020-11-18 04:14 (UTC)

Aymeric is not sure if Estinien's silence is a good sign or not, yet he opts not to ask. Forcing more memories out is not want he intends, especially when he knows that his prying may yet cross that line, with Estinien having all ready been exhausted even with 'lighter' memories early.

So when he does speak again, Aymeric assumes it may be another detail of his dreams that he needs to get off his chest. Aymeric, of course, will listen. There is no advice to offer, only an ear and a shoulder to lean on--

--of course Estinien asks that instead. And Aymeric's hand goes suspiciously still.

"I--"

Aymeric swallows, trying to keep his voice steady.

"--I intended to ensure that you fell asleep without trouble..."

Ser Croquembouche, now at the foot of the bed, looks at both men without an onze of remorse for his own involvement in this debacle. It is the first time that Aymeric has felt betrayed by his beloved companion, but it will not be the last.

"...And Bouche deigned it necessary to take my lap, so I thought I could spare but a moment longer."

And...well. Bells later, here they are. Aymeric clears his throat quietly.

"I apologize if I have overstayed my welcome."

Aymeric becoming so nervous is more suspicious than anything he could have said out loud, but luckily for him, Estinien is not asking it in the spirit of making an accusation. His gaze flickers to Bouche, and then up to Aymeric again, but there is a blankness in his eyes that implies no real offense - though it also shows the hollowness behind his eyes.

He shakes his head, staying where he is.

"Nay," he says softly. "Glad was I to find you here when I awoke." He finally looks away again, gazing off into the darkness through half-lidded eyes. "You are welcome here if it does not cause you discomfort."

Estinien realizes he would actually be distressed to have Aymeric leave at this point, and it's a sentiment he doesn't want to have to express.

Glad.

He was glad.

That alone makes something bubble up from the depths of Aymeric's heart that he had written off moons ago. He can only hope that with this proximity, Estinien does not feel the way Aymeric's heart beats once or twice too heavily.

"...It does not," he says, feeling his face warm, voice conveying that same feeling of his own gratitude. "I will be glad to stay."

To reassure that sentiment, he begins moving his hand once again at Estinien's back, albeit more gently than before.

And as if on que, Ser Croquembouche moves once again, at first stretching out and digging his little claws into the blankets, before moving forward to settle himself between Aymeric's out-stretched legs.

"...Well, I believe that was the final vote in favor."

Estinien huffs out a sound that is something like a laugh. He doesn't have it in him to sit up or regard the cat more fully, but he gets the sentiment.

He'll shift his position in whatever way necessary to allow Aymeric to be more comfortable. Up till now, he's held his arms bundled against his own chest, leaning the front of his body against Aymeric's side, but now he shakily extends one hand to rest over his friend's. His fingers are clammy, but it's the kind of purely sentimental gesture that is uncommon to him.

He stares ahead, trying to push away the vivid images of his dreams to focus on the reality he exists in now. He will wake up to this - life, instead of death.

"I fear I may continue to be a disruptive bedfellow, ere this night ends..." he warns without much weight. He's certain that isn't what Aymeric is most concerned about.

It is the kind of sentimental gesture that cuts right through Aymeric, almost worryingly so. That Estinien allow him this much leeway, into the darker recesses of his mind and heart and then gift Aymeric with the opportunity to provide comfort is more than he would have hoped for this night. That little hold is enough for Aymeric to feel all too emotional in his own right.

But it's no time for that, even if he cannot help but smile fondly through all of this. Estinien, his dear friend...

Aymeric laughs, a quiet and breathy sound. "I shall find it in my heart to forgive you."

Truly, Aymeric feels too grateful in this moment to hold anything against Estinien even if he could.

Estinien does pull his hand away from Aymeric's a short time after, readjusting his position to be a bit more conducive to actual sleep. It will take him a while to calm enough to sleep again, but it comes more quickly than it would in isolation.

Eventually, he does fall back into sleep, and for a time, it's even peaceful. There are dreams, but they pass without inflicting the anxiety that the nightmares have, and he remains comfortably at Aymeric's side, his head tucked against his shoulder.

The stress of sleep flares up eventually, causing Estinien to tense and cling, but that, too, passes. Flickering in and out of consciousness, he will eventually begin to relax again, reminded of the presence of his companion.

Bit by bit, they make it through the night together.

As before, Aymeric falls asleep sometime after Estinien, though what keeps him awake is a small but budding excitement. He ought not to be--Estinien is struggling right now, he's here for solace and respite, yet Aymeric cannot help but feel the glee that his friend is opening up to him, that he is allowing comfort, that he can try and actually be there for someone who he cares for so deeply and that it is wanted.

Yes, it is exciting.

Yet the lull of Estinien's breathing beside him, the gentle warmth of Ser Croquembouche, and the welcome darkness of the inside of his eyelids are enough to allow him to drift off into sleep. He does wake a few times through the early morning when he feels Estinien tense and take hold, but they are fleeting and Aymeric finds that he does not even need to open his eyes. Eventually, he stops waking all together...

At least until it is close to the bell he normally rises. The curtains are not drawn, left hanging loosely to block the light during the day while Estinien recuperates, although some of the sun is able to filter through the small breaks in between. Aymeric is normally an early riser out of habit more than want and he lets out a long sigh as the weight of the day ahead starts to settle on him.

As does the weight of something warm behind him. And on him, it seems.

Aymeric opens his eyes, staring out into the dimly lit guest room. He well remembers the events that led him to be there, so that is not a source of confusion or concern. But the firm warmth at his back is new, and the weight on his side is not coming from his cat. No, he can see Ser Croquembouche on the settee by a comely dresser, licking his paw cutely. When he glances down, he sees quite clearly that it is, in fact, Estinien's arm. And then by following logic, that is definitely Estinien himself right behind him. Almost curled into him.

The steady rise and fall of Estinien's breathing, chest expanding against his back, the light huff of air against the back of Aymeric's neck and making the hairs their tickle his skin all comes crashing down on him.

Oh.

Oh dear.

Estinien is not at his most elegant when the morning comes. His hair is a complete mess by that point, dried with sweat and even bushier than normal. With his exposed skin pale and chilled, at least part of him clings to Aymeric for warmth, but the rest... something about is pleasant and familiar, harkening back to brighter days.

It had been instinctive to keep Aymeric close, his easy presence dissuading the lingering images of his dreams from staying too long. He had been, on some level, aware that he and Aymeric were close... but perhaps not quite how intensely.

Of course, waking up to the light of morning has a way of complicating things. With his fever having broken over the night, he wakes with a bit more clarity than he had earlier. He doesn't jerk away, or gasp, or do anything dramatic - instead, when he wakes this time, it's with a twist of unease in his gut. With the morning here, they can't put off acknowledging it indefinitely.

He stays quiet, at first, not sure if Aymeric is awake. Should he remove himself? Aymeric was fine with this contact earlier, so it couldn't possibly be an offense, could it? Yet, the question that haunts him most isn't whether it's wanted, but what it means going forward.

Will something change? Does he want it to?

Though Estinien doesn't advertise his consciousness, his patterns of breathing do change. His hold becomes a bit less tight.

Several minutes pass by as Aymeric internally battles with himself. Truthfully, there is nothing about the arrangement that feels unpleasant, except perhaps the fact that he is pretty sure he has sweat a little more than usual through the night due to the added warmth of another body and a feverish one at that. He hopes Estinien didn't notice, but the other man being sick as he is, Aymeric figures not or he will be unbothered by that particular detail.

But, beyond that, Aymeric had slept rather soundly all things considered. He is and has always been a light sleeper and the unusual arrangement ought to have caused him more distress. But nay, he feels almost comfortable if for his racing heart.

Something...he will review later.

It takes a minute to register, but the resting patterns of the man behind him change and Aymeric starts to believe he may also be awake. So there they lay in complete silence, not a word passing by as Aymeric wonders if it is better to pretend to be asleep and let Estinien do what he will to save them both any potential embarrassment, or to go forth into this new territory of closeness they have wandered into.

He chooses the latter, if only because he is not sure he could feign sleep at this point.

Carefully, Aymeric peers over his shoulder to see if he can catch the other man's gaze--if his eyes are even open.

"Good morning," he says, voice a little more raspy from sleep.

Ser Croquembouche, now notified of his master's wakefulness, immediately jumps down from the settee and trots over to the bed to begin his own morning ritual.

Estinien is pondering similar options, debating between holding the course and trying to reduce contact before either of them have make eye contact. Splitting up now wouldn't change anything they already did, of course, so wouldn't it be better to focus on handling it with grace instead...?

Of course, when Aymeric eventually speaks and the line is drawn, it's a little harder to be calm. His stomach turns.

He's right there behind Aymeric's shoulders, of course, so when he peers around that nervous eye contact happens immediately. From the look of things, Estinien's eyes have already been open for a while, staring at the back of Aymeric's head and neck.

"Mn." All he manages is a grunt of acknowledgement, the idea of a morning greeting seeming all too casual. He starts to pull away the hand that's been resting over Aymeric's body.

He feels better than he did when Aymeric first game to stay with him, but his head is aching and his mouth is parched. He pulls back from Aymeric slowly, readjusting hands so that they are curled around his own torso, as if in defence. Any attempts at words are currently failing him.

There is something in that simple grunt that is just so painfully Estinien that Aymeric yet feels some of his concerns abate. His brows turn upwards in light amusement and he finds himself smiling, tentatively, but genuine.

That he all ready misses the press of Estinien's chest against his bag is yet another thing he will review later. Not now, not when thinking on it will cause heat to rise to his cheeks. Instead, he shifts when he is allowed so sit more properly rather than lay on his side. (When did that happen?)

Aymeric tries to clear some of the sleep from his throat as he runs his hands through his bangs, a little mussed from laying down, but otherwise not all too different from its normal artfully tousled state.

"How are you feeling?"

why don't you figure my heart out?

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