[Closed] I'd Take Another Chance

[gottakeeponejumpahead]

WHO: Adasse and Sorrel
WHAT: Distractions.
WHEN: Beginning of Wintermarch
WHERE: The rooftops of the alienage
NOTES: Two elven boys finding new things to think about

Sorrel had spent too much time wrapped up in himself, and Adasse had made a silent promise to Sina that he would not allow that to happen. He made a promise to himself that he would be there for Sorrel, no matter what. So if that meant sneaking up the side of the tower to get through his window, he would do it.

So he did, in fact, appear on Sorrel's window sill, whispering into the near darkness, dark eyes bright with mischief, and warmth. "Psssssst, Handsome. I've come to take you away from it all, for a bit. Come on."

He would nudge, push, cajole, and dance around Sorrel until he got them out of the Gallows and across the channel to the docks, then lead him up to the roof.

"Up and up we go. Come on, follow the magical bouncing Adasse!" He cheered, calling behind him.

Comments

[gottakeeponejumpahead]

"...I would never." He stated firmly. "And I'll try not to watch too closely."

Adasse, in the meantime, went ahead and started to make them both another cup of tea. Heated the water, put the tea leaves. Let it all brew together and poured them both another cup while Sorrel looked. He felt that watching him, while he was creating art, was almost like watching something divine.

He sipped his tea, his gaze intent and interested, but made sure to look aside.

[writteninblood]

Sorrel glanced back at Adasse once more, found him studiously not-looking, busying himself with the tea. Alright, then, let's go.

The first few strokes were selfconscious enough, awkwardly reptilian, unlovely things, but soon Sorrel settled into a sort of rhythm. It was the kind of thing he often associated with sleep, the unconscious ebb and flow of attention that pulled dream-logic along, the breaking waves of the Fade on a barely-aware mind. This was like that, looking between the vhenandahl and the paper. Here, the shadows went, inverted to their normal function, showing clean wood from below and charcoal shadows above. Little figures populated the shadowed suggestion of the alienage, elven-eared but indistinct, blocked in with primitive smudges; he spent little enough time on them.

He forgot to think about being watched, let it fall away as he blocked in, near the bottom of his uneven canvas, the lip of the rooftop on which they sat, and the merest edge of the little fire. Sorrel stopped and then, before he could think himself out of it, let his hands outline a rough shape, legs bent, casual posture, hair just so-- rough sketch of a man, seated looking outward at the tree, but meant to be Adasse. It was then that nervousness reestablished itself and he looked up at Adasse, not to check some detail of the work, but to see a reaction.

[gottakeeponejumpahead]

Adasse glanced over at Sorrel when the other elf looked over at him. He offered a comforting smile, because Sorrel did look unbelievably nervous. Tipped his head down to the piece of refuse wood that Sorrel had been sketching on, his gaze sweeping over the entire scene.

A little smile touched his lips, and he looked up at Sorrel, "Damn, Sorrel. That's bloody amazing. With only a piece of charcoal. And that's a particularly dashing fellow over looking it all."

[writteninblood]

Sorrel snorted, as if to reject the sincerity of Adasse's compliment, but he couldn't help the creeping smile; the words penetrated, even if he resisted the message. Nervously, he reached without thinking to rub along his cheek, leaving a smudge of coal over the line of scar there.

"Oh him? He's a terrible influence, you know. Keeps you out after dark, takes you to brothels and bars and all these unsavory places," The smirk is real now, and Sorrel bends absently to smudge a shadow into the curve of his drawing's cheek, "Well, I like him anyways. He's always there when I need him most."

[gottakeeponejumpahead]

Adasse's gaze softened, as Sorrel brushed charcoal across his cheek. This boy, honestly. He was too damned adorable for his own good. He burst out laughing at Sorrel's wry commentary about Adasse. Gaze flicked down back down to himself in charcoal, then up at Sorrel again.

He leaned forward without thinking, brushing at the charcoal with his thumb. "Well, he likes you too, and he'll always be here for you. No matter what."

[writteninblood]

Here, this is the moment when, if Sorrel were the kind of man who simply did things, when they felt right to do... he'd stare into Adasse's eyes, and slowly lean in, and they'd kiss. It would be sweeping and soft and romantic.

But Sorrel is not that man.

Sorrel is the kind of man who comes up against the fact that this, what he's been doing all evening is... if not flirting exactly, then... something. Something emotional and strong, and prone to leading to kisses. He'd started in on this thinking about freedom and lives well lived, and the wise advice of the dearly departed and yet-- when Adasse's fingers touched his cheek, every black feeling of certainty welled up in him as if to remind Sorrel that it was all impossible.

He flinched away from Adasse's hand, flush with embarrassment, srubbing fitfully at the smudge which had attracted it, "Th- thank you, ma'nehn."

Love who you want to love, yes. But don't fool yourself into thinking they love you back. Adasse was only being kind, after all; that was the kind of person he was. Kind.

"Here," He shoved the board at Adasse in a desperate attempt to mask his own pathetic nature, "You can have this. Keep it, burn it, whatever you like. It's yours."

[gottakeeponejumpahead]

Adasse jerked back when Sorrel did, and there was a flash of hurt there before he pushed it back under. Yeah, well, of course not. He was nothing but a thief, after all. If someone like Sorrel wanted a man, he could have his pick. He was a mage, and Dalish, and ... Maker's Balls. Cyril would probably snap him up in a minute.

He swallowed, schooling his expression as quickly as he could, before he nodded, "You're welcome. As always."

He jerked again when Sorrel shoved the plank at him, before his lips pressed together and he took it gingerly. "Well, if you don't want it."

Of course you don't. I'm just a Good Friend. Dirt underneath your finely crafted boot that's been good to you. Why did I ever think anything could be different? You're a fool, Agassi.

Yet his hands curled around the drawing and he hugged it against his chest.

"...right. Well. I should be getting you back. Don't want Beleth thinking I stole you." He felt the bitterness creep up into his face and he sternly told it to shut up and wait until he got a decent bottle in him.