(closed) arm your fears like soldiers and slay them

[byblow]

WHO: Zevran & Alistair.
WHAT: Fight fight fight.
WHEN: 20ish Guardian.
WHERE: Skyhold.
NOTES: Mentions of suicidial ideation, self-harm, alcohol abuse, torture, etc., all very likely. And there's like an 80% chance that Alistair is going to cry.

He's lying on the bed when Zevran walks in, but fully clothed, boots and all—because whenever he wakes up in the middle of the night and Zevran still isn't back he winds up out of bed, walking the battlements or the courtyard, not looking for him any more than he's looking for the Old Gods but certainly more open to the idea of coming upon him by accident than he would be to finding them, worrying, humming—

So Alistair lying on the bed with his boots still on and Doghren asleep on his ankles, rhythmically throwing a white runestone into the air above his head, catching it, throwing it again. It's in the air when the latch turns but in his hand by the time the door opens. He closes it in his fist and sits up.

"Hey," he says. He extracts his feet from Doghren's possession without looking away from Zevran, who looks—normal, for the new definition of that. "Where have you been?"

He's aiming for casual, for friendly interest. What have you been up to, that's normal friend stuff, as far as he knows, sans suicide watch. But it doesn't quite work.

Comments

[ombranera]

Zevran sits back to watch. The dog, the Warden, the spill of tears.

The guilt.

Experienced as he is with hardening his heart to such things keeping his face impassive takes little work. He won. That had been the point, earning a little space at whatever cost, caring little for the consequences. He is drowning in this room, let Alistair bear a cut or two.

He says nothing. Watches Alistair slink away and takes it as a boon. That he could breathe again, that he might sleep without fear of having his eye uncovered, without being disturbed by concern or the odd bear hug in the middle of then night. This is what he wanted.

Isn't it?