Intimacy is insinuated in this chapter, but nothing explicit is mentioned. This is a plot-heavy chapter, so it is purposely not intended to be mature in nature despite its content in order to remain accessible.
TESSIA ERALITH
It's the middle of the night, and no one was awake at the time. I rolled my shoulders from the mental exhaustion and pent-up stress from the day's activities before heading back to my own room. On top of my desk was a dinner laid out and prepared by the maids hours ago. It was likely cold and stale by now, but I sat down to eat it nonetheless. I didn't want to disturb anyone that might be sleeping now.
As soon as I sat down and took off the metal dome-like lid covering a plate of blackened salmon and asparagus, I heard a knock on my door. Crossing over to open it, I am surprised to see that it's Art.
"Hey," he said, smiling warmly at me.
"Hey," I said, pulling the door open.
I watched him as he walked inside. It's been nearly a week since I last saw him. He had been on an impromptu vacation in Alacrya spending time with his family, and he still had a week left before he was expected back. I felt touched that he had come back to see me during this time.
Art still looked worn and exhausted from his duties, but also seemed perfectly calm, with nothing left of the shaking desperation I had seen him with when we last spoke. I had wondered at the back of my mind for the last week if he took his vacation now in order to avoid me, feeling embarrassed at our last meeting.
Whatever he was feeling or thinking the last time didn't matter though. There's nothing of that today.
He came to a stop by the table, looking down at the food on my plate. "I didn't mean to interrupt."
"It's fine," I said. The fish was cold and the asparagus was soggy anyways. It wasn't like I was missing anything by skipping it.
"At least finish eating," he said. "I can wait."
He sat across from me. Yes, we have spent many a night in this room, many of which had one of us sprawled across this very table. But seeing him remove his outwear and hang it on the back of his chair is something entirely different. His coat off him, my eyes take in his attire and the sight made me feel like something was alarmingly different about him.
Arthur usually only had two types of wear: battle or formal attire. But today he was dressed in fairly pedestrian Alacryan attire. Jeans and a soft-looking flannel shirt rolled up to his elbows don't make him look any less enticing than usual, but it also was not a look I had ever seen him wear in the more than two decades I had known him.
I gestured at my plate before speaking. "Do you want anything, Art?"
He shook his head. "No, thanks. I've already eaten."
"You're better?" I asked, my eyes lingering on his hands where he has them folded on the table. I still remember them shaking and fidgeting violently the last time I had seen him.
"Yes," he said, flexing his fingers. "Just like new. I guess I just needed a little rest."
He casually refilled my glass of water with a simple movement as if to prove it. While I knew the display was something he wouldn't have been able to do in his earlier state, I can't help but feel like he's lying about something.
It hurt that he was keeping secrets from me, but I decided to let it go.
We fell into silence as I ate. We always were comfortable just being with one another, no need to talk or have a conversation.
"I'm heading out in the morning," he said after a while, fingers tapping against the table.
"Yeah?" He occasionally told me when he's going to be gone for an extended period, but infrequently enough that this struck me as an anomaly. I don't need to know where he is every hour of the day. He had his own life and duties, and I had my own. But he was already on vacation. What was the need to tell me now?
It inexplicably set me on edge.
He nodded. "There's something I need to take care of."
I wanted to ask if that's wise, thinking of him in that alleyway, fractious and on edge.
He's better, I reminded myself.
"It might be a long time," he saod.
I almost asked if it was going to be dangerous, but I stopped myself. I am not so naive as to not realize that most of the things he does were dangerous. He was the strongest mage. Who else would do the dangerous things if not him?
"Okay," I said instead.
Deciding I had eaten enough, and not because of this heavy, uncomfortable weight in my stomach, I got to my feet, plate in hand.
He caught my arm as I passed him on my way to the kitchen. "Tess."
There was an earnestness in his voice that made my body tense. I looked down at his face, the open, almost vulnerable look on it, and felt panic flare in my chest. Something was wrong.
"Don't," I said, voice rough. "Don't go. There is more to this isn't there?"
For a moment he looked like he might push or deny it, but instead, he got up and kissed me, something hard and deep and completely enveloping as his hands buried in my hair. I dropped the plate back to the table, not particularly caring about the mess it caused as he continued to kiss and kiss and kiss me. It was so overwhelming. So intense that I began to feel like he's never actually done it before then. Not really.
He lifted me up, my legs wrapping around his waist, and walked us back into my bedroom, all the while never breaking the relentless kiss. I don't know if he just didn't want me talking or if this was something else.
It felt a lot like something else.
He placed me on the edge of the bed, lowering himself to his knees in front of me.
I began to pull my own clothes off, but he batted my fingers away, slowly removing them himself, his eyes never leaving my face. I try to think of something to say, something to break this strange intensity, but all I could do was watch as he stripped me.
He didn't immediately reach for me, rather letting his eyes trail over me. For some reason, it felt as if he was taking time to memorize me.
He stood, and before he could start shedding his own clothing, I found myself reaching for the buttons on his shirt. I darted a look at his face, feeling off-kilter and strangely unsure of myself. I didn't know how to deal with this particular version of Art, but he just looked back at me, eyes deeply intense, his fingers gently brushing my hair back from my face as he patiently waited for me to help him out of his clothes.
I undid another button on his shirt, lowering my face to his chest to hide from that gaze. Art's breathing came out as a rush. I lingered in the feel of it, pushing away everything but the taste of his skin, the smell and feel of it. The quiet rasp of his breathing, his fingers in my hair.
Once he was completely divested of clothing, I pushed back to my feet and he laid me back on the bed gingerly, climbing up after me. His mouth and hands were everywhere, like he was mapping my body, my own hands restless as they skimmed the planes of his own, so familiar now as his muscles bunched and shifted under my palms.
Only after this thorough exploration did we finally become one. I gasped, my fingers pressing into his back as he whispered my name like a benediction, the first word between us since this began. It seems to stretch on forever, bare and raw, and something I definitely shouldn't allow but couldn't bear to let go of.
Not a break or a fall, but an undoing.
I couldn't catch my breath afterward, like something painful and heavy was on my chest that wasn't his weight. My eyes prickled, pressure building at the back of them, and I turned my face to the side, unable to bear looking at him.
He eventually pulled away, lips dragging across my neck and my shoulder, and I forced my fingers into the sheets to keep from holding him in place.
Though I desperately wanted to, I already knew he wouldn't ever forgive me if I forced him to stay with me and not go wherever it is he was going.
I rolled away from him onto my side, feeling strangely exposed like he's changed our whole dynamic on me without warning. I dragged the blanket up over myself, curling my knees into my chest.
We lay silent in the dark for a long while.
"Tess," he eventually said, voice barely a whisper, but that dangerous softness still audible. I feel my eyes began to sting.
I didn't stir, keeping my breathing long and slow, letting him think I am asleep.
He let out a breath, almost a sigh, his hand ghosting my hip. He's quiet for a long time, so long that I very nearly actually doze off.
"I love you, Tessia," he said, so quiet I could barely hear him.
But I did. I did hear him.
He rolled off the bed and was gone.
I fell apart, furious at myself for not stopping him, my heart clenching in pure worry.