Touch — Hadrian (Patreon)

Faint crackles come from the small fire pit, the wood splintering by the lazy mouths of feeble flames. The sound rises towards the depthless ceiling of a long-forgotten ruin and comes rolling against his ears, but all Hadrian can listen to is the equally quiet, almost inaudible, sound of your breathing.

He can only hear it because he stands so close. Your arm is in his hands, your skin warm and present, and Hadrian tries his hardest not to think of how he has never been this close to you before. Not for this long, not intentionally. He drags the rag down your forearm, clearing the blood that still spills from your wound before he leans away to inspect it.

It's not deep, thank the Lord. He can start to bind it.

Reaching for the clean wraps near his feet, Hadrian shifts his grip on your arm so he can start the process. You move along with him, twisting your elbow when he holds it, and Hadrian suddenly hopes his callouses don't feel as rough and unpleasant as they look. When the wrap first goes over the cut, he hears your intake of breath, short and quick but laced with pain.

"I'm sorry," he says, completely meaning it. He's trying his hardest to be as gentle as possible, but Hadrian knows he can be clumsy and inept and-

"It's alright." Your voice murmurs between the two of you. Small and quiet too, as if you speak in a whisper only meant for his ears. When Hadrian looks up, he sees the smile that graces your lips, a smile you aim for him, and Lord, he's never been this close to you before, and he shouldn't be thinking of how beautiful your eyes look with the flames reflected on their depths. "It'd hurt either way. It's not your fault, Hadrian."

He opens his mouth, but your words don't quite register because Hadrian is still caught with the sight of your smile. "Uh," he says to buy time and hates the way his tongue feels much too big for his mouth. Hates the way you frown, and there's concern in your eyes now.

"Are you alright?" you ask, leaning a little closer. Lord in Heaven. "Hadrian, it didn't hurt that much, you can keep going."

You point to the wraps hanging loosely from his grip, and finally, finally, he can think again. "Right." Hadrian nods, cheeks heating as he looks down at the cut once again. His throat is tight in embarrassment, why does he always have to make a fool of himself in front of you? "Right, sorry."

A small laugh has him snapping his head back up. And if your smile was beautiful before, now you look divine. "Stop apologizing," you tell him, chuckling still.

He knows his cheeks must be blood-red by now, so Hadrian spares his idiotic tongue and simply nods instead. He continues to wrap the wound with practiced movements and tries his hardest not to think of how soft your skin feels. How long your eyelashes look. How your smile, a smile for him, had made his chest warm and hope bloom in his gut. He tries his hardest, but Hadrian is a fool, and his hardest amounts to nothing.

Silence falls for a moment, a silence that feels as intimate as it tastes cold. Your eyes are far away, and his thoughts start to drift too. To the moment when he and Alessa had realized you were missing. His sudden panic, the way the ground seemed to have opened up before his feet. The wrappings go around your forearm for a final time before he ties them in a neat knot.

"All done," he says, and when you come back from whatever far-away place you had been, he forces himself to smile at you. But the pit on his stomach remains as you inspect your forearm, and even the smile you give him back isn't enough to quench his fears.

"Thank you, Hadrian," you say, starting to rise from your seat. And he doesn't mean to, not really, but he can't stop his hand from suddenly squeezing your shoulder. He can't stop his tongue from babbling, can't stop himself from speaking.

"I uh..." Hadrian is sure his ears are red too. Lord, let it be too dim to be noticeable. "I'm really glad you're back."

Because he is. Because for a moment, he thought you may have gone for good, and Hadrian doesn't want to think about it, he shouldn't linger on it. But he can't, and he thanks the heavens you're here, even if it means he'll keep embarrassing himself. May he stumble and trip and tie his metaphorical tongue every day if it means you're near and safe.

There's a pause in time. His hand feels like a stone on your shoulder, wrong. He overstepped. But you're looking at him, right into him, and Hadrian is frozen when faced with your gaze. He can't move, not even to save himself. He can't move as you lift your hand. Can't move as you grab him, and your fingers are on top of his callouses and rough skin, and Hadrian cannot move because he can barely think.

"I promise I'll be more careful from now on," you say in your gentle tone. And he should be listening, he should be grateful for your reassurance.

But his whole world is in your hand, and now he turns his wrist because he wants to hold it in his own.

He hears it again, another sharp inhale from your lips, but before Hadrian can even start to apologize, you squeeze his hand, fingers looping with his, and maybe his skin isn't as unpleasant as he fears because your palm comes to press on his, and Father in Heaven, he can't stop staring at you now.

You glance up at him through your lashes with that same small smile on your lips, and his throat is working up and down because the silence feels like too much, but Hadrian doesn't know what to say.

He doesn't know-

Alessa materializes from the shadows.

His hand flies far away. Lord. He grabs his cross until his fingers hurt, and his eyes bounce from you to the coldness that is Alessa. Her blue eyes seem to pierce him, and may he be called a coward, but Hadrian decides it’s time to retreat.

"You're ready to go, Alessa?" he stammers out. "I'll just uh... Go get my things."

He turns his back on you then, turns his back so no one can see how his fingers fall from his cross. And the skin tingles where you touched him. The skin tingles all the way to his lips, where they part in a smile that Alessa would call foolish.

Hadrian might as well be a fool too, then. A fool and a coward and an idiot. But, right now, Hadrian doesn't wish to be anything else.