They spin, and Urianger feels Thancred's grip on him tighten just enough to keep him upright and held close. That's really all it takes for it to happen β for a memory to cut through the pair of them and leave him thinking of all the times Moenbryda picked him up, hugged him, or simply crushed him close in a one-armed embrace. It isn't that he's thinking of her in Thancred's place β far from it, in fact β but rather he realises he's missed such contactβ
And that he's missed the way his stomach never failed to flutter in the aftermath.
... To flutter the way it is now, with his palm in Thancred's and golden eyes locked on twinkling silver.
I have you.
The tips of his ears darken again as Urianger looks away, a frown pinching at his brow as the familiar stirrings of guilt begin to gnaw into the pit of his stomach. What in Hydaelyn's name is he doing? A moon hasn't yet passed since the Pit β since his mind's defences were breached violently enough for him to try to lure Thancred into the dank hole in the earth to partake of the ritual β and he shivers noticably as a spasm of self-disgust flickers across his expression.
When they finally come to a halt he drops Thancred's hand like it's burned him, then steps away just enough to relinquish the warmth that he's finding he'd quite like to hold on to.
Warmth he doesn't deserve. )
Thou hast my thanks for playing along with my game, Thancred.
( He says curtly, an attempt at a small smile touching the corners of his lips. Urianger has been trying not to close himself off from his friends so readily, he really has, but something about that fluttering in his stomach has him turning back to those old habits. )
Forgive me my moment of frivolity. 'Twas a most enjoyable flight of fancy β but a flight of fancy nonetheless.
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( I have you.
They spin, and Urianger feels Thancred's grip on him tighten just enough to keep him upright and held close. That's really all it takes for it to happen β for a memory to cut through the pair of them and leave him thinking of all the times Moenbryda picked him up, hugged him, or simply crushed him close in a one-armed embrace. It isn't that he's thinking of her in Thancred's place β far from it, in fact β but rather he realises he's missed such contactβ
And that he's missed the way his stomach never failed to flutter in the aftermath.
... To flutter the way it is now, with his palm in Thancred's and golden eyes locked on twinkling silver.
I have you.
The tips of his ears darken again as Urianger looks away, a frown pinching at his brow as the familiar stirrings of guilt begin to gnaw into the pit of his stomach. What in Hydaelyn's name is he doing? A moon hasn't yet passed since the Pit β since his mind's defences were breached violently enough for him to try to lure Thancred into the dank hole in the earth to partake of the ritual β and he shivers noticably as a spasm of self-disgust flickers across his expression.
When they finally come to a halt he drops Thancred's hand like it's burned him, then steps away just enough to relinquish the warmth that he's finding he'd quite like to hold on to.
Warmth he doesn't deserve. )
Thou hast my thanks for playing along with my game, Thancred.
( He says curtly, an attempt at a small smile touching the corners of his lips. Urianger has been trying not to close himself off from his friends so readily, he really has, but something about that fluttering in his stomach has him turning back to those old habits. )
Forgive me my moment of frivolity. 'Twas a most enjoyable flight of fancy β but a flight of fancy nonetheless.