An Earth-with-fantasy-races universe, set largely in Edinburgh, Scotland and its surroundings, this cosy academia romance centers on @Scram ( durge: Dreuer )'s Dreuer Wildfel, a widowed classics professor, and @Alvilda (Tav: Helaena+)'s Helaena Cresswell, the woman running the cafe across Teviot Place from the building housing the Edinburgh history, archaeology and classics department. CWs include lots of smoking, the various mental health issues of both parties, grief, grumbling in german and celtic annoyance, far too much earl grey, and stupidly sexy knitwear.

🫖

1

🚬

1

🌲

1

Alvilda (Tav: Helaena+)

alvilda_

🫖

Close

Alvilda (Tav: Helaena+)

alvilda_

🚬

Close

Alvilda (Tav: Helaena+)

alvilda_

🌲

Close

He either doesn’t hear or deliberately ignores her attempt to introduce health into his life. It would become rapidly apparent why his former husband left him at home and did the shopping alone. Dreuer has no filter for his desires, and anything he sees and wants he gathers up and dumps into the trolley. The cost isn’t an issue, he has plenty of money… so why not indulge? His indulgence however does seem to include a case of wine, several more expensive cheeses, fresh figs, an Adam Sandler DVD that he will undoubtedly despise, three notebooks, two paperback novels and a six pack of cotton rich black socks.

Helaena rolls her eyes and goes through her list with a single-minded determination that served her well in academia. At least figs are a kind of fruit. It’s something. Even if he’s likely to eat them with the cheese. Since she’s well aware he can barely cook he’ll just have to deal with her meals containing “green things.” On the bright side, he does have good, if rather expensive taste in wine. She throws in a bottle or two of midrange whites she likes, more than nice enough to drink, but not so expensive she’ll feel bad putting them in risotto. “How do you feel about shellfish?” she asks in the freezer section, mentally debating whether to get the shrimp she really wants.

“… I have no thoughts about shellfish. Other than disdain.” He’s far too preoccupied by a large tub of dark chocolate ice cream.

Helaena's mouth drops open in horror as she absorbs a fact more offensive to her than the smoking. It's about on par with the refrigerated bread. She drops the bag of raw, unpeeled shrimp in their cart without looking, whirling to face him. "You have nothing but disdain for shellfish? All shellfish? Mussels, crab, lobster, shrimp, all of it?!"

“hmh. It’s slimy and vile. I’m no great lover of bottom feeders.”

”_Slimy?_” She is this close to forcing some perfectly cooked, not the slightest bit slimy shellfish down his throat. Unfortunately, common sense takes over. “Well, more for me,” she tells him with a shrug. “I’ve personally never found crustaceans to be slimy, but if you had a bad experience with an oyster or something I suppose that’s understandable.”

1

Scram ( durge: Dreuer )

marilewd

Close

“Oysters are the second worst offenders after mussels. Actually most things that come out of the sea have no business on a plate…” Fortunately for Dreuer he is drawn away to look at more paperbacks before he can be violently beaten for his crimes.

”Mussels, too?!” She is fuming as she continues to check things off her list. Incredible. You think you know a man… She self-soothes by buying a tub of lemon sorbet. Lemon desserts never let her down.

2

Mairon✨ (Tav: Adriel)

ogfiremaia

Scram ( durge: Dreuer )

marilewd

Close

“Mussels are hideous, never show me a mussel.” Two more paperbacks… no, three.

Helaena mutters about the glories of moules frites all the way through the freezer section and a good chunk of her raid on the dairy. He’s quite simply wrong. Easy as that.

“… are you still talking about sea bugs?”

”Sea bugs?! Delicious sea bugs! See if I don’t force you to eat paella now out of pure spite!”

His response is a hiss but there’s no malice in those bared teeth. It’s almost as if he’s enjoying it. The back and forth of an inconsequential argument… oh god he has missed it so much.

1

Alvilda (Tav: Helaena+)

alvilda_

Close

She grins right back at him, and very pointedly nods to the arborio rice in the cart. “See if that doesn’t end up becoming a seafood risotto. Filled with _shrimp._”

“Then you can eat it by yourself while I drink all the wine.” He’s says with a deeply insincere little grumble.

”Enjoy having burnt toast for dinner, then,” she fires back, equally unserious.

“Oh you would not dare.”

”Try me.”

He hisses again, but doesn’t push it further. Were she Tony he would keep going, get crueller and more personal until it broached the boundaries of an -actual- fight… But Laena was new, and scaring her off was the last thing he wanted to do. It was nice to stoke the fires just a little, though. “Go on then, take your scuttling sea mucus to the checkout.”

”Right next to your undrinkable liquid tannins masquerading as wine,” she mutters, but she’s smiling as she does. It’s been a while since she had a proper bicker about nothing. It’s lovely.

His tail shivers. He does his bit at the checkout, taking out his battered old wallet that clearly has been loitering in his back pocket since the nineties judging by the state of the leather. The bank card he pays with, however, is clearly from a rather well fed account judging by its appearance. It disappears quickly again after he has paid and he helps to pack. Well. Hinders.

1

Alvilda (Tav: Helaena+)

alvilda_

Close

She rolls her eyes and bats his hands away after he tries to put strawberries at the bottom of a bag. “Just take the case of wine, please. I’ve got it.” She was going to offer to pay half, she is going to be eating approximately half, but he paid before she had the chance to interject. She’ll ask later. The last thing she wants is to make him feel like she’s leeching off his hospitality.

“Yes ma’am.” Turns out she can boss him around all she likes. Interesting reaction. He does at least help as instructed, carrying the wine and helping to transfer everything into the back of the car. He even returns the trolley (not to the trolley park - to a nearby bush, but it’s close enough).

1

Alvilda (Tav: Helaena+)

alvilda_

Close

She saw that, but she’s too busy juggling groceries to care. “Is this like the ikea test?” she wonders out loud as she turns the car on. “Go to the grocery together, if both survive maybe you have a shot?”

“hmm?” He doesn’t understand. His head tilts to the side like an inquisitive cat as he takes his seat. His fingers twitch towards the cigarettes in his pocket but stops himself. Different car different rules.

"You know, build a bookshelf and try not to murder each other? It's like a teambuilding thing." She flicks on an oldies station she has favorited as she turns onto the main road, humming under her breath to a Billy Joel song. -# https://open.spotify.com/track/49MHCPzvMLXhRjDantBMVH?si=1256c61dd31c4673

“It sounds awful.” He grunts. “… there are people who will build bookshelves for you you know.” He says this with the authority of a man who has clearly never once had to deal with flatpack furniture.

"Well I happen to be a dab hand with an electric screwdriver," she claims. "Well, no, but I'm less hopeless than most of my family. Somehow I ended up being the one assembling my mum's new dresser over Christmas." It had taken a full morning's blood, sweat and tears, including a few curses on her entire bloodline... But she'd done it. "But yes, it's horrible. The store itself is somehow even worse. Overstimulating nightmare. Far too many fluorescents." She shudders at the thought.

“… I have never set foot in an Ikea.”

This is almost as shocking to her as the hatred of shellfish. "... How on Earth have you managed that?"

“I just never have. I do not need anything from there.”

"Everyone needs something from Ikea. At least the meatballs."

“But -this- supermarket has meatballs.” As of yet, it would seem, Dreuer has not been made aware that Ikea is not a supermarket.

"... Good point, but the Ikea meatballs are swedish. And you can get stuffed animals and tupperware and a desk in the same place."

“Does… is the fact that they are Swedish something I should be excited about?” It’s not sarcasm or glibness he is genuinely curious. His tail thuds against the car door as it gives a lazy flick in a confined space.

"No, it just makes them different," she replies with a grin. "But they are pretty good meatballs." She has no idea why they're talking about Ikea, of all things, but it's probably still a less strange topic of conversation than the time they spent a full hour debating the usefulness of Polybius over bowls of goulash. "Oh, and all their furniture has stupid names. I think a lot of them are place names from all over Scandinavia, but they make Welsh look easily pronouncable."

“Welsh is easy… it is phonetic.” He mumbles. “It is when letters can have more than one pronunciation that languages become impossible. English is the worst.”

"I did say look. Most englishmen see a single Cymraeg place name and give up." She might have been one of them, if not for her Nan insisting all of her grandchildren could and would learn Welsh, at least on a conversational level. She uses it less frequently than her latin nowadays, but growing up bilingual had been a massive benefit over her monolingual peers once she started adding more languages. "And yes, English is the worst. No rules, just... memorize it, I guess. I don't envy people who have to learn it instead of growing up with it."

“I learned as a child… which made it easier. It’s harder to absorb languages the older you get. I do like the Celtic and Gaelic languages though… even if I can barely understand them.” He speaks German, English, French, Latin and a piss-poor amount of Italian. He tries.

"Gallech chi ddysgu o hyd." [Welsh, supposedly: ||You could still learn.||] Her accent's atrocious. Her Nan would be horrified. "If you wanted. But I agree, it definitely gets more difficult over time. I'm struggling much more with the ancient Greek than I ever did even Arabic, and I was learning Latin and improving my Spanish at the same time then."

“… I don’t know what that means. It sounds very lovely though.” Was it strange to feel very attracted to her speaking her native tongue? “Ancient languages are their own puzzle because no one fluent is alive to guide us. You should speak with Dekarios, at the faculty. He knows his languages and loves the sound of his own voice. He will be a far better teacher than I.”

"It means you could still learn," she translates with a laugh. "And I've been enjoying learning with you. I suppose I could take an actual class, but your company was an excellent motivation to learn. I suppose I don't strictly speaking need the excuse anymore..." She's always enjoyed languages. She enjoys any mystery she can solve simply if she works hard enough at it.

He frowns. The cogs in his brain are turning. “… what do you mean excuse?”

Helaena winces at the realization of how that sounded. “It’s not that I didn’t want to learn, but, well, at the time taking a class would have defeated the initial purpose a little, wouldn’t it? I wanted a reason to talk to you beyond ‘good morning’ and ‘have a nice day.’” She taps her fingers against the steering wheel, a little nervously. “One of the first things we actually spoke about in any depth was Diogenes Laërtius. Showing my interest in your work, your field of study, was how I got you talking at all.”

Why would anyone make up excuses just to talk about Diogenes… “… you wanted to talk to me.” He says it aloud as the realisation hits him, and he laughs a near inaudible, soft little laugh. He chastised himself internally for not realising. After all these years he still feels as though his is difficult to know, and difficult to love. But Helaena didn’t care. She made excuses to share his company. His tail thumps awkwardly again.

She glances over at him for a moment, her smile a little shy. “I did, yes. I thought that had been pathetically obvious.” At first, she’d only had a genuine desire to get to know one of her most regular customers, especially one that was simultaneously taciturn and flawlessly polite. Later, well… The time between realizing he was incredibly attractive and realizing he was not, in fact, married (anymore) had been rough.

“I am often oblivious to the obvious, it would seem.” He’s heard this tune before. His own apprehension clouding his sight. His fundamental belief that he is unlikable. He had always liked her. In a way that he at first believed was only platonic, but there had been something about her. The way she talked to him, her kindness, her willingness to remain in conversation with him when even he found himself boring. “… thank you.”

She huffs out a laugh. It’s not like she hasn’t had her moments of painful obliviousness, but she usually blames the autism for those. “Thank you. I’m not sure if I’m lucky or unfortunate you didn’t realize how blatant I was being, though.” She told herself there was nothing wrong with favoring a loyal customer, at least a little. She’d made friends with several others, after all. But she just plain liked him, more or less from the start. He was interesting, and she’s always liked a bit of a challenge. A tough nut to crack. At the time, she told herself she hoped for a friend. She was probably lying to herself even then, but she’d already written off their current situation as an impossibility. It’s rare she’s been so happy to be wrong.

He watches her. Her eyes on the road, the sunlight catching her profile and casting a bright halo around her, turning every strand of hair to bronze and gold. To think that someone so beautiful, someone successful and intelligent and talented, who could have anyone in the world if they wished, would choose to spend their time with him… it’s enough to clutch at his heart. He looks to where her hand rests between them on the gearstick, and places his own fingers over hers. She is warm to the touch, a warmth of human connection he has been depriving himself of, but desperately needed.

She takes her eyes off the road long enough to smile at him, just a little embarrassed at the admission, still. The touch of his hand is the perfect reassurance. His hands aren't particularly warm, especially not with how cold the weather's been, but there is plenty of emotional warmth to make up for it. It's not even been a full 48 hours, and yet, and yet. Once she gives her heart she's always done it fully. No chance of turning back. She doesn't love by degrees, and she's never been very good at pretending to care less than she does. She longs for a million more drives on Caledonian country roads, filled with pleasant conversation, with music, with comfortable silence. With his hand in hers, to or from a home she wants to be theirs. Helaena's never been very good at doing anything by half.

Her silence is enough. Her presence is enough. The slight flex of her fingers beneath his own, the subtle rosying of her cheeks. The flash of her smile. His heart almost aches. He is grateful the drive is short, a deep rooted desire pooling in the very middle of himself to get indoors, to get warm, to curl up somewhere comfortable and talk. About anything she wants. About Diogenes Laertius, about Epicurus, Demicritus and the Cynics. About Sappho and romance and beauty. About art and nature and music. About anything. Anything.

The rest of the drive passes in pleasant silence. The radio switches from Rolling Stones to Supertramp to Fleetwood Mac and back to Billy Joel. She can’t help but hum along to a few of her favorites. It’s always harder to resist the urge to hum or sing when she’s truly, genuinely happy. It suddenly becomes very quiet as she turns the key in the ignition, the radio and the engine cutting off at once. “For fear of being a terrible stereotype,” she begins, breaking the silence. “How about a cup of tea, once we’ve put the groceries away?”

He turns his gaze to her, and his smile softens his features. The lines at the corners of his eyes crease. “That is not stereotypical. That sounds like perfection.” He has not joined her humming or singing, but her delight at the music is often met with a gentle smile. To see her so content, and to think perhaps he has had some hand in it. He does what he knows to do, unloading the car and bringing the bags into the kitchen (avoiding the bob and weave of Ros and Fluff who now seem to have formed an allegiance in an attempt to trip him).

She whistles, calling Ros off from being a little menace, even if the lure of all the interesting smells coming from the grocery bags they both carry in is great. There may or may not be a nice butcher’s bone in there for her. Fluff, however? Well, there’s no real controlling the behavior of cats. They are majesties of their domain, and they know it. Helaena pushes the insistent little tomcat off the kitchen island with a pointed look after setting down her own bags. The cat jumps right back up without skipping a beat. She sighs and rolls her eyes. Fluff was there before she was and he knows it full well. Her hand reaches out, a cautious offer. Something in her heart clenches as he rubs his head all over it, even if it’s an obvious attempt to scent her. Perhaps in an effort to override the overwhelming smell of dog. “You really are spoiled rotten, you know that?” she mumbles as she scritches his cheeks. “You’re lucky Dreuer loves you more than anything.”

He smiles as he listens to her struggle with Fluff.

Mr Fluffikins has never once considered that he might not be the head of the household. Bot this cottage and the city apartment are his domain. His royal kingdom. Any intruders aside from his regular court jester the tiefling are looked upon with severe disdain. For at least twelve hours.

Dreuer stacks away the food where he knows it belongs. In places where it has always been kept. He knows where Anthony liked to keep every packet, jar and box despite his frequent dismissal from the kitchen. He prepares the kettle to make tea and kisses Laena on her cheek, his hands briefly steadying around her waist before moving away to stoke the banked embers of the fire.

She smiles at the gentle show of affection, briefly squeezing his hand where it rests on her waist. Fluff seems to have accepted her surrender and offering of pets, but abandons her the moment Dreuer moves towards the fire. One must scout out the best spot for a good nap, after all. "Should I put your books in the shelves?" she asks after fixing them both cups of tea. "I know you apparently don't believe in library organization, but I rarely keep novels in the kitchen myself." Her voice is light, just the slightest bit teasing.

“Books live wherever they land, Helaena, I am not their master.” It’s the most poetic way he can think of to say he cannot be arsed to tidy up after himself.

"Right, that's what you'll say when I put a Tolstoy in the path between the bedroom and the bathroom so you trip over it at 2am," she fires back without missing a beat. She sits down on the couch, patting the spot next to her in invitation.

An invitation Ros accepts immediately. There has been far too few opportunities for a cuddle with her human in the past several days. Deeply unacceptable.

Helaena just smiles and begins to rub the rotund corgi's ears. They'll find a way to make room for everyone. It's a relatively roomy couch, after all.

He turns to look at her with a disappointed scowl. “You are terribly cruel to me.” He protests weakly.

"Only because I love you," she tells him and blows him a kiss.

He smiles. He smiles because he knows she means it. “I love you too.” His words are equally honest, looking up at her from his sprawled position before the fire.

With a lap full of dog, she can’t go kiss him the way she wants to. Instead, she reaches out her hand in invitation, her smile matching his own. “I think the idea was tea and a cuddle, before Ros decided to get in the middle.”

The dog huffs, in disappointment or offense. Not nearly enough rubbing of ears is occurring. Sure, she likes her human’s new person just fine, he always slips her scraps, but the spot on Laena’s laps was hers first. At Laena’s gentle shove, she jumps back off the couch, but not without a mournful look in the direction of both two-leggeds. This is truly animal abuse.

He picks himself from the floor with a quiet grunt of exertion, his tail swaying lazily behind him as he scrubs his fingers through his hair and wanders to the sofa. He drops onto the padded leather beside Laena with a huff, and slides down sideways until his head meets her thighs. “… I do not think I have gone this long without thinking about work for a very long time.” He says quietly.

She immediately begins to run her hands through his soft curls, still a little tousled by the wind and chill of the Caledonian hills. “Work? God, I didn’t even check my phone until I was getting ready to go to the store, I don’t think I’ve ever gone a full day without thinking of the cafe before,” she admits. Yes, she’s a control freak. It’s a habit that’s hard to break even knowing the cafe is in good hands. As evidenced by the slightly-teasing text Jen had sent her, assuring her all was well and to enjoy her holiday.

“I like to have my mind preoccupied with better things.” He says through softly smiling lips. His eyes are closed, and there’s a purr in the back of his throat. “I am very glad you came here with me. I do not think I can say that enough.”

”I much prefer to keep mine right where I am. I couldn’t think of anything better.” She keeps petting his hair, hands sometimes straying to gently rub the base of his horns or the shell of his ears. “I can’t tell you how happy I am you offered. Or that I agreed.” I don’t think I’ve ever breathed this deeply. The calm of the woods is already sinking into her bones.

Every time her fingers graze his ears his purr deepens in tone. He is deeply contented, happier than he thought possible after such an upheaval of grief. “I like it here. It is quiet… you can hear the world without the chatter of machines.” His tail sweeps back and forth idly over the floor and he sighs.

”When the house is quiet you can hear the trees shifting in the breeze.” Now, she can hear the crackling of the fire, Dreuer’s steady, contented purrs as she pets him like a spoiled house cat, Ros snoring on the rug in front of the fire… But beyond that there’s only the soft hum of nature around them, even in stasis in the winter months. “I want to come back when the weather’s warmed up,” she muses. “See this place surrounded by new life. It’s never as quiet as winter, but spring seems the most alive, don’t you think? The most hopeful.”

He stretches where he lies. His back arches and clicks, and his muscles twist over his frame. His tail shivers from base to tip, and he relaxes again with a shift of his legs. He raises a hand to touch Laena’s face. It still doesn’t seem real, though it’s more real than he deserves. “I think I want to kiss you.”

She leans into the touch, presses a kiss to his palm. Her smile when she looks down on him is loving, and just the slightest bit teasing. “Then I think you should.”

“Hmmmh.” His tail gives another lazy swish as he presses a hand down into the couch cushions to lever himself upwards. His hand against her cheek is steady, the touch of his fingers cautious and almost inquisitive as they trail back to her hairline. As if he were touching her for the first time. The first shy kiss brushes her lips like a whisper, the second lingering.

She leans into the kiss with a small sound of contentment. It's been so long since she kissed simply to kiss before this. Before Dreuer. There are many small pleasures she's rediscovering with him. Some she is experiencing for the first time. There are a million ways to kiss, after all, and no one has ever kissed her quite like this.

Kissing just to be kissed is one of life’s sweetest pleasures. There is no rush to an end, no ulterior motive, no suggestive undercurrent. Just the moment, and all the emotive connotations carried within it. What more could a man want? It’s an indulgence, slow and lazy exploration. He finds her hair soft, and the path of his fingers releases the pleasant scent he now recognises well as her shampoo. Her skin is warm and soft, unweathered by time or the harshness of the world, ever protected by soft things. He hoped to always protect her with soft things, if she would allow him to. His tail keeps a steady beat like the pendulum of a clock, sweeping lazily back and forth with every two beats of his heart. *One-two-left, one-two-right*. Falling into step with himself, aligned with the rhythms of the world. He wonders silently if her heart beats the same.

Their lips dance, slow and soft and utterly tender. There is nothing hurried about it. Nothing that pushes for more. Her hands cup his face, run over lines of age and laughter, trace the signs of a life lived. It's strange, to have something be so new, and yet click into place so perfectly, as comfortable as slipping into her own bed. Two days ago, she hadn't spoken to him apart from a single text for over a month. And yet... It feels right. It feels good. It's so rare she gets to have what she wants, and have it be good for her. It's so rare she gets to be happy like this, not a single thought in her mind beyond exactly this moment.

There’s a breath between them when their lips part. That’s all the distance Dreuer can bear to give. His thumb traces the apple of her cheek, her skin smooth and unburdened by time. A canvas on which the years will one day speak their story as they do across his own. He wonders if he will be fortunate enough to see her hair turn silver and her eyes crease with crows’ feet built from life’s joys. “I love you.” He murmurs, as if swearing an oath. “I love you Helaena.” Every time he heard the words aloud, his own voice, honest and unimpeded by fear, it warmed a part of him that he had allowed to turn cold.

The apple of her cheek turns impossibly rounder as her lips curve in a smile, dimples forming where one day laugh lines will follow. "I love you too, Dreuer." It's a little difficult to kiss when you're smiling like this, but she manages. "I'm so very glad Halsin all but threatened me into coming to his Hogmanay party." Who knew how long they might have taken to speak again otherwise? Who knew if they would have at all? He can never know.

“I hate to admit it… but I believe Halsin has known for some time how much I care for you. Even before I could see it myself.” His tail twitches upwards, scooping itself from the floor to slump over his own calves. “‘It’s too crowded in here, go across Teviot Place and get a coffee there.’” His impression is far from perfect, but the tone is correct. “He asked me about you many times. Never understood why he didn’t ask you questions himself.”

She winces at the realization. Because wouldn't you know it, Halsin did the same for her. "Oh bloody hell, I knew he looked far too pleased with himself when I picked up Ros," she swears. Then she can't help but laugh. The thought of the pleasant middle aged elf playing matchmaker is just... perfect, and ridiculous all at once. "He was likely asking to see how you would answer. You can tell a lot from the way someone talks about a person, you know." The likely reason Halsin often started seemingly innocuous conversations about the professor she definitely did not have a soft spot for. She'd thought it simple small talk, discussion of a shared acquaintance... but the sneaky old bastard was pushing them together the whole time, wasn't he? "Maybe he thought you needed more shortbread in your life. Or someone to try to feed you."

“Hmh… he knew I needed you.” It seems such an inoccuous thing to say and yet it carries an immeasurable weight. How much had Dreuer deteriorated, body and mind, since losing the love of his life? How far had he let himself slide, neglecting to care for his body and soul? And who had broken through those shadows of isolation? Helaena. Who had been the first person, outside of family and colleagues, to speak kindly to him just for the sake of it? Helaena. Who had offered him a safe and quiet place? Let him sit with his thoughts as long as he needed, silently refilling his tea and sneaking those little shortbread biscuits onto his plate to quell the rumble of his belly that he hadn’t even noticed? The first person to ask about his work, to listen… to show an interest not just in his academic prowess but in his life, his mind, his thoughts and feelings… a genuine interest… It was her. It was Helaena. To say that he needed her was quite the understatement.

"Maybe he thought I needed you, too," she counters gently. Dreuer hasn't seen much of the person she tries to hide behind the closed door of her cosy little flat. The too-busy, stressed, perpetually tired, deeply and utterly lonely woman who seems to have everything and yet be wasting all of it. The person who got an invitation to one of the most prestigious PhD programs available to her, and turned it down, because the thought of staying in academia for one more day made her want to scream. She ran away to Scotland instead. Spent years struggling to find joy in _anything_, even as someone supposedly successful. Her own business, doing well despite everything, is nothing to sneeze at. Helaena spent a long time surviving. Living, sometimes, but hardly thriving. Rarely happy. Dreuer's visits became the highlight of her days a lot earlier than she should admit.

he smiles, shifting the grip of his hand across the soft worn leather of the sofa cushion. “My arm hurts… lay with me.” His words are a low rumble as he lowers himself back down. The sofa is just wide enough for two if he lets his tail fall to the floor and keeps her close against his chest. Which is fine… he has no intention of letting her go any time soon. “I do not want to look Halsin in the eye when next I see him, he will be insufferable and I wish to share this with just you, the animals, this house, and the memories I let fade here.” He trails his fingers slowly over her arm. “We have room to make countless more, if you wish to stay here with me for more than just this week. Whenever you wish, whenever the desire takes you… I would have you stay with me.”

In what universe would she object to that? She hums happily as he holds her close, warm and comfortable despite neither of them having impressive amounts of body heat to share. She huffs in amusement, her chest vibrating with a suppressed chuckle. She's had to deal with his insufferableness already. Still, she very much understands the sentiment. It's nice, to have this be just for them, even know it's unlikely to last long. No, they both have far too many people who are likely to have opinions. Positive ones, most likely, but still. She tries not to think of the possibility for negative ones. She looks up at him with a slight frown of confusion as he offers... for her to stay here. Whenever she'd like? "Dreuer, that's a very dangerous thing to offer. I might not ever leave." She's barely even joking. "I... I really like it here. I know it's not been very long, but... It's very easy to love. It's very easy to love sharing it with you. I know it'd be different, when the real world intrudes, but... I like the idea of having the option of hiding away out here. Just the two of us. At least once in a while."

“You are easy to love.” Words spoken before… not here, but on a bed far from this sofa, across oceans, in a small air conditioned bedroom that had been given to the Edinburgh students. The air smelled different. The wash of the Mediterranean was far flung from the rain soaked stone and tarmac of the Scottish capital. “You say that as if it’s hard.” Tony replied. There was amusement in his voice that made Dreuer scowl. “I have not made it easy.” He grumbled, his tail swishing calmly back and forth. “No you made it much more difficult than it needed to be.” Came the sharper tone of admonition. “But the decision to stay with you? That was easy.” “I think wherever I find you, Anthony, love will be easy.” He looked into deep and thoughtful brown eyes. Eyes that could see the beauty in the mundane and pull it into focus with brushes and oil paints as though it were nothing. It came easy to Anthony. Wherever he went, love came easy. Dreuer could almost hear his laughter. This place was easy to love because it spoke so loudly of the man who had loved it so deeply. His heart gives a short, painful twist, and he closes his arm more securely around Laena. “This home has always been easy to love. It needs love.”

And so does the man who lives in it. "I think everyone does, Dreuer. I know I do, no matter how long I tried to deny it." Of course her family loves her. Of course she has friends, good friends, even if many are further away than she'd like. Of course she's not necessarily alone, even if she is often lonely. But to feel seen? To feel loved? That is something rare and precious indeed. Something she doesn't think she's truly had in a partner before. "Homes... They are a product of the people who live there. I love this place because it's yours, and because I'm here with you. Because I love you. But yes, I... I'd love to come here again. Whenever you'll have me."

It isn’t just his of course, and he almost says so aloud. If she loves this place, she loves the men who poured themselves into making it a home. The books in their shelves and tumbledown stacks are windows into Dreuer’s soul. The neatly kept basket of blankets to chase away the cold was Anthony. The spiderman figurine on the sideboard in the bedroom was Anthony. The coarse doormat outside the front door for clearing mud from tired football boots… the hand-cut wood stacked patiently beside the fireplace… the slight scorch on the ceiling above the gas stovetop… the collected photographs that clustered cheerily atop the piano. They spoke of someone else’s life. Things significant to another heart. Footprints left behind. Dreuer sighs heavily. His fingers trail idly through Laena’s hair. “I would wish for you to stay with me always… however premature a request that may seem.”

"Well, in that case I'll have to bring over quite a few more clothes," she says easily. "It might not always be _practical_, but... At least during the weekends, and on my days off? Yes, absolutely. I'd love that." She pecks the tip of his nose, just because she can. "I'm going to be around enough you'll get sick of me, probably," she warns. "If that happens, just... tell me? I won't be offended, I promise. I might need my own space sometimes, too. I've gotten used to living on my own. We'll probably bicker, or have bad days, or..." Somehow she's looking forward to it. All these little everyday irritations, the joys and pains of sharing a space. "Just tell me," she reiterates. She'll try, she really will, try not to be a bother, try not to overstay her welcome or take up too much space, to make mistakes, but when she inevitably does, she'd rather know than risk resentment building. She'd hate that.

His smile grows as she speaks. And then he laughs, a quiet little chuckle in the back of his throat. “Helaena, the bickering, the needing space, that is what love is. That is as important as any poetry or declaration of romantic intent.” Sharing a space is hard, especially when one values their own company. To find time to be alone even in the most loving of relationships, Dreuer knows well, is no bad thing.

Is it? Her eyes widen a little as she realizes she doesn’t know. How could she? Her healthiest long term relationship was her college fuckbuddy. She’s never lived with a partner. Never been married. Never shared a life in a million little ways. She had one disastrous relationship that threatened to turn her off the whole thing altogether and then she… gave up. But Dreuer has. “I wouldn’t know,” she admits. “I… hm. It sounds pathetic, but I’d rather given up on finding anyone who’d ever want to…” Someone who’d ever love me. Actually love me, and not just say t to manipulate me. Love me as a lover and not as a friend or a sister or a daughter. “It’s a little pathetic to admit I’m 28 years old and haven’t had a boyfriend that wasn’t an asshole.”

“… unfortunate for you that you have found yet another arsehole.” He can’t help himself. His tail swishes with subdued mischief. “Love is not romance in the way poets write it… love is in tolerance. Compromise. In knowing someone completely.” He continues to trace his fingers over her arm. “… love is refilling someone’s tea when it gets low because you know they need to be kept warm.”

”I know plenty of platonic love. Familial love. I suppose romantic love was always the one that escaped me.” She doesn’t think of herself as some great romantic. Or at least she tries not to be. She’s relatively sensible, most of the time. It’d just be nice, to not be alone. To have a person to share her life with. Someone to throw another log on the fire when she asks, someone to pick up milk on the way home when she forgot to, someone to hug her when she’s had a bad day. “Or at least… escaped me when it was for anyone who remotely returned the sentiment.” She huffs, amused with herself. “Maybe I’m okay with this particular asshole having found his way into my clutches. Maybe I quite like him. Love him, even.”

“That’s good.” He purrs. “This arsehole loves you too. For all the ways you have loved me.” He turns his head to kiss her forehead, his tail swishing with easy delight.

"I'll refill your tea anytime you'd like, love," Helaena promises with a fond smile. "I'll even toss in enough food for you to survive winter if you toss another log on the fire the next time you get up." Not that that would be anytime soon if she had her say. She's very comfortable exactly where she is. Warm, happy, a little lazy... Utterly content.

He could keep her warm. That was the least he could do in loving her. He keeps himself tucked close, nuzzled against her brow, cosy and comfortable and unwilling to move as his fingers continue their idle path of familiarising himself with her curves. He wanted to know her like a homeland. To know where he can come to when he needs sanctuary. The idle path of his fingers crest over her waist, down her back to her ass. “It has to be said, Helaena…” he murmurs. “… you have a spectacular ass.”

The cognitive dissonance between the softness of the moment and the borderline crassness of the comment leaves her chest vibrating with a giggle she can’t fully suppress. “Well, I’m glad you like it, because it makes shopping for jeans hell.” It does. She’s also spent years insecure about her body and its excess of softness, so it means a lot that Dreuer seems to greatly enjoy all the curves she’s struggled with. “It might be a little bruised from the dining table, though. I haven’t checked.” It wouldn’t surprise her. She’s always bruised like a peach and they weren’t exactly careful.

“it’s alright. You do not need jeans.” His tail is skipping and swishing playfully as he continues his easy exploration of her body. “I am sorry if I bruised you. I did not intend to be so… so rough.” The tone of his voice suggests a hint of embarrassment. He never meant to get so carried away but it was easy to get drunk on her.

”Hmm, I suppose I manage without.” Her usual trousers were, by necessity, of more stretchy fabrics than denim. She smiles as he apologizes for something she seems to recall asking him for, with great enthusiasm. “Dreuer, there’s nothing to be sorry for. I very much enjoyed every moment, and it’s something I’d like to do again. Besides, I, um… I’ve always liked marks. When I’ve been allowed to indulge.”

“You do?” He’s not sure how he feels about that… on the one had there is always something desperately arousing about seeing fingerprint bruises or suckled love bites mark the skin of a lover. He has never been shy of sinking his teeth in before. But against Laena’s pale skin it almost feels sacrilegious. “I liked indulging in you.” He purrs. “I like the taste of you… how you feel when we are together is unlike anything I can remember.” It’s been a very long time since he last slept with a woman. Not since his very early twenties… and it had never been like this, not that he could remember anyway.

”Feel free to indulge in me whenever you like. And to leave whatever marks you desire. Just nothing too obviously visible, if possible,” she amends, tapping the lurid mark still visible on her neck. “Especially when it gets too warm for turtlenecks to really be an option.” Not that she could ever wear one to work, anyway. She’d boil alive in the kitchen. “It’s… It’s been a while for me, too. And my last longer-term partner was a woman, even if we weren’t… It wasn’t like this,” she finally says. It’s difficult to explain the less than illustrious history that’s led her to her healthiest longterm relationship being with a woman who had no romantic but plenty of sexual interest in her, had ended amicably, and had never been exclusive in any way shape or form.

“I’d like to leave my mark in you.” He murmurs. He half registers her conversation with regard to her ex lover but he has become blissfully distracted with his hands roaming her body. He buries his face into the crook of her neck, kissing her, working at the skin of her shoulder. Here he could mark and not feel guilty about it being seen. He has no grand intention to take things further. But kissing her is its own indulgence, one he’ll take greedily.

"You already-" Her voice cuts off on a soft moan as he kisses her neck, lazily, indulgently. There's no intention behind it but this. It just feels good. He simply wants to. She can feel the telltale suction of what will be a mark, likely lingering for days, if not weeks. "Leave as many marks as you want."

He hums against her skin. His fingers wrap around her thigh. It’s good to kiss her, to explore bare flesh with his own curious lips. “I like kissing you.” He admits, his tail happily flicking. “… you can mark me as well, if you wish.”

"Oh? I'll have to remember that." Her own desire to mark, to claim, is one she's been able to indulge in even more rarely. But with explicit permission... "I like kissing you, too. And I like you kissing me." Curious hands roam roam the landscape of his back and shoulders, simply because she can. Simply because she's allowed, and because she wants to.

He moves, rolling his body away from the back of the couch and into her hands. He is a creature of simple affection, craving touch as a sign of love. Touch he has been deprived of for years. He feels warm and comfortable and happy. Safe in her hands. “May I kiss you again?”

"Of course you can," she assures him, smiling as she leans in to kiss him herself. How could she ever not want to kiss him? She loves his mouth as much as she loves the rest of him. And she's always enjoyed affection, in all its forms, but especially that of touch. Romantic touch, intimate but not necessarily sexual, is not something she's ever been able to fully enjoy. Not like this. It's addicting.

He loses count of how long they lie together, exploratory and almost naïve in their kisses and touch. He feels every inch of her body, mapping her form, locking her away in his memory. “I love you.” He murmurs. “I love learning you this way.”

She hums, a soft sound of utter contentment, her lips gently tracing the line of his jaw as her hand rests on his knee. “I love you too. I love having the chance to learn you.” It’s not something she thought she’d ever get to have. It’s something she’d like to repeat, over and over, sometimes with a lot less clothing in the way. The chance to take her time and learn her lover simply because she wants to is a privilege.

He kisses her again, his hand roaming to her thigh to hold her close against his hips. It feels almost adolescent to be making out on the couch like this, but he doesn’t care. It feels alive.

It might be adolescent, but it’s something Helaena didn’t have even as an adolescent. To her, it’s simply pleasant. It feels good, and to her that’s enough. She makes a soft sound of utter contentment as he kisses her again, humming happily against his lips. Her hands are winding through his hair again. God, she loves his hair.

There is an intimacy in this, more than in sex. A curiosity that stems from being deeply invested in one another. He can feel the whole length of her body against the whole length of his own. A growly purr rumbles in the back of his throat as she clutches his hair and he deepens the kiss, squeezing her ass greedily.

She meets him, beat for beat, moaning softly as his sharp teeth graze her lip. Her hips roll back against his hand, encouraging him to have his fill of every curve on her body. It is intimate. It’s intimate in a way sex can be, but in her experience rarely is. It’s selfish and selfless all at once, a hedonistic pursuit and one of almost innocent exploration all at once. “Love your hair,” she mumbles as her hands comb through the soft strands. “Never want to stop playing with it.”

“I like your hands in my hair.” He returns, his tail shivering. “When I was between your legs, I liked it when you pulled my hair.” He turns, a little awkward as he shunts in the space they have on the sofa… His tail and one of his legs flop onto the floor. “Ooop-…” he pauses, looking at her, momentarily struck with a very real fear… and then he falls the one foot drop onto the floor, chuckling at his own lack of balance.

She shivers at the reminder, making a definite note of that for later, then freezes as his balance falters. And then she’s laughing with him, sitting up to check if he hit his head on the coffee table. “Are you alright?”

“I feel my pride is more bruised than anything else. Perhaps the sofa is a terrible place to kiss.” He shakes his head, shifting onto his knees with a quiet little grunt. “Are you alright, I didn’t kick you did I?”

”No, I’m fine, just startled.” She smiles as she pulls him into another kiss, her for once the one leaning down with him on his knees, if only slightly. “And yes, perhaps it is. But I don’t want to stop kissing you,” she insists, a selfish desire, but one she feels comfortable enough to express.

“I don’t want to stop kissing you either.” He rises on his knees, his hands lifting into her hair to hold her close. They couldn’t kiss forever, but he could pretend they could. It’s nice to think that the world could pass them by while they remained, hidden away from it all. He stays close to her as he parts from her lips. “… Helaena it is getting dark.”

”Hmm?” She’d been quite adequately distracted by the gentle pull of lips on lips. A glance out the window confirms his words to be true. Not that that doesn’t happen relatively early in the Scottish hills, but still. “Oh, bollocks, it is,” she agrees with dismay. “Rude of time to just keep ticking on, isn’t it?” Still, there’s strictly speaking nothing they have to do. They should probably eat something at some point, and she should let Ros out again, but that’s about it.

“Hmm. I can walk Ros for you if you want to make tea. Better to keep out of the kitchen, and I can see well enough in the dark.” Being a tiefling has its perks.

”I can’t make you walk my dog for me,” she protests. “No, no, I’ll come with you at least. There’s so many interesting smells in the woods it doesn’t take long to tucker her out.” To a dog who’s lived largely in cities, Galabank is heaven. “What would you like for dinner? With a stocked fridge I can do a little better than eggs on toast,” she jokes.

“Helaena it is dark. You cannot see in the dark.” He counters. “… can you?” He gets to his feet, his joints protesting loudly and his tail shivering down to the tip as it stretches outward.

”You can, and I’ve walked Ros a million times in parks after dark,” she protests. Sure, she sometimes needs to use her phone as a flashlight, but she manages.

“You could stay here, where it is warm and there is no snow. You really wish to come?” He isn’t going to protest too much. He doesn’t want to be free of her company. But it is nice to argue a little bit.

”I can handle a bit of snow, especially if I have you holding my hand.” She is enjoying having someone even offer. “Besides, I can pick your brain on the book I was reading last night.”

“Hmmmnh fine. Let’s both go. Put your coat on it will not be so mild as it was when the sun was shining.” It gets bitterly cold on these hillsides, the arctic winds blasting down from the north to freeze the blood. Dreuer wraps himself up in thick sweaters and a thick scarf before pulling on his coat.

She smiles at his well meaning concern. It means a lot to have him care enough to say it, even if she's well aware of how brisk the winds get out on the hills. It's not like she wouldn't have bundled up regardless, but she adds an extra layer of a thick cardigan before putting on Ros' harness and leash.

Ros looks at her with pure betrayal as she's interupted from a truly excellent nap, but quickly perks up at the prospect of a walk. A walk with two people, at that? She is a lucky dog. And the forest here is so much more fun than the parks and streets back home!

He steps outside and the wind immediately tousles his curls. He shrinks further into his scarf and reaches out for Laena’s hand instinctively. “We shouldn’t be long… it is cold, I am hungry, and I would like to go to bed early tonight.” The idea of curling up to sleep comfortable and warm beside his lover is consuming most of his thoughts. The rest of the evening feels like a long delay.

”Ros’ legs are actually even shorter than mine, so it doesn’t take that long to tire her out,” she jokes. Ros has plenty of energy but she can deal with a short walk just this once. Besides, she’s burned plenty of juice harassing Fluff and exploring the cottage. “Hmm, an early night does sound nice… is this that laziness you spoke of? Early bedtime and then sleeping in as long as we’d like?” Dreuer’s bed is incredibly comfortable, but him being in it makes leaving it even more unappealing. She’s wholly on board with this plan.

“Yes. I think falling asleep with you is among the finest things life can offer.” He smiles as he watches Ros manage the snow. It must be stressful to have little legs.

”I was a slugabed already, if I add you to the equation more regularly I might never leave my bed,” she laments, her tone light and teasing.

Ros is having the time of her life. Her leash is long enough she can sniff around and explore, and the snow is thick enough she has to almost jump to walk in the deeper drifts, and she doesn’t remember ever having this much fun in her life. She’s a dog, so her episodic memory is mediocre at best.

“… what is a slugabed?” His tail leaves a snake like trail through the snow as it sweeps back and forth. Each step gives a pleasant crunch, the grass underfoot springing up wherever compacted powder cracks apart.

She chuckles, amused at the language barrier for once showing itself. “It’s someone who lingers in bed in the mornings. Someone… lazy, I suppose, or very fond of their sleep. I usually have to set three alarms to make sure I actually get up on time.”

“Hmm. Don’t like the slug part.” He grumbles, lighting a cigarette as he walks. “Cats like their sleep and are far more appealing. Perhaps you can be a catabed?”

”It’s not supposed to be appealing, love, it’s an insult,” she reasons with a laugh. “But since I’m quite sure cats are your favorite animals I’ll take it as a compliment.” She does love cats too, but she was raised with dogs. It’s not a proper home without a hound if you ask her.

“Why on earth is it an insult? Who doesn’t want to stay in bed?” He rolls his eyes as he takes a long drag of his cigarette. “There are people who will find fault in every one of life’s pleasures.”

”Boring people, sad people, people who hate their wives…” she lists off, grinning. “Maybe people with uncomfortable beds, the poor things.”

“There is no reason to sleep in an uncomfortable bed. It is self neglect.” He grumbles. A little bit annoyed despite the fact it’s his own fault he’s in a mood. “I suggest we sleep until midday tomorrow as revenge.”

”Oooh, I like this plan. Or at least staying in bed… Lazing about like a pair of slugs. Or cats, if you’d prefer.” Maybe they could bring their morning tea to bed again. Curl up with their books and maybe one of the animals and not a care in the world.

“Cats is more befitting.” His tail continues to swish and skip through the snow but already he can feel the chill. The tufted tip is shivering.

”Or dogs. I know Ros is even more lazy in the mornings than I am.” Oh to be a spoiled little dog running through the snow… little bugger doesn’t know how good she has it. “Shall we turn back? I’m starting to feel the cold, I’ll admit.”

“Hmmm me too. My tail is getting frostbite.” He grumbles, looking back. He exhales smoke, the lights of the cottage glinting through the trees. The sound of the stream is loud but cannot be seen in the half dark.

”Oh no, we can’t have that,” she teases gently, reaching out with her gloved hand for his as they start back towards the cottage and its inviting warmth. “I’m quite attached to your tail, it would be a true tragedy if it fell off.”

his own hands are bare and cold, linking fingers with her gladly. “It’s an inconvenience, to be quite honest. Especially in a cold climate. No one has yet invented a tail snood.”

”Well clearly there’s an untapped market,” she quips. “Don’t tell my Nan or she’ll knit you one.” She would be shocked if her Nan didn’t somehow already know what her unusual radio silence of a few days meant. She’s long accepted Nan simply always knows.

“… I never thought about knitting my own.” He scowls and scratches his brow. “… I doubt your grandmother is likely to think highly enough of me to knit for me anyway.”

”Don’t be absurd, she was asking for your shoe size despite not knowing your name.” She’d had to explain to her widowed past-70 grandmother that no, it was not a “knowing their shoe size” type of relationship. The old woman had looked undeniably knowing in a way that had made Helaena want to curl up and die like an embarrassed teenager.

“My shoe size?” Oh he does not get it. “… ten and a half… does she know I am embarrassingly older than you? That I should know better than to fall for someone so undeniably out of my league?”

”Ten and a half,” she mutters to herself, committing it to memory. She quickly unclips Ros’ leash and removes her harness as they make it inside, before reaching for the towel that’s already made its home in the mudroom and beginning the process of drying her fluffy fur before all the melted snow makes it onto the sofa. “I don’t know about embarrassingly older. I told her you were one of my regulars, and then we became friends, and I thought you wanted more but then it turned out you didn’t.” It had been the world as she’d seen it then. She’s rarely been happier to be wrong. “And there is no world in which I am out of your league, my love,” she assures him with a fond peck to his bearded cheek.

“Helaena…” He keeps hold of her hand, twirling her back towards him to thread his arms around her waist. He burrows his face into the crook of her neck. “In every world, you are exquisite, and deserving of more than can possibly be given.”

She can’t help the shiver that runs through her body as he nuzzles into the sensitive skin, but she can blame it on the lingering cold. “What if I just want you?” she counters, leaning back into his embrace. “What if that’s plenty for me?”

he kisses her neck, a growing habit, as he closes his arms tighter around her. “Then you can have exactly what you wish for.”

”Mmm, you’ll end up spoiling me rotten.” Her neck has always been a weak spot. He can kiss it as often as he likes, in any context where she doesn’t need her full wits about her. It just feels good.

“It is self indulgence.” His tail shivers, kissing from the muscle of her shoulder upwards to behind her ear. He briefly nips her earlobe. “Go and cook before I devour you instead.”

She laughs, twisting out of his arms to kiss him, just for a moment, barely more than a peck. “I’d ask if that was a promise but I am getting pretty hungry,” she admits. A simple dinner it was. She could impress him with something more complex another day.

“Hmmh.” A brief stolen kiss feels like magic in the darkening world. He leaves her be, feeds the cat and turns on the lights to bring a rich, orange warmth to their little world. He adds wood to the fire and watches her cook.

She hums as she sets to chopping vegetables, positively surprised by the state of the knives in the drawer. It’s not even really a specific song, just bits of different melodies as the mood strikes her. She ends up humming most of a piece from Tchaikovsky’s Sleeping Beauty for no apparent reason. -# https://open.spotify.com/track/2XMj2yZ4I5KNdF0vwj3zKe?si=56iE4HCVS8WEsWOJhfD7pA&context=spotify%3Aalbum%3A58LUKUEDCoJGgbpQEJvGxh

Dreuer is an easily distracted soul. He tidies up, he clears empty bags from the kitchen table, he opens a bottle of wine. He wanders to the bedroom and back again in more comfortable clothing. He plays with Ros. If he was meant to do anything, it was long lost in the mire of his impulsive behavioir.

Helaena sinks into the familiar rhythm of a kitchen, enjoying for once doing it for herself, and not in amounts to feed dozens. It's just a chicken stirfry, something simple, the sauce mostly pantry staples like soy sauce and sesame oil, loaded with vegetables and served over rice. It's also a meal cooked with love, with no time pressure, to feed someone she loves something she hopes he'll like. Or at least try. Trees don't grow into the sky. [I'm tired, it's a danish saying, it means not to hope for anything impossible or improbable.]

“It smells nice… did you include those vegetables?” His tail gives a mischievous swish, pouring two glasses of white wine, one for each of them.

"Radishes? No, they don't really fit with this. But there's spring onion, green beans, carrots, bell pepper... ginger and garlic, obviously. And chicken, don't worry." She accepts the glass of wine with an appreciative nod before setting to fixing them two plates. Some habits die hard.

“Hmh good. I don’t want radishes near me.” His tail swishes as he sets the cutlery on the table. “This wine does not smell too terrible, for a white.”

She chuckles as she takes a testing sip and confirms, yep, this is the driest of the whites she bought. "Some of us don't like our wine with enough tannins to cure leather," she offers mildly, balancing the wine glass and two plates on her way to the dining table effortlessly. "But I'm glad you can survive a white just for the night. I've never put much stock in orthodoxy about what wine goes with what food but I know I prefer white with most chicken dishes."

“I like wine to have a full body. I like… hmh… most things to have a full body.” He sips the wine, leaning back against almost the exact same part of the table on which he enjoyed his breakfast that very morning. It’s awfully dry, not much to his tastes at all but he will endure. For her.

She rolls her eyes fondly and pushes one plate towards him. "You can have some of the Malbec instead, I won't be offended," she offers. "The only thing that'll offend me is if you refuse to eat something because it has... lemon, or ginger, or some other essential of good food." At home, she doesn't tend to stand on ceremony much, so she takes a testing bite of her stir fry and hums happily as the flavors hit her tongue. Yes, not bad at all.

He turns to sit, examining the food curiously. It’s not the Italian food he became accustomed to, or the easy, low maintenance takeout he subsisted on in recent years. He gives it a sniff and a curious poke. Then he tastes curiously… And the. He eats. It’s good. Different, but good.

She can't help but watch, a little warily, as Dreuer examines the simple meal she made as curiously as he might an animal he's never seen before. Her sigh of relief when he begins to eat is quickly covered by a sip of her wine, and then she's digging in too. She is pretty hungry. Breakfast was late, yes, but quite a few hours ago. Besides, she's eager to get to the cuddling and maybe reading a book part of the evening.

He doesn’t speak as he eats. He never really speaks when he eats, consumed by thoughts only of his food. The wine isn’t bad either. A few mouthfuls in, he’d be happy to drain the bottle. He cleans his plate, clearly satisfied and full. He lets his tail sneak beneath the table to find her calf and close around it.

She finishes eating a few moments later, her plate cleared without issues. [CW: Mention of past disordered eating] ||It's been quite a few years since she actively restricted her eating, but the bad habits still resurface on occasion.|| "So, not too terrible?" she asks, half cheeky, half insecure. "You'll probably like it less if I admit how many vegetables were in it."

“It is good.” He’s a fussy eater, but the stir fry clearly passes his approval, if his clean plate is anything to go by. “I liked the green beans.”

She breathes a minute sigh of relief and shoots him a smile. "That's good. I'd prefer not to have to feed you nothing but red meat and potatoes, it's not very healthy. And I like a bit more variety than that." Green beans. She'll have to remember that. There's a million ways to cook green beans. She clears the plates in a moment, rinsing and stacking them for later. But for now... "Does curling up in bed with a book sound as appealing to you as it does to me?"