Chapter 162 - 160: Do You Want Me?

Chapter 162: Chapter 160: Do You Want Me?

​"That’s better," Drogger sighs, as he comes to rest at one of the open shutters and breathes deeply.

Rogard finds himself mimicking him, and finds the fresh air most welcome and refreshing .

He hadn’t realised quite how warm it had gotten in the ballroom, and how his tongue tasted a little like perfume from breathing it in all night.

The crisp night air clears his head somewhat, and with the clarity comes a sudden pang of pain in his bad ankle.

He tries to casually shift his weight to hide a wince, but of course Drogger notices.

"....You shouldn’t be dancing on that ankle," he states, as Rogard settles beside him on the windowsill. From here there’s a beautiful view of the entire wing of the castle, and the city beyond. It looks quite mighty, cast under starlight.

​"...You saw that, did you?" Rogard chuckles sheepishly, and prepares himself to be smacked upside the head for not taking care of himself.

It doesn’t come. Instead, Drogger just fixes him with a sidelong look. Not a stern one. Just a look .

​Of course I saw , it seems to say, and Rogard doesn’t know quite what to make of that.

​"You should be resting," Drogger says instead, voice reproachful but uncharacteristically quiet, like he’s comfortable with the muffled hum of the festivities raging beyond them, and doesn’t want to disturb the peace the night brings.

​"What, and miss the party?" Rogard objects, even though he knows that Drogger is right. Obviously Drogger knows it too, and looks more than a little baffled by his reasoning.

​"...It’s just a party."

​"It’s Khobi’s party," Rogard points out earnestly, because that matters, and after a moment of surprise, Drogger lets out a soft, rueful chuckle.

​"...I suppose I can’t fault you for supporting your friend," he admits with a small sigh, and Rogard’s sure he catches a flash of a small smile out of the corner of his eye, like he doesn’t condone recklessness like his, but understands it.

And suddenly he wonders --and not for the first time --just why Drogger cares.

​And tonight, feeling brave, with his lips worked loose by laughter and perhaps a little too much wine, he asks.

​"...Were you worried about me, master?" he ventures impishly, leaning into his space, and he’s teasing, obviously he is, because he likes to push his luck sometimes, but Drogger doesn’t glower at him or threaten to flatten him for his cheek, or sidle away.

He just plants his weight on the windowsill and sighs again --heavier this time --and sets his gaze on the distant horizon; painted black against the sky.

​"...And if I was?"

​They’re just four, meaningless words, but they make Rogard’s heart skip a beat.

​And all of a sudden he becomes acutely aware of the shape beside him; of the warmth he can feel radiating off his skin, and how close he’s inadvertently drifted.

From here Rogard is close enough that the stern lines of his profile are within reach, and he wonders what his fingertips would feel like against his skin.

And as he savours the chance to catch his captain off duty for once; eyes gazing out into the world at something Rogard can’t --or isn’t meant to --see, he wonders, with a pang of longing, what it might be like to have those eyes all to himself.

​It’s careless and stupid of him, yet he can’t quite bring himself to move away.

​In fact, he wants to move closer.

​These days, he always wants to move closer. Or wishes Drogger would.

When they’re training; when they’re alone. Especially when they’re alone.

And now, being in Drogger’s presence like this, alone but for the night sky, well, who can blame his heart for racing?

​"Sorry, master," he says quietly, because he doesn’t know what else to say, "For making you worry." And it must be out of character for him because Drogger turns to face him, brow furrowed.

​"...Are you feeling all right?" he asks frankly, and Rogard swallows, which means no.

​In the moonlight his grey eyes, stern and full of concern, look almost blue, and Rogard’s stomach jumps right up into his chest.

​He doesn’t feel all right. But it’s not his ankle.

​It’s Drogger. And how he makes Rogard feel when he’s near.

​I want to kiss you .

​The words come out all by themselves, so thoughtlessly rolling off Rogard’s tongue that for a long, blissful second, he doesn’t realise he’s said them aloud at all.

​And then he sees Drogger’s face, struck dumb, and his world drops out from under him. Instantly, he wants to sink into the ground. Or run.

Preferably turn back time. And failing all that, he wants to be able to take it back; to laugh it off as a joke, but no matter how loud his mind screams, his body doesn’t move and his tongue won’t listen --won’t let him lie, not even to save himself.

Not this time.

​Suddenly, the night seems very, very still, and all Rogard can do is wait; his hands curling tight into embarrassed, terrified fists upon the windowsill to stop them trembling.

Drogger doesn’t run.

​Frozen in place, with eyes wide and unreadable in the evening moonlight, he barely even breathes.

It feels terrible --the waiting --and Rogard thinks of every girl who’d confessed her feelings to him on nights much like this, and wonders if this is his punishment for telling them he didn’t feel the same.

It’s a miracle that he manages to keep Drogger’s gaze, though he’s sure his face is absolutely flaming.

​But for all the awkwardness of silence, the rejection he’s waiting for doesn’t come.

And as the seconds tick by and the silence of the night endures, Rogard wets his lips, and lets out a soft, decisive breath, because he thinks there might just be a chance that Drogger wants to kiss him, too.

​"...So if you don’t want me to, you should probably tell me now."