[Feeling those breaths trembling through Rhy, he squeezes him tight. At his apology, he just shakes his head, which Rhy will feel in the shifting against his shoulder and in Wilhelm's hair brushing his cheek.]
I'm just...glad you're okay now.
[Rhy has become a fixture of his life here, one of the people who makes the castle less lonely. Though he withdraws from the embrace eventually, Wilhelm stays close to Rhy. His hands melt down his arms, fingers curling gently around Rhy's. His eyes drift down his chest, which lies bare between the gaping panels of his robe. This view calls to mind the evening they'd shared right before Rhy slipped away, memories of which have him biting his lip, smile turning secretive as his gaze flutters away. Amid a tumultuous week, that evening had been a haven.
Wilhelm isn't sure how he should be acting around Rhy right now, but given that the guy just emerged from some kind of magically-induced coma...he thinks he has latitude to be a little clingy. Reaching into his pocket, he produces a knife he'd also pilfered from the dining room.]
[ If Rhy notices him staring (or blushing), he doesn't give much indication. But he also certainly doesn't move away or try to disentangle himself from Wilhelm. When their fingers lace together, he squeezes back, and rests his forehead for a moment on the boy's shoulder. ]
I'm okay. [ he whispers back, as if still convincing himself just as much as his guest.
Eventually, when Wilhelm moves again, he lifts his head and then gives him some space. ]
[The worn edges of Rhy's smile snag at his worry. Rhy, so often aglow with the confidence that things will turn out all right, usually plays the soother — not the one who needs to be soothed. To see him dimmed sets an ache in Wilhelm's chest. It's what he felt the first time he saw Erik cry, that big brother magic falling away.
Swallowing, Wilhelm busies himself with opening the bottle of wine. It takes a little negotiating with the knife, but eventually he pops out the cork. He offers the bottle to Rhy with a smile.]
First drink is yours.
[He doesn't bother asking about cups. This seems like a straight-from-the-bottle night.]
[ Wilhelm's got the right of it. Straight from the bottle it is. Rhy takes it with a nod -- and takes several big gulps in a row. It's wine for getting drunk, not just for drinking. He just hopes it's strong enough.
Once he comes back up for air, Rhy hands the bottle back to Wilhelm, gasping slightly. ]
Come to bed with me.
[ A beat. He clarifies, quickly: ] Nothing untoward. Just... sit with me?
Cuddle up and pass the bottle back and forth until it's gone.
[Wilhelm should probably be worried — and he still is, his concern hovering like an overcast sky — but he can't help but also be impressed when Rhy knocks back a substantial fraction of the bottle in one go. Hey, there are worse coping mechanisms than booze. Besides, it's just one bottle, and Wilhelm is here to look after him.
At the invitation, he nods. His smile warms then flickers. He takes a little swig of wine and, juggling the bottle from hand to hand, pulls off each of his boots to get comfortable.]
I can stay longer than that.
[Because judging by the first round, this bottle won't outlast the hour.]
[ Rhy's smile is slower than usual, tired, but immensely and visibly relieved. He nods, and takes the bottle to allow Wilhelm to take his boots off more comfortably.
He leads the way to climbing into his still-messy bed. It takes some effort not to keep drinking; he should save at least a bit for his companion.
Rhy pulls back the nest of blankets enough to let Wilhelm climb in with him. The way he scoots close and presses himself against his side is not so much shameless as needy, a simmering desperation that only seems soothed after a few minutes of sitting like that.
For the first half hour or so, until they finish the bottle and start on the next one, he asks after Wilhelm's day to day, maybe some benign questions about what's been served in the dining hall or if Wilhelm's found any interesting new books.
Eventually, when he's ready, Rhy will come back around to the topic of what happened to him. He doesn't hide anything from Wilhelm, explaining how he'd wound up on that awful black shore unexpectedly, how cold he'd been, how trapped, about the corpses and the slick black substance on the sand. He mentions Julie, someone who'd been trapped somewhere else but who could talk to him, and how grateful he is that there'd at least been that.
But if Wilhelm has any questions, he cannot answer them. Not why or how, or even how he'd been freed.
He might just get an answer as to why Rhy's so keen not to be alone anymore. ]
[He understands, before Rhy explains anything, the howling hunger for any reassurance that you are not alone. Not despite his own failure to convince himself of much the same, but because of it.
So Wilhelm provides what he would crave if the situation were reversed. Fitting himself to Rhy's side, he loops his arm around his middle and folds their heads together, cheek resting against hair. With his other hand he soothes Rhy's knee, fingers making little patterns like made-up runes to ward off his sadness. He doesn't mind the ambling small talk that usually exhausts him. No detail seems too unimportant to Rhy, though he suspects it's not the details that matter so much, just the unbroken cadence of his voice.
When the bottle is empty, and Rhy opens up, he listens. He asks no questions, just murmurs little words of consolation here and there. Strokes his hair, squeezes his hand.
They can stay like this for as long as Rhy needs. Wilhelm has nowhere else to be.]
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no subject
I'm just...glad you're okay now.
[Rhy has become a fixture of his life here, one of the people who makes the castle less lonely. Though he withdraws from the embrace eventually, Wilhelm stays close to Rhy. His hands melt down his arms, fingers curling gently around Rhy's. His eyes drift down his chest, which lies bare between the gaping panels of his robe. This view calls to mind the evening they'd shared right before Rhy slipped away, memories of which have him biting his lip, smile turning secretive as his gaze flutters away. Amid a tumultuous week, that evening had been a haven.
Wilhelm isn't sure how he should be acting around Rhy right now, but given that the guy just emerged from some kind of magically-induced coma...he thinks he has latitude to be a little clingy. Reaching into his pocket, he produces a knife he'd also pilfered from the dining room.]
So should I pop that thing open?
[With a nod toward the bottle he'd brought.]
no subject
I'm okay. [ he whispers back, as if still convincing himself just as much as his guest.
Eventually, when Wilhelm moves again, he lifts his head and then gives him some space. ]
Yes. Excellent idea.
[ Rhy manages a smile; it looks a little worn. ]
Thanks.
no subject
Swallowing, Wilhelm busies himself with opening the bottle of wine. It takes a little negotiating with the knife, but eventually he pops out the cork. He offers the bottle to Rhy with a smile.]
First drink is yours.
[He doesn't bother asking about cups. This seems like a straight-from-the-bottle night.]
no subject
Once he comes back up for air, Rhy hands the bottle back to Wilhelm, gasping slightly. ]
Come to bed with me.
[ A beat. He clarifies, quickly: ] Nothing untoward. Just... sit with me?
Cuddle up and pass the bottle back and forth until it's gone.
no subject
At the invitation, he nods. His smile warms then flickers. He takes a little swig of wine and, juggling the bottle from hand to hand, pulls off each of his boots to get comfortable.]
I can stay longer than that.
[Because judging by the first round, this bottle won't outlast the hour.]
no subject
He leads the way to climbing into his still-messy bed. It takes some effort not to keep drinking; he should save at least a bit for his companion.
Rhy pulls back the nest of blankets enough to let Wilhelm climb in with him. The way he scoots close and presses himself against his side is not so much shameless as needy, a simmering desperation that only seems soothed after a few minutes of sitting like that.
For the first half hour or so, until they finish the bottle and start on the next one, he asks after Wilhelm's day to day, maybe some benign questions about what's been served in the dining hall or if Wilhelm's found any interesting new books.
Eventually, when he's ready, Rhy will come back around to the topic of what happened to him. He doesn't hide anything from Wilhelm, explaining how he'd wound up on that awful black shore unexpectedly, how cold he'd been, how trapped, about the corpses and the slick black substance on the sand. He mentions Julie, someone who'd been trapped somewhere else but who could talk to him, and how grateful he is that there'd at least been that.
But if Wilhelm has any questions, he cannot answer them. Not why or how, or even how he'd been freed.
He might just get an answer as to why Rhy's so keen not to be alone anymore. ]
no subject
So Wilhelm provides what he would crave if the situation were reversed. Fitting himself to Rhy's side, he loops his arm around his middle and folds their heads together, cheek resting against hair. With his other hand he soothes Rhy's knee, fingers making little patterns like made-up runes to ward off his sadness. He doesn't mind the ambling small talk that usually exhausts him. No detail seems too unimportant to Rhy, though he suspects it's not the details that matter so much, just the unbroken cadence of his voice.
When the bottle is empty, and Rhy opens up, he listens. He asks no questions, just murmurs little words of consolation here and there. Strokes his hair, squeezes his hand.
They can stay like this for as long as Rhy needs. Wilhelm has nowhere else to be.]