contact part deux

[bouchonne]

if this were modern times byerly would probably make you listen to total eclipse of the heart before you were able to leave a message

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[cozen]

[ He tilts his head into it, doglike. Or catlike. Or the cross between the two: foxlike. ]

Only for the chance to share your tent. Otherwise I would be in Gworn with the nubile bird-women. Not everyone is like you.

And they are here. Fighting. And I'm not— [ a yawn, finally, after all this time ] —I'm not saying they are being the most reasonable people in the world, or that I think you should give them everything they ask for. I just think I understand why they are so unhappy.

[bouchonne]

[ A grunt of acknowledgment. Yes. When it's put like that - He does, too. But. ]

Do they have to make my life miserable, though?

[cozen]

[ Cheerfully shrugging: ]

You have the big chair.

[bouchonne]

Hm. I often wish I didn't.

[cozen]

[ Bastien opens his eyes for that, to look at By's face in the dim light. He feels a little responsible—for failing to find an outside hire, for encouraging Byerly as a candidate. And it's difficult, isn't it, to communicate I'm proud of you for doing this without it sounding like I will only be proud of you if you do this. ]

How badly?

[bouchonne]

Ah, I don't know.

[ Byerly, in turn, isn't fully certain how to communicate how much he hates this work without sending the message I'm angry that you talked me into it. Because - he isn't. Not really. It's - complicated. ]

It's just a strange thing, to be hated. I'm used to being disliked. But hatred is new. And I hate the times when I could be spending time with you and then I don't.

[cozen]

[ Bastien smiles a little. ]

I hate that, too.

And I hate how worried you are all the time, and I hate when people don’t laugh at your jokes and we cannot just say fuck them and go spend time with people who do.

[bouchonne]

Mm.

[ Emphatically yes to that last part. ]

I used to be able to just ignore shitheads. Or fuck them over later when they weren't expecting it. But now -

[ Ah, me. ]

I have to kiss their asses.

[cozen]

[ He can't resist, ] And there are only two asses in Thedas you should be kissing.

If the world weren't at risk.

[bouchonne]

[ That earns a grin from Byerly. ]

They're good asses.

[cozen]

Thank you.

[ Smugly, but not without snaking a hand around to take affectionate hold of By's, of which—despite all teasing about boniness—he's also very admiring and fond.

After a moment, he confesses, ]

I have to stop myself from talking about all the other things we could do, if we left—the things we could really do. Not living on islands or joining theater troupes. Real things. I am afraid you will let me talk you into it.

[bouchonne]

[ He lets his breath out against Bastien's neck, a fond little sigh. ]

Do you truly think I'm not already obsessively thinking of them?

[cozen]

[ Smiling, ]

That is not the same as talking about them. Talking makes them real. And you wouldn't—you would never leave to make yourself happy. But you might for me. And I don't ever want to be the reason you do less than you could.

[bouchonne]

Which is why sometimes I wish you'd be more selfish.

[ Wryly: ]

You'd give me an excuse.

[cozen]

[ Bastien's quiet for a few long moments, stopping himself from doing just that. They could go to Denerim now. They could go to Val Royeaux. They could switch between them. Listen, charm, grease palms, advocate. Report back to Riftwatch by crystal. Be there to meet Riftwatch teams sent south and help them there. Let someone else do the paperwork and try to manage Riftwatch's unruly children. The weather would be better.

The yearning is practically audible.

But what he says, finally, is, ] We should go to sleep.

[bouchonne]

[ Byerly hums, and presses his face into Bastien's neck, and wraps his arms around him. And he murmurs into his skin: ]

La bonne chose à faire.

[cozen]

[ Bastien makes a noise of protest, but only a noise, half tongue-in-cheek, before he settles down to the business of attempting to sleep—and succeeds shockingly well, for a paranoid bard in an unfamiliar room with a creature occasionally moving and huffing on his feet. ]