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It’s a comfortable setting. Warm lighting from dripping candles. The fire crackles, emitting a sultry flame that flickers at the bottom of the chimney. Passively, Chilchuck thinks about the soot covering his hands when he’s destined to scrub at it with a rag and hot water. The thought of back-breaking work sends a sly ache across his hips, and he looks over at Senshi as if the illusion of pain is a reminder of his staunch, unyielding character.
He looks like many things in this light. The wisps of his moustache like the branches of a tree under moonlight. The flecks of ale over his bottom lip like dewdrops. It’s disgustingly poetic. Artistic. He’s not looking at him out of a sense of attraction, because that would be…uncharacteristic? Unseemly? Whatever the excuse is, he’s convinced himself wholly that it’s the truth. Half-assed in both aspects, and the guilt of not trying hard enough nips at the portion of his brain still shackled to the memory of his absent wife.
The ale in his tankard swills around, a dark, syrupy obsidian colour. It’s got one hell of a bite to it, and his stomach jumps with every mouthful. He wonders if it’s going down easier on Senshi’s side. Perhaps a warm rumbling, embers of a fire bubbling away in his stomach. The longer he looks, the more vivid his imagination becomes until his own stomach becomes magma. A dwarven familiarity. Senshi’s knowledge would well encompass what he’s envisioning, much to his exasperation. Unsure of who to direct his sigh at, Chilchuck brims with drunken, hazy energy and huffs lazily over the arm of his chair.
“Pffft. It’s…it’s not bad ale, actually,” he mutters, as if trying to reason with himself. It’s a train of thought that goes unheard by Senshi, who watches him with soft eyes. Usually keen, surrounded by the dangers of the dungeon, the alcohol layers them with bitter age. The kind of exhaustion that Chilchuck has grown to adore over the years. Kids, work, social parasites, he returns home with a cynicism that tugs at his prim humour. Senshi seems to embody that rather well, which has piqued his curiosity since the beginning.
“Naw, it’s not so bad, is it?” Senshi mumbles in agreement. “Reminds me of a wee bit of drink a brother of mine had a long time ago. Tasted like canalwater, but down in the mines, it could’ve been liquid gold.”
“Always like that with nostalgia, eh?” Chilchuck chuckles to himself, the welded handle of his tankard bearing a familiar mark in the palm of his hand from many, many years of use. “There’s a crappy kind of ale I used to drink as a kid. Must’ve had a bucket of it at my wedding too, and I know it’s dogshit, but somethin’ about it really appeals to me.”
“And here I thought you were a connoisseur,” Senshi replies with a jovial laugh. “You talk about ale like an old friend.”
“An old friend that owes me money,” Chilchuck spits. He drains the rest of his tankard with a smile pulling at his lips, exhaling with a bitter breath that Senshi could probably pick up on from metres away. The simmering fire illuminates both of their positions in Chilchuck’s front room. Two comfy chairs occupied. It had been that way once upon time, and Chilchuck bites the inside of his cheek in anticipation of his sadistic self-sabotage.
“Well, it’s what makes you happy, isn’t it?” Senshi grumbles into his tankard. The flickering of the fire casts a bronze colour over strands of his beard. A glittering sheen passes over the firm bridge of his nose, and the prominent spot beneath his bottom lip where his beard sprouts out in wild tufts.
What makes him happy? That’s a thought that doesn’t need to be had. Chilchuck bitterly mocks himself at the thought of happiness in a way that reinforces his own perception of his pathetic nature. It all comes full circle. He can poke fun at himself, and that in itself is what he uses as evidence for his own…incompetence. He thinks that’s the right word. It’s something of an addiction, reminding himself of his own shortcomings. If he throws his self-flagellation out into the open as much as he can, maybe his wife will hear from wherever in the world she is.
What a fucking idiot, he grins into the palm of his hand propping his chin up.
Senshi eyes him carefully, draining the rest of his drink. He soon slaps his palms onto his knees with a grunt. A universal declaration of departure.
“I don’t want to keep ye all night,” is his polite excuse. “Though this was…really lovely. Ye have a lovely home, Chil. Thank ye for havin’ me.”
It’s as if he’s begging to be allowed to stay, though Chilchuck decides it’s just a trick of the mind. He’s got more patience for Senshi’s antics, regardless of what his intentions may be. If he wants to stay, well, there’s nothing wrong with that, but wouldn’t that just be a pipe dream on Chilchuck’s side?
Senshi places the tankard on the small table beside the comfy chair he’d been sitting on, smacking his lips around the tart taste of shite alcohol staining his tongue. Mediocrity had never tasted so good. He knows that the cheaper cuts in life are supposed to taste better as you age, but this is ridiculous. Something in the air is making his drink sweeter than it has any right to be. The image of Chilchuck, curled up in the cosiness of his armchair, pulls a memory from Senshi’s mind of a stick of candied rock sold at a store he remembers from his childhood. Why, he doesn’t know, but it’s fond and familiar all the same.
Chilchuck pauses, watching Senshi stretch to his full height. His ears prickle at the sound of a grunt he wishes would last forever, so he may just have enough time to make his decision.
After all, he could let him leave or he could tell him to stay.
Is it a fond farewell if I plead you never come back?
“Sure, sure, I gotcha,” Chilchuck mumbles, pulling himself up out of the chair. The alcohol rests in his legs like dead weight, his movements slow and sluggish as he m akes an effort to see Senshi politely to the exit. A busy day has been had, no doubt a busy day awaits them tomorrow, and who is he to deny Senshi his much needed rest? That’s…what’s most important after all.
The floorboards creak under their combined weight, a feeble interjection into their dissipating conversation. It hangs in their air like a thin mist, and once Chilchuck opens the door, he knows it’ll disappear in an instant. A lingering breath of ale. A wisp of cigar smoke. The earthy scent of Senshi will be swept up by the wind and leave him…alone in the house. Comfortably, he thinks. He hopes.
With that hope on his mind, rearing its head in the image of his fresh-faced wife, he pulls open the door with a little more force than he’s used to. It shudders under his harsh grip, and the sweet bitterness of the chilly breeze outside treats their skin to a pleasant coolness. A walk out in the open sounds lovely right about now, but Chilchuck won’t dare ask to join him.
“...I’ll see ye when I see ye, Chil,” Senshi beams, the creases of his eyes flickering on his face like the impatient hop of a crow. Chilchuck’s fingers wrap around the iron door handle with the kind of sensitivity he’d reserve for holding someone else's hand, and he savours the sound of his name on somebody else’s lips.
He doesn’t know what to say. There’s too many things. Goodbye. Nice to see you. Don’t be a stranger. Come again soon. You’re always welcome. I love you. A slurry of words all mixed together. Nothing sticks out to him particularly so he simply mumbles the first thing that comes to his mind.
“Sure. See you…whenever.”
The way Senshi’s beard bristles is indicative of his growing smile, but his eyes are hazy and dull in a way that makes Chilchuck’s stomach churn. A glow of indifference. A rumbling of acid. A sharp heat spikes within his throat, he thinks he might be sick, and the back of his tongue is beginning to beg for the familiar sensation of his fingertips. Nothing wrong with a bit of tactical chunder after a good night, it’ll send him to sleep in no time, but he swears he hasn’t drunk enough to warrant it.
Well, the nice thing about throwing up at least is that it takes all your thoughts with it. A reliability that Chilchuck clings to, and will be a borderline orgasmic solace once he finally dredges up the courage to shut the door.
I’ll have a good night in hell because you won’t be there to see it.
“Hey, the night’s still young,” Chilchuck forces through a pained grin. His empty tankard yearns for a fresh drink, burning the shape of a handle into his palm. “I mean, I won’t…I won’t keep you if you’re getting tired, but there’s no need for you to leave in such a hurry.”
Nice. Desperate. Really some of Chilchuck’s finest emotional work. He wonders if this is the kind of shit he’d think up in the face of his departing wife. Would that be enough to stop her? He feels like he’s trying to chat up a hooker at a bar, not a friend in his home.
Senshi watches him for a moment, eyeing his own empty tankard sitting on the side table. Chilchuck can practically hear the cogs turning in his head. The grinding of dwarven technology rendered into thought, the idea of Senshi being a mechanical being is something that Chilchuck decidedly fixates on in an attempt to escape the looming answer that approaches him. Maybe if he ignores it hard enough, it’ll have no impact on the world around him, and the moment will remain frozen in time.
“I should really get going, it’s gettin’ late,” Senshi mumbles apologetically. He says this whilst giving the room one final look around. His eyes rest on old sentiments and past memories, no doubt brimming with the lingering absence of his wife. He’s got some nerve to decide that the leftovers from Chilchuck’s marriage mean anything at all in this house. “I can’t thank ye enough for such a nice evenin’. Ye really know how to accommodate people.”
Chilchuck wants to spit in his face. A fierceness passes over his hard gaze. What a fucking disgraceful answer. Chilchuck can’t even accommodate himself in his own house, so what kind of fucking lie is that? He can’t abide by it, and for a moment, Chilchuck feels a bitter guilt for wanting to throw the answer back in his face. Curiously, it’s not a guilt that cripples his sense of self-worth. It’s one that drags Senshi’s down alongside him.
“I see,” is his regretful reply. “It’s…no problem. Don’t need me to walk you back, do you?”
He tacks a joke on the end to spite himself, salting the wound as heavily as he can. There’s nothing to spur such poor behaviour but his own crappy emotional regulation. A selfish bitterness. He wants to lash out to punish his own inability to get what he wants. It’s a flash of a thought that makes him baulk, realising that he’d decided he wants Senshi’s company for…whatever reason,
“Naw, of course not,” Senshi chuckles with a hollow inflection. “You have a good night, Chilchuck.”
Chilchuck. Not Chil. Not anymore. He expects him to have a good night. He dares him to have a good night without him, and of course that’s not his real implication, but by god does Chilchuck wish it to be true. That way, he can find someone else to blame for the shitty result he’s dealt with. Have a good night. That’s not a pleasantry. It’s a curse.
Senshi pulls open the front door, allowing in the faintest of breezes before shutting it behind himself. An iciness prickles at Chilchuck’s toes before fading away as quick as it came, and the only evidence of Senshi’s presence is the smell of his breath on the rim of the tankard he’d been drinking from. From where he’s sitting, Chilchuck swears he can catch it, and with nothing else he’s willing to face in this room, he gets up and plods back to his bedroom, mindful not to step on any of Senshi’s lingering footprints on the floorboards.
What can he say? This alone is why Senshi was right to leave. All of it. The inside of Chilchuck’s mind burns right through his skull, rendered a rotten delicacy. A monster that shouldn’t be eaten.
If I risk everything to say yes, will you do the same?
Chilchuck fumbles. He opens his mouth to say something but his own silence grabs him by the throat. Tavern talk comes to easily to him, jovial and jocular, rubbing elbows at the bar. A goodbye shouldn’t grab him by the scruff of his neck, and yet he gets the distinct sensation that he’s hanging above the room and watching his body beneath him make the decision in his place.
The way he falters doesn’t go unnoticed by Senshi, painfully enough. The way his eyebrows quirk, much more noticeable out in the open than it would be hidden under his helmet. This kind of openness grants Chlichuck an advantage as he scans his expression for a hint of anything to work with, but the hurdle before him is concrete stoicism. A dwarven speciality. A pain in his fucking ass.
“…Are you sure you want to go?”
It’s a bizarre question to pose. The circumstances aren’t as emotionally dire as his question implied, and yet it lingers in the air with a charged energy that permeates through the warm atmosphere. The fire crumbles suddenly, logs spraying flecks of wood as they dissolve into pieces. A welcoming piece of punctuation for his question. His home is made a home by the presence of a fire, and the only thing he needs now is another person.
Senshi clearly doesn’t know what to say, eyebrows hike up far over his forehead, and knowing he’s at risk of a conversation he doesn’t want to have, Chilchuck clears his throat and continues.
“I mean, it’s just me here. I…I mean, you’re not obligated to do anything, but…I really…would enjoy your company.”
He pulls his lips in as he says this, an open gesture of mocking towards his own very real feelings, but the validity of his words shine through his honest eyes. He’s not kidding. Senshi’s company is very much appreciated in his case, and if he were to stay and extend that company, Chilchuck couldn’t be any happier.
Being open. That’s a weird sensation for him. Saying what’s on his mind isn’t exactly a foreign course of action, but there’s a difference between something that shouldn’t be said and something he doesn’t want to say. He thinks this takes up a comfortable space between the two options, but…well, it’s not enough to deter his will. He said what was said, and he thinks it’s better not to dwell on the reason why, lest he makes himself uncomfortable.
Senshi softens visibly, his shoulders dropping with a sigh that escapes his lips in the shape of a fond visage of Chilchuck. His eyelids twitch as if fighting back a real grin, an exasperation of happiness that bleeds from Chilchuck’s own vulnerability. If he brought it out into the open, it would only layer a reluctance over the situation that he doesn’t want to risk changing for even a second.
“Do you want me to stay?
It’s one hell of a dare. A challenge of Chlichucks’ willingness to put his soul in Senshi’s hands, but it’s no contest when he spies the way Senshi licks a stray fleck of ale from the corner of his lips. His answer tumbles from his lips with an embarrassing conviction.
“I…would.”
As a golden reward for his admission, Senshi drops his things so quickly it’s as if he’d simply been testing Chilchuck the whole time. Some part of him looks relieved in hearing this answer, but Chilchuck convinces himself that it’s just a part of his imagination.
“Well, I can’t argue with that,” Senshi chortles. “It’s an awfully honest answer of you, so how can I refuse?”
Chilchuck rolls his eyes with a tinge of humour, his cheeks bulging a little around his budding grin. “Alright, alright, don’t rub it in. Almost makes me think you wanted me to ask you to stay.”
Senshi looks as if he’s about to retort, but he doesn’t. Instead, he settles himself back into his chair, and though it feels like a mile away from where Chilchuck is sitting, it’s still a place in his home that’s deeply valued. Senshi’s presence could be felt by Chilchuck anywhere in the house, and in a moment that makes Chilchuck’s heart jump into his mouth, he thinks about what it would be like to experience that every day.
“Well, I don’t know if I’d say that,” Senshi replies coyly, lifting his tankard up, “but fill my drink up again and I’ll have a think about it.”
It’s enough to send Chilchuck into peals of laughter, and as he writhes in mirth on his chair, he wonders if his own smile is as gorgeous to Senshi as Senshi’s is to him. This time, he won’t pardon himself with any excuses. He accepts his own vanity and allows his toothy grin to be perceived in all its glory by a man he wishes to make that chair he sits in his own.