AW <3

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There's an ache in his lungs that hasn't presented itself thus far. It started small—a cough here, a scratchy throat there. Frankly, Lorroakan was too busy with whims to notice nor fret. The world was vast, and there was too much to see!

Over the days of his travels and foraging, though, that ache grew worse. Insufferable by the time verdant woodlands flattened out to rolling prairie. His breaths a mere wheeze that rattled in his sore throat.

Lorroakan's stroll was easy as he searched the soft earth of the hills. Admiring the flower while searching for the herbs he needs to soothe the pain. If only he'd remember that long distance travels have always given him trouble...

He awoke slowly, more gentle in his rest than his life had ever allowed him to be. It was like he was being pulled from a dream he did not wish to wake from, and it was only with a groan, annoyed and reluctant that he finally stirred.

Charcoal eyes slithered open as if it took true effort, freckled cheeks tightening as he drew in a heavy breath. There were no silk sheets. No lover’s lap. No warm light filtering through gold-draped windows. Just dirt…. Wet, stubborn dirt that clung to his cheek like a lover who didn’t know when to let go.

He didn’t remember falling asleep here, but Neven was no stranger to waking up in strange places. Where had he been last? A rooftop. A bed. A bottle. A blade? He couldn't recall—his mind still fogged with perfume and laughter, and the echo of something that might have been goodbye. Still, it didn’t stop the curious way his gaze drifted across the hills before him. Too many hills, stretched out like sighs, and painted in too-green grass, tall blades dancing gracefully in the wind as if beckoning him forward.

Neven didn’t listen. At least not yet.

A sound broke the hush—soft steps, and deeper breaths that made him wince. Ears twitched and his body tensed, before he was relaxing, almost on a practiced cue. His legs stretched beneath him, his jaws parting in a slow yawn.

A lazy grin twisted his features, and without even looking behind him, his voice rang out in a sweet and honeyed drawl, despite the ache in his chest, and the confusion still lingering on his brow.

Either I’ve died…or you’ve come to kiss me awake. I hope it’s the latter.

The hermit carves through the sea of dancing tall grass with pursed lips and a rattle to his breaths. Eyes of warm honey search vigorously for the herb he needs; hyssop. Awfully bitter, but the flowers were beautiful and it's just what he needed to soothe this ache.

With his nose to the dirt, he traverses blinding toward the familiar bitter scent of the medicine he so desperately craves. His tail sways behind him, with blades of grass and wildflower caught in the tresses. His mind is so fuzzy and he's so distracted that he nearly runs right into—

My stars! He exclaims in startled surprise as he nearly trips over a man lounging in the grass. His heart stutters helplessly in his chest as he stumbled backward, head raised and ears pinned against his sleek skull. The man sits like a cat sunbathing in the brightest patch of the morn.

He runs his tongue across his lips nervously, before they twitch into a bashful smile. E-Excuse me? He exhaled with a slight wheeze. His skin burns hot beneath the fur of his cheeks. Never in his lives has someone been so forward...

While I'm quite flattered, I-I'm afraid I'm neither, sir. I was just—um...you're laying on a patch of hyssop... He trails off, his voice cracking with nerves and allergies as his eyes fall to his feet.

It was hard to hold back his laugh when the other nearly crashed into him, voice loud enough to rattle Neven’s already-fraying nerves. Surely, this one knew to be quiet when someone woke confused? His nostrils flared with a snort, ears twitching as he fought to remain composed.

It nearly worked—but his smile curved higher, and his chest shook with the laughter he kept bottled beneath his ribs. He waited a beat before turning his head, still lounging, tail thudding lazily against the grass.

The smile remained, but it softened at the edges as his dark eyes wandered. He looked without shame, like the other was an art piece gifted to him, meant to be appraised. The other was… oddly beautiful. Not in the way he’s used to—no polished grace, no royal charms—but in the kind of way wildflowers grow when no one’s watching.

Sir? he nearly choked, his head shaking with a short laugh. I’m certainly no sir—but ah! His gaze fell, surprise flitting across his freckled face. Blooms he did not recognize did in fact lay crushed beneath him. With the drama of a stage-trained noble, he shifted slowly like he was rising from a chaise lounge rather than a bed of dirt. His obsidian shoulders stretched, lean limbs unfolding from beneath him with a long suffering sigh. There was no urgency, only a languid grace—indulgent, like the world could wait for him.

Perhaps you are right…? he prompted with a raised brow, waiting for a name of any sort—a name he could learn, one to memorize. His gaze flickered up briefly meeting eyes the color of sunlight through chestnut bark, warm and wide with nerves. His own remained a darker thing—shadowed as they were, and tinged with curious delight—before drifting down again to the crushed purple blooms beneath him.

Fear not. It would seem not all chose to be crushed.

Leaning in closer to inspect, he noticed now the crackle in their throat, heard the rasp stitched into every word, the strain of each breath.

You quite alright? he pressed, looking the stranger up and down now with a furrowed brow. You’re sure pretty, but if you sneeze on me… Neven’s nose wrinkled, and he took a large step back, lifting a paw to press at his chest as if he feared for his life. I don’t think I’ll make it.

The man's theatrics are met with a slow, owlish blink—as if Lorroakan could hardly process the absurdity of it all! With cat-like grace, the man slinks and stretches. Idle and untethered, as if he had no worries. Roa doesn't understand, perhaps, how one could be so nonchalant.

It isn't envy that ruffles his feathers...is it awe?

Unhurried the man removes himself from lounging atop the bed of flowers, and impatiently does Lorroakan move to step forward so he may gather them. But the man only remains to become odder—pressing into Roa's personal bubble, causing him to sink back into himself like a cat unsure.

Pretty. Roa's withers rise, and suddenly his face feels ten degrees warmer. The man is charming, certainly, but Roa is hardly used to so much attention! He...is unsure of how to handle the slew of compliments this man carries in his pockets.

Paws shifts with discomfort, his head falling as he sniffles. Don't worry, it's not contagious! Asthma, is all. Carefully, he slinks past to gingerly begin picking the herbs, one ear cupped backward to face the fool.

With a mouthful of stems, he mumbles; My name is Lorroakan. And you must be...?

Asthma?

His face twisted, lips peeling back in a momentary grimace before he gained his composure, schooling his expression. He knew little of ailments or medicine, and it took longer than he liked to connect the name to anything useful. But he knew just enough to recognize that the pretty bloke wasn’t lying. Still, he better not sneeze on anyone.

Ah, asthma, he repeated solemnly, nodding his head like it was the worst of news. Quite tragic. And here I thought I was simply breathtaking.

His lips pursed in disappointment, tongue clicking against the roof of his mouth. A smile followed, and Neven took a half-step forward, then paused, tail lifting loosely, swaying. A gleam lit his eyes—not unkind, but undeniably amused.

Lorroakan, he repeated softly, tasting it like something sweet. His tail flicked once behind him. A mouthful, isn't it? He paused, looking him up and down with a slow, unapologetic appraisal before his expression lit up. Mind if I call you Pip? You’re about as loud as a peep.

A beat passed. Then he dipped his head into a mock bow, silver-framed and full of indulgence, grinning. Neven, he offered, ears flicking as he rose. There was no need for titles here, something he was thankful for. Here, he could just be.

Now tell me, Pip— he sauntered even closer, unconcerned with personal space or boundaries, expression shifting into something more curious. He nodded toward the stems with a twitch of his nose, eyeing the bright petals with a knitted brow.

These are for your asthma? What do they do? These hyo…hyss... A snort left him, and he raised a paw in a loose, dismissive circle, eyes rolling. Whatever it was you called them.

Once he's righted with a mouthful of stems and petals, Lorroakan blinks owlishly as the man's expression twists with what he believes to be disgust? For what reason, he isn't quite sure. Asthma wasn't contagious, and he certainly isn't some kind of...leper.

It causes him to make the unsure assumption that his companion was hardly acquainted with medicine, let alone ailments. He isn't offended by the man's idiocy—if anything, it worries him. How could he treat himself properly, if he wasn't even sure of what illness he had, should one befall him?

Pip. What an odd nickname to have bestowed. He's too naive, or perhaps dense, to realize the man was picking fun at him.

Alas, Lorroakan smiles behind the bundle of stem and petal he now holds within his teeth. Ah, well, if that's too difficult, you could call me Roa. O-Or Pip works too, I suppose...

With a soft wheeze, he plops onto his haunches, careful not to ruin the rest of the flower he'd left behind. With his head tilted, he watches with amusement—or perhaps he feels flattered? He isn't quite sure—as Neven takes a bow. It was hardly necessary, but the man seemed to favor the dramatics and all.

Stars, you don't need to bow. The boy mused with mirth. Not to me. Without a title to hold, or even some kind of luxurious background (if he could remember such), he's hardly royalty. But alas, he rather enjoys the theatrics!

Lorroakan's chewing on the stems as if it's cud, when the man leans in close. It makes him choke and nearly swallow the stems not ready to be consumed. Goodness, um—you chew on the stems until it's a mash. It helps soothes the throat. He mumbles with a mouthful.

After a beat, heat crawls to his cheeks. How embarrassing this is! Forgive me please. It isn't the most...appealing. He ducks his chin shyly.