krempuff | [mid September]

There had been no deliberate idea to avoid Hild, it had simply been something that had happened. They lived full lives, and had their own circles to run in. And, there was the whole business that Krem wasn't entirely sure that he ought to seek Hild out. Eowyn had assured that she had seemed pleased with their night together, but second hand knowledge was not the same as being deliberately sought out. There was, of course, the whole mess of things with Noah as well, and not quite knowing where to stand between the two of them.

He terribly disliked not knowing where to stand with people.

Now, though, he knew where she lived, and while it did seem a bit of a strange course of actions, he thought it might be a smart one to see where they at least stood on things. He needed to know, at least, if what had happened had been just that--a thing that had happened, and then he could put it to the back of his mind--or if there was some intention there that he might need to consider.

It was a good thing there was a liquor store on the way from his apartment to hers. He hoped Hild liked whiskey.

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Though it was not in her tone, there was a small bite of rejection in her words and, he thought, perhaps in her eyes. Krem was a little surprised by that. He didn't really know what he thought was right. Telling her, because they had been intimate and because they were friends, had seemed right. Telling her, because their night together populated his thoughts, had seemed right.

He turned to the bottle of whiskey and poured them each a little, because he needed it for himself.

She moved a step closer, just enough to let her reach out and comb her fingers lightly through his hair. That probably was not the right thing to do, but Hild did not know the right course of action to take. She had never been in a situation such as this or even imagined it could happen.

"What do you hope for, when you come here?"

Krem swirled the whiskey in his glass, tilting his head slightly into her touch. His eyes slipped closed, and he could feel his spine relax slowly.

"Well, I certainly wasn't hoping to muck things up. But I seem to be getting quite adept at sticking my foot in it," he said, trying for jovial and hitting the mark somewhat with how quietly he spoke. He took a sip of his drink. It burned down his chest slowly.

"I wanted to see you. I wanted to share your company for a while." He looked up at her, considered her for a moment. He gave her a soft, almost sheepish smile. "I might have briefly thought the whiskey might make me a more appealing candidate for a second chance in your room, or at least facilitate us laughing about what an awful, clumsy partner I make. That might have been a very foolish thought."

His words spurred a laugh out of her, a soft giggle she was quick to quiet and cover with her hand. But her eyes sparkled with fondness though she hid her smile.

"You are not an awful, clumsy partner," she said firmly. Taking up her glass, Hild stared at the amber liquid, letting herself sober a little.

"It is not a foolish though," Hild said quietly, looking up. "But I do not want your friend angry with you. Or with me."

He chuckled as well, though it was a little quieter. And that was the crux of it, he supposed, to have found someone so young and so similarly inexperienced as him and from such a different place. He could still be with Hild, there was no reason he couldn't. But it seemed a situation would no one would win in, after the fact.

It ached, ultimately. He had come, hoping for settlement. All he had was a wash of emotion, like inky spilled on parchment. He was always going to have a stain, no matter how he tried to blot it out.

"It's a little foolish," he said, almost wistful, and leaned against her counter, "precisely because I don't know if he'd be mad. And so I don't dare risk it. Because I'm a coward."

It was not the boldest of choices, but Hild could not fault him openly for being a coward. Not when she knew sometimes to cower, to stand by, to stay silent to get what she wanted. What she did not want at all but what was needed. But his dissatisfaction was so clear that she worried for him. It was not unhappiness, but the conversation would be easier if there were less worry and more freedom.

"Do you fear the loss of him," Hild said, "if you ask if a thing makes him mad?"

"Yes," Krem admitted. It was all new and fresh and wondrous, as being with Hild had been, but in entirely different ways. Noah knew how to find words for things, how to look when Krem wouldn't have bothered; Hild knew her comfort and what she liked and how to be comfortable with others, had helped Krem be comfortable with himself.

"More so, I'm worried he'll judge me." He shrugged softly. "Losing him would be painful, but only for a little while. But he seems like a good young man, and honest. I don't want his upbringing to make him think less of me."

Hild took a sip of the whiskey, letting the pleasant burn fill her mouth and loosen her throat. People watched and judged her always, at home if not in Darrow. She knew how to manipulate those thoughts, and also how to let them slide over her, like drops of water on a duck's wing. It was not so easy for others; it had not been easy for her, at first.

"If he is honest, you must be honest also," she said. "Like approves of like. Do you hide from your war band, your other warriors, for fear they think you a danger? Men always judge. It is better to know their thoughts than to fear them."

"I lie to some of the men, yes," he said, honest. Not all of them knew that he Passed, just as not all of them knew that the Iron Bull was a spy. He trusted them with his life, but even so, there were some things that you did not tell people, even when they had to keep a shield at your back.

He contemplated the whiskey with great deliberation. He did not want to suppose it was easier for someone like Hild, or like Dorian, who knew what they were and could be forthright about that. He didn't know what it was like for Hild back home, but he knew what it meant for Dorian to love men, and the dangers of that in Tevinter; they were similar to the dangers of being an invert.

Darrow was not home. He licked his lips and hummed vaguely. "If he weren't mad or upset at the idea, would there be a chance of us again...?"

He did not take her messaging precisely, and that was the fault of the language, her middling grasp of it. Of course you did not share all your secrets, even with those who were closest to you. This seemed natural to Hild, who held her tongue to protect those she cared about most. But what they needed to know, what affected them, needed to be said, even if difficult.

But full clarity was not necessary, as Krem seemed to have found what he needed, in his own thoughts, to make asking these difficult questions a realer possibility. This was the better way of it, not Hild coaxing him into a decision.

Hild smiled faintly and again combed her fingers through his hair. She let her nails scrape against his scalp. "Not chance," she said. "Certainty."

Krem leaned into her touch slightly, a contented smile and general ease working over his face as her nails ran along his scalp. He shifted toward her in general, much like a cat, and sipped his whiskey some more, letting the warmth of the alcohol and her presence diffuse through him entirely.

"I do like the possibility of certainty," he said, soft and with a hint of a chuckle.

Now he just had to talk to Noah.

[mid September]

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