Fennrin is a shadowforger, a type of az-ari who have mastery over shadows. But all it's ever brought him is misery. People are afraid of the power that he himself barely understands, seeing his shadows as omens of bad luck and death.
Forced to bare...
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Ainreth woke up with a headache, groaning low. He didn't think he had drunk that much last night, but apparently, it had been enough to get him a hangover, anyway. Great, that should make his speech today even better. At least it was going to be in the evening, though, at the celebration. He would hold off on drinking until then, and he'd get hammered afterward, as was tradition. Though maybe he'd take it easy on that, too, with Fenn around.
Fenn.... Ainreth could have sworn they'd had some kind of deeply embarrassing conversation last night. He was sure the shadowforger had brought him home, but after that, it was all a blur. Ainreth could vaguely remember cuddling, but surely that hadn't happened. That had been a fantasy conjured up by his liquored-up brain. Fenn wasn't in the bed next to him now, so of course that hadn't happened.
Ainreth ran a hand over his face, sighing. Oh, how he wished it had, though.
Pulling himself up to sit, he pushed his hair back and off his face, yawning, desperately trying to ignore the pounding in his temples. He needed some water. That would help.
Noticing that the wound-up clock on his bedside table showed that it was over ten in the morning, he sighed again. He had slept for far too long, more than usual, actually. Even when drinking, he usually woke up with the sunrise. He liked to think that it was just how a lightweaver worked, seeing as he also got sleepy quite early after sunset. This was going to be disorienting, which was about the last thing he needed today, but there was nothing to be done about it.
Putting on his boots and heading downstairs, Ainreth was pleasantly surprised by the sight of Fennrin reading something at the table, his eyes so focused on the book that he didn't even notice Ainreth until he was at the bottom of the stairs.
When they locked eyes, Fennrin immediately ducked his gaze, Ainreth grimacing. So something had been said last night. Ain wished he remembered what, though. He hoped he hadn't said something too embarrassing, like vomiting out all his thoughts about how much he wanted to hold Fenn's hand, and how much he longed to kiss him, and how—
"Morning," Ain greeted him, which Fennrin returned, looking back at the book. But his eyes weren't moving, so he was clearly just desperate to have something other than Ain to look at. Not a good sign. Maybe he should just directly ask and get this awkwardness over with? "Um, did something happen last night? I'm kind of blanking."
Fenn's shoulders relaxed slightly. For some reason. Okay, that was odd. "No, everything is fine. You just got drunk. And, um, told me about...your friend. What happened to her."
Oh. Right. Ain scratched the back of his neck as some clarity returned to his memory. Yes, he did remember now. Fenn had had some words of wisdom that truly ran true the more he thought about them. Ainreth still felt a little off about that because he no doubt had worded that in a stupid way. He tended to babble when he was drunk and get too emotional. But oh well, what was done was done.
"Um, thank you for listening."
Fenn nodded, his nose once again buried in the book. Ainreth was sensing some tension there, still, but he didn't think it was wise to press further. Maybe it was best to be forgotten. He doubted he'd said anything hurtful to Fennrin, otherwise the man wouldn't be sitting here, reading. At least Ain hoped. But he wouldn't believe that he'd hurt Fenn, no matter what.
