Garrett was hoping the Witcher had drunk, so if anything went wrong, he could try to talk out of it. But seeing the impish grin on Amé’s face, the Assassin let out a short, quiet chuckle. Not entirely idiotic, but amusing, huh? What Garrett had in mind was probably the second most idiothic thing he ever thought of doing in his life, but regardless, he wanted to do it. He had never had this feeling before, or wanted to do something like this, to anyone, at all. Even though he was still young, Elves do live long, and Garrett was probably old enough to be considered as someone that ‘’probably has done things’’, but he wasn’t. Most his life, the Elf spent his time avoiding people. Now, though, he wanted nothing but to spend as much time as possible with this Witcher.
‘Come on, be bold, be brave. What’s the worst that could happen?’
He thought, with a sigh. “You can stop me, if you’d like...” the Elf spoke in a quiet, shy tone, while moving a hand up to tug on the fabric of the mask covering half of his face. The Assassin hestitated for a second before pulling the mask down, his face now exposed under the moonlight, the Left side of his face covered in horrible burns that reached down to his neck, and high up near his eye. Some of the flesh gone from his cheek, along with a part of his lips, some of his teeth showing over the empty place where his cheek should be. At least now Amé would probably understand why the Elf’s speech was off, and slurred like that. Pushing his hood back, he shook his head a few times to air out his hair, pointy ears poking out of the black, wavy locks.
Amé was probably too focused on staring at his scar now, the Assassin thought, this was probably the best chance to do what his heart kept screaming at him for. A hand held the Witcher’s cheek, and Garrett moved closer to the Witcher. Eyes closed, the Assassin’s scarred lips met the other’s.