“‘Could have fooled me.” Ezreal laughs in another half truth. What is he supposed to say to Kayn? He’s not going to wax poetic about his limited social experience and how he doesn’t know how to deal with someone when they don’t love him or hate him. If anything, he’s the better socialized one of the two, he should know what to do. The past throbs on his side in time with his heart beat, he doesn’t know if he should lower his guard just yet. Kayn doesn’t get to know this, either. “This is not specifically about you, if it makes you feel better. Just a… uh, general security measure for when I room with someone I don’t quite know. You get me, right? You must have slept with a knife under your pillow at least once.”
Following the string of inconsistencies, his heart flutters inside his chest at Kayn’s earnest tone. He sounds so sincere, like he means it when he says he won’t let anyone hurt him. Ezreal doesn’t need anyone to save him, but that doesn’t mean he’s immune to cheesy phrases like those. He likes bad romance novels, sue him. His brows furrow though, like reprimanding his own feeble heart for how quickly it changes from worry to attraction. His mind is prideful, far less willing to take Kayn’s words for more than what they are: A truce, a boon. Nothing more.
“It’s not as uncomfortable as it looks. It’s almost a second skin.” Truly, he feels almost naked without it. But laying here on the bed, with the rain as background noise and Kayn looking so small next to him, he feels like he’s been laid bare for examination under Kayn’s glare. It’s unnerving. “I usually sleep with it on while adventuring, this is nothing new to me. Plus,” His bare hand reaches for Kayn’s face before he has time to think about it, lending his warmth to the pale skin chilled by the rain, his knuckles against Kayn’s cheek. “I run hot, I don’t mind a bit of cold. See?”
The softness of his action catches up to him the moment the words leave his mouth. Ezreal pulls away slowly, lips pulled into a thin line and cheeks alight with how awkward he made this situation. Touching someone’s face while sharing a bed with them feels intimate, who would have known? Well, he’s feeling right about done with the faux intimacy between them, so he turns to pull on the lamp’s string and call it a night. In the back of his mind, he knows he’s running, ignoring a perfect opportunity to get to know Kayn better. But it feels… wrong. He doesn’t know what to make of Kayn when he looks so vulnerable, so small. It feels like more than what he signed up for, this weird intimacy. His attraction is purely physical, so moments that are as soft as these… Yeah. He doesn’t want to unpack all that, so let’s throw away the whole suitcase, shall we?
Giving his back to Kayn, Ezreal settles on his side, one hand under the pillow, the other around his waist. “See you tomorrow, Kayn. Sleep well.”
It’s not about him, Ezreal says, but Kayn doesn’t entirely understand. When he was in the infirmary for all those months, he didn’t have the privilege of a knife, and when he was healed enough to walk around on his own and sleep in a proper room, he still wasn’t allowed a knife. It was only when he was included in combat training, starting with bamboo sticks with other children and adults unused to warfare, that he got to touch a weapon again, oddly reminiscent of the sickle he pried from a dead (or dying, he didn’t stop to check) farmer’s hand to slice at anyone who came close.
There was no need for a knife when he slept among his fellow disciples, and by the time he had proven himself enough to be taken on missions, Kayn was certain he could kill anyone with his bare hands. But Kayn doesn’t voice any of this — just watches Ezreal with the same steady eyes and nods to show that he’s understood. In the end, it doesn’t matter what Ezreal wears to bed, as long as that metal doesn’t touch Kayn’s skin when he finally gets warm.
It takes Kayn a moment to process what happens next. He’s touched so rarely — even more rare that it’s gentle — that the gesture makes no sense to him. He lies still, watching Ezreal the way a frightened dog might watch someone who claims no ill intent, but he doesn’t flinch at the touch. In fact, his eyelashes flutter and his gaze grows unfocused for a single beat of his heart as the feeling sends pleasant chills across his scalp. Ezreal’s warm. Kayn knew this, of course, from fondling his leg a moment ago, but it’s different like this. His cheek is so cold, and Ezreal’s hand leaves its warmth behind when Ezreal pulls it back. Kayn wants to say something like that’s lucky for you, or it must be nice, but the words get caught in his throat. He wants to say good night, but he’s still processing through all his emotions — the victory at finding Ezreal, the calm happiness of his stories, the disappointment when they came to an end, the anxiety, and now this — and he can’t get the words out. By the time he’s gathered himself, the lights are off and Ezreal has been quiet for so long that it would be weird to speak now. It’s bad enough that Kayn is taking up his space, he shouldn’t wake Ezreal up, too.
But there’s something that distracts him. At first, Kayn tries to ignore it, but every time he closes his eyes, the faint blue light disturbs him. So he zeroes in and watches it light up the collar of Ezreal’s shirt, the back of his hair, coming in faint pulses that seem in time with Ezreal’s breathing (or he might just be going loopy from it). Kayn watches it grow bright and fade again, over and over, and after a while he edges himself closer, quiet, on his elbows and forearms, to peer closer at it. It’s under Ezreal’s skin, and Kayn immediately thinks of the mage markings Ezreal mentioned, but he didn’t mention this one.
He’s never seen anything like it this close. It’s under Ezreal’s skin but it doesn’t seem to bother him at all. Kayn wonders what it feels like, and in the same instance he’s shifting his weight onto one elbow and reaching out to lightly touch the pad of one finger to the mark.
