πππ ππππ
πππ πππ ππππππππππ, a cacophony of digital warfare pouring through the padded cushions of his headset as Harwin's thumb drove the left stick forward, weaving his operator through a bombed-out corridor. The couch cushion beside him still held the shallow impression of Rhaenyra's body; the warmth of her lingering there, the faint honeyed trace of her shampoo caught in the throw blanket she'd discarded. She'd kissed his cheek before rising. Soft. Quick. I'm fine, don't get up. He'd read the gesture as fluently enough: she wanted something from the kitchen and did not want him to fuss. ( So he hadn't. ) He'd watched her waddle out of the corner of his eye, thirty-two weeks and still moving with that stubborn, rolling grace, one hand pressed to the underside of her belly like a shelf, and then Daemon had gotten himself killed for the fourth time in twelve minutes and Harwin's attention had been pulled back to the screen.Β
β Then you should've been faster. β Kai was saying.Β
β I was savoring it. β
β You were ADS-ing behind a dumpster. βΒ
β Tactically positioning. β
β Hiding, tactically. β
β If either of you say tactically one more time, I'm switching lobbies, βΒ
Harwin leaned forward, elbows finding his knees, eyes narrowing at the screen as his thumbs worked the joystick. He was having a good round. Better than good. Where every corner check landed and every burst grouping tightened into instinct. It was a nice, rare day off, a shared day off, the confluence of their schedules an act of minor celestial alignment, and the three of them had fallen into this the way they always did. Hours slipping past like minutes; the low, ambient pleasure of doing absolutely nothing that mattered.
Β β Revive me,β Daemon said.
β I'm a little busy. β
β Busy looting, then. β
The round collapsed shortly after; Daemon's fourth death becoming his fifth and sixth in rapid succession, dragging their ticket count down. Kai sighed, a sound so restrained and complete in its resignation that it may as well have been a soliloquy. The defeat screen washed over them and Harwin leaned back, rolling his neck, feeling the satisfying pop of tension releasing from the vertebrae at the base of his skull. His throat was dry. The afternoon had grown long without him noticing; the light through the living room windows had shifted from white to amber, and his water bottle had been empty for an hour.Β
β . . . Grabbing a beer. Be right back. β
He pulled the headset from his ears and settled it around his neck, the world expanding instantly into sounds that had been sealed away, as he rose from the couch in a single fluid motion, stretching his arms overhead until his shoulders cracked. Barefoot, he padded across the hardwood towards the kitchen, rounding the corner, and Harwin paled at the sight that awaited him; the blood drained from his face so swiftly he felt it go, a cold, sliding sensation behind his cheekbones, his lips, the tips of his ears. Rhaenyra was standing barefoot on the granite kitchen counter, three and a half feet above the solid hardwood floor. Beneath her, three staggered drawers hung open, a makeshift staircase she had engineered, one hand gripped the cupboard door for balance, while the other held a half-demolished box of fig crackers, crumbs dusted the front of his oversized t-shirt.Β
β Rhaenyra, what in the seven hells . . . β His hands were already rising, palms out, fingers spread. He was already moving. Three strides and the kitchen shrank around him, the distance between the doorway and the counter collapsing beneath the urgent length of his legs. β Don't move. β
He reached out, one arm beneath her thighs and the other spanning the full width of her back, his fingers pressing into the soft cotton of the shirt, feeling the warmth of her skin beneath. He shifted his stance, feet planted wide on the kitchen floor, knees bending to absorb the transfer of weight, and he drew her off the counter and into his arms.The weight of her settled against his chest; the full, round press of her belly against his abdomen, warm through the cotton, as he carried her to the centre of the kitchen, away from the counter, away from the gaping drawers, and lowered her to the floor. Β He pressed his palm flat against his chest and felt the battering of his own heart, still arrhythmic, still furious. She was looking at him with that expression, the one he knew, that meant she knew well she was wrong and found his concern both moving and faintly hilarious. Harwin shut his eyes. He had to. If he kept looking at her, he might laugh, or shout, or put both hands on her shoulders and shake her ( gently, of course ), until all that stubbornness rattled loose. ( None of those seemed particularly wise. ) β Are you trying to kill me? β
The headset was still around his neck. He had forgotten about it entirely until Kaiβs voice crackled up through the speakers, tinny and amused and distant. β Breakbones, you good? β
Harwin opened his eyes slowly. β Β Rhaenyra climbed onto the kitchen counter, β he told them, very evenly.
Daemonβs laugh came first, a sharp barking sound that rattled the plastic casing against Harwinβs collarbone. β The drawer method? β His voice dripped with an obnoxious, deeply proud sort of glee. β Tell me she used the drawer method. Itβs a classic. I taught her that. β
Kaiβs chuckle followed, lower, a dry, huff of air through the microphone. β I respect the commitment to the bit, β They chimed in, cutting neatly through Daemon's cackling. β More importantly: did she secure the objective? β
He ignored them both and looked down at the three open drawers: the bottom one fully extended, the middle one halfway, the top one just enough to catch a small, bare heel, one long leg and used the heel of his foot to shove the drawers back into the island one by one. ( Thud. Thud. Thud. ) β You're going to give me a stroke, β Harwin muttered, and he reached out, his thumb catching a stray crumb of cracker at the corner of her lip and brushing it away. β You ask me next time, yeah? β
He let out a long, slow breath through his nose before he stepped around Rhaenyra, his hand lingering for a brief, reassuring second on the small of her back, before he let go. He walked over to the refrigerator, the stainless steel handle cool against his palm, and pulled the door open. A wave of chilled air hit his face, a welcome shock to his overheated system, and he reached into the wire rack on the door where the amber glass bottles were kept. His fingers wrapped around the neck of a cold IPA; his knuckles clicking as he gripped a second bottle, pulling them both out of the fridge simultaneously. Harwin shut the door with his elbow, turning back to find Rhaenyra watching him, her eyebrows raised in amused evaluation as she took another slow bite of her cracker.
β You're driving me to drink, woman. βΒ
