*pops in and hugs from behind*
Aerleus clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, reaching his brush towards his paints, and selected one, dipping his brush in and then bringing his brush back to the page, lightly guiding it along. He was using a chair as a makeshift easel, having pulled something in his back from being hunched over his sketchbook recently in his room, trying to avoid all the shouting until it was safe to come out and comfort Akirlia.
He never intended to eavesdrop, however Arzog sometimes made it a little hard not to hear what was being said. And he was troubled, brows knitting together as he frowned, lips down turning as he continued to paint the scene. It wasn’t a pleasant one, but one that had been playing around in his memory like a record and he just had to get it out his system. One of the battles from Northrend, when they both under the control of the Lich King. There was a hollow in the pit of his stomach as he glanced over the bodies he had painted, the bodies he had slain. His grip tightened on the brush slightly, wood beginning to splinter under his touch when suddenly he felt warm arms wrap around his waist, pulling his back into a warm torso.
He tilted his head to the side slightly, glancing over his shoulder at Akirlia and all at once his expression and posture softened and he leaned back into her embrace.
He studied her expression out the corner of his eye for a few moments before his eyes flickered towards his painting. He frowned and with a flick of his wrist sliced the piece of art in half with a slither of ice that extended from his hand. She didn’t need to see things like that.
He turned around, wrapping his arms around her waist, and lightly nuzzling into her neck, although he was sure his cold, clamminess must be uncomfortable for her.
It’s times like this he cursed having eidetic memory. He just wanted to forget.
