Wip whenever
Thank you for the tag @awardenandacrow :)) If you're a moot and you see this, consider yourself tagged!
I love a little bit of language barrier. I also love Dorian's terrible previous relationship experiences, and his complicated self-worth. Put them together and what do you get? Dorian assuming that "Vhenan" is some past-lover and getting really upset about it.
~*~
Dorian drank again from his wine.
It tasted like spices and shame.
He put the bottle back down on the table and sunk into his arms with a pathetic sigh.
This was unbecoming of him really. It wasn’t even a big deal. Estra was wonderful; Of course someone else would have swooped him up already. Who could possibly resist that dry wit, and that rare smile, and that brilliant mind, and those beautiful eyes, and the way rooms would brighten whenever he entered, and-
Oh. Oh.
Dorian was in trouble, wasn’t he?
Footsteps sounded out behind him, followed by the soft clunk and scrape of books being reshelved. Dorian froze, melancholic thoughts escaping from him as he waited for the movement to cease. At least four books were slid back into place before whoever was shelving them hesitated.
“Are you alright?” Solas’ voice asked.
Kaffas. He really didn’t need someone prying right now.
Dorian waved away the elf half-heartedly.
“I’m fine.” He muttered into his arms, not meeting Solas’ eye.
Solas placed his remaining book on the edge of the table and leant down to peer at Dorian’s face. He could feel the disbelieving frown without even having to look at it.
“I doubt that.” Solas sniffed. “What happened?”
Something childish in Dorian begged to let everything out, to open his lips and set loose every single doubt, pain, and fear he’d ever felt. The bigger, more sensible part of Dorian preferred to remain quiet in his suffering.
“Nothing happened.”
For a moment, Dorian thought Solas might leave. Then he saw the elf move through his peripheral vision, pull out the chair on the opposite end of the table, and sit down. Solas rested his hands in front of him, folding them over themselves, and tilted his head, looking down at Dorian like he was an interesting puzzle. Dorian hated being looked at like that.
“Is this something to do with the Inquisitor?” Solas asked suddenly.
Hot snakes burst to life in Dorian’s stomach, and he shoved his face deeper into his arm, lest Solas see the shameful flush creeping up his cheeks.
“Fuck off.” Dorian groaned, but there was no heat behind his words.
“Did he reject your advances?” Solas had the nerve to sound concerned, sympathetic, like he was attempting to comfort Dorian.
Dorian dared to expose his eyes, emerging ever so slightly from his arms in order to meet Solas’ gaze.
“No.” He mumbled bitterly.
The elf’s sorry grimace turned somewhat confused.
“Then what-?”
“Not outright, at least.”
Dorian wasn’t sure what possessed him to confide in Solas. They were friends, sure, but they weren’t the closest. And Solas had never seemed like the type for ‘feelings’, especially not those of a romantic inclination. Perhaps it was the wine. Perhaps it was the fact that Solas was the first to straight up ask him what was wrong. Perhaps he was just that upset.
Whatever it was it wasn’t a good idea. Dorian was filled with not-good ideas apparently.
With a sigh, he dragged the wine forwards and took a gulp. He set it on the table and slid it towards Solas, who made a polite declining gesture. His loss.
“It’s silly.” Dorian lamented, running well-manicured fingernails over the top of the bottle’s label and resolutely not making eye contact with the elf opposite him. “I expected this to happen, and now I’m upset that it has.”
“That’s not silly.” There Solas went, ever dispensing his sagacious wisdom. “It’s understandable to be upset. You like him.”
Dorian flushed, hard.
“Let’s not go that far.” He muttered, pulling the wine back up to his lips.
“Of course. We’ll operate under the assumption that you always sulk for three days after being turned down, then.”
Dorian glared at him over the bottle.
“I wasn’t turned down,” He hissed, “And I am not sulking.”
Solas raised an eyebrow at him. It took magnificent self control not to flip him off.
“Fine.” Dorian huffed. He dropped the bottle onto the table and glared down its neck. “If you must know, we were in bed together, and he called me someone else’s name.”
Just saying it aloud made Dorian’s stomach flip. His ears and cheeks burnt with the heat of his embarrassment, and he loathed to imagine the amusement – or Maker forbid the pity – on Solas’ face.
“There.” He spat bitterly. “Happy now? Go ahead and laugh, since you’re obviously not here to help.”
“I’m sorry, Dorian,” Solas said solemnly, “That must have been horrible.”
Well, now Dorian felt like a pratt.
