Marius/Mael | Rated E | 62k
The knock at the door is uncharacteristically gentle.
They don’t usually knock anyway, do they?
Marius’s neck strains and he doesn’t bother lifting his head, sore eyes staring, waiting, for the ashamed way it finally cracks open.
Mael doesn’t say anything right away. Peers in at first, studying, before he lets himself inside. Only opens the door wide enough for his body to slip through, closing it so quietly behind him.
Angry words are right behind the gate, ready for Marius if he needs them, if Mael is going to act demure about all of it again, but he says nothing. His fingers tap nervously against a bottle that he sets down on the bench, and for a moment Marius expects him to sit there, too, but he comes closer.
Not quite in arms reach, but he sinks down to the floor by the bed, his back to the fire. It lights up the stray hairs that stick up from his head, from his fancy braids, but casts his face in shadow.
“Are you…” he begins, and stops himself.
Marius’s stomach churns.
His whole body is stiff from curling in bed all day, but a stubborn bit of pride spikes inside him. He pushes himself up, so that they’re eye-to-eye, tries to straighten his shoulders.
When Mael doesn’t continue, Marius rolls his eyes.
“Am I what?”
“Are you feeling better?”
“That’s a complicated question,” Marius says. He crosses his arms over his chest. “Would you like to be more specific? Do you mean from when I was ill? Or when your men hit me over the head? Or when—”
When you ignored me for days, Marius almost says, but stops himself.
“When you were ill,” Mael says quietly. “But you seemed quite upset last time we spoke. I suppose I’m asking if you’re… still upset.”
“Stupid thing to ask.”
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