A/N: Can’t sleep. Thinking too hard. I miss something I can’t quite describe.
Summary: You feel the warmth of his hands.
The summers were strange. The excitement that came with the Path and the spring season were long gone. It left the anticipation of the winter two seasons away but the buzz from leaving the mountains was nowhere to be found. You and Eskel had settled into a routine but that was the thing. Routines were both a comfort and a stagnate curse. Boredom crept in during quiet moments. Between bites of food or walks at the end of contracts. While washing your hands or standing in crowds. One moment you were there and the next you were gone. Off somewhere you couldn’t quite place.
“Are you still with me?” Eskel would ask. His voice low. Soft. Never pushing any further than a gentle knock at the door of your mind. A guest. Never an intruder.
“I’m not quite sure. I’m sorry, what were we doing?”
Eskel smiled, an expression that was familiar but never tiring.
“Nothing important, I can assure you. Can I bring you back?”
“I think I’m just bored.” You shrugged, not quite meeting his gaze. It was getting late? You still couldn’t quite recall what the two of you had been doing. Was it so truly unimportant that you forgot it the moment it was done? Or where was your mind wandering once it had been completed.
“Could I take your hand?” Eskel opened up his palm. His shoulders were lax. His expression was plain.
“It’s always so warm,” You remarked on the heat from his fingers alone. Your hand fit into his like clay pressed into one shape. The material of your skin molded together into something wholly new. “I wish mine weren’t so cold all the time.”
“Anytime you need it, my hands are yours.”
“Thank you.” You brought his hands and yours up to your lips. It was second nature to kiss them. First the knuckles. Then the palms. With each gesture, a little more of your surroundings came back to you. There was the chestnut brown of Eskel’s hair. The warm wind from the west. The stalks of hay that slipped into your shoes. The strand of hair untucked from your ear. The dusty ground underneath you. There was the easy breath that left Eskel. The clear blue-gray of the sky. The rustle of leaves and branches too high to touch.
