15.Oct.19, 12:37 AM
F’drel turned to look at T’ryn when he spoke, momentarily confused. Mended? His shirt didn’t need to be mended, just washed. T’ryn must have seen him throw his shirt on the chair and made assumptions. He started to protest, not wanting T’ryn to feel guilty about something that hadn’t actually happened. When he realized any continued attempts to let T’ryn know it was fine, the shirt didn’t need to be fixed would be ignored, F’drel closed his mouth and nodded, accepting both the sock and the shirt. He could tell it was a lost cause right then. Besides, T’ryn was offering him a perfectly good shirt to borrow and he really didn’t want to wear his own until it was cleaned.
“Thank you,” F’drel said, putting the most definitely less pawed at shirt on, then finished with socks and shoes. Before they left he gave the room another once over, straightening a few books that had probably slightly crooked even before the room was hit with a Flight, but whatever, didn’t hurt.
The walk to T’ryn’s weyr was silent, and F’drel couldn’t help but notice the looks they were getting, most of which were probably due to the fact T’ryn wasn’t wearing a shirt, though at least that meant people were paying more attention to T’ryn than to him - though he still got plenty of looks, unfortunately. F’drel couldn’t say for sure whether more of the glances were because it was weird for someone to not be wearing a shirt or if they were just checking the normally reserved bronzerider out. F’drel hoped for the former, but knew it was more likely the latter. A lack of shirt wasn’t that unusual in public spaces in a Weyr. Fucking Weyrs.
It didn’t help that probably all of them knew or could guess why T’ryn was shirtless and walking with a greenrider, and they were also going somewhere together, and most people would assume (rightly) they were going to a weyr, considering the direction they were headed, but they were probably reading things into it that were not actually there. Because again, fucking Weyrs.
When they reached the weyr F’drel followed T’ryn’s lead and took off his boots, lining them up neatly next to T’ryn’s more haphazardly removed pair, tucking his socks inside. He shook his head at the offer of food; he’d be starving soon enough, but at that moment curling up and falling asleep was highest priority. Instead he followed T’ryn into the other room. F’drel appreciatively took the clean shirt, quickly swapping the one he was wearing for it. It took him a moment to track down T’ryn’s hamper, but he did, and placed the shirt he’d taken off in it. That done, F’drel moved to join T’ryn on the bed, curling up alongside him with a sigh. It was nice and soft and so much better than the archive room.
“You don’t need to get the shirt repaired,” F’drel said softly once he’d gotten himself settled. “That’s not me protesting, it’s because the shirt isn’t torn or anything. I just…” He hesitated, not sure he should continue, but Halomirth gently urged him to finish his thought. It helped with R’dal! “There were so many people grabbing at it, and I know it sounds weird and stupid, but if I put it back on I would have felt all the hands again. I didn’t want to put it on because of that. So, thank you, for lending me yours. I just don’t want you to take it to be mended when it doesn’t need it.” There. It was a lot more than F’drel normally said, but he didn’t want T’ryn to be confused or upset when he realized the shirt was fine. He wanted to explain himself. He didn’t want T’ryn to blame himself for something that hadn’t happened. F’drel waited nervously for a response, not used to sharing such things and not sure how T’ryn would react, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to relax properly if it wasn’t explained.
“Thank you,” F’drel said, putting the most definitely less pawed at shirt on, then finished with socks and shoes. Before they left he gave the room another once over, straightening a few books that had probably slightly crooked even before the room was hit with a Flight, but whatever, didn’t hurt.
The walk to T’ryn’s weyr was silent, and F’drel couldn’t help but notice the looks they were getting, most of which were probably due to the fact T’ryn wasn’t wearing a shirt, though at least that meant people were paying more attention to T’ryn than to him - though he still got plenty of looks, unfortunately. F’drel couldn’t say for sure whether more of the glances were because it was weird for someone to not be wearing a shirt or if they were just checking the normally reserved bronzerider out. F’drel hoped for the former, but knew it was more likely the latter. A lack of shirt wasn’t that unusual in public spaces in a Weyr. Fucking Weyrs.
It didn’t help that probably all of them knew or could guess why T’ryn was shirtless and walking with a greenrider, and they were also going somewhere together, and most people would assume (rightly) they were going to a weyr, considering the direction they were headed, but they were probably reading things into it that were not actually there. Because again, fucking Weyrs.
When they reached the weyr F’drel followed T’ryn’s lead and took off his boots, lining them up neatly next to T’ryn’s more haphazardly removed pair, tucking his socks inside. He shook his head at the offer of food; he’d be starving soon enough, but at that moment curling up and falling asleep was highest priority. Instead he followed T’ryn into the other room. F’drel appreciatively took the clean shirt, quickly swapping the one he was wearing for it. It took him a moment to track down T’ryn’s hamper, but he did, and placed the shirt he’d taken off in it. That done, F’drel moved to join T’ryn on the bed, curling up alongside him with a sigh. It was nice and soft and so much better than the archive room.
“You don’t need to get the shirt repaired,” F’drel said softly once he’d gotten himself settled. “That’s not me protesting, it’s because the shirt isn’t torn or anything. I just…” He hesitated, not sure he should continue, but Halomirth gently urged him to finish his thought. It helped with R’dal! “There were so many people grabbing at it, and I know it sounds weird and stupid, but if I put it back on I would have felt all the hands again. I didn’t want to put it on because of that. So, thank you, for lending me yours. I just don’t want you to take it to be mended when it doesn’t need it.” There. It was a lot more than F’drel normally said, but he didn’t want T’ryn to be confused or upset when he realized the shirt was fine. He wanted to explain himself. He didn’t want T’ryn to blame himself for something that hadn’t happened. F’drel waited nervously for a response, not used to sharing such things and not sure how T’ryn would react, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to relax properly if it wasn’t explained.