04.Jul.18, 10:40 AM
N’mor fell to his own knees before Z’rin. Creeping forward, he slipped his arm around Z’rin, under his arm and fingers splayed across the bluerider’s back. N’mor pressed his face against the crook of Z’rin’s neck, almost sitting on the other man’s lap as he fought to pull himself back together, to not cry like he so desperately wanted to. To be in control of himself, and his emotions, and not let the fear and the sadness take over him.
“I know,” he said softly, his voice thick with sorrow and self-loathing at how he’d reacted, how he was still fighting against reacting. He was better than this emotional mayhem that was so reminiscent of his father. N’mor loved B’jin, adored him, but he knew his father was a drama queen, and honestly, N’mor felt ridiculously like him as he pressed his nose against Z’rin’s neck, breathing in the reassuring and familiar scent of the bluerider. ‘Sorry’ wasn’t a word that was particularly strong in N’mor’s vocabulary, so he tended to use actions; like the soft kiss he pressed to the side of Z’rin’s jaw – just under his ear - as he pulled back slowly.
Eyebrows furrowed, N’mor’s expression was apologetic even if the words couldn’t quite make it past his lips. Sighing softly, N’mor settled himself snugly against Z’rin, taking a strange comfort in the nearness of someone who had insisted he was a friend. Some of the others did that, occasionally, but N’mor had never really believed them. He wasn’t sure why he chose to believe Z’rin right then. Perhaps because he had refused to leave? Or because he said ‘sorry’ with so much more ease and sincerity than anyone N’mor knew. Maybe because he was the only person N’mor felt like he had left that he could trust?
N’mor didn’t want to believe that he was only letting Z’rin in, because he’d lost T’ryn, but he knew that it was largely true. He’d never needed anyone else before, because he’d always had T’ryn beside him. Always as long as it had mattered, anyway. A little before Impression, and every moment since. T’ryn hadn’t even left him when N’mor had been stuck in the building, arm crushed beneath a beam and unable to escape. He’d looked after Rhezalth alongside his own dragonet when N’mor couldn’t, and helped N’mor through Weyrlinghood without making him feel useless or like he was a bother.
And now it was all gone.
N’mor was startled free of his thoughts when a firelizard zipped in; he didn’t recognise it – it was just a generic green as far as he was concerned – which meant it wasn’t owned by anyone he spent time around. Glancing at Z’rin in confusion, N’mor quickly came to the conclusion that the other man had no idea whose it was, either. That, at least, meant the firelizard hadn’t come looking for Z’rin in N’mor’s weyr! Smiling wryly at that thought, N’mor gave Z’rin a soft, lingering kiss before standing up to collect the note the firelizard was holding (and apparently was loath to give up, if the fight it gave was any indication) and wandered back towards Z’rin.
Considering his options, N’mor decided on re-joining Z’rin on the floor and settled down beside the bluerider, close enough to be rather cosy, but not his previous almost-in-Z’rin’s-lap position. N’mor shrugged and used his teeth to pull the piece of string holding the letter closed loose, and then unfolded it. Irritation immediately flared through him when he saw Casa’s signature at the end of the invitation, and he frowned as he read what it was actually for.
“Want to come camping?” N’mor asked, his expression bemused as he offered the invitation to Z’rin. The text wasn’t very informative, really, but N’mor could read between the lines well enough to know that it was an invitation to a trip involving – more than likely – a whole lot of alcohol and sex. Neither of which N’mor was particularly opposed to, in all honesty, so long as he didn’t think about who Casa would no doubt be wrapped around the whole time.
“I know,” he said softly, his voice thick with sorrow and self-loathing at how he’d reacted, how he was still fighting against reacting. He was better than this emotional mayhem that was so reminiscent of his father. N’mor loved B’jin, adored him, but he knew his father was a drama queen, and honestly, N’mor felt ridiculously like him as he pressed his nose against Z’rin’s neck, breathing in the reassuring and familiar scent of the bluerider. ‘Sorry’ wasn’t a word that was particularly strong in N’mor’s vocabulary, so he tended to use actions; like the soft kiss he pressed to the side of Z’rin’s jaw – just under his ear - as he pulled back slowly.
Eyebrows furrowed, N’mor’s expression was apologetic even if the words couldn’t quite make it past his lips. Sighing softly, N’mor settled himself snugly against Z’rin, taking a strange comfort in the nearness of someone who had insisted he was a friend. Some of the others did that, occasionally, but N’mor had never really believed them. He wasn’t sure why he chose to believe Z’rin right then. Perhaps because he had refused to leave? Or because he said ‘sorry’ with so much more ease and sincerity than anyone N’mor knew. Maybe because he was the only person N’mor felt like he had left that he could trust?
N’mor didn’t want to believe that he was only letting Z’rin in, because he’d lost T’ryn, but he knew that it was largely true. He’d never needed anyone else before, because he’d always had T’ryn beside him. Always as long as it had mattered, anyway. A little before Impression, and every moment since. T’ryn hadn’t even left him when N’mor had been stuck in the building, arm crushed beneath a beam and unable to escape. He’d looked after Rhezalth alongside his own dragonet when N’mor couldn’t, and helped N’mor through Weyrlinghood without making him feel useless or like he was a bother.
And now it was all gone.
N’mor was startled free of his thoughts when a firelizard zipped in; he didn’t recognise it – it was just a generic green as far as he was concerned – which meant it wasn’t owned by anyone he spent time around. Glancing at Z’rin in confusion, N’mor quickly came to the conclusion that the other man had no idea whose it was, either. That, at least, meant the firelizard hadn’t come looking for Z’rin in N’mor’s weyr! Smiling wryly at that thought, N’mor gave Z’rin a soft, lingering kiss before standing up to collect the note the firelizard was holding (and apparently was loath to give up, if the fight it gave was any indication) and wandered back towards Z’rin.
Considering his options, N’mor decided on re-joining Z’rin on the floor and settled down beside the bluerider, close enough to be rather cosy, but not his previous almost-in-Z’rin’s-lap position. N’mor shrugged and used his teeth to pull the piece of string holding the letter closed loose, and then unfolded it. Irritation immediately flared through him when he saw Casa’s signature at the end of the invitation, and he frowned as he read what it was actually for.
“Want to come camping?” N’mor asked, his expression bemused as he offered the invitation to Z’rin. The text wasn’t very informative, really, but N’mor could read between the lines well enough to know that it was an invitation to a trip involving – more than likely – a whole lot of alcohol and sex. Neither of which N’mor was particularly opposed to, in all honesty, so long as he didn’t think about who Casa would no doubt be wrapped around the whole time.