Mending Bruises, But Not the Heart

Alaric watched Deyran intently, every subtle shift in the man's body language like a carefully played note in a melody he knew all too well. The smirk, the teasing, the barely-concealed flirtation—it was a game they were both playing, and Alaric was more than happy to join in. His lips quirked up at the corners, eyes twinkling with amusement as Deyran's words hung in the air between them, thick with tension and something unspoken.

Oh, darling, Alaric began, his voice smooth and rich like velvet, if you think this is trouble, then you clearly haven’t spent enough time around me. He leaned in just a fraction, enough to close some of the space between them, his eyes locking onto Deyran’s with a mischievous gleam.

Trouble is what I do best. But you? Alaric’s gaze flickered downward, deliberately slow, before returning to Deyran’s. You’re something else entirely. The weight of the words wasn’t lost in the playful tone. There was admiration there, mingled with curiosity, and maybe a bit of something deeper—though Alaric wasn’t one to dwell on such thoughts for too long.

He straightened up, his smirk widening as he gestured casually toward the door.

But before we get too lost in our... conversation, he continued, his voice taking on a lighter, teasing edge, how about we start with that drink you promised? You can regale me with tales of your reckless adventures, and I’ll try not to swoon at how heroic you are. His wink was accompanied by a flash of genuine amusement, but his tone softened just slightly, betraying the concern that still lingered beneath his charm.

Of course, if you need more rest, I’ll have to hold off on swooning until you’re back on your feet. Wouldn't want you passing out halfway through our first drink. He grinned, waiting for Deyran's response, already anticipating another round of their verbal sparring.

@Deyran