whose heart would not take flight?

Linmir Celemariel Perin Khoravar
Two years before the Mourning
Thronehold, Khorvaire

“You’re not sleeping again, are you.”

“I sleep!”

“Perin.” Lairit fixes their electric-blue gaze on you, lets you squirm under it like a worm on the hook. “When was the last time.”

“Last night.”

“For how long?”

You fall into angry silence at that.

Lairit sighs and puts down their pen. Stands up. “This is unacceptable,” they say crisply. “You are of no use to me half out of your mind with sleep deprivation.” The words land like a suckerpunch; Lairit has always known how much you need to be useful to them. They take advantage of this to take you by the elbows and manhandle you over to the bed. “Sit.” A sharp shove down. “Lay down.” Another shove, and you let this one knock you onto your back.

“I’m not going to be able to go to sleep just because you made me literally go to bed,” you say, bemused.

They just raise an eyebrow and climb on top of you, curling over you like a pillbug; their knees press against the outside of your hips, the crown of their head butts into your chin, their pointy fucking elbows dig into your stomach. “Now go to sleep.”

You grin up at them, make your voice real low and sultry: “Are you sure?” Here you slide your hands up their thighs to their waist and let your grin get a little dirtier. “Seems to me there are better things we could be doing in bed--”

“Perin.” They shift, elbowing you in the stomach again, ow, and neatly pluck your hands away from their body. Before you can complain, they weave their fingers into yours and gently pin your arms against the bed, then kiss you perfunctorily. “Sleep. There will be time for extracurricular activities later, if you’re good.”

You sputter. “If I’m good?”

“Mhm.” There’s the faintest blush across their cheekbones. “If you insist on behaving like a child who fears bedtime instead of my most trusted lieutenant, you will be treated like one.”

There’s no way this actually works, right? You sleep better with Lairit playing weighted blanket, but you can’t just pass out in the middle of the day on their say-so. Can you?

They’ve always run hot. Right now they feel like a sunbeam on a hot summer afternoon, their warm breath whispering across your neck, their heart thumping so close to yours. The smell of smoke and ink in their hair. There’s no way you can get to sleep when you could be wriggling your hands free and dragging them into a kiss. You twitch your feet.

Lairit doesn’t react.

You shift your hips, kinda invitingly.

Lairit doesn’t react.

“Zîraaaaaaa.” You wriggle under them.

“Shush.” They free your hand just long enough to pinch the underside of your wrist gently. “I’m asleep.”

“You literally are not,” you say, half-laughing. “Are you talking to me in your sleep then?”

“Yes.”

You stifle another laugh, tipping your face down into their hair. “Liri. Liri, zîra, árenya, ruler of my heart, c’mon, I don’t need--”

With a sharp sigh, Lairit yanks your hand down, tucking it between your bodies with your palm pressed against their chest. “Breathe with me, if it helps, but we are not leaving this bed until you get a solid three hours of sleep. Now, four counts in, four counts out.”

Obligingly, you try to time your breaths to their deep, slow ones. It’s obviously not going to work, but they’re also obviously in a stubborn mood, so you might as well try to go along.

In five minutes, your eyelids are heavy.

In ten, you’re asleep.

(You wake up once, hours later, flailing in a sudden panic -- your body feels too light, your nerves are crackling, where’s Lairit, where--

A small, hot hand collides with your chest and pushes hard, knocking you onto your back again and pressing you down. “Go back to sleep, Perin,” says Lairit’s voice, through the haze of your half-waking. “I’m right here.”)