“You’re different in the settlements than you are out there, in the wilds.”
“Yes,” Dagan agreed with a little hum. “That’s part of why I chose scouting, too. The freedom.”
“Freedom from what?”
“From other people,” Dagan replied quickly.
“I know you don’t always want to be around them.” Hendrik laughed. “But you love other people. You want them to love you.”
“True,” Dagan allowed. “But caring so much about everyone else’s opinion of me is exhausting. You yourself said I couldn’t be on all the time.”
“But you’re no less yourself when you’re on. Or when you’re off. Neither feels like the real you or the fake you,” Hendrik reasoned. “I thought at first one must be, but I don’t think so, anymore.”
Dagan considered this in something of a shocked silence. Finally, he admitted, “No, you’re right. It isn’t fake. It’s fun. But, yes, exhausting is also the word.”
“Do you think of the flirty Dagan as the other you?”
That didn’t add up, though, did it? His entire personality had been built around pleasing people, around being what everyone saw in him or wanted to see. How could that part of him, that came alive in the presence of others, that basked in their energy, affection, and attention, be other?
But how could the side of him that woke happy in the forest, that listened to the mycelial networks in the soil and tracked bucks to be sure the herds were happy and healthy be other either? Wasn’t that his heart and soul, as much as anything else?
“Can’t I be both?” he asked.
“That’s my point,” Hendrik said. “You are. And somehow it’s not a contradiction. I’m not sure how in all the hells you do it, but you make it look so…” He shook his head. “I don’t know.”
“Well, now I have to know.” Dagan sat up and swung his legs over the side of the lounge. “You can’t leave me like that.”
“You’re—you barely come up to my shoulder, but you could kick my ass in a fair fight. You naturally make everyone you meet feel important, but then you try too hard to make them like you. You’re fearless in the face of every single thing the forest throws at you but call yourself a coward. You’re a deadly stalker and hunter, but you’re gentle and so kind to all the animals you meet. You’re this jumble of things that don’t go together, and it’s—” Hendrik exhaled deeply and suddenly, like a sigh but supremely frustrated.
Dagan suddenly knew what it was like to be field dressed by a hunter: skinned, opened up, divested of his organs, and carved up into neat little pieces. It ought to have been a terrifying, hollow thing; indeed, a great, gaping hole in the center of him had just been revealed. But Dagan couldn’t resist the urge to stare directly into it. “Go on,” he said quietly. “You’re perfectly accurate, so far. I’d love to hear the end.”
“It’s fucking beautiful,” Hendrik said finally.
The words rang through Dagan like a hammer on an anvil, shaking him down to his deepest parts. He hadn’t known if it’d be something hurtful or something kind, but he should’ve.
“And since you’ve delivered me safely to the Council now, so you don’t have to be responsible for me anymore, I wanted to tell you.”
“You waited to tell me?” Dagan wondered, having trouble forming words.
“Sort of. I guess I didn’t really…articulate it all in my head until today. But I couldn’t have said anything. I mean, I probably still shouldn’t have. But you were talking about sticking around with me a little while, so I thought it was better if you knew. That I—that I feel that.
“And I didn’t want to regret not saying it.”
Dagan slid off the lounge and crawled to Hendrik, then settled at his feet, arms crossed over Hendrik’s warm, leather-clad thighs, looking up at him. His voice felt rough, unused in his throat. “If you’re trying to seduce me, you couldn’t have done a more complete and perfect job, my darling.”
Hendrik’s flush, lingering along his collar bones beneath his unlaced shirt, crept up his neck and into his ears. “Really? I mean, I’ve seen you turn it on. That was nothing.”
“Oh, how wrong you are,” Dagan replied, bracing against Hendrik’s thighs to come to his knees, putting them nearly at eye level. “I think that was the most astute, heartfelt, and lovely thing anyone has ever said to me in my brief but socially experienced life, Hen.” The nickname came easily, and when there was no protest, Dagan continued, “Thank you.”
Hendrik leaned closer, reaching out to push a wisp of hair that had escaped his braid out of Dagan’s eyes, then tracing his cheekbone.
Dagan leaned into it, so Hendrik cupped his cheek. His gaze lingered on Dagan’s lips as he said, “So, you won’t lose your job if I kiss you?”
“As of thirty minutes ago, no.” Dagan leaned closer. “So long as you’re sure it’s really all the things you just said, and not some misplaced sense of loyalty or debt you need to repay.”
“It’s really all the things I just said,” Hendrik replied, eyes solemn and voice grave. “I do feel loyalty, it’s true. But it’s because of who you are, not what you did.”
“Then please, kiss me.”
Hendrik did, slipping an arm around Dagan’s neck and tilting his head. His breath was warm and sweet, the scent of his soap and skin intoxicating. The first time Dagan had laid eyes on Hen, he’d known that somewhere in there was something he could reach, though it had been buried beneath layers of pain and fear. And he’d known that, given the opportunity, Hendrik would want him at least once. If people could be relied on for anything, it was to be horny in Dagan’s presence.
He just hadn’t known it could happen this fast. It would’ve been so, so easy to give in to the sweet, delicious sensation of lips sliding against his, Hendrik’s tongue darting into his mouth, Hendrik’s hand brushing down his back. Dagan knew what he wanted, and now that he knew Hendrik wanted it, too, he could have it.
But it was more complicated than that. So as Dagan closed off the kiss, he let his eyes flutter open to catch Hen’s gaze. Hen’s mouth hung slightly open, lips pink and pretty, those lightning-blue eyes wide as if in surprise.
Dagan asked, quietly, “Was that alright?”
“Perfect,” Hen whispered. “I dreamed of it. Of you. Like this.”
Dagan traced Hendrik’s exquisite jawline with the pad of his thumb, watching him carefully. “Tell me.”
“We sat on your blanket and kissed like this, but like we’d done it a million times before.” Hen’s warm breath puffed against Dagan’s wet lips as he spoke, now.
Dagan traced Hen’s ear, now, then the fringe of freshly cut hair over it. “Were we bored with it?”
Hen shook his head tightly. “Well, I wasn’t. I couldn’t get enough. After I woke up, I thought about it all day. How it felt.”
“That isn’t why you’ve been so distracted, surely?”
