dream a little dream of me | Glowfic Constellation

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He hesitates, fingers tightening on the sheath,

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and then nods, and passes it over to him.

There are oak leaves printed in the leather of the sheath, too.

Camillo balances it on his fingertip; pricks himself with the blade; holds it up to the light.

"It's so lovely."

He gives the crossguard a little kiss before he returns it to Anatole.

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Anatole takes it back, watching his pricked fingertip.

“It was my mother’s. Before it was mine.”

Oh god the cute boy who doesn't exist has emotional depth. What is he supposed to do with this. Camillo sucks on his finger and tries to fish words out of his gut.

"Is she dead?"

Great. Fantastic choice. Super smooth.

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“…no. Not that I’ve heard.”

He turns his knife over in his hands.

"I don't talk to mine either."

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“…could you, if you wanted to? Do you know where she is?”

Oh right he's got a backstory here. Hopefully he hasn't contradicted it too badly.

"You don't?"

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“I write. But everyone at home is very, very busy.”

"Their loss, I guess."

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He seems temporarily at a loss for words.

There’s shouting in the distance. He tilts his head and listens for a moment.

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“…I think someone found your crime scene.”

"My cr-- oh, right."

Probably he could have thought that one through a little better.

"If I go back alone, they're going to think I murdered you."

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“Best to make sure they know why we’re out here, anyway.”

He stands and pulls Camillo up by the hand, leading him back into the woods.

?????

(holding hands)

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He leads him to a little clearing slightly closer to town.

He unbuttons one solitary button on his shirt, reaches back to tousle his own hair a little.

“You tripped and butchered my tent on the way to bring me back out here.”

"I. Uh."

He's staring at the button, and also at the way Anatole's shoulders move when he reaches behind his head.

"Yes. I did do that."

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He leans forward and braces his forearms against a tree, looks back over his shoulder.

“Would you last this long, do you think?”

"--well -- I -- that--"

He's pretty sure he was just about to come up with a clever response before his voice broke.

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He looks immensely satisfied with this.

“Second course, then.”

"--I'm -- um--"

help

"--do you want me to--"

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“—here, it’s really not going to work if you start crying about it—”

He stands back upright and takes Camillo’s shoulders to push him back lightly against the tree.

“You’re not going to add me to your mission of revenge, are you?”

"I'm not -- crying--"

He is squeaking a little, though.

"Why would I -- no -- you have pretty hair--"

Oh, well done, way to salvage the situation, what a way with words.

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