:Not yet!: 

:Me either. I've just been eating in my room; are there other options besides that and the cafeteria?:

:Well, you can get food at the dining hall and go eat it somewhere else, like out in the Companions' Field. I used to–: Vanyel cuts off and does not finish the sentence. His thoughts are: a flash of memory, green and sunlight and a boy with curly dark-golden hair laughing, and then a surge of grief-pain-loss, and then an odd wrenching sideways motion that cuts most of it off. 

He takes a deep breath. :We could do that, if you want: 

She reaches for his hand, suddenly concerned. :No, I don't think so. Are you all right?:

He lets her take his hand, doesn't quite make eye contact. :I'm fine: It's not particularly convincing, especially in Mindspeech. He takes another few breaths. :I just - got distracted by something, sorry. Um, if outside isn't good for you, maybe you could come have lunch in my room, that'd be a change from yours: 

:Sure, that sounds good.: The calming effect he's seen from her before appears again, very gently.

Vanyel isn't sure how to feel about her noticing that he needs it, he's been trying really hard to get better at not making it so goddamned obvious every time something reminds him, but - she's trying to help, and it will help, so he lets it happen. He pulls his hand back, points the way and starts walking. 

She strengthens the calming effect a bit when he doesn't fight it, so that it's solidly taking the edge off, and follows.

By the time they reach his room, Vanyel has found his balance at least a little. He gets out a chair for Deskyl, rings the bell to call a page and get lunch brought, and drags the spare chair out of his bedroom before using magic to heat some water for tea. All of that is a good excuse not to have to generate any conversation. 

She leaves him to it, watching, and takes the tea when it's offered.

:Do you want to tell me, or should I leave it alone?:

–Gods fucking damn it, he's been having a terrible day and it's not Deskyl's fault, she doesn't know that and she doesn't know that it makes it ten times harder to hide it when someone brings it up, he can't stand it when anyone draws attention to the fact that he's been a walking disaster for the last year and a half and probably will be forever. The tears come involuntarily, which makes it even worse because she's going to be able to see, and now he's standing in the middle of his room, his teacup in his hand, crying. As much from shame and humiliation as from the screaming empty void that's suddenly far too salient in his mind, and Deskyl's calming effect is the only reason he doesn't instantly flee to his bedroom and slam the door. 

She sets her tea aside and stands to hug him, projecting her emotions just slightly - sympathy, and care, and nonjudgementalness, and centered, steady presence.

Vanyel relaxes a bit, because clearly there's no point in trying to hide it, and he hugs her back and sobs and - does sort of bask in her quiet emotional presence, it's not that similar but it reminds him distantly of the Shadow-Lover's realm. 

She's not in any kind of hurry, they can stay like this as long as he seems to want it. Or at least until lunch comes; she settles him into the chair and goes to open the door just before the runner knocks on it.

Vanyel calms down gradually over the course of being hugged, his sobs trailing off into ragged breaths and sniffles. When she sits him down, he thinks to dig out his handkerchief and blow his nose, turning away so the runner won't see his tear-blotched face. 

:Sorry: he sends, dully, once the door is closed again. :I...: He wants to say something, to explain, but he doesn't know what and all the words seem to be stuck. 

She brings the food over, and moves the other chair closer before sitting in it. :Nothing to be sorry for, sweetheart,: she sends as she does. :If I wasn't ready to deal with the answer I wouldn't've asked.:

Vanyel nods, shakily, and instinctively starts to reach for her hand again before stopping himself, embarrassed. 

She takes his hand and squeezes it. :So, should I leave it alone? I'd rather know, but it's yours to tell me or not.:

...It would be easier if she knew. Most of the people he interacts with frequently already know; even Shavri knows. Not because he told them, he's - never spoken about it to anyone - but still. Vanyel wonders how little sense he makes, as a person, to someone without that context. He's always going to be broken and it's never going to be better and that never mattered, he has to keep going, put one foot in front of the other and never look back and given how it's going to end it's not like there's any point saving anything of himself for the finish line– 

–and Deskyl is still there, still looking at him, not judging him either way. 

:A...bad thing happened: he manages, it's easier in Mindspeech but he still can't make any more words come. It's hard to think about the thing at all. Lancir's put in so many redirects just so he can go about his day to day responsibilities without falling apart. 

She narrows her eyes a little when he thinks about the redirects, but her steady nonjudgementalness barely wavers. :Should I look?:

:...At my mind? Can you do that?: It shouldn't that surprising, probably, Lancir can, and he knows Deskyl can go right around his shields if she feels like. At least she's asking. He - could ask her to go to Savil instead, but he's kind of tired of other people discussing his life behind his back. And he does want Deskyl to know and there's no way he can bring himself to tell the story in any coherent way. :Um, go ahead: He feels like maybe he should warn her or something, but he's not sure what he would warn her of. 

She nods. :You'll probably be able to feel some of this, so I'm going to start indirectly, to get the shape of what I'm looking for, and then up the calming while I look directly. Tell me if you want me to stop.: She squeezes his hand again. :I mean that.:

:All right. I promise I'll say something if I want you to stop: Vanyel braces himself a little, he's not sure against what. 

And she looks. First at the redirects - this feels strange, his attention pulled slightly toward them, but not bad, exactly - and then after a few minutes, calm calm calm calm, she looks at what they're directing him away from, focusing on what they're most emphatically making him avoid and trying to quickly get an overview rather than digging for details.

She's going to get a mess of confusing memory-flashes. A flash of lightning showing a rain-lashed river, recognizably the same one that winds through Haven - the faltering outline of a Gate - trees rushing by in a forest - a menacing figure looming over him as he lies helpless - a different figure reaching for him, curly blond hair but even in the memory his face is sort of blurred out - the same person with his back to Vanyel - a blaze of formless blue fire. It's hard to tell what order they come in.

There's terror and desperation in the memories, and despair, aching grief and loneliness – but most of all, there's a feeling of emptiness at the centre of it. Like a missing foundation, his mind held together by patches and glue and sheer force of will.

Vanyel can definitely feel that she's doing something, drawing his attention toward the - thing - that he tries to never think about, because when he does slip then usually the rest of the day is gone. It's easier with the calming effect; he can hang onto Deskyl's presence, he grips her hand probably hard enough to hurt and remembers to breathe and focuses on the fact that they're in his rooms, safe, not in any of the places where it happened.