He'd tiptoed into the kitchen, before sunrise, and made breakfast. He wasn't much of a chef quite yet, but he could manage well enough, pancakes and juice and toast, all the essentials. He set it all on a tray and surprised Adra before he woke up. Kissed him on the cheek and told him those special words in his tongue. He'd spent time with him in bed, curled close. He'd told the elf, whatever you'd like to do today, we'll do together.
But he just shook his head, and wandered off to worship, and so Gilgamesh waited.
He waited and waited and waited. He drew pictures. He read books. He spoke with a few others, but it just wasn't the same. This was Adra's special day. He should've been the one to honor it most. He should've went with him, should've insisted. But despite being so close, Adra still always felt so far away. Like a star in a distant galaxy.
It's why he's slow to approach when Adra finally does return. He joins him by the window and slips a hand around his arm. He rests his head on a wary shoulder. He looks up at his housemate with worried eyes, more concerned than he ordinarily ever lets show on kingly features. And very delicately, as delicately as he can manage, he asks:]
Tell me what ails you.
[And maybe it's less like asking, more like a command, as he's accustomed to from Gilgamesh. But he's bothered all the same.]
ii
He'd tiptoed into the kitchen, before sunrise, and made breakfast. He wasn't much of a chef quite yet, but he could manage well enough, pancakes and juice and toast, all the essentials. He set it all on a tray and surprised Adra before he woke up. Kissed him on the cheek and told him those special words in his tongue. He'd spent time with him in bed, curled close. He'd told the elf, whatever you'd like to do today, we'll do together.
But he just shook his head, and wandered off to worship, and so Gilgamesh waited.
He waited and waited and waited. He drew pictures. He read books. He spoke with a few others, but it just wasn't the same. This was Adra's special day. He should've been the one to honor it most. He should've went with him, should've insisted. But despite being so close, Adra still always felt so far away. Like a star in a distant galaxy.
It's why he's slow to approach when Adra finally does return. He joins him by the window and slips a hand around his arm. He rests his head on a wary shoulder. He looks up at his housemate with worried eyes, more concerned than he ordinarily ever lets show on kingly features. And very delicately, as delicately as he can manage, he asks:]
Tell me what ails you.
[And maybe it's less like asking, more like a command, as he's accustomed to from Gilgamesh. But he's bothered all the same.]