Shroud of the Lost who needs a house when i've got all these friends

It had been six days since he'd seen @Loach last. He hadn't given any indication that evening that his run would be particularly long, much less that he may not come back altogether, but that was what had happened. It twisted his gut thinking about it, yet here he was anyways, back in the woods that housed the riverbend where Loach and his companions had settled. The ones he'd upset. Clouse took a breath, slowed to a stop.

What was he doing? It was most certainly too late. He didn't understand why he was struggling to just stay gone. That would be kinder in the end, wouldn't it? Because ultimately, wasn't this where they were headed? Separation. Lives apart. It was routine, expected, so why couldn't he just let it happen?

Instead he was here, risking wrath in hopes that maybe there was some small chance they could pretend this just... hadn't happened.

Clouse raised a limb to take another step, but couldn't complete it. His paw froze, retreated. He'd never been so torn, and it felt pitiful.

(This post was last modified: Feb 24, 2023, 04:27 AM by Clouse.)

On the first night and the second day, he had thought nothing of it. Knowing that everybody here valued freedom above all, it seemed. Let them wander and scout. He knew they could find their way back to the river.

On the second night and the third day, a sense of unease had crept into his chest. He had not slept among his usual spot, abandoning it for some place further among the fringes. So that he might be closer, somehow, if he was called. If something happened out there.

The fourth and fifth went by in a blur of anxiety and Loach had sent himself off from the split. He had reached the caverns they had once shared. Found himself filled with a dread so gripping that he thought he silvered twice as much by the time he came home to the split. Everybody still there but one.

The one he had given himself to.

He had not realized it until now as the sixth day dawned on them. He had given himself to Clouse and it had instantly crumbled him when the man had not come home. Yet he should have seen this coming from miles away. He had taken temporary lovers, seen great things fizz out in a matter of days if not hours. Why should he expect anything different?

He had been prepared to see a seventh day through without him and let himself mourn a long list of could haves.

His steps were heavy to the place he slept now, out in the fringes. Knowing there would be no warm body there, no sharing of whaling songs. Almost like a drunken sailor, he mumbled a small song to himself. One they had shared in the caverns. Thinking that if they could share no other thing, then maybe they could always share that.

Only something moved out there in the edges of their home. Something familiar and his heart rattled with a great ferocity.

Clouse? He could not keep the hope at bay any longer.

The voice reached him with great clarity, and he could have sworn those tones were ones of hope. Both fire and ice gripped his heart, battling to either sear or freeze his chest from within. Still his legs didn't want to move, far too much uncertainty remaining. He forced them for Loach's sake, for wouldn't turning tail now be the cruelest thing he could do to the other wolf?

That wasn't to say he didn't want to see that familiar face and his koi-colored eyes, to hold the other again and be welcomed with warmth. These desires alone simply weren't enough to chase away his myriad of fears, and they had their claws in deep.

"I'm here," he answered, steps too slow even for his taste but he couldn't make himself go faster. They would have to talk now. It was inescapable and still he foolishly prolonged this time between.

Anything was better than stillness or silence.

Loach was not sure what he could, or would, even say now. Fearful that he had made a mountain out of a molehill. That Clouse had been doing as Loach should have figured. Finding his freedom. Oh God, he had become some terrible sucker.

He leveled himself and moved to close the distance. Sorry. For worrying. For getting tangled. For being unable to stop thinking of you. Things he could not bring himself to say. Letting his single word hang in the air for a moment and then --

Ya wanna come to bed?

As if Loach had not been there himself in some days now.

The next thing out of the other's mouth was an apology, and Clouse felt his dark brow crumple with confusion. Wasn't that meant to be his line? Something deep in Loach's eyes appeared as insecure as he was in the moment, or maybe he was just hoping that he would be able to empathize. The survivalist took it even further, offering the young wolf the out he'd been wanting. It felt twistingly wrong.

"Loach," he breathed, those chains of restraint finally breaking lose as he swept in to press his face against the other's chest. Why was he being afforded such grace? He certainly didn't deserve it.

"What do you have to be sorry for?" Clouse couldn't help but ask, voice muffled slightly by Loach's salt-and-pepper fur, "I'm the one who... I'm sorry."

(This post was last modified: Feb 24, 2023, 05:26 AM by Clouse.)

It would be his own name that felt like a blow to his heart.

Yet Clouse was at his chest, the next moment, before he could think much on the feeling. Only that he was clenched somewhere between falling and flying. What was the difference?

I'm sorry cause...I worry too much. His voice small, meant to stay in this private moment. Don't ever let me convince you otherwise. He showed his heart here, in these moments. The concern he hid beneath his rough edges and his constant forging onward. He tried to leave things in the past always and yet he constantly thought on them. Funny, that.

Just...just glad yer back, Clouse.

A kiss to a dark crown. Maybe it would be too much, too soon, unwelcomed.

It was a confirmation of what Clouse had to be guilty of, and still Loach seemed to be insisting he not concern himself with the damage done. He could have let his suitor absolve him, but something new rose up in his gut then. It superseded the childish desire to avoid trouble and difficult conversations, pushed him against his own self-interest. Loach deserved better. Clouse pulled away so as to meet those fire-opal eyes with his mercury.

"I didn't say goodbye. It's nearly been a week. It was shitty of me."

Hell, he'd have honestly been taken aback if Loach hadn't worried. He hadn't wanted to confront that but the reality of watching Loach trying to swallow the hot coals that were his emotions, like they didn't matter, just for Clouse's sake... No, he'd rather complication and shame if that was the cost of avoiding them.

(This post was last modified: Feb 24, 2023, 06:04 AM by Clouse.)

If Clouse was looking for anger or bubbling hatred, he'd find none of that in Loach.

A man who had become unbearably soft for those closest. A man who would rather snuff out his moods in fishing than discuss them.

He blinked his orange eyes, as if he might see things clearer then.

Yer freedom-- He mumbled in a tired choked voice. You said yer most thankful for yer freedom. I ain't takin' that from ya ever, Clouse. Loach remembered these things. Words and ideas shared with him. He held them close even if others thought words rolled off him like water. He remembered.

I was worried. I ain't mad.

And Clouse could not push him to be, no matter how each of them painted and framed the picture.

Freedom. The word hit so much differently this time, spoken in that voice. Clouse couldn't help but feel his eyes burn, and he had to look away a moment to blink back tears. No one had ever taken him and his pursuits so seriously before. He was positively touched, but it didn't abate that burning guilt. Loach was willing to tiptoe around what he wanted, but what did the fisherwolf want? He deserved to be prioritized in return, at the very least.

"... but are you hurt?" he asked quietly, nearly whispering the words. His silver eyes were focused again on that rugged face, drinking in every little hint Loach's features might give him. Clouse was thankful the other wasn't upset with him, but that still didn't mean the older wolf hadn't been unduly inflicted all the same.

(This post was last modified: Feb 25, 2023, 01:17 AM by Clouse.)

Hurt. Was he? He had thought he was but the relief of having Clouse back again overrode all the things he had felt before. If hurt was there, it was buried beneath the blossoms of his comfort.

Nah, A little shake of his head. A soft smile as if a joke played in his mind. Maybe if I never saw you again. A soft shrug of his shoulders. He did not have the desire to think long and hard on it. Too eager to bring Clouse back home. Let the man wander as much as he wanted, if he always came home.

Where'd ya go anyway?