“I did!”
“No, you didn’t!” Pansy gestured at the misshapen wall of bedding that had once separated them, now partially collapsed, as if someone had unceremoniously yanked out part of its base. “And not only did you steal one of my blankets, you went ahead and shoved those icicles you have for toes against me!”
Ren flinched before they could stop themself, the word “steal” cutting into their side like a knife. They sucked in a sharp breath around it, bracing, as if that could stop such a blade from sliding deeper. How long had it taken Pansy to accuse them of being a thief the previous afternoon? Five minutes? Less?
And yet, this time was different. This time, Pansy hadnoticed. Her expression softened, the knowledge that her comment wasn’t – and could never be – a casual, throw-away thing unwinding the displeasure from her features.
Ren half-wanted to laugh, the ugly, mirthless kind that was as much bite as it was bark. This halfling had stabbed themby accident.
“I’m sorry,” Pansy said after a beat, her gaze downcast. “I didn’t mean it like that. Like – like before, you know?”
“I know.” Their voice came out hoarse, flayed. “It’s fine.”
It wasn’t fine. The knife remained, lodged between their ribs. So, why had they said it was fine? Shame flashed through Ren. Were they so unwilling to burden others with the weight of their own feelings that they’d carry the load for even a halfling? Apparently, yes.
One day you won’t just bow beneath all that you’ve chosen to shoulder, their aunt had told them years ago, back when she’d still been the cottage’s Caretaker,you’ll break. Ren had ignoredher; the melancholy that had gleamed in her eyes far too inconvenient to acknowledge. But had she been right? Even now, Ren didn’t have an answer for that.
“Here,” they said, holding out the blanket –the stolen blanket, their brain unhelpfully reminded them – as they moved to climb back onto the bed.
“Ew! No!” Pansy squealed, rushing to push them back. “Dust yourself off first! Or better yet, change into something clean. We agreed: no dirt on the bed!”
“I agreed to no such thing,” Ren said and, to drive their point home, swiped their arm, still speckled with sediment, across the sheets.
Granted, it wastheirside of the bed; so, if anyone suffered as a result, it would only be them. But the distinction evidently mattered little to Pansy. She let out a banshee-like wail and flung herself at Ren, so desperate to shield her precious bed from a few specks of “nasty dirt” that she gave no thought to the possibility that she might crash to the floor herself.
Unfortunately, she did not go alone. With fingers knotted in the fabric of Ren’s nightshirt, she pulled them right down with her, and in a staggering display of unfairness the universe decreed that Ren should be the one to break her fall.
Of course, this injustice was lost on Pansy, who shoved herself upright, using Ren’s chest as leverage, and declared, breathless and haughty, “This is all your fault!”
“Myfault?” Ren gaped at her, the sheer gall of her statement overwhelming the electric jolt of her touch. “You’re the one who tried to push me!”
“Because you were trying to get dirt on the bed!”
“It was my side of the bed! What do you care?”
She huffed. “It’s still gross.”
“You’re ridiculous,” Ren grumbled. “Now, will you get off me already? I’m not a chair.”
Somehow, the fact that Pansy remained seated atop them, her legs straddling their hips on either side, had managed to escape her notice until now. But feeling Ren shift pointedly beneath her, she jolted upright, eyes widening as a rush of scarlet overwhelmed her expression.
“I didn’t – I wasn’t,” she stammered, each truncated phrase only driving the cherry-red stain deeper into her skin. “That wasn’t on purpose!”
Ren snorted. As if they needed to be toldthat. Still, a strange current nonetheless prickled beneath their skin; the shock of her touch, perhaps, at last permitted to register. They hauled themself upright, fingers scrubbing uselessly at the wave of gooseflesh overtaking both arms, as if that alone could chase the sensation away.
It did not.
“I’m not an idiot, you know,” Ren said, as much for their own benefit as Pansy’s. “Anyway, here.” Snatching up the blanket from where it had tumbled onto the floor, they gave it a good shake before extending it towards her.
Pansy jerked away with a grimace, hands flying up to shield herself from the blanket’s apparent contamination. “Keep it,” she said. “I have enough as it is.”
“Oh, do you?” Ren arched a brow. “But what if someone could tell that there’s a person under all that fabric?”
“Ha-ha. Very funny,” Pansy replied, her voice flat with reproach. “But that’s some pretty big talk for someone who spent half the night wrapped up in one of my blankets. You’re welcome, by the way.”
Ren flushed. “I’m not thanking you for something I didn’t need.”
“Funny. Those ice-cold feet of yours told averydifferent story,” Pansy drawled, heaving the scattered pieces of her blanket wall back into position. To no one’s surprise – let alone Ren’s – she exercised no more care in the process than before, resulting in an equally unstable structure.
