“Not as ironic as halflings stealing a goblin story,” Ren teased, lips parting around a gleaming flash of teeth.
An affronted noise tore free of Pansy’s throat. “You know, I’d really like to say something else,” she said, straightening up as far as she could, which, as always, put her a tiny bit short of Ren – much to their intractable delight. “But given our circumstances, I’ve decided that it’s probably best to keep it to myself. So, instead, I’ll just say that you’re entirely wrong.”
Ren’s eyebrows shot up into their hairline. “Oh, I’m wrong, am I? And how do you know this exactly?”
“In the same way that I knew that you weren’t really reading that book. Still, it was cute of you to try.” She smiled, her expression softening until the hazel of her irises had turned almost molten, amusement twinkling around its edges in a burnished eclipse.
Ren’s throat tightened, their breath stuttering in time with their pulse, fluttering high just beneath their jawbone. They coughed, masking the all-too-familiar tide of warmth dragging through them with another attempt at nonchalance. If it worked, Ren didn’t know. They couldn’t bring themself to look at Pansy, afraid that a single glance was all it would take to turn this low simmer into an inferno.
“So, why didn’t you say something sooner?” they asked, picking at a loose bit of rug by their knee. “You obviously knew that I was getting the story wrong.”
She shrugged. “I was curious, and your story was entertaining. I wanted to see where you’d go with it. That being said,” she continued, her expression darkening, “it was rather unfair of you to laugh at the voice I did for the lord when you went on to do the same exact thing.”
In truth, that had been a bit of a peace offering, an apology not so much in words but in action.
“Isn’t imitation supposed to be the most sincere form offlattery?” they hazarded, putting on their best wide-eyed display of innocence.
Pansy, however, wasn’t falling for it. “Ha-ha,” she said flatly. “You’re far too cheeky for your own good, you know.”
“It sounds like you just called me clever.” Ren grinned.
She scoffed, but the dimple in her cheek told the real story. And this was where the consequences of looking at Pansy reared its head. Because, in that moment, Ren realized, with startling, abject certainty, that they’d do anything for that dimple.
“I have something for you,” they blurted out, their fingers reflexively closing around the skull in their pocket.
Pansy’s eyes widened. “A gift?” she asked. “What for? Don’t tell me today is some sort of goblin gift-giving holiday.”
A month or so ago, Ren might’ve said something along the lines of,Even if it was, what makes you think you’d be on my list of people to give things to?No doubt they’d have bitten out each word, forming the sounds with more teeth than lips. But now, they only shook their head, certain that if they opened their mouth to reply, their voice would come out as nothing but a hoarse quiver.
Slowly, Ren withdrew the gift from their pocket, their heart racing for an altogether different reason.Please let her like it, they thought, a silent plea cast out to whatever higher power might be listening – goblin or otherwise. Because once they’d extended their hand, the skull plainly visible against the seat of their palm, where it sat like a hunk of lead, there was nothing left to do but wait for Pansy’s response.
Blinking, she looked down at the tiny offering, painstakingly polished and preserved, and… didn’t smile. Granted, she didn’t frown either; not exactly, which Ren supposed was a good thing. Instead, her lips pursed, considering.
At last, after what had probably only been a handful of seconds but had registered as the slow drag of an eternity, she cracked a lopsided smile and said, “And here I thought I only had to worry about Mushroom bringing me dead things.”
The response hit Ren like a slap, stinging across their cheek. They flinched, both hands closing around the skull as they drew it into the safety of their chest, where Pansy could no longer see it. Their breath shuddered out of them, shallow and jagged. This was a mistake. They should never have even considered it.Land almighty, what had they even beenthinking?
The hurt must’ve shown on their face, etched into the dark hollows of their cheeks and the knotted crease of the brows, because Pansy wasthere, closer than ever before, one hand flying to Ren’s shoulder while the other reached for the bone-white trail of their knuckles.
“I’m sorry,” she said quickly, her voice thick with guilt. “That wasn’t meant to be a dig at you. It was just a joke. A bad one. Obviously, one I’ll never repeat. I’ll treasure anything you give me.”
“So you say,” Ren grumbled, the sting not quite entirely soothed.
“I mean it,” Pansy insisted, giving Ren’s hand a tender squeeze. “You clearly put a lot of care into cleaning and preserving that skull. It couldn’t have been an easy task, given how delicate it looks. I’d love to show your hard work off to everyone – assuming you’d still like to give the skull to me.”
Of course they did! How could she possibly think otherwise? Again, Ren’s throat narrowed, closing around all the words they couldn’t bring themself to express. So, they just shrugged, helpless, and held out the skull once more, their gaze pinned to the rug beneath them.
If Pansy noticed the way Ren’s hand trembled as her fingers brushed against their palm, she said nothing, scooping up the skull with such gentleness that an observer might’ve thought Ren had offered her their heart instead. “Thank you,” she said, her voice full of warmth as she cradled the skull against her breast.
A prickling heat skittered across Ren’s cheekbones, and they ducked their head down further, vanishing beneath the dark veil of their hair. “It’s nothing,” they mumbled, a blatant lie. “Just something I found outside. We goblins hate seeing anything go to waste, including leftover bones and skins. Death is still a part of the natural cycle, even if we don’t eat meat.”
“Well, I love it just the same,” Pansy assured them, her weight shifting closer still. Granted, that last bit might’ve just been Ren’s imagination, their feverish pulse heightening every sensation to an outlandish degree. A barely there brush became a pointed drag, another jolt to the chest that sent the cycle rolling anew.
In a way, it was like getting caught in a stretch of hungry quicksand. The harder Ren struggled against it, the quicker it swallowed them down.
But maybe, in the end, they didn’t want to escape. Because as Pansy held up the skull to her collarbone, wondering aloud if it’d look good as a necklace, Ren found that being on the other end of that smile was the only place they wanted to be.
13
