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ghostespresso · 2 years

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tracing scars

Summary: After an evening of... activities, Chase and Blythe are having one of their little midnight conversations. When the topic lands on scars and their stories, Blythe offers to tell hers and Chase is too curious to decline.

Notes: everyone say thank you to @shepherds-of-haven, for both the world of Blest and the 2022 Lovelace Day prompt generator lol. "tracing scars" even fit perfectly with my scarred battle mage Blythe!

this does mention how she got the scars, so all of that trauma is touched on, but not any heavy horrible details. this is a touching moment, they’re bonding, much to Chase’s disbelief.

there are also no clothes worn during the course of this fic, so maybe a hint of spice but also no lol

"I would never have done something so risqué! I was a good little student!"

"Oh, bullshit!"

Chase's bark of laughter fully drowns out Blythe's chuckles as she bites her lip in the most unconvincing face of innocence that he's ever witnessed. Blythe Valendil? Hero of Haven and adrenaline junkie supreme?

"You honestly want me to believe that you didn't do anything remotely risqué while attending that fancy-shmancy circle of yours, Sunshine?"

Her light chuckle dissolves into the full laugh he had originally been fishing for in this conversation. He's been doing that a lot lately as they bask in the afterglow of their nights together, though he hasn't quite figured out why yet. She shifts her position next to him, bedding rustling as she uses an elbow to prop her head up.

"Sorry to disappoint but I was a little busy while I was there. The most I got up to was enabling Pan by helping with his masterful pranks. I was too busy being-"

She stops, eyes squeezing shut while her nose crinkles up. His face splits into an even bigger grin at the obvious sight of her trying to hide embarrassment. God he lives for that face. Reminds him that she has some sense of shame even though she's almost too good at hiding it.

Still laying on his back, he brings a hand up, tugging at the pale gold hair that rolls off her shoulder.

"Busy being?" The playful lit of his voice causes the gold of her eyes to flare molten, playful, though she only rolls them in response.

"Busy being a nerd. I became so obsessed with reading everything in that library I was at the top of my class. Something I will continue to hold over Red well past my death."

"Ah!" he starts, throwing a look across her room to the many prized tomes she keeps, "I never would have guessed that one!"

Another laugh, this one almost certainly more bright than the last, as she shakes her head down at him, some of her hair brushing against his face. She smells like something fruity and faintly spicy that he can never place, and after the events of the last couple of hours she also smells like-

Me.

He tries to ignore it.

"To be fair, I made a more stereotypically convincing nerd ten years ago. I had none of my flair; wore my shirts fully laced even. I was still hot though! A forever burden that I must bear..."

For a moment he's laughing because of course Blythe would say something like that, but then he feels the faint touch of her hand on his cheek; her thumb rubbing the puckered scar that lives there. Before he can ask what she's doing - what she's thinking - she tells him, like she already knew his question.

"I didn't have my scars at the time either."

Silence falls over the room as his green eyes lift from her gold ones to trace the scar that cuts into her dark skin; on the left side of her face starting above her brow, down her eye, and stopping mid-cheek. Trailing down he finds another scar on the left side of her neck, and another star-shaped one lying on her midriff.

He knows if he looks at the hand tracing his jaw he'll find more, faint one's from sword fighting across her knuckles, but deeper, larger ones that trail up her arm - both of them - from something he can only speculate about. He also knows if he pulls back the sheet barely laying across her legs he'll find more - two to be exact - on the outside of her right thigh. In fact, he finds he knows exactly how many scars litter Blythe's body, though he doesn't fully remember counting them.

Too many, he thinks, she has far too many.

"Do you remember getting yours?"

The question snaps him from his thoughts and his eyes move back up to her own. But Blythe's eyes are still trained softly, curiously, on the scar on his cheek, almost like she thinks she can will it to reveal its origin to her. The sincerity of her gaze squeezes something in his chest, but he covers the grimace with a smile and a light laugh.

"You think I remember everything, Sunshine?"

Lips curling into a smile, eyes ready to tease, she lowers her face closer to his.

"What kind of all-knowing being doesn't remember his scar stories?"

His body warms under the sense of her: her smell, her sound, her everything. And for a moment he thinks about telling her, thinks about finding something real about his past that has gravity and giving it to her.

Instead, his leg hooks its way around her as he flips their places, her head hitting the pillow while a small, warm laugh fills the space between them. He levels his face with her, hands on either side of her head, eyebrows cocked in a challenge.

"What? Like you remember all of yours?"

Blythe blinks, absent-mindedly turning her head only a little to the right to press a feather-light kiss to his pulse point, humming as does so.

She looks like something divine this way, hair around her like a halo, body warm like something too good to be mortal. Her hands raise and clasp around his neck to pull him closer, a content smile painting her face.

"I do."

The warmth in the room drops at the calmness of her tone. Chase knows he's stopped smiling, he knows he's dropped his façade. There's no way she's serious right? He has his own fair share of scars but there's no way he's committed them all to memory so she can't really mean-

"You can ask if you want, you know?" Despite the topic, her eyes still look like they're teasing him, "I don't mind. They're healed anyway."

He wants to change the topic. He wants to forget he ever asked. Sure he's curious but scars come from injury and she has so many- he just doesn't need to know. He doesn't. However, curiosity and cats have never mixed well, historically speaking.

Rolling his lips he looks at the scar across her left eye again, his hand coming up to brush against it. Her eyes flutter shut, another content smile gracing her lips as she lets him trace it, her soft humming filling the space again.

"When did you-"

"42nd of Kthili, three years ago."

He freezes again, meeting her now open eyes only to find them warm and inviting; no pain or apprehension. But that was a fast answer; a fast, detailed answer.

She remembers the date.

He relaxes his position, sitting back while still straddling her, eyes flickering up and down her body. When he meets her eyes again, she nods; keep going.

He leans toward her neck, thumb running across the scar there; looks like something grazed her. He’s still tracing it when she speaks again, her voice making him jump.

"42nd of Kthili, three years ago."

Panic springs into his blood, in a fight-or-flight kind of way. The same date as the last. It's possible they came from the same fight; the same person, even?

Damn. Grazed her neck and got her eye? Chase has seen Blythe in a fight; the idea of her being that unlucky seems impossible. Lucky bastard. Wonder what she did to him after?

His eyes trail down to the largest of her scars, the one on her midriff. It's like a four-spoked star on its side - maybe a crude x-marks-the-spot - big enough to catch people's eyes through the loosely tied laces of the shirts she wears. It had to have hurt, whatever it was.

His calloused hand makes to meet it, fingers tracing the outline before his palm covers it, edges still visible over the sides. No matter how he moves his hand, the scar's position makes it too big to be fully obscured.

Ouch.

"And this one?"

His question sets between them for a beat, his hand stilling the longer he gets no response. Looking to her he finds warm eyes, a sad smile; she looks almost tired. Her body moves beneath him as she takes a deep breath, hands carding through her hair.

"42nd of Kthil-"

"Three years ago?"

His interruption almost catches him off guard, but he's too focused on the subtle nod she's giving him; the sad, soft "there 'ya go; you're getting it" smile.

Holy shit.

"You got them all on the same day?"

Blythe snorts at his tone, her right hand running up his arm before resting on his neck, fingers playing with his hair. Her smile seems wistful and far away, but her eyes are fully paying attention to him.

"Full disclosure, it was an off day for me. Not one of my best moments."

For a beat, Chase doesn't know what to think. His eyes flicker from Blythe's, to her neck, to her right arm, back to her eyes, then her midriff, then back to her eyes.

How? This is Blythe Valendil, the woman who chased him down on the day they met and shoulder-checked her way into his hideout all for a medallion that she could have easily replaced. The same woman who pulled him out of the nightmare Quiial had him reliving, all with a comforting touch, a warm tone, no judgement or prodding. Of course, she seemed to flip her script not long later when she surprised everyone by stabbing the shit out of the faceless lord whilst he was wearing her face. She turned around again a couple of days later when she offered to teach him how to read, which still baffles him if he thinks about it for too long.

Point being: Blythe is a brutal woman in more ways than one - both strong and soft - and yet someone seems to have gotten the best of her.

"Holy shit, Sunshine. Someone fucked you up."

Her full-belly laughter fills her room, the sound warm and inviting. Despite himself, he's smiling, a fact he tries not to put much meaning behind.

"Hael, Chase! I think that may be the best reaction to my scars I've ever gotten!"

The urge to move her hand as she laughs into it sends a familiar jolt through his nerves, and he looks away, chuckling in time with her to cover his stumble.

Why would I need to see her laugh anyway? I see that everyday.

"Alright, maybe I could have worded that better."

"No, you're right!" wiping a tear from the corner of her eye, her breathing begins to relax again, "Someone did fuck me up. To be fair it was two people though. Also I was distracted at the time, and I guess when you're distracted on the job shit happens."

He cocks an eyebrow at her, only getting a “tsk” and an eye roll before she continues.

"It was when I worked for the 'vans. I was hired as a guard for a group of bards. They went all over the place playing for people and I liked being with them. Hael, I worked that contract for a year! Only problem was, a bunch of traveling musicians don't really have a lot of training or prowess to keep them safe on the road. I mean, they knew some, but not a lot. They were poor, the lot of them; lived show to show. Most of them didn't have families and the ones who did saved most of their earnings for when they got home. They were... good people."

She stops, jaw set. It's only a second before she continues, but it was a loud second.

"One night, we'd camped a bit outside of our next stop. That's how we did it, we didn't stay in towns. I'd... had an argument with our boss. I'd confronted him about not honoring our contract: I guard and he lets me visit libraries and conduct my personal research while they perform. I'd realized he was milking money from everyone. I was pissed. He was selling short how many tips we were getting when we played; selling short how much the bars and taverns were paying to hire us on. None of those people deserved that treatment, especially from him. We'd trusted him; he'd treated us like we were... close."

For a minute, the look in her eye shifts and Chase almost bolts for the door. He knew that look. He's made that look, not that he'll ever admit it. Heartbreak is never an appealing topic to him, after all. Regardless, the look vanishes as quickly as it arrived, so he pushes his memories back and doesn't interrupt.

"It was early morning when I confronted him, 'bout four? That's when we heard the screaming. Bandits had taken to our camp, thinking there must have been something of value with that many people around. The only thing the troupe had were their instruments, and most of those weren't worth shit but sentimental value. I'd worked out a plan with them: anything happens and they get away while I keep them safe. Then, on my signal, they could come back when it's clear and reclaim anything they couldn't carry before. That night though, I- my head... it wasn't on right. I was angry, I was hurt, and I was tired. I hadn't slept yet. Couple of the bandits were posted to keep us busy while their buddies raided and destroyed our shit. They just... got me. Knocked me out for a handful of minutes, too. I was alone when I woke up. All of our 'vans were firestarts at best by then, dust at worst. Battle magic is my forte, but I can heal in a pinch. Managed to get all of my wounds to stop bleeding which probably kept me alive. It hurt like a bitch to try and move. A really nice older couple found me on their way into town around six. The wife had been a very talented healer; you don't know how many times I thanked her for saving my eye."

Her left hand runs over her eye, a soft, fond smile graces her lips as she talks about being found. She had to be found.

There he hovers, perched above her not knowing what to say. She’s always so honest with him it's hard to know. Not many people make a habit of being honest with a thief. Blythe does. She always has. The least he can do is try.

His hand moves to push a few loose strands of pale gold hair out of her face before following her action, his fingers lightly tracing over the scar across her eye again.

"Shit, Sunshine, that sounds bad. What about the troupe?"

"Hm? Oh, they left. Followed our rules perfectly. I didn't ever call them back with our signal, so they didn't come back. Doubt the boss would have let them anyway since he knew I was quitting. With me out of the picture, they'd keep working without ever knowing he was keeping a large cut from each of them. Dick. They probably still work for him, now that I think about it."

His chest feels like it’s twisting in on itself, burning at the time-dulled anger he sees in her eyes for a moment before it’s gone. Out of all the people he’s met, she didn’t deserve this. He finds himself biting his tongue to save from being too honest.

"Your former boss is a dick. He had the supremely talented future Hero of Haven in his ranks and didn't appreciate her skill. For shame."

"Ha! No, he appreciated my skill. Let me perform with the troupe sometimes once he realized I had some decent pipes. Guess what I never got paid for?"

"You're shitting me."

"How else do you think I noticed we weren't being paid enough? He said my ‘performance support’ wasn't a part of our contract and didn't require payment. Then I brought up that he wasn't honoring our contract either and that just pissed him off."

Chase let out a low whistle and a small "oof". How could someone ever do that to her? She has a... pull; one even he can't seem to shake. If the amount of recruits she brings in means anything, the others have fallen victim to this pull, too.

"I used to hate them, you know." her hand resumes playing in the hair at the base of his neck, eyes focusing sharply on his own, "My scars used to make me sick to look at. Took me a whole month before I could look in a mirror again."

His brow furrows at the softness of her tone, the almost shyness of it. Despite the apprehension she speaks with, her eyes don't hide anything from him. She honestly used to hate looking at herself. Strong, soft, confident, "I've always been hot" Blythe? No, that won't do.

"Hey, don't do that to yourself. Your scars are badass, not that you need me telling you that. Besides, you're the most attractive teacher I've ever had, remember?"

This time her laugh shakes through her body and inspires a similar laugh from him. Her smile lights up her whole face, and the pride of getting her to laugh this way after such a surprisingly heavy conversation instantly goes to his head. That’s exactly what he wanted - what he usually wants from these talks - but somehow it’s always better than he imagined. She doesn’t cover her mouth this time, either; he ignores how fuzzy it makes his head feel.

"And you are a menace."

"Mm you're such a sweet talker, Sunshine."

A slow, playful grin strikes his face as it dawns on him: he has the perfect thing to make her feel better. She catches it, naturally, and the raise of her brow isn’t met with an answer but a low “hmm” instead.

“Chase.”

Her playful command is met with silence, having only added fuel to the fire; he does so enjoy the way she says his name. He grabs the wrist resting on his neck, holding it in place before turning to begin placing soft kisses down her arm. He doesn't break eye contact; something about the way her eyes glow while she bites down on her lip to hide her smile gets him excited. It's almost like he's being challenged.

So we’re playing that game.

"Now tell me about this performance support you did." His kisses start to linger in place as he reaches the first of many scars on this arm, "Decent pipes, was it? That your claim?"

The hand playing in his hair tightens its grip as he continues down her arm, paying extra close attention to every scar he comes across while his company gives a delighted "hmm" to his actions.

"Well, I don't mean to brag but," her other hand comes to rest on his cheek, pulling him from his previous job, as the hand in his hair once again tightens and pulls him closer to her, "I can be a very impressive vocalist."

The kiss they share is slow, almost painfully so, and she pushes herself up to be as flush to him as she can manage. Between the way her mouth quickly turns impatient and wanting against his own, and the couple of fun little sounds of hers he manages to swallow, it’s not long before he’s smiling.

Already impatient.

He moves from her and his lips start trailing again, beginning with the scar over her eye which pulls a soft giggle from her. The swell of pride he feels from inspiring the noise only motivates him further.

Down her neck to the scar that sits there, then a detour down her other arm which houses three scars: two on her forearm and one from the base of her thumb to her past her wrist. Once again, his eyes never leave hers and he makes careful note of how dilated they are, only a thin rim of their molten gold left visible. Under his hands - his mouth - he can feel her skin reacting to him, goosebumps all over her despite the heat she gives off.

Used to hate them, huh?

He's back at her neck in a second. Her hands are tangling in his hair and he knows she's getting impatient, but that doesn't change his pace or his plan. The kisses continue down her torso, and she lets him go lower and lower until he stops to pay special attention to her largest scar. He can't cover it with his hand but he can cover it in as many kisses as possible, so he does. Over and over and over again.

When he looks up to meet her eyes - vivid green against brilliant gold - something about the look in her eye mixed with the mussed nature of her hair and the sheer warmth rolling off of her has his thoughts spilling from him before he can stop them.

"You're gorgeous."

Blythe’s breath stutters in obvious surprise, the eyes that had been watching him in amusement now hold that shock and something else he can't quite place. Another sharp breath precedes the roll of her lips before a rare aura of shyness falls over her.

Perfect.

Slowly, smoothly, he leans forward, noses almost touching, eyes locked as her teeth bite her bottom lip.

“I’m right.”

“Chase-”

"I'll prove it to you."

She goes quiet for a moment, eyes flickering down to his lips, then nods. He kisses her again, much less reserved than last time.

By the time he reaches the two scars on her thigh she's already gripping her bedsheets. Her hands end up everywhere after that; his hair, her own body, her hair, and back to him. As he prolongs the process he makes sure to return to every scar she has, be it with his hands or his mouth. He will prove his point; she has to see what he means.

And Blythe sings. Every noise, every breath, every gasp is particularly musical and just for Chase. It’s all for him, to him, about him. He’s more than proved his point if her praise means anything. She is an excellent vocalist, after all.

#blythe and chase my beloveds <3 #this fic just kept getting longer and longer #fyi blythe is already in love with chase here #shes both afraid to admit it and has a growing guilt over not telling him #this is likely right before The Torpedo-ing™️#blythe valendil #chase trinaeste #blythe x chase #shepherds of haven #shoh #tess.txt

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ghostespresso · 3 years

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The Finals Week Fateful Encounter

First prompt in the Shepherds Summer event by @shepherds-of-haven and also an introduction to my MC, Daenym Wildegarde. Granted this is a modern college au but it is still her! Also I know I’m posting it technically on day 2 but I’m too happy with it to not post it!

June 1: College/Fashion & Rock

Words: 12418

Pairing: Blade Bronwyn x Daenym Wildegarde

There are absolutely perks to having a key to the campus greenhouse, and it's likely that most of the university's students would say Daenym doesn't use them. No, Miss Wildegarde only uses the greenhouse for its intended purposes, which includes happily attending to all of the plants inside to the point of basically befriending them.

The major downfall of the greenhouse, she finds, is the fact that she's always forgetting to watch the time while she's in there.

Which is why the buzz of her phone startles her out of her gardening daze.

"Hello?"

"Daenym where are you? Class is about to start and you know the professor is serious about locking the door for lectures since it's right before finals."

"Really?! Oh god I'll be right there Tallys; let me lock up the-"

"Greenhouse. Figures. I'll try and stall him if you need me to but you only have four minutes!"

Phone in her pocket, bag on her shoulder, and books in her hand, Daenym moves from the greenhouse with practiced speed, somehow balancing everything as she sets off for the first of her final biology lectures for the semester. She's lucky the greenhouse is right off the science building.

The unlucky one, however, is poor Blade Bronwyn, a Criminal Justice major on his way back to his place after finishing a rather long lecture of his own. Those cursed lecture notes are exactly what he's mulling over as he rounds the corner, effectively plowing directly into - more like being run over by - Daenym.

Books hit the ground and some loose notebook pages threaten to escape, both students stooping to pick up their belongings.

"I am so sorry! I'm running lat- well really I wasn't watching the time and being late is entirely out of my control which I should really wor- actually forget it this is just my fault I'm so sorr-"

"My notebook."

"What?"

Daenym finally looks up from her hasty stack of items and into the grey eyes of the poor guy she just tried to flatten into the sidewalk. Her breath nearly stops: god he's pretty, like anime boy pretty. I bet he could recreate that one Pride and Prejudice scene with hands like that. Thankfully, he doesn't seem to notice her ogling as he's pointing at the stack of books in her hand, eyes locked on a plain navy blue notebook that certainly doesn't belong among her sketched on and highly stickered stationary.

"You've got my-" Blades eyes finally move to meet the girl's face as her hands move to retrieve his notebook for him. His train of thought dies as soon as he begins to take in her appearance: curly waist-length autumnal hair, busily freckled honeyed skin, and nearly every piece of clothing she wears seems to be embroidered in some way. His eyes travel down to the notebook in his hands, covered in what seem to be botany sketches, and he almost cracks a smile at how well the two match.

The navy blue of his notebook enters his vision and he looks up once more only for his sight to lock with the brightest opal eyes he's ever seen; a stark contrast to the warmth the rest of her provides, and somehow they seem perfect on her.

"Here's your notebook. It'll probably be more useful to you than mine, considering mine is mostly doodles and plant facts." Her eyes are so playful when she talks, and it is now that Blade realizes he's been staring.

Feeling how hot his face threatens to become, he turns his head, coughing into a closed fist. What am I doing? She's just some girl.

"Thank you. And don't completely blame yourself, I was also not paying much attention."

What am I saying? Have I spoken out loud yet? Am I saying this out loud?

"Oh, don't worry about it, you're fine! I'd love to talk more but I only have a minute to get to my class so I really need to go. It was nice to meet you, and thank you for not yelling at me, I love you for that!"

And with that, she gives him a wave and continues running into the science building, disappearing as fast as she had appeared. Blade stands, staring at the closed door she vanished behind longer than he should have before looking down at his hand. In it lies his navy blue notebook, which he doesn't remember actually exchanging for her's. He doesn't even remember standing up. What he does remember, though, he's sure will plague him for the rest of the day.

"I love you for that!"

Again, heat threatens to cover and color most of Blade's face, his hand coming up to cover his mouth in a sad attempt at hiding his uncertainty. Who just says stuff like that? What an odd girl.

And yet he remembered her voice and the way she'd waved goodbye. And he remembered her eyes, especially the way they'd looked at him. And he remembered her smile when she'd said the weirdest goodbye he's ever experienced.

She has a gap between her front teeth.

From behind the safety of his hand, Blade allowed himself to smile just a little at her memory. He doesn't even know her name.

Finals week comes and goes, and winter break starts and ends, all while Blade Bronwyn is haunted by the girl who fully tried to kill him to get to her class on time. Granted he was reading and walking but she had been prepared to run anyone over. Mulling over their brief encounter has kept him dazed, which has unfortunately alerted his roommates to his shift.

Trouble and Chase usually don't pay much attention to Blade's behavior, as he's already quite odd and blunt on most occasions. But over the last month and a half of winter break they noticed him daze-ly meandering around their house, even going as far as walking too close to the walls on accident and bumping into door frames. After a couple of glances to each other, Chase had an epiphany.

"So who is she? Never thought it'd be you caught up on someone but, eh, what do I know?"

Blade blinks at him before raising an eyebrow toward Trouble, who has been silent in this conversation but very smiley. With a cough into his fist, Blade turns back to the gardening book he'd been reading.

"I don't know what you're talking ab-"

"Bro you like someone! It's so obvious even I noticed something was different! Granted Chase had to tell me what it was but still."

Blade's dark eyes were blown wide as Trouble had seized him by the shoulders and begun to lightly shake him around.

"Also, the gardening books aren't a dead give away, but since when do you buy flora and mushroom stickers when we go on grocery runs?" Chase's quizzical brow mocks him, and the heat that rises into his pale cheeks does too. Oh Hael.

"I don't see why it's such a big deal, I just happened to run into someone that week before finals. She liked botany."

"Dude that was almost two months ago, I thought you said it wasn't a big deal?"

"It's not-"

"IT IS!" Trouble's face is so close to his Blade can see the details of his irises. With this conversation and his friend's excitement, if his face wasn't noticeable red before, it is now. Chase kicks his feet up on their coffee table, looking almost impressed with Blade's show of emotion.

"I have no idea who she is but you're down bad, my guy. Do you know how often we've seen you almost drop things or run into walls in the last couple months? You used to walk around like you were on guard and now you look like you just woke up from one of those naps that completely disorient you. At least tell me you're talking to her?"

"I can't,” his answer is faster than he wanted it to be but he chooses to ignore it, "I don't know her name."

Both of his roommates stare at him for a minute before breaking into bright grins. Trouble's expression is far more excited than Chase's teasing one, but neither makes him feel great.

Needless to say, Blade - the real victim of the story - spent the entire evening before the start of a new semester being ruthlessly grilled by his roommates about the big, fat crush he has on a girl he met once. This also means he was properly distracted with his own inner turmoil as he walked into one of his sociology electives the next morning, fully prepared to breeze through syllabus week and hopefully forget about his mystery girl over the weekend.

But Daenym absolutely doesn't want to forget him.

Not for lack of trying. Naturally she spent the first week after running him over daydreaming about seeing him again, and she even caught herself wondering what his name might be, wondering if he thought about her as much as she was thinking about him.

Then finals week hit full force and she wanted nothing more than to forget about her beautiful distraction before her biology final kicked her ass. Of course, as soon as finals were over, it was only a matter of time before he was her only thought. Naturally her roommate, Blythe, had made fun of her for several weeks, but once she'd realized how much Daenym was plagued by the thought of this guy, she turned into the ultimate wingwoman.

Now, Daenym was determined to find and talk to the guy she'd almost killed, mentally mapping several places on campus he might go when not in class. Of course, that would be easier if she could get to her own classes in plenty of time.

Why did I take a sociology elective when it's so far away from my normal classes?

She knew why, and it's because she liked the professor. They'd had a shared interest in the campus greenhouse and she'd been talked into taking sociology electives to fulfil certain credit requirements. The only thing she regretted was the walk, or run, in her case.

After sprinting up three flights of stairs and taking a moment to compose herself before entering, Daenym managed to walk in just as the professor was about to close the door.

"Ah, Daenym! Saw you on my roster, I'm glad you could join us this semester."

"Oh, me too, Professor. Though I might need to start leaving the greenhouse earlier." She laughed off her nearly late arrival, before sitting happily in the front row. At least she didn't almost kill someone this time.

Or did she? Frozen in his seat toward the back of the class, Blade had recognized her voice as soon as she'd opened her mouth.

She's in my class? Why? How? She's in my class!

Part of him wanted to scream and another part instantly wanted to evaporate and never be seen from again. He made every plan to talk to her, but now, with her seated four rows ahead of him, he has no idea what he'd say. Then he stilled once again brain racking for the one piece of information he needed: her name. The professor had said it, he's sure, but he hadn't been paying attention until she'd spoken. He'd have to pay special attention during attendance.

As the professor started down the roster, Blade ignored all other names on the list, choosing to keep his eyes glued to his notebook instead.

"Blade Bronwyn?"

Oh, right. He forgot about his name.

"Here."

That one word was all it took to make Daenym's heart pulse a little heavier. She knew that voice, she'd been daydreaming about it for almost two months.

He's in here!

She glanced over her shoulder, nobody else in the class particularly paying attention, but there, in the back, sat the same boy she'd thought about non-stop for weeks. Even had the same navy blue notebook. Very abruptly, her daydreaming was shattered by her own name. Ah, so the professor had reached the W's.

"And lastly, Daenym Wildegarde. Again, we're glad you could join us."

"So am I."

Grinning from ear to ear she settled back into her seat. She'd found him. His name was Blade, and there is no way she's letting the semester go by without talking to him.

Blade's eyes fixed on the curly, autumnal mess of hair in the front row, his hand once again suppressing his smile. Daenym. After two months he had a name and now an excuse to talk to her, though he knows his uncertainty will likely keep him from making the moves he might want. What if she didn't remember him? Then that would be embarrassing.

Before he could dwell on it too much, he was suddenly no longer looking at her hair, but instead was met with eyes; her opal eyes. With the same playful glint they'd held months prior, her eyes seemed to stare him through before her lips split into a grin and he could just make out the word "Hi" being mouthed to him.

Moving his hand off his mouth, he gave a lazy wave in response, eyes looking nearly everywhere except her, but he knew he was smiling.

The way her face lit up at his acknowledgement could have both killed and revived him, and part of him is very glad she had to turn around for class.

Something tells him he won't be able to leave without talking to her, and - to his surprise - he's actually looking forward to it.

#and yes they Are both kinda dumb!#its okay tho we love them!#also blythe is my other chase-mancing mc so i thought in a modern au my mcs could be friends :)#daenym wildegarde #blade bronwyn #daenym x blade #shepherds summer 2021 #shepherds of haven #shoh #shoh college au #tess.txt

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