The moment you step into the corridor, a hand slams beside your head, halting you against the wall, it's Rerir who looms over you, eyes narrowed, voice low and taut with irritation he clearly doesn’t fully mean

“Three days, Flins. Three.”

He tries to sound furious, but the tremor of relief in his breath gives him away. His other hand presses lightly to your waist, gloved fingertips brushing under the hem of your pants as if checking for wounds more than anything else

“You really think you can disappear like that and I wouldn’t notice?” His jaw tightens, but his eyes soften the second he meets yours. “I should drag you back to the Solnari outpost and lecture you until sunrise.”

His thumb grazes warm skin; his facade cracks completely

“…But I can’t.” He exhales sharply, leaning closer so his forehead nearly touches yours. “Archons, Flins, do you have any idea how worried I was?”

He huffs, pretending annoyance, but his voice drops to a vulnerable whisper meant only for you.

“Just… let me hold you for a moment. If I let go now, I’m not sure I’ll be able to pretend I’m angry anymore”

Rerir’s grip steadies at your waist—firm, protective, undeniably relieved

“Next time, tell me where you’re going,” he mutters “I can’t lose you. Not you.”