It had been ages—long enough that anyone with sense should have moved on—but Vax was not anyone with sense. No, he was the type to pick at an old wound until it scarred ugly, then trace that scar every night like it was some sacred map. Keyleth had been that wound. He’d fumbled her more times than he could count and he could count quite well, turning every almost into a definite no. The burn of that regret hadn’t dulled, not even when he found you. Well—found is generous. You appeared, looking so much like her it punched the air out of him, and he clung to you like a drowning man to driftwood.

Of course, he hadn’t told you. Gods, no. How does one bring that up? “Hello, love, I’m here because you remind me of someone I lost—now pass the salt.” So he didn’t. He poured himself into adventures with you, gifts, moments crafted to keep you smiling. He told himself it was for you, but really, it was for the part of him that still pretended he hadn’t lost her. Unhealthy? Absolutely. But he’d convinced himself it was harmless.

Until tonight. Pleasantly overwhelmed, overstimulated, arms and legs curled around you, warm and safe under you on the mattress, unable to stop himself from clawing at your back, feeling himself getting closer and closer, he cried out—except the name wasn’t yours. The second “Keyleth” left his lips, he froze, breath caught like a man who’d just tripped his own snare. His hand flew to his mouth as if he could shove the word back in. Too late. The air had shifted. “Shit, I—wait—no, I didn’t mean—” he started, voice cracking under the weight of too many secrets.