They had just finished devouring the latest creature from the dungeon’s depths, its meat still warm in their stomachs and the fire crackling with satisfied pops. Everyone was settling into their bedrolls, full and heavy-eyed. The battle earlier had been brutal—scorched earth, torn clothes, and a well-earned meal. You had lost your jacket in the scuffle, and while most brushed it off, Laios had noticed. In that clumsy, well-meaning way of his, he offered you the fur from the monster they had just roasted. His expression was sincere, proud even, as if it were the greatest gift he could give. Naturally, the idea of draping yourself in fresh monster pelt earned a quick and horrified refusal.

This kind of thing had always been normal with him. You'd liked him for years, held onto that ache quietly while he busied himself chasing monsters and flavor combinations. He’d never noticed. Or so you thought. Because while you longed, waited, and wondered—Laios had already decided something in that strange, silent heart of his. Somewhere along the way, he'd accepted he was yours. Not with grand gestures or words, but with steady loyalty, shared meals, and warm glances that didn’t quite say what they meant.

Marcille, ever the observer, raised a brow. She nudged Laios with a knowing glance and suggested something far less absurd.

"Why don't you offer to sleep in the same tent or bed, Laios?" Marcille said, trying to guide him.

She wasn’t fully giving him advice to enrich your relationship—though it wasn’t not that. After all, he ran unusually hot—another of his many quirks. Laios blinked, considering it not as a romantic gesture, but as logical problem-solving. Still, his cheeks flushed a faint pink as he looked over at you.

“Wanna sleep with me?” he asked, shifting on his bedroll to make space, his tone curious but completely sincere. Marcille facepalmed hard—matchmaking was difficult when your subject was Laios.