Wishes do come true (Aiden)

[Aiden Mumble]

As he cleaned up her arm, she tried not to let her thoughts linger on his touch, but she'd be a fool to pretend she hadn't been thinking about it even before he'd begun to tend her wound. The skin on his fingertips were rough, callused no doubt from playing his guitar. When they brushed her skin she was careful to keep her breathing steady.

Though she didn't turn to look at him, she swiveled her eyes to catch a glimpse of his ruined clothes. She remembered that he had been at war for what seemed like the one hundredth time in ten minutes, each time a sort of shock. She knew that that was where he had been, but it still seemed odd. She'd known he was a viking, but she didn't think of him as a warrior most of the time. Usually when she thought of him, it was his gentleness, or at the most aggressive, irritatingly sweet. She'd not seen him kills things. Yet here he was, covered in blood. There was a whole second side to him that she barely knew. There was musician, but Viking Hinrik too. Rough hands, gentle touch.

She huffed a bitter sort of laugh at his words. Moving her arm away once he had finished and turning toward him in the process. He was closer than she thought. "Maybe both of us should stay away from knives for a while." She said quietly, regarding his wounded arm. As soon as the words tumbled out of her mouth, her brow twitched in concern, though she tried to hide it. She was afraid her words may have come across as a vague desire for him to stay away from not just knives, but the war entirely.

[Hinrik]

It was over far too soon for Hinrik. He'd been gone for so long but he was sure that she would break his heart while he stood beside her. He was so close that he could smell her but he was forbidden from touching without her permission. There was nothing he wanted more than to be close to her. To keep touching her in whatever capacity he was allowed. But she pulled her arm away and he had nothing but her scent to keep him anchored.

He smiled slightly at the laugh. At least that was something. His hand moved toward her, hesitating just before it touched her hip and he pulled his hand back. She was so close but so far. He had built this barrier she was keeping up between them. He ducked his head and let out a small laugh. "It's not really knives I have to worry about," he told her, trying to sound light-hearted. He could see the consternation in her face. Too much caring. He could see it, but he knew his joke wasn't light-hearted enough to put them both at ease.

He looked up at her, watching her expression. He wanted to tell her that he loved her but she wouldn't want to hear that. He wanted to tell her he'd stay here with her but he couldn't make a promise he couldn't keep. Mum and Father would worry if he never came back, especially with Bryn still recovering. And he wouldn't lie to Aiden. He reached out for her hand, this time not hesitating in touching even if she would only pull away in a moment. "I'll always come back to you," he murmured softly. He wanted to stroke her hair and hold her close to him. "I'm not just some bloke, after all. I'm your bloke."

[Aiden Mumble]

Aiden's eyes drifted from one thing to another, uncomfortable with the idea of locking eyes with him when they were so close. She found her gaze lingering on his lips when he spoke. All she'd have to do is raise herself up on her toes and she could feel those lips on her own. Would it shock him? Would he respond? Would he think it was some kind of trick or cruel joke? Maybe it would be, maybe she'd just tell herself that it was. Maybe she just needed comfort from whoever was nearby. It's not as though she hadn't been seeking comfort from the lips of others since her early teens. A voice in the back of her head demanded that she snap back to reality, but the heat of her desire surrounded her like a drunken haze. She didn't move away and she didn't move closer.

He had laughed at her response. She liked the sound of his laugh. She tried to focus on his words. She didn't smile, she didn't laugh, she didn't respond at all. Her brain was working ten times slower than usual, combating a vicious series of dangerous thoughts fed by their proximity. What did he have to worry about? Was it a prod at her? Or was he simply referencing the much larger weapons he often faced in war? His head was tipped down, so even if she felt brave enough to chance a look at his expression to help her come up with an answer, she couldn't.

Then he looked up, and it was too late to turn her head away. She searched his eyes, but could only guess at the battle that raged behind them. She drew in a sharp breath and kept it painfully locked in her lungs when he grabbed her hand. Her heart pounded, thoughts racing, the words "kiss him, kiss him" chanted relentlessly above all else. "I'll always come back to you," He said, and she felt dizzy. "No, I don't deserve this" she thought. Her hand closed around his and squeezed tightly, desperately. Her body instinctively trying to use him for support and her heart trying to cling to what she truly desired. He spoke again, she could feel his breath on her face and she realized she'd crept closer to him at some point. She blinked, forcing the rational parts of her mind to assess the situation.

Her hand was gripped in his, her face inches from his, his romantic words ringing in her ears. The smell of blood lingered, her chest burned from holding her breath. "Holy shit, what am I doing?!"

In a series of quick and violent movements, she pulled her hand free and stumbled backward. She knocked some silverware from the counter as she grabbed at it to steady herself. Her heart pounded faster, her lungs felt like they were failing. The horrible reality that she was spiraling into a panic attack only made things worse. She clenched her fist and tried to focus on the ground. "Calm down," she demanded, but a storm of other dangerous thoughts raced through her head at a pace she could no longer control.