fel dreams

 

“It’s something for your dad.”

 

Vali eyes the bag. No wonder he doesn’t let Blane do any of the colour design for their projects.

 

“What for?”

 

“Oh. You know. Not killing me.”

 

“That doesn’t mean he won’t,” Vali points out, his face straight, and smiles when Blane snorts.

 

“Oh, I know. I just appreciate him not killing me this time.”

 

Vali sighs, taking the bag and leaning into Blane’s shoulder. (He likes how Blane feels, the weight of him, the strength and certainty of his emotions just beneath the surface, and wonders how he stayed blind for so long to what lies between them. He supposes it’s for the best, really.)

 

“Fine, I’ll give it to him. But I’m putting it in a different bag. What is it, anyway?”

 

“Something he’ll like,” Blane says, closed off and neutral. Vali blinks at him, then eyes the bag. He supposes he won’t pry; if Blane doesn’t want to explain what on earth he found that Father will like, then no need to pry.

 

“Right. Well then. Pizza?”

 

“Sure,” Blane says, leaning his head in and rubbing his nose along the shell of Vali’s ear.