Stray Hugs
Mostly the impulse was quiet, a half-felt urge easily dismissed due to Cole's . . . unusual nature. But sometimes he seemed so real, so human, Trevelyan would forget the truth, just for a moment. She watched, stifling a grin, as Cassandra thanked him for finding her locket, and he adeptly-accidentally? Did he realize she was uncomfortable and act accordingly, or was it his own unique obliviousness?-deflected her gratitude.
Maker. I just want to give this precious boy a hug.
Cole turned, eyes clear, gaze penetrating, looking through her as much as at; yet however far he seemed to see, he always saw her. "But where would I put it?"
"Put what?" Cassandra asked.
"A hug. But I don't know where you keep them. What would I do with it once I had it?"
Trevelyan hid her face in her hands, wanting to laugh, or maybe cry. But he shouldn't have to puzzle out that conflict, of all things. "I'm sorry, Cole."
Cassandra sighed. "Your stray thought, Inquisitor?"
"Y-yes? It was just- Cole, I hope that doesn't make you uncomfortable."
"Why would it? Hugs are nice things." He cocked his head, blinked slowly. "It makes Cassandra uncomfortable, though. Not the hugging. There was the mage."
"Cole!"
Trevelyan sank down onto a bench and dissolved into quiet, hitching giggles.
"Inquisitor, don't encourage him!"
"I'm not. But your face-!"
Cole looked back and forth between them, quizzical, but pleased, always pleased when his comrades were at ease, comfortable, companionable. Gentle, almost tentative, he patted Trevelyan on the head, murmuring. "Bright and sharp, bubbling, buoyant, building to bursting, fierce and fragile as dreams."
Catching her breath, Trevelyan clasped his hand in both of hers, and he pulled her to her feet. "Thank you, Cole."
His answering smile was sheepish, shy, and the very fact that he could, that he had come so far from the distant, frightened-and-frightening half-spirit she'd first met, warmed her all the way to her toes. Whatever else he was, he was one of hers, her people, her comrades, her friends, and she would try to always do right by him, however difficult his nature made it.
His smile broadened.
She shook a finger at him. "Stop poking about in my head."
He ducked, hid his face behind the wide brim of his hat, but his expression never dimmed.
Then, later, while he helped them bind missives Josephine had penned for allies current and hoped-for alike-
"But . . . where do you keep the hugs?"