(A/N) Wee, another Fire Emblem fic! This one will actually be multi-chapter since I have such a strong head cannon for these two :3 I was so touched by their DLC conversation, where Laurent actually supported Inigo's desire to be a dancer, that I can't help but love the two of them together. Also, usually I don't like to specify parents so people can imagine them as they please, but for this story it's very important to my head cannon (as will soon be apparent). I've always imagined Gregor as a tough father, and he was also the first father I had for Inigo, so yeah.
Anyway, I hope you enjoy this story! It might be a while until I update it (since I have another story I should finish first), but I will finish it eventually because I love writing it!
Thanks for reading!
Ever since he was little, Inigo had always known he wanted to be a dancer. Watching his mother was breathtaking, and he had always envied the awed and happy faces that Olivia's dancing produced from everyone around her. He wanted to be like that – he wanted to make people happy.
However, he had inherited his mother's shyness: he had no idea how to approach her and tell her that he wanted to learn to dance. So, instead, he would hide in barrels, in trees, or anywhere he could so he could watch Olivia dance. Then, when he was alone, he would try to mimic her moves. Eventually his mother had caught him and, to his surprise, had been delighted that her son wanted to be a dancer. She would take him into the woods and teach him the basics.
That was before Inigo's father found out about it. Olivia had just begun to teach her son the first dance she had learned as a child, and she invited Gregor to come and watch when he was ready to perform it.
Words couldn't describe Gregor's anger. Dancing was for girl, he had shouted as he stomped over to Inigo and shook him, ignoring Olivia's protests completely. Boys were for fighting, for protecting dancing girl. That Inigo wanted to dance was disgusting, disgraceful, and he should be ashamed.
As a child, Inigo couldn't understand why his father was angry. He did know that his anger had brought tears to the child's eyes and he was bawling before Olivia could intervene and stop her furious husband. Gregor had then turned on her, blaming her for their child's tears.
"See what you do?!"
Gregor had then dragged his crying child out to the training field and promptly taught him how to wield a sword. It had interested Inigo, at first. However, he soon found himself sneaking off into the woods, the same woods where he had first learned, to practice his dancing. Since his mother was basically forbidden from teaching him anymore, Inigo had begun to make up his own routines. Many of them were based off of his mother's dances that he had watched his whole life, but they were different since he couldn't quite remember how they all went.
That was how Inigo reached his teens: a strong, mercenary that strived to please his father on the outside, a shy dancer on the inside.
Not that him being able to wield a sword impressed his father for long. Day after day, Gregor found something wrong with Inigo and wouldn't hesitate to tell him. He almost never complimented his son. When Inigo killed his first Risen, Gregor criticized him on his posture. When he began flirting with girls, Gregor demanded to know why he was carelessly tossing his love around and not treating the girls properly. When Inigo broke into tears, for whatever it was, Gregor would hit him upside the head and tell him not to cry.
Be a man. That was Gregor's motto and, no matter what he did, it seemed Inigo could never meet his criteria.
When Inigo was eighteen, after an especially bad bout with his father over flower picking, Olivia had quietly ushered her son out of the tent. When he questioned her on where they were going, the pink-haired woman put a finger to her lips and took his hand as she led him somewhere. Though he was more curious than ever, he shut his mouth and let his mother lead him.
Their destination surprised him. Olivia had stopped in front of a crowded bar, where loud music and dancing bodies pushed against the walls of the small establishment. As Inigo's mouth hung open, his desire to dance suddenly flooding his chest, his mother gave him a small wink.
"Don't tell your father," she had giggled, and then promised to cover for him until morning. As the woman walked away, Inigo realized that he could never love his mother enough.
He had entered the bar. He had danced, he had flirted, he had drunk until his head spun, and for once no one was breathing down his neck and criticizing everything he did. It was liberating, and Inigo found himself laughing and smiling more than he had in his entire life. He even found himself following a beautiful blonde into an upstairs area, his head buzzing in drunken bliss as he obediently joined her on the bed.
Something in the back of his head told him he would regret it in the morning, but he didn't care. For now, he was at peace, and he wanted to make it last as long as possible.
In the morning the blonde was gone, and Inigo had to stumble his way back to camp. He had a pounding headache and he couldn't quite walk straight, which his father had immediately jumped on when he caught him slinking off to his bed.
"What the—?! You drunk! Stupid boy!"
Gregor didn't often beat his son, but he did then. He beat him to the point of tears, and then beat him more for crying "like a woman." Inigo only cried harder. He was a complete mess, mentally and physically, by the time that Olivia caught the two of them and pulled Gregor off her son. She reprimanded him, her voice reaching the shrill octave that only showed itself when she was angry. Gregor had scoffed, but he left, and once he was gone the dancer came and tended to her son. She cleaned his wounds and held him as he cried. Then, when he was spent, she tucked him into bed, kissed his forehead, and sat there stroking his hair until Inigo passed into a fitful sleep.
That night, when both his parents were asleep, Inigo slipped outside and headed for the woods. Nothing could keep him from dancing.
Laurent was up late, as always, constructing his novel. By day, he worked with his mother, when she let him, on solving the mysteries of the world; by night, he worked tirelessly to create them.
He believed the world was full of miracles and mystery. While this fueled his passion to unravel them, he also liked to think that there were forces out there that humans couldn't fully grasp. His favorite topic of discussion was the human struggle with forces around them that didn't always make sense. In his writing, he set his main characters on fantasy adventures to discover themselves and on the way they would learn that the world was large and mysterious and beautiful because of it.
Though he loved his mother, and was passionate about her work, a small part of him hoped that there would always be something out there that science couldn't explain.
Perhaps that was why he got along with his father so well. Kellam's invisibility had even stumped Miriel, and Laurent had always taken pleasure in watching people try to figure out how a guy in such a large piece of armor had such little presence. He loved it because it couldn't be explained, no matter how hard anyone tried. He'd always been able to see his father, a fact that further puzzled everyone. Even when he was little the fact had given him much delight.
Though he had to admit he did feel sorry for poor Kellam. The guy tried so hard.
Pushing thoughts of his family out of his head, Laurent leaned over his desk as he scribbled in his notebook furiously. He was so lost in the world he had created, of humans lost in a black area that was nowhere on Earth and filled with strange creatures he had coined "aliens," that he almost missed someone stumbling past his tent, sobbing. However, the sound did reach him and he set down his feather pen to investigate.
When he peered outside, he saw a figure dash into the woods. He recognized Inigo, and deduced that he must've been the one crying. Laurent leaned against his desk, puzzled. He'd never really talked to him, but he hadn't gotten the impression that he was the kind of man who cried. How could he, when he had such a tough, foreign father? One would think he'd have an iron will.
Unable to quell his curiosity, Laurent stepped out of his tent and quietly followed Inigo into the forest. He wasn't quite sure why he was doing it, nor did he know what he would gain by it, but somehow he couldn't help himself.
Inigo headed straight through the woods without ever hesitating or stopping. Laurent realized that he must've gone this way many times before, and wondered what purpose he could possibly have for stalking into the woods all the time. There was usually nothing in there but Risen.
However, after a few minutes, Laurent saw a clearing ahead and halted in the bushes directly before it. He didn't want to expose that he'd followed Inigo, not until he discovered what it was that the other was doing. Peering out through the trees, the mage saw Inigo standing in the middle of the clearing. His back was to him, but he could hear sniffling and knew that the mercenary was still crying. Before Laurent could decide if he should reveal himself and somehow find a way to comfort the other (even though human emotion was one of his worst subjects), Inigo shouted in fury.
He began to dance. Despite his previous tenseness, his moves were fluent and delicate and he moved through the air as if he was flying. When he did a spin, causing Laurent to duck back into the bushes, his eyes were closed and the writer could literally see the anger and sadness wash off his face to be replaced with a calm concentration.
Laurent watched the dance, awed. He didn't think he recognized the dance as one of Olivia's, though parts of it would seem familiar, but that didn't make it any less beautiful. The mage was literally blown away as Inigo would do his sweeps and leaps, spinning around the clearing as if he was a petal blowing in the breeze. Everything was flawless and smooth, and Laurent admired the way Inigo's muscles moved with such ease and fluency.
It was like magic.
Pulling out his notebook, the writer began frantically sketching what he saw. He drew Inigo's muscle placement, the way the muscles moved as they transitioned from one pose to another, never once taking his eyes off of the breathtaking sight in front of him.
He had never seen anything so enthralling and gorgeous.
When Inigo finally came to a whirling stop, Laurent's heart immediately began to ache as he selfishly wished for him to continue. He contemplated clapping, but soon disregarded the idea; he didn't want to ruin the moment. He watched Inigo breathe, in and out, as fluent and graceful as the dance had been. However, he soon saw the other teen begin to depart, right in his direction.
Scribbling some last minute notes, Laurent ran from his spot and didn't stop until he was safely inside his tent. Then, without any regard to what time it was, the mage set himself to furiously writing his novel, his sketches of Inigo's dance spread out before him. His mind was racing and he felt breathless and in the clouds.
His main character had just suffered a crushing defeat, but to his rescue came a dashing, male dancer who, beginning to dance, was like beauty itself…
Inigo had practiced his dance for years now, so much so that it was like second nature to perform it. He hadn't made a mistake for a couple of weeks now. It filled him with confidence, and for a while even his father couldn't bring down his mood.
The only problem was that he wanted to show his mother, and he had no idea how to go about doing it. Just the thought of it brought a heavy blush to his cheeks, making him reconsider his desire to show her. What if she thought it was horrible? How would he ever live down the shame? And what if his father found out? Inigo would cease to exist, not that he'd really want to be alive if Olivia hated his dance…
Feeling depressed, Inigo momentarily dropped the idea of performing for his mother. In his current state, he would never be able to do it.
He had to practice more.
Slipping out at night as usual, Inigo made his way through the familiar woods to his special clearing. As he breathed in the deep night air, he felt his muscles lose their tension as he closed his eyes and began to move. Swirling around the clearing, the secret dancer thought about how this was the only place he had ever really felt at home – some isolated place in the middle of a cursed woods where he could forget all of his troubles and just dance to his heart's content.
Only here was he able to be the person he really was.
A loud growling suddenly split the peaceful silence, and Inigo came to an abrupt stop, startled. He had never been disturbed before, and as he recognized the guttural roar, he realized with horror that he had never thought to bring a weapon with him. He'd never wanted to, since the sword symbolized everything that he wasn't and he didn't want it mixing with his true soul, but now he berated himself for being so stupid.
Stumbling around and falling over as he did so, Inigo looked on, wide-eyed, as a Risen came charging at him. Its grotesque maw opened in another non-human shriek as it stumbled across the clearing, purple mist flowing around it. In its hand was a sickening axe, and Inigo swallowed as he looked at it in shock.
He didn't want to die. He still had so much he wanted to show his mother; so many girls left to chase. And yet, no matter how much he tried, he couldn't get his legs to move.
"Elwind!" A voice out of nowhere shouted as a blast of blue wind magic spiraled into the Risen. The blow landed square in its chest, and the creature shrieked as it turned towards its attacker.
Inigo followed its gaze and was shocked to find Laurent, Miriel's son, standing in the clearing. He wore his usual mage's outfit with a hat that was much too big for him and his bangs on either side of his face threatened to blow into his eyes as he reached up to adjust his glasses. His expression was serious, as always, but Inigo thought he picked up a slight slanting in his eyebrows and he wondered what the man could be irritated about.
The two had never talked. They knew of each other's existence, of course, but Laurent had always preferred to spend time alone or with his parents where Inigo had always spent time in the mess hall playing with the other children. Even when the dancer had been forced to learn to fight, he had never run into the other in the training area.
They had simply never had the chance to interact. And yet now, for some reason, Laurent was here, deep in the woods, protecting someone he hardly knew.
As Inigo struggled to comprehend what was going on, Laurent struck the Risen with another blast of Elwind. It did the trick. The creature screamed one last time before it dissolved in a cloud of purple mist.
For a moment, the two boys breathed in silence. Inigo's breath sounded loud in his ears and he hoped, as a slight flush crept into his cheeks, that Laurent couldn't hear him. He didn't want, no, couldn't admit that he had been scared. That's not how he was allowed to portray himself: he had to be the strong willed son of a famous sell-sword who wasn't afraid of anything.
While he'd been lost in his thoughts, Laurent had made his way over to him. He stood over him, his gaze unreadable, as he held out his hand to help Inigo up. The dancer took it and was glad for the support as he pulled himself to his feet. His legs were shaking, and he hated to think what could've happened if Laurent had witnessed him pathetically struggle to stand.
"Are you quite alright?" Laurent asked once Inigo made it to his feet. His inquiring gaze into his eyes was making the dancer uncomfortable.
Swallowing, Inigo attempted to speak. "Laurent, what in the world are you doing here?"
"I was observing you dance," the mage replied, no hesitancy whatsoever. His brow furrowed as he continued, "I was quite enjoying myself until that disgusting varmint interrupted everything."
At first, Inigo didn't process what the other had said. When he did, a dark blush warmed his cheeks and he took a flustered step back. He felt like he was going to fall over again.
"You were what?!" Inigo looked around, embarrassed, trying to find a place to keep his eyes. "For how long?!"
"About two weeks now, I believe." Laurent dug around in his robes before pulling out a small, brown notebook. He opened it and presented it to Inigo, who took it with shaking hands. "Your dancing was fascinating, and so I took dedicated notes in an attempt to capture it."
Inigo's mouth flapped as he tried to find words. He numbly turned through pages in Laurent's book, gawking at the sheer amount and accuracy to them. He had gone to great lengths to make these records, which meant he must've been watching Inigo very intently for… t-two weeks?! Gods, how humiliating!
"Wh… H… Yo… Eh?!" Inigo thrust the book back into Laurent's hands, too embarrassed to look at it anymore. His voice rose to a shrill screech, almost imitating his mother. "Why?!"
"Your dancing is the most beautiful thing I've ever seen on this earth, Inigo," Laurent replied as if he was discussing the weather. The dancer gaped at him. "Though my petty drawings hardly do you justice, I felt compelled to keep some kind of record of something that managed to dazzle my mind."
Inigo's cheeks were getting even darker, if that was possible. He found he couldn't stand to look at Laurent anymore and he failed to find the words to speak to him. He was so embarrassed that he thought he would melt into a puddle right then and there and die. His dancing couldn't be that good, could it…?
When the dancer stayed mute, Laurent continued. "I would be delighted if you would allow me to keep watching you."
Inigo looked at him then. His eyes flew wide with shock and he could feel the blush creep all the way down to his neck. The idea of someone watching him while he danced was mortifying!
"No way!"
Laurent sat on a log in the clearing, his pen posed and ready as he watched Inigo's back. It was the night after the Risen attack, and the mage had dutifully followed the dancer back into the forest, despite Inigo's deep insistence that he wasn't allowed to watch him. Laurent had replied logically that it would be no different because he had been there along, but Inigo had just blushed and refused to discuss the matter.
The mage took it as an ascent and took a seat where he could get a great view.
However, the dancer wasn't moving. "… I can't do this."
"Why not?" Laurent was truly puzzled. He had seen how easily Inigo had moved all those other nights; how could he really not know how to dance now?
"Because you're watching me!" Inigo screeched, his voice jumping a few octaves as he whirled to face Laurent. His face was bright red. "To think that you've been watching me all this time is mortifying enough as it is, but now to have you sitting right there? It's embarrassing, and I can't do it!"
"But your dancing is so breathtaking," Laurent replied, a curiosity awakening in him. Why was his presence such a prohibiting factor for Inigo? Should he take it personally, or was it just another person's presence that made the other jumpy? "And you want to be a dancer, do you not? Why is a performer so embarrassed to perform for an audience?"
"Wait, how do you know about that?!" Inigo looked mortified and his face was such a dark red that Laurent worried he would pass out.
"A little bird in camp told me." As Inigo opened his mouth, Laurent quickly went on, "You haven't answered my inquiry."
"Gah, fine… Every time I think about showing someone, I wonder 'what if I flop?' Then as I think about the humiliation as everyone laughs at me, I can't stand to get up and perform in front of people…" Inigo explained, with a surprising honesty. He was shifting nervously as his fists tightened and untightened.
It clicked in the mage's mind. "Ahh, so you're afraid of being hurt."
Inigo flinched. Laurent had seemed to hit home. With an unknown determination suddenly bubbling to the surface, Laurent continued.
"Your dancing is flawless, Inigo; there's no probability you would flop." Laurent felt a weird stirring in his chest. He wasn't used to being so emotional: his mother had always forbidden it, saying that emotions got in the way of logical thinking and rational problem-solving. He added carefully, "And I can assure that, even if you did flop, I at least would never laugh at you. I fully support your aspirations, Inigo."
Inigo watched him warily, seeming unsure what to say. Laurent met his gaze evenly, trying to show he wasn't lying. He didn't really understand, and that sent a thrill up his spine, but the gaze they shared was filled with a tension that excited him. He felt like some important connection had just been made, but he didn't know how to begin to address it. When the dancer broke eye contact, Laurent felt a sudden emptiness that frightened and exhilarated him at the same time.
Finally Inigo broke the silence. "… You really wouldn't laugh?"
A small smile broke out on Laurent's face. "Come on, Inigo, have you ever seen me laugh before?"
It had the desired effect. Inigo sent him a huge grin as he laughed outright, relief washing the tension out of his body. Laurent had never truly understood the power of words until that moment, when a simple promise not to laugh brought liberating relief to someone who looked like he was previously going to have a panic attack.
"I guess not, ha!" Inigo snorted before he struck a silly, stereotypical dancer pose. Laurent's mind reveled at the complete change in character as the dancer before him grinned at him, his pores oozing confidence. "Then let the show begin."
As he started to dance, losing himself in the moment and moving flawlessly despite Laurent's presence, the mage found he couldn't keep a smile off his face. He was deeply touched by what had just transpired, though he wasn't sure why. All he knew was that he was hooked on the intoxicating warmth in his chest and the faint scent of Inigo's cologne that wafted his way as he danced.
After an exhausting practice session with Lucina, Inigo sat on a log staring up at the sky. His sword was sticking out of the ground just a few inches from where he sat and he rested his hands on the hilt as he thought.
Laurent had come to watch him every night since the Risen attack. At first, it had mortified the dancer, but now he was surprised to realize that he had gotten used to it; he didn't mind that much anymore. Though it still brought a faint flush to his face whenever he started, once he began he was so lost in the dance that he didn't even remember that Laurent was right there. It was starting to give him confidence, and Inigo wondered if he finally would be able to show his mother.
If Laurent thought it was great, maybe Olivia would, too.
Inigo was so lost in his thoughts that he didn't hear heavy footsteps approach him until his father was standing right in front of him. As Inigo flinched in surprise, his eyes narrowed as he saw his father scowling at him. Great. All he needed was yet another lecture from his father.
"Oy, why you lazing around?" Gregor growled, his arms folded across his chest. He held a sword in one hand and he tapped it against the ground in his impatience and anger.
Inigo frowned. "Because I just finished training, father; I'm exhausted."
Gregor was not impressed. "So when you in midst of battle, and Risen come at you, you'll sit down and take break?"
"Of course not!" Inigo snapped, his hands tightening around the hilt of his sword. "I'm not in the midst of battle, in case you haven't noticed!"
"So when you are, and your stamina fail you, what you do then?" Gregor stalked over and slapped Inigo upside the head. "You must build stamina constantly, or else you die!"
Inigo had to look away as tears began forming in his eyes. He knew his father would do worse if he saw him crying. "Can't I do anything without you criticizing me?"
Gregor scoffed. "Only if you continue behaving this way. I will not have my son growing up idiot."
Suddenly, Inigo felt a tight clenching in his chest. He was sick to death of his father's constant criticism that he'd tried so hard to believe really was just Gregor's way of showing he cared, like Olivia claimed. Though he'd always known otherwise, deep down he'd hoped that there was some part of his father that cared about him. But now he knew he had just been disillusioning himself: his father could care less about him.
Standing abruptly, suddenly unable to take it anymore, Inigo wiped at his eyes before he spat, "I hate you, dad!"
For the first time in Inigo's life, Gregor was shocked into silence. He didn't even try to stop him as Inigo pushed past him, trying his hardest not to make his sobbing audible as he ran out of the camp.
He'd always wanted his father to love him. Though a small part of him rebelled, insisting that Gregor could think whatever he wanted and he didn't care, he knew it mostly wasn't true. He wanted to be something his father could be proud of, but he knew that he wasn't the kind of person who could be what his father wanted.
He knew that real men weren't supposed to be dancers; he knew that real men shouldn't like dancing. He knew that he shouldn't like flowers, or hate fighting, or have a strange obsession with beauty. None of that was manly, a fact that Gregor was constantly pointing out to him.
When he was younger, Inigo had gone through a phase where he'd really hated himself. He'd tried his best to change, to force himself to like swordplay and to hate dancing. He had been absolutely miserable. And it wasn't like it made any difference – if Gregor wasn't insulting his manhood, he found something else to be nitpicky about.
Gregor didn't seem to like a single thing about Inigo, and that was what the dancer found so hard to deal with. He knew now he couldn't be anyone but himself, and he'd just have to love himself the way he was, but it was so hard when every moment was full of disappointment and criticism. He'd gone so far as to attempt to take his life, once, but Olivia had found him mid-stabbing and had freaked out. She'd cried so hard that Inigo knew he could never take himself away from her.
But still. Sometimes the thought still lingered.
Refocusing on his surroundings, Inigo paused outside of the bar his mother had taken him to what seemed like years ago and breathed. He focused on calming himself and drying his eyes – he didn't want sympathy from anyone. He just wanted to go in there and dance to his heart's content (while simultaneously drowning his sorrows with beer).
Which he did. Despite his constant anguish, Inigo wasn't a sad drunk – in fact, the only time his confidence really shown through was when he was three drinks gone. He flirted and danced without any regret and smiled so hard his cheeks burned. Though he was usually a bit more careful when he went drinking (after he'd gone overboard that first time and his father had thrown a fit), that night he was so upset that he didn't care. He drank as much as he had money for, and probably even more than that, though at that point he couldn't remember a thing.
The last thing he remembered before waking up in a stranger's bed was that a man had sat down next to him, interrupting his flirtation with some brunette, and offered to buy him more drinks.
Inigo had no idea where he was now. He was groggy and there was a strange buzzing in his ears; he couldn't tell if it was coming from outside or from in his head. He was completely alone in the bed and, when he struggled to sit up, he found he was completely naked, too. Feeling slightly freaked out, as he had no recollection of hitting it up with a girl, Inigo wondered if maybe he had gotten a bit too drunk the night before. There was also a sharp pain in his back that he didn't recall from having sex before.
He groaned. His father was going to kill him.
As he scrambled out of the bed and attempted to find his clothes, his foggy brain managed to process that it was still dark out. That was a bit better – he might actually be able to sneak back into his tent without either of his parents finding out.
However, sneaking sounded hard in his current state and all he really wanted to do was sleep.
When Inigo managed to find his way outside, strangely without ever running into the person he apparently slept with, the cold air on his face was liberating. It woke him up a bit, blowing some of the mist out of his head, and he began to think clearly as he stumbled his way back to camp.
There was no way he'd be able to sneak past his father the way he was. Gregor seemed to have a sharp nose for alcohol and always seemed to know when he'd been drinking. Since last night had been especially bad, Inigo knew that it would be a bad idea to try and slip past his father.
He'd have to seek refuge somewhere, but where? Who would even still be awake at this hour?
As Inigo limped into camp, he looked at the different tents he passed, looking for a sign that someone was still awake who would be willing to help him. As he passed the woods where he always went to dance, he saw a candle burning brightly in one of the tents nearby. The dancer's hopes soared as he realized that it was Laurent's tent.
Ever since Laurent had started watching him dance, the two had become fast friends. Inigo found himself trusting the other more and more each day and lately the mage was the only one outside of his mother that he went to with his problems. He didn't know why Laurent hadn't come to mind immediately when he'd needed help.
However, as he found himself hesitating outside of the mage's tent, he wondered if this was really a good idea. He didn't want to be a bother to Laurent, and, while they had become friends, the dancer realized he didn't really know much about him. What if he had some deep abhorrence with sharing his tent with other people? The insecurities that had disappeared with the beer came flooding back, and Inigo was so nervous wondering what to do that he missed Laurent come out of the tent. His voice made him jump out of his skin.
"Inigo? May I inquire as to why you are lurking outside my tent?"
Inigo almost had to laugh at Laurent's knowledgeable diction. Even late at night he knew how to sound smart. Shuffling his feet awkwardly, the dancer barely met Laurent's eye as he mumbled, "Laurent, I need some help… Do you mind if I stay the night…?"
Laurent's nose wrinkled, and Inigo flinched as he realized that his breath must smell strongly of beer. He was suddenly glad he had decided not to try and face his father that night. However, he suddenly felt ashamed; he didn't want Laurent's opinion of him to go down because he found out he was a drinker. He then wondered why he cared so much what Laurent thought.
"I see," Laurent finally replied after a hard silence. "Of course you may stay. I was just writing, so you can utilize the blankets."
Inigo thought that, politely, he should protest being given Laurent's bed, but he was so tired that he wasn't about to turn down the warmth of the thick blanket. Instead he just thanked the mage and limped his way inside. If Laurent noticed his limp, he said nothing and just followed Inigo back inside.
Laurent had laid out his blankets right next to his writing desk, so, as Inigo collapsed into the warm cocoon, the mage was sitting just a few inches away. A large candle was burning on the desk, and even from his lower position the dancer could see that the tabletop was cluttered with papers. Without really thinking, he reached up and grabbed one of the sheets and began reading.
When he was done, Inigo couldn't suppress a whistle of awe. "Laurent, this is amazing! Do you do this every night?"
With a surprising show of meek embarrassment, the mage snatched the paper out of Inigo's hands and cleared his throat as he laid down his pen. "Yes. I've hardly exhibited it to anyone, though, so I would kindly request you don't look."
"Oh come on," Inigo pouted. "I show you something personal every night; don't you think you should show me something personal in return?"
Laurent looked down at him, but Inigo couldn't read his expression. For a moment he thought his logic had won the mage over, but what he said instead surprised him. "May I ask you a question?"
"Sure?"
"Why did you go out and intoxicate yourself?"
Inigo chewed his lip. He didn't know if he wanted to share his family issues with Laurent; it was something that was even more personal than his dancing. He'd always portrayed himself as a strong guy who always smiled, and he didn't think he was willing to let go of that image. If he even could let go of it.
Seeming to sense that the dancer wasn't going to reply, Laurent turned back to his desk. "Good night, Inigo."
Relieved to escape the loaded question, Inigo rolled over and curled into a ball under the blankets. It was warm and smelled comfortingly like Laurent, and, before the dancer could be disturbed by that thought, he was pulled into a deep sleep.
Laurent never showed his writing to his mother. He had tried to, once, but she had been uninterested in something "make-believe" and had refused to even glance at it. Kellam had willingly read it, however, and Laurent was glad to see him smile over the silly antics of the character that was based off of him.
The mage's new experiment had been to discover how many ways he could make his father laugh. They both needed it. Recently, Miriel had become even more engrossed in her research. She had always been a workaholic, but before she would always include Laurent on anything he wanted to be included in and always took the time to spend time with her husband (though most of that time had been when Kellam was the guinea pig to some experiment).
Now, however, she refused to even acknowledge her family's existence and locked herself in her experiments all day. She wouldn't even let Laurent join in, though he had tried many times.
It was like she was bored with them and was spending all her time on more interesting discoveries. It pained Laurent enough already, but it hurt him even more when he saw his father's dejected look every time Miriel ignored him. It was like he was invisible in an entirely different way, and the mage knew it ate Kellam up inside.
Which was why he dedicated himself to making Kellam laugh. Father and son had to stick together, since they were the only family they really had left. By spending more time together, it was less painful that Miriel was absent.
Not that they could ever stop thinking about it. Every day, Laurent would come up with an idea for research that he would try to take to his mother, hoping that the experiment would interest her in working together again. However, she would either already have an answer for his phenomenon, or she would take his idea and work by herself on it. Kellam would also try every day to talk to her, to remind her he was there. But she was always unresponsive.
Not much made Laurent emotional, but the painful wall that his mother had put up drove him to the edge of tears on an almost daily basis.
It frustrated him that he didn't know why Miriel had suddenly lost all interest in her family, and it enhanced the loneliness that often consumed him. As a boy, he had never played with the other children. Though Kellam had encouraged it, Miriel had strongly forbidden it because she believed that Laurent had better things to do with his time than play pointless games. Instead he spent all of his time learning about magic and science from her and only interacted with other children when he had to.
He had been incredibly lonely, a feeling that still haunted him in his teens, but he had swallowed his pain because he loved his mother and didn't want to upset her.
But now even that link was gone, and he felt like he had no one in the world but his father.
Laurent set his pen down, suddenly not in the writing mood, and wondered if maybe he liked creating worlds because he didn't like the one he lived in. Shaking his head, trying to dispel his downcast mood, the mage looked down at the man sleeping next to him.
Inigo had become an unexpected friend, and Laurent would be lying if he said it didn't thrill him. He was the first one he could really call his friend, and he was happy they could spend time together.
He'd thought long and hard about why he hadn't wanted to share his writing with the dancer. What Inigo had said had made sense; an eye for an eye. However, the mage's defensive response had been so automatic that he didn't really know what had caused it. Though he thought it might be connected back to his mother again – she had been so against him writing fiction that he'd begun to think that she had stopped experimenting with him because of it. Though he knew the idea was ludicrous, he couldn't help but think it.
He could share his writing with Kellam because he was his father, but with Inigo it felt like he was exposing the weaknesses of his heart and he found he couldn't do it.
Though, as he watched Inigo sleep, with a sudden ache in his chest he wished he could tell him everything. He wished he could share his writing with him and share his troubled relationship with his mother. Though he had convinced Inigo to share his dance with him, he understood the impulse to run and hide behind a shield of bashfulness. The anxiety of sharing his writing, even with his father, had often made him want to make himself scarce until his father was done reading.
He sympathized with not being allowed to follow his passions, either because of society (like in Inigo's case) or a loved one, and he knew that Inigo was one of the few people who could actually understand where he came from. And yet something stilled his tongue every time he considered the possibility.
Perhaps he also feared getting hurt.
Sighing, Laurent closed his notebook and blew out the candle. He didn't feel like writing anymore, and he knew from previous experience that forcing out stories when he was feeling lonely only resulted in bad writing that he would burn later. All that helped was getting a good night's sleep for once.
Though, as he stood from his desk, he wondered where he would sleep. Inigo had completely taken over the blankets, and the night was rather cold; resting out in the open did not seem like a logical idea. The only thing he could do would be to…grab an edge of the blankets and slip in next to Inigo.
Laurent's face flushed with embarrassment. He knew Inigo was drunk, but he wasn't that drunk. But they were both boys, and they were friends, so perhaps it was fine? After all, it was biologically impossible for anything to go on between them, so logic dictated that it shouldn't be a problem. Though he dreaded to see what his mother would say. Perhaps it was such a problem for him because he had been prevented from making too many friends when he was young so he was unused to company. Yes, that had to be it… And if he woke up before Inigo, which seemed to be quite likely, then Laurent would be the only one conscious of what had happened.
Making up his mind, Laurent ducked under the covers and turned so his back was facing Inigo before he could change his mind. Removing his glasses, he tried vainly to pretend he couldn't feel Inigo's body heat against his back and eventually drifted into a restless sleep.
The first thing Inigo was conscious of upon awakening was that his head hurt. A lot. The second thing he realized was that Laurent was sleeping next to him. Though the first thing inhibited him from fully processing the second one, he did eventually realize that Laurent was sleeping next to him.
Jumping about a foot in the air and quickly scrambling out of the blanket cocoon, Inigo's back slammed into Laurent's desk as he sat, breathing heavily and watching the mage. His heart was pounding in his chest, like he'd just danced a particularly hard routine, and he wasn't sure why. Perhaps leaping out of bed had been an exaggeration, but for some reason sleeping next to his newfound friend made him incredibly nervous. Maybe the beer was still talking, and yet…
Inigo wasn't sure how long he sat there, but it didn't seem too long before Laurent opened his eyes. The dancer watched him blink and then squint; it was then that Inigo noticed that the mage didn't have his glasses on. He'd never seen him like that before, and he found it interesting that Laurent looked much younger and more innocent without his specs.
He was drawn out of his weird thoughts as Laurent sat up and put on his glasses. "I am not sure this has an explanation."
Inigo's mouth felt like dry wood. "I thought you had an explanation for everything."
"Not for everything."
They stared at each for a moment before Inigo looked away, a slight blush creeping onto his cheeks. He didn't know how to address the awkward and embarrassed feeling in his chest: he had always been a shy person, and no amount of talking to girls would help him entirely get over that. It was times like this, when he was hung over and it felt like all of his secrets were out in the open, that his shyness would suddenly grip him like a vice and he found he could barely talk.
However, a sick feeling rising in his stomach soon brought him the escape he needed. "Laurent, don't be alarmed, but I think I'm going to throw up."
"Really, Inigo, how much alcohol did you consume?" Laurent sighed before he stood and walked to the other side of the tent to grab a bucket. When he came back with it, Inigo couldn't even thank him before he was bent over double, retching into the bucket as the immense amount of beer he had drank found its way back up. He'd puked from drinking before, but it had never been this bad and he found himself crying from the force of it; by the time he was merely dry-heaving his entire face was covered in tears and snot and his head was pounding fiercely.
During the whole ordeal, Laurent had left the tent (Inigo had been in no state to even consider asking him where he was going). When he came back, he was holding a spare cleaning rag and a glass of water. As soon as he felt his stomach could take it, Inigo took the glass of water thankfully and chugged it. He didn't even complain as Laurent took the rag and began cleaning up the dancer's face himself.
"You really shouldn't do this to yourself. It isn't healthy," Laurent said after a few minutes of silence.
Inigo had closed his eyes, trying to find relief from his headache, but he opened them to look at the mage. It took a while for him to focus on Laurent, but when he did he saw his exhausted expression and felt a sharp tinge of guilt; he shouldn't have to take care of him when he was as exhausted as he was.
Sitting up a bit and turning out of Laurent's dutiful cleaning, Inigo mumbled, "I don't have a choice… But don't concern yourself with it."
"I have to concern myself with it," Laurent replied before he stubbornly began to clean the dancer's face again. Inigo gave in to the soothing stroking and closed his eyes again. "You're my only friend, Inigo."
The dancer had begun to fall asleep against his will, but his eyes snapped open at that and he looked at the writer sharply. "'Only'?"
"Only." Laurent winced. "I cannot say I had a happy and fulfilling childhood."
Inigo didn't know what to say. Loneliness was something that even he didn't suffer from; he'd always had fun with the other children. He'd been captain of the Yarne-Guard when they'd gone to the hot springs; he'd tried so hard to get Lucina to smile that she had blown her top at him; he'd flirted with Morgan (she was so oblivious that she was perfect to practice with); he'd gone skirt-chasing with Gerome and Brady (though those memories hadn't been as fun…); he actually had fun coming up with names for his sword with Owain, even if he did ruin his weapon in the process; Cynthia had always supported him in his skirt-chasing endeavors; and now Laurent was his sole supporter in his secret dream. To put it simply, Inigo had never been alone; though he sometimes felt isolated in his thoughts and personality, he'd always had human comfort.
He had no idea where Laurent was coming from.
"… I had no idea it was like that," Inigo finally said after a few awkward moments of silence. "I always thought you liked being alone."
Laurent looked away. He was silent for a few moments before he spoke up again, his voice the saddest Inigo had ever heard it. "My mother forbade me to play with you all. She felt I had better things to do with my time. It was almost never by choice that I spent my days alone."
"Why?" Even Inigo's father wasn't as bad as that. He may have reprimanded the dancer for playing for too long, but even he knew it was good to build relationships with other people.
The mage met his gaze again and his response was so automatic and mechanical that it scared Inigo, "Fun is not scientific. While I wasted time playing, there were thousands of phenomena that were going undiscovered."
Inigo was shocked. "She condemned a child to a life of scientific research?!"
"My mother is all about research. So of course, I must be, too." Laurent spoke softly, and Inigo could tell that he was discussing something that greatly pained him. "There were many instances where I enjoyed experimenting with my mother, but there were other times when I would watch jealously as all the other children played while I was to sit and watch a test tube. And now, after all that she put me through…."
Laurent broke off suddenly. Inigo remained silent.
"… You should go, Inigo. You're feeling better, aren't you?"
Inigo swallowed. He didn't want to leave. His head was still pounding and his stomach flipped every time he made brief movement, but more importantly he felt he was reaching an important development in his friendship with Laurent. And not only that, but the mage had been so lonely for so long. He couldn't go now.
However, he somehow knew he couldn't argue with the mage.
"Oh, sure. Besides, I have to, uh, meet a girl for lunch! Yeah, that's right, you wouldn't believe what a beauty she is! I'm the luckiest man in the world!"
Laurent didn't reply, and Inigo suddenly regretted taking a tangent to skirt chasing. He'd been trying to lighten the mood, in the only way he knew how, but for once it hadn't worked. He'd expected the mage to scoff at him, to give him some logical reason why he shouldn't be chasing after girls, but Laurent just looked sad and refused to glance at Inigo. The pure emotion on his face scared Inigo; he wasn't used to seeing it one someone who was usually so calm and logical.
"Uh, bye then." Inigo stumbled to his feet and, ignoring his swaying vision, made to exit the tent. When he was at the flap, he turned back and looked hopefully at Laurent. "See you tonight?"
Once again, the mage didn't reply, and Inigo finally left the tent with a heavy heart.