ERAGON

Somehow I think I missed the transaction between winter and spring - I think we all did. It is unnaturally hot for this time of year -which led to an impromptu gathering at the green near Saphira's apartment. To sunbathe. Yeah, as if that's ever going to happen.

No self-respecting guy would do such a thing! Oh, who am I kidding, I'll probably get forced into it. I arrive at where we're supposed to be meeting to find Saphira sprawled out on the grass in nothing but a bikini. There is a pair of shorts and a vest top folded up under her head, acting as a pillow. I don't as much as blink - we've done this too many times before.

"Eragon, c'mere." She pats the ground next to her on the side that means my shadow won't fall on her. I sit where she indicates and pointedly ignore her comments about me 'always covering up.' I don't, by the way, there's just too many people I know around. She sits up, faces me and manages to pull off my shirt pretty fast.

Like I said, we've done this countless times before. I don't know why we even keep up the charade anymore. Why does she always have to have it her own way? Ugh. It's too hot to fight back, might as well give in - I'll only lose anyway.

"No point putting it back on now, is there?"

I take my shirt from her and lay down, using it as a pillow. Maybe these past experiences have feminized me. What if it turned me gay?! Oh, who am I kidding, Saphira was probably just trying to eject me from the closet.

-XOX-

"Well now, isn't that a sight to behold?" I lazily crack open an eye to identify the owner of the sexy voice and sit up.

"What do you mean, 'tag?" He sits on my other side and takes hold of the hem of his shirt.

"Exactly what I said." Taking off his shirt musses up his hair in a really nice way. He can't be talking about Saphira; he's still in the 'I like guys only' phase...oh.

My cheeks heat instantly, but thankfully he doesn't seem to notice. He lays down, resting his head in his meshed fingers and shifts slightly to get comfortable. I swear I did not just ogle at his lean muscles flexing. Not that he's muscular per se, just well-toned.

My eyes drift down his chest - shut up, don't say a word - and I have to suppress a gasp. Not because it looked hot - trust me, it really did - but because of numerous scars that littered his chest and abdomen. There aren't lots of them - probably around ten separate ones in total - but they all look as though they were deep at the time. A strange urge suddenly overcomes me.

I check his eyes are actually closed (I would have completely lost my courage if they had been) before reaching out to gently touch a particularly nasty looking one with my fingertips. I trace the pale, puckered indentation from just below the right hand side of his ribcage - where it started - down his stomach and I only stop when it disappeared under his über tight jeans on his right hip bone. I growl softly at the offending jeans, before trailing my fingertips back the way they came and jumping to the bottom of a nearby one that snaked up his chest and over his shoulder before coming to an abrupt half halfway down his bicep.

The thing is - if you consider the way he is laying - I reached the bit over his shoulder and didn't expect to go further, however he moved his arm from behind his head to give me access to the part of the scar on his bicep. It's as if he didn't mind it, or god forbid actually liked it. It's quite strange, considering he doesn't normally let people touch him, even if he likes them.

I shake the thought away and continue to trace the patterns permanently embedded onto him. For some reason I'm fascinated by them. I want to know the story behind them, but feel it's not really my place to ask such personal questions of him.

MURTAGH

I watch him trace the scars with one eye, the other closed to shield it from the glare of the sun. It was a worrying moment indeed when he ran out of reachable scars on the right side of my body. I certainly did not expect him to straddle me in order to reach the other side. Not to say it wasn't appreciated, just unexpected -and making me struggle to control myself and keep my body in check.

He was just going over a sensitive spot on my stomach - I'm ticklish, get over it - when Thorn let out a deep growl of warning. He wasn't sunning himself like the rest of us, but sitting. It looked as though he was keeping watch over us or something. I propped myself up onto my elbows as not to dislodge Eragon and gave him a quizzical look. He just nodded at something to my left. I looked, and my heart missed a beat at what I saw.

Matt, walking this way with his usual creepy, self-satisfied skirt on his face. Eragon hadn't noticed yet, but had moved back up to the left side of my ribcage, which looked more innocent than before. I wanted to give him some kind of warning, but didn't know how to.

"What's this? You a cutter?" He demands once he has stopped next to me and can properly see what Eragon was tracing. It had probably looked quite compromising from a distance, with both of us shirtless. That's probably what drew his attention in the first place. Eragon had frozen upon hearing the voice of his pushy ex.

"Actually, no. These I didn't do." Eragon leans back, so that he is sitting on my thighs and doesn't look like he's trying to get it on with me anymore. Well, not as much as it did before.

"So you'll fuck him, but not me?" He turns to Eragon, having grown bored of attempting to torment me.

"It...It's not like that." He stutters out in a quiet voice. My heart quivers at the unspoken emotions behind those simple words.

"It's. Not. Like. That. Well, what is it like? Huh? I bet-" I can't stand seeing him intentionally hurt Eragon like this. It's time for the knight in shiny black armour to come to the rescue!

"Just go. You're not wanted here, so unless you want your ass kicked again, which can totally be arranged, right Thorn?" He nods, menacingly glaring daggers at him.

"Wh-what?" He looks stunned - so he didn't see us after all.

"Didn't you hear me? Get the fuck outta here, you lameass prick!" He turns and hightails it, probably because Thorn was cracking his knuckles is preparation. Everyone is silent for a while, watching Eragon clench and unclench his fists in the grass either side of him. For once I wish Arya was here, she would have made that bastard's ears bleed.

Saphira's gaze quickly switches to me, then back to Eragon, flicking back and forth. She's giving me a meaningful look each time. It takes me a few looks to realise what she's hinting at. I take action straight away. I sit up fully, bringing us face to face.

"You okay?" He shakes his head roughly with tears bursting from his eyes and throws himself the short distance at me. He wraps his arms around my waist and sobs into my shoulder. What should I do? I do the only thing I can think of and hug him back, giving him a way to vent the hurt and confusion.