Vaarsuvius roused from their trance in the dark hours of the early morning to the low rumble of cat and halfling snores.
To their surprise, Mr. Scruffy was still nestled securely in the hollow of their crossed legs. To their even greater surprise, Belkar sat beside them, leaning, propped up by his head resting on V's hip, sleeping soundly.
Their trance had eliminated the poisonous alcohol and its effects. With gentle elven grace, Vaarsuvius lowered their body from its position hovering in the air until it rested upon the floor, without disturbing the two unconscious beings supported by it.
It wasn't the first or last time Vaarsuvius felt raw and tenderly towards creatures whose hearts fluttered and expired so quickly. They waited patiently for time and sunlight to wake Mr. Scruffy and Belkar naturally, many hours later.
"Mornin', Scruffinator," Belkar murmured. Mr. Scruffy head butted him in appreciation when Belkar scritched under his chin. "Mornin', Ears."
Vaarsuvius wondered why Belkar chose to remain with his head resting against their chest, but, in light of the previous evening's conversation on portents and mortality, V didn't feel motivated to withhold the warmth of a kind touch, especially if it brought the doomed idiot some measure of succor.
"Good morning. I must thank you for safeguarding me while I was—"
Belkar grinned up at them.
"Plastered? Boozed up? Soaked, sloshed, pickled? Trashed? Please say trashed."
"—indelicato," Vaarsuvius decided, eliciting a moan from Belkar. "Fine. While I was trashed."
The silence hadn't yet grown comfortable when Vaarsuvius blurted,
"I have been ruminating on the precise verbiage which the Oracle used. Specifically, 'draw his last breath—"
"Don't. Just don't. I don't need that. I need this. Don't ruin it."
All of V's instincts urged them to crowd the space with plans, analysis. Words.
But, they didn't.
Belkar didn't cling to the moment. He soon sighed contentedly, stretched, and hopped into a standing position, with Mr. Scruffy following suit.
Something about the way the halfling turned to glance back at the elf made Vaarsuvius catch Belkar's lips in a short, passionate kiss. Belkar stumbled, wide eyed.
"Wh-what are you—"
Vaarsuvius silenced him with an expression.
"Don't ruin it," they echoed.
Belkar's demeanor transitioned from shock to unrestrained desire. He held V's face in both hands as he rushed in to kiss their mouth over and over again.
Soon, Blackwing led Elan down the hallway, explaining,
"I can't give context, but I got the strongest sense through our empathetic bond that Vaarsuvius needs something…"
There was a loud series of crashes, vocalizations of enthusiastic consent, and a frazzled Mr. Scruffy bolting away from the direction Blackwing was heading.
"Sounds like Vaarsuvius might be in troub—hey, why are you turning around?"
Blackwing scrambled to flee the scene, blushing intensely.
"Ahh—nope, I was wrong, V needs us to go in the other direction. Yes, let's hurry up and help them—"
Meanwhile, back in V's room,
"You've got the hots for me?" Belkar exploded angrily between kisses and undressing. "Why didn't you SAY something? We could have been boning nasty style this ENTIRE time and you threw it away for what, a practical joke war? Are all elves this friggin' obtuse?"
"We could NOT have been 'boning nasty style' this entire time," Vaarsuvius snapped defensively. "I was married. I—"
They looked away shamefully.
"—admit, my prior mate also expressed concerns with my ability to promptly express my emotional needs, or lack thereof. But in my defense, there is still a plethora of reason why it would lack prudence to—"
"Vaarsuvius," Belkar interrupted, saying his colleague's full and correct name aloud possibly for the first time ever. "Forget prudence. Let me show you my levels in barbarian."
The elf's imagination blossomed crimson across their fair complexion, and they surrendered to another kiss.
Why does this feel so familiar? Belkar wondered dreamily. He hmm'd in appreciation and the sensation of déjà vu disappeared as he felt Vaarsuvius reciprocate.