TW: some cussing, mostly it’s just lots of unrelenting fluff; I don’t *think* it needs the M, but comment if you disagree, please.

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Droya breathed deeply, his nose buried in Rosie’s tousled brown hair. She smelled like salt and iron and sunshine. He could taste her scent on his tongue, and he swallowed, his mouth dry. She was sleeping now, laying across his chest, her arms limply wrapped around him. He was starting to get a crick in his neck, but he didn’t want to move and risk waking her. He was surprised the painful thumping of his heart wasn’t keeping her from sleeping.

He had been nearly asleep when he heard her cry out, and the sound had hit him like a bucket of ice water. She was thrashing in her bed, tangled in the sheets, and muttering something about Mike setting a fire. He hesitated for a moment, calling her name, hoping she would wake up, but she didn’t. As soon as he had touched her, she grabbed him and pulled him close, sobbing. Droya’s heart broke, and all he could do was try to comfort her and draw her out of the nightmare.

Once Rosie was awake, she tried to tell him to go back to his room, but his stomach twisted at the thought of leaving her alone again. He couldn’t even imagine the effort it would take for him to let go of her right then. Every instinct told him to hold her close and keep her calm. He tended to trust his instincts. Even though he knew he might be acting selfishly, the stab of fear he felt when she pushed away from him was overpowering, and he pulled her back.

And she thanked him.

She thanked him. And fell asleep on him.

He felt more awake than he had ever been before, adrenaline rushing as if he were in the middle of an intense sparring match. He was acutely aware of every inch of the woman pressed against him. Her skin was so soft, but somehow everywhere it touched his, he burned. The thin shirt she wore wasn’t enough to obscure the constellation of tiny knots on her back; he could feel the scars under his fingertips. Anger swirled into his heart, and he felt his claws extending. He lightened his touch so he wouldn’t snag her shirt.

Anyone that hurt her deserved endless pain. Mike deserved endless pain.

The things that Droya had been telling himself all day – all the reasons and excuses – felt very stupid and insignificant compared to the gravity of holding Rosie while she slept. That felt like the most important thing he had ever done.

A few minutes turned to an hour, and Droya was calm and uncomfortable enough to risk moving a bit. He rolled them both, holding her steady as he scooted down off the headboard and onto blessedly soft pillows. They were both on their sides facing each other, and Rosie was still asleep, one arm bent and pressed against his chest, the other slung around his waist just above his hip. He brushed her hair out of her face and snuggled against her, tucking her head under his chin. Her breath tickled against his chest and he sighed into her hair.

He knew he was weak. He knew this was selfish. He knew she deserved better than someone like him, and that he was in no way, shape, or form “relationship material.” But he knew in his soul he had already lost the will to fight it. He was hopelessly gone. He felt a little lighter, giving in to the feeling. Relieved, even.

Rosie squirmed in her sleep a little and flexed her arm, squeezing against him. She breathed a soft sound, somewhere between a moan and a whimper, and Droya hummed a purr in his chest to lull her back to sleep. Within another half hour, he was sleeping too, and they both slept solidly until Rosie’s alarm went off.

It was a discordant, raucous song, something from Earth that Droya didn’t recognize, and the phone vibrated annoyingly against his back. He groaned and rolled a little so he could grab the source of aggravation. Squinting his eyes at the bright little screen, he dismissed the alarm and dropped the phone back to the bed, then returned his arm to its original position, draped over Rosie. She whined in protest at being roused awake, and her hand slid up Droya’s side and around to his back as she burrowed her forehead into his chest.

They both snapped their eyes open at almost the same instant, and Rosie pushed up just enough to look Droya in the eyes with the most horrified expression on her face. Her whole body tensed, and her face went pale, then pink, then red as she scrambled away from him. He sat up and started to say something, but as Rosie tried to get off the bed, her leg was caught where Droya’s tail had coiled around her ankle, and she lost her balance, falling on the floor awkwardly. Droya flinched and uncurled his tail, freeing her leg, and she stood up in a panic and stared at him. Her hair was everywhere, long poofs and tangles, and her breath was ragged.

“I’m so sorry,” she said. “Oh my God. I’m so embarrassed.” She covered her face with her hands and shook her head, then bolted to her bathroom and slammed the door.

Droya sat on the bed with his mouth hanging open.

That could have gone better.

He raked his claws through his hair, which he was sure looked just as slept-in as Rosie’s, and took a deep breath.

Okay.

He slid out of Rosie’s bed and went to the bathroom door.

“Rosie?” he called, giving the door a light knock. “Rosie, are you okay?”

“I- I’m fine, I’m sorry, I’m just- I don’t know what I was thinking…”

She continued, but the sound was muffled, and he had a feeling she was covering her face again.

“There’s nothing to be sorry about,” he said. “Would you come out and talk to me?”

“…”

“Rosie?”

“…I don’t know,” she said. “I feel like such a… I can’t believe I… I’m so fucking selfish, I just… I know you were just trying to do your job, and I took advantage of you just to feel better, I’m so sorry.”

Droya leaned his forehead against the door, his horns tapping against it as he laughed as quietly as he could.

So it wasn’t just him that was stupid. They were both stupid. That made him feel so much better.

He bit his lip lightly with sharp teeth, trying to push down the laughter that kept bubbling up, but it escaped anyway and he turned away from the door. He went back to the bed – the only furniture in the room – and sat down, laughing loudly now. He put his elbows on his knees and leaned into his hands, and after a moment he couldn’t tell if he was laughing or crying.

He didn’t even hear Rosie leave the bathroom, or walk over to him.

“Hey,” she snapped.

Droya looked up. She had her arms crossed and her bottom lip stuck out, hurt in her eyes. Her face was scarlet.

“Are you laughing at me?” she asked in a quavering but angry voice.

Droya sat up straight and smiled at her adoringly.

“I’m laughing at both of us,” he said, shaking his head.

“Wh… what?”

He blinked at her slowly, still smiling.

“Your eyes are doing the thing,” Rosie accused nervously.

“Rosie,” he said softly, letting her name glide through his lips. “You did not take advantage of me. And I was not just doing my job.”

She narrowed her eyes.

“I told you I’m not looking to hook up,” she said.

Droya chuckled, which just made her angrier.

“You said you were not good with casual sex,” he said. “And you said… even if I wanted something real, you would be gone soon.”

He tilted his head, eyes gleaming.

“But you are not gone, and I do want something real.”

Rosie was as still as a statue. A funny statue with unruly brown curls, wide eyes, and pillow wrinkles imprinted on her cheek.

“Y-you…” she stammered. “You shouldn’t remember what I say when I’m drunk,” she finished lamely.

Droya stood up from the bed and stepped close to Rosie.

“I listen very well,” he said. “All the time.”

He tentatively reached out to her, and she didn’t flinch. He put his hands on her shoulders.

“I won’t push,” he said. “I will never push you into something you don’t want. Never. And if you tell me to not talk to you about this again, I will go until my grave with a lid on my heart. But until you tell me that, I want to say some things.”

Rosie had a panicked look on her face, but she said nothing, so he continued.

“You are special, and kind,” he said. “You are funny, and frustrating, and strong. When you laugh, I cannot breathe because I want to stop time and live in the sound forever.”

He leaned into the possible train wreck and moved his hands up to cradle her face. She just stared at him, still as stone.

“When you are hurting I want to wrap you up in my arms and hide from everything with you until the pain is gone,” he said.

He closed his eyes.

“I might be stupid for feeling this way. I know we do not know each other, not really at all.”

He opened his eyes and gazed at her, a little sadness in his face. She had no reason to reciprocate his feelings.

“I thought that telling you the truth would be a fun challenge, but I find it too easy to tell you things. I will not lie to you about my intentions. I very much want to kiss you, and touch you… But only if you want that, too. You are a special person and I would rather lose my job and my life than to lose the chance to say these things.”

She still had her arms crossed, and her face was still red and hot, but her shoulders had slumped a bit, and she was not quite as rigid. Droya pulled away from her and stepped back, feeling lightheaded and a little bit like he had just torn out his heart and thrown it at Rosie’s feet.

Rosie licked her lips.

“That was a lot,” she said quietly.

Droya winced and looked at the floor.

“Could…” she started, then stopped herself. “I need to think, could you go away for a while? Not like, away away, just out of my room.”

He looked at her. All he could read from her was anxiety, so he just nodded and left the room, closing the door gently. He walked to the small living room and face-planted on the sofa, then let out a long, anguished groan into the cushion.

Zete watched him do this from the kitchen counter. He had been nibbling on some leftover takeout for breakfast, but this seemed far more interesting, so he abandoned his food and flew over to the back of the sofa.

“Were you in Rosie’s room?” he asked cheerfully.

Droya jerked in surprise and fell off the sofa, rolling and thudding to the floor on his back.

“Ugghhh,” he said.

Zete cackled at the demon.

“I thought I heard you two talking. Couldn’t quite make out the words, though. Anything interesting?”

Droya covered his eyes with his forearm.

“I might be out of a job,” he said.

Zete was quiet for a beat, then asked, “That bad?”

The demon sighed and rolled onto his side.

“I am a stupid fool,” he said. “The most stupid fool.”

The pixie sucked his teeth.

“That bad,” Zete said. “Ah, well. You gave it a shot. Can’t say you didn’t try. Jobs come and go, anyway.”

Droya rolled back over just to glare at him.

The pixie ducked his head contritely.

“Sorry,” he said.

Droya closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

“I should call the guild and arrange for a replacement before she asks me to leave,” he said. “I don’t want her to be in danger just because I upset her.”

“She didn’t already ask you to leave?” Zete asked.

“Not exactly,” Droya said.

“Well… what did she say? What did you say?”

Droya sat up and rubbed the back of his head.

“I told her I have feelings for her, and she said she needed to think.”

“Oh,” Zete said. “Yeah, that does sound bad.”

Droya massaged the skin around his horns.

“My head hurts,” he muttered.

A door opened down the hallway, and Rosie stepped into the living room a moment later. She seemed calm, stoic almost.

“Why are you on the floor?” she asked Droya, then waved her hand. “No, never mind. Could you please come with me for a minute?” She turned around and walked back into her room, leaving the door open.

Droya and Zete shared a glance.

“Uh, it was nice working with you,” Zete said.

Droya hauled himself to his feet, feeling like he’d been hit way more than once by the giant green mugger the day before yesterday. He took a breath and ran his hands through his hair again, failing to fix his bed head once more.

He dragged himself down the hallway to Rosie’s room.