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    In fact, Ambrosius does just fine at love languages.

    (Or: Bal and Ambrosius's first meeting through to after the wall comes down, one love language at a time.)

    ‘Try gripping it more like—here,’ Ambrosius says, and sheathes his own sword, taking a step closer.

    Bal’s about to protest that he’s fine, he doesn’t need help. But Ambrosius’s fingers hover above his on the sword’s hilt, and when he asks, ‘May I?’ suddenly the last thing Bal wants is to tell him no.

    He feels so acutely aware of the gentle fingers on his as they adjust his grip carefully on the handle. No one’s ever really been gentle or careful with him before, so he doesn’t know if it’s always like this, like there’s shimmery warmth dancing between them, little pinpoints of electricity everywhere Ambrosius’s fingertips touch his skin.

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    08 Jul 2023