Chapter Text
The krew stops in an open field, wide enough that it almost feels like an invitation for trouble, to set up camp for the night. Ordinarily, this would make Torbek nervous. Open spaces mean nowhere to hide, nowhere to funnel danger, nowhere to pretend you did not see something coming. He would know from experience.
Yet, the field is quiet.
Moss blankets the ground in soft, uneven patches, springy underfoot, and the air carries the clean, damp scent of water nearby. As the others make their rounds, checking the perimeter and muttering their reassurances to one another, Torbek wanders just far enough away to think.
Which, of course, is when he hears it.
Water, rushing steady and loud, almost angry, into a pool below. Curious, Torbek follows the sound, careful with his steps, until the land dips and the waterfall comes into view. It spills down a jagged wall of stone, white and bright in the fading light, breaking into mist at the base.
And beside it, just a few feet away, is a patch of grass.
Not slick with spray. Nor trampled or muddy. Just there, green and soft, like it has been waiting. Untouched by the world around it.
An increasingly familiar warmth causes Torbek’s chest tightens pleasantly.
It is close enough to hear the water without having to shout over it. Far enough back that no one would get soaked. Private, but not hidden. Safe, in the way Torbek has learned to measure safety now. Funny, how that is.
He stands there for a moment longer than necessary, imagining a blanket spread out, imagining Frost beside him, imagining the sound of the waterfall covering the rest of the world just enough.
Torbek smiles to himself. He thinks Frost might like it here.
…
Mr. Kremy and Gideon head back toward town, already arguing about something Torbek cannot quite hear. Gricko and Hootsie take off in the opposite direction, deep into the trees. He hears something about bones from them? He still doesn’t know why Hootsie needs so many, but who is he to judge? Everyone off to their own routine.
Frost pauses beside Torbek, hesitating. “I am going to meditate,” he says, then, a little more carefully, “you may join me, if you wish.”
Torbek’s heart does a small, traitorous flip. He wants to say yes. He always wants to say yes, but he doesnt. Not this time.
Frost’s ears droop just enough to be noticeable before he schools his expression. “Very well,” he replies, although his disappointment is clear. He retreats into his tent, movements calm, unaware of the chaos he has just avoided.
Torbek watches him go and waits. Counts breaths. Make sure the tent flap settles closed..
Then, with practiced stealth, he goes to work.
He gathers the leftover food from the night before, slipping it quietly into his arms. Bread heels. Wrapped cheese. A handful of dried fruit. He adds the snacks he usually keeps tucked away for himself and Frost during late-night cuddles, the ones Frost pretends not to notice Torbek hoarding.
It will be better like this, Torbek decides. More thoughtful. More date-like.
In the books Frost reads to him, picnics always involve baskets. Torbek cannot read himself, but he remembers pictures well enough. So he borrows an unused basket from Gricko’s tent, promising silently to return it later, and begins packing everything inside.
But it's as he's kneeling down with the basket, having snuck all the way back to the grass by the waterfall, that he realises that maybe this was a terrible idea.
The blanket goes down first. That part is easy. Mostly. It is crooked, Torbek *tries* to fix that by tugging at one corner too hard, which makes the opposite side bunch up. He stares at it for a long moment, considering, then decides this is acceptable. Frost won't mind, surely.
The setting of the food is a bit harder.
He sets out what he has with the seriousness of someone defusing a bomb. Bread is placed down first. Then moved. And moved again, because it feels too close to the cheese. The cheese, which he unwraps clumsily, smells stronger than he expected. He frowns at it, sniffing cautiously.
“…Yooooooou’re suppooooosed to smell like thaaaat,” he decides aloud, nervous but forcing his certainty.
There is fruit hes grabbed as well. He washes it in his canteen water, which feels clever until it rolls away in the grass and he has to chase it, hissing under his breath so as not to alert anyone. When he comes back, slightly damp and triumphant, he places it down with exaggerated care.
The result is… not impressive and Torbek's heart clogs his throat.
The bread, while evenly sliced, is now squished by what Torbek is now realising was too hard of a grip. The cheese is in chunks of wildly different sizes. The fruit is damp. There is honey, but its dripping down the sides of the jar. He sits back on his heels and surveys his work, chest fluttering with something between pride and panic.
This is bad.
This is very bad.
He swallows. Rubbing his hands on his thighs and exhaling deeply. Back all that time ago, when Frost had mentioned wanting a picnic–since he’d never had a proper one, he made no mention of it needing to be perfect. Torbek can try. He is very good at trying.
He glances over his shoulder, checking that Frost hasn’t come looking for him, then adjusts the blanket one more time, smoothing it with both palms like that might fix everything.
He nods, satisfied for the moment.
…
By the time afternoon settles in, Gricko and Hootsie have returned to camp and promptly disappeared into naptime. This is not surprising. Gricko always naps with his daughter. Torbek considers this important information and files it away for later.
His nerves, however, are doing terribly.
His palms are clammy. His shoulders feel too tight. He has already checked the spot three times. The blanket is still there. The basket has not been stolen by wildlife or fate. Nothing looks actively worse than it did this morning, which Torbek is choosing to interpret as a good sign.
Several pieces of fruit are missing.
Torbek assumes this was an animal. He chooses not to think about what kind. At least it is not all gone.
He finds Frost near the edge of camp, adjusting his bag with his usual careful precision. For a moment, Torbek just watches him. The way Frost’s hands move with practiced certainty. The small flick of his tail when he concentrates. Torbek’s chest tightens in that familiar, inconvenient way.
He clears his throat, even though Frost’s ears have already turned toward him.
“Froooost,” Torbek says. “Torbek would like to show you sooomething.”
Frost looks up, eyes bright with curiosity. “Oh?” he asks mildly. “Does this happen to be the reason you have been gone most of the morning?”
Torbek flushes, heat creeping up his neck. “Maaaaaaybe.”
A smile tugs at Frost’s mouth, soft and knowing. He straightens and adjusts the strap of his bag. “Lead the way, then, Torbek.”
They walk together, Torbek half a step ahead, having memorised the path over the course of the morning, leading Frost along. The sound of the water grows louder with each step and Torbeks heart keeps tim with it. When they reach the clearing, he slows, then stops, stepping aside so Frost can see.
The waterfall spills down the rock face in a silver rush, mist catching the light. Beside it, the patch of grass sits just as Torbek left it. The blanket is spread a little crooked. The basket waits nearby, lid slightly askew.
Torbek folds his hands together, fingers fidgeting. “Torbek… Torbek made you a picnic,” he says, voice quiet but earnest. “Its not very goooood. And some of it may have been eaten by somethiiiiiing… but Torbek thought you might liiiiike the place.”
He risks a glance at Frost, who is standing very still, observing the setup with what Torbek can only label as a shaky but critical eye. It rattles him.
Then his expression softens in a way that makes Torbek’s breath catch. He steps forward, kneeling to smooth the blanket without comment, careful and deliberate.
“I like it,” Frost says simply, voice breathless in a beautiful way that Torbek has yet to hear from him. He looks up at Torbek, ears warm, eyes steady. “I like it very much. I cannot believe this only took you a couple of hours.” The tabaxi looks overjoyed, not even commenting on the missing food, or the crumpled blanket.
Torbek’s shoulders finally relax. He smiles, wide and relieved, and settles down beside him.
…
They sit close, despite the open stretch of grass around them. Knees touch and overlap, Frost’s leg nearly resting in Torbek’s lap. Torbek’s heart beats hard with the simple fact of it, loud in his chest, warm and a little unreal. The waterfall hums beside them, steady and constant, filling the silence without asking anything of it.
Torbek reaches for the basket, fingers fumbling slightly. “Uuuuuhm,” he says, “there is more food Torbek brought in heeeere.”
Frost catches the edge of the basket and eases it back down, touch light and deliberate. “You prepared this,” he says calmly. “Let us eat what you arranged first, yes? Then we can have more if need be.”
Torbek nods at once, quick and eager, as though he has been given very important instructions.
Frost looks over the array, closer now that they are sat. Bread is cut nicely, clearly Kremys hand–Torbek watches Frost snort out a laugh at that–cheese and fruit just as messy as Torbek left it.
Torbek hesitates, then offers Frost a piece of bread with both hands, as if presenting a gift.
Frost accepts it with care. He breaks it in half, thoughtful, then drizzles a careful line of honey across one piece before handing it back to Torbek. “Cheers.” and he clinks his slice of bread against the one he's pushed into Torbek's claws.
It's so endearing that Torbek's chest feels trapped with the pressure it creates.
“Cheeeeers.” and Torbek swallows the slice whole. Frost laughs, that pretty one that Torbek gets all to himself, and takes a bite of his own.
Frost reaches for the cheese next, a smile resting on his face. Torbek can’t stop looking. “This is good,” Frost says, after a moment. “You chose well.”
Torbek beams, shoulders loosening. He eats more confidently now, messier–since he knows Frost doesn’t mind, leaning back on one hand, the other gesturing as he talks about nothing in particular. About the way the water sounds different here. About how he thought Frost might like the view.
Frost listens, quietly amused, adding small comments where they fit. Their legs shift as they eat, brushing, settling more comfortably together without either of them acknowledging it. At some point, Torbek’s knee presses more firmly against Frost’s thigh, and sits there for the rest of the afternoon.