Laura and I return to Henrik's house, a place that now feels more like home than ever. With his absence, we decide to take up the role of the "weird folks at the edge of town," assuming his blacksmithing duties to keep the forge alive.
This is my first time driving a horse and carriage. Laura patiently shows me the ropes—both literally and figuratively—as we make our way back with every tool and material we brought to Kundor. The journey is bumpy, but we manage to navigate it without major mishaps.
Arriving at the small, bare house, we begin the tedious task of unloading. The forge stands cold and quiet, but it feels good to be back. There's something comforting about the simplicity of the work ahead, a welcome distraction from the chaos of recent events.
The late October chill bites at my lungs, but the crispness of the air invigorates me for the work ahead. Laura, on the other hand, looks far less enthusiastic, her expression tinged with reluctance.
"It'll be fun!" I say, trying to lift her spirits. "Just us two this time. No more of Henrik's shouting ringing in our ears."
She glances at me, pouting. "Fun for you, maybe. I'll have to take over your role, which means painful blisters."
"We'll take it easy at first—no more of Henrik's torture," I say with a reassuring smile.
Laura returns the smile, but it's fleeting. "We'll have to share a bed again. Unless, of course, you'd prefer sleeping in the shed," she teases, her smirk mischievous.
"Absolutely not!" My voice echoes, louder than intended.
She giggles, her smirk turning into a laugh. "Cuddles it is, then."
My expression falls flat. This is starting to get ridiculous.
"The rumors will never stop if you keep talking like that," I say, my tone serious.
"What rumors?" she asks, tilting her head in genuine confusion.
"You know, that we're a couple," I reply bluntly.
Her face grows serious, her expression unreadable. She steps toward me slowly, and without thinking, I instinctively step back until my shoulders press against the cold wall. She's now close—so close I can feel her steady breaths against me.
Before I can react, her arms wrap around me, her head pressing gently against my chest. The warmth of her embrace contrasts with the chill that runs down my spine. She seems completely at ease, as though this is the most natural thing in the world.
"You're scared," she says softly, her tone soothing and gentle.
My heart hammers against my chest; its rhythm is so loud and erratic it feels as though it might burst. Strangely, the chaos of battle seems less terrifying than this.
"I am," I admit, my voice quivering.
Her embrace tightens slightly, her ear still pressed against my chest. "I can hear your heart pounding," she murmurs. "Why? Why are you so scared?"
Her words pierce through me, and the weight of her question pulls me deeper into my spiraling thoughts. My face pales as I feel a tightness in my chest, my breaths turning rapid and shallow. Anxiety grips me like an iron vice, pulling me under.
"I am not worthy," I mutter, my voice barely audible.
My legs give way, and I collapse to the floor, pulling Laura down with me. Her arms remain wrapped around me as I struggle to breathe. Slowly, my erratic heartbeat begins to steady, my breaths less shallow.
She sighs softly, her voice calm yet laden with emotion. "If I told you I loved you regardless, how would you respond?"
Her words hang in the air, freezing time. My heart skips a beat, and I know she felt it too. For a long moment, I sit there in silence, holding her. Neither of us moves or speaks, the weight of her confession pressing down on us both.
Eventually, I muster the courage to respond. "I would cry," I admit, my voice trembling.
The walls I've carefully built begin to crumble. My vision blurs, and tears spill over. The fear of death, the chaos of battle—none of it broke me. But this? This shatters me completely.
"I would rather you not collapse every time I hold you," she says softly, a gentle smile tugging at her lips.
"Sorry," I sniff, trying to steady myself.
"Don't apologize for being human," she whispers, her voice like a balm to my frayed nerves.
"Thank you," I manage to say, my words heavy with sincerity.
"Let's make some horseshoes," she says with a grin.
I laugh softly, standing up and lifting her small frame with me. For a moment, I glance at her face, noticing her delicate features in a way I hadn't before. My puffy eyes don't dull the realization: she's beautiful.
The rest of the chilly day is spent hammering in the forge. The intense heat forces me to work shirtless, sweat beading on my brow. Occasionally, I catch Laura stealing glances at me. It dawns on me—just as I've begun to see her as a woman, she's begun to see me as a man. I must admit, the hard labor is paying off; my frame is becoming lean and muscular.
As evening settles in, we tidy up the forge and head back inside. The warm glow of the fireplace welcomes us, the intense heat chasing away the chill of the October night. A familiar pot of soup waits on the hearth, the savory aroma filling the small house.
This time, it's even more delicious than usual. Laura has truly outdone herself, and naturally, I make sure to compliment her efforts. She smiles, her face glowing in the firelight, and mutters a humble, "Thank you."
As the day winds down and dusk fully sets in, we climb into Henrik's bed. It's modest—too short for my frame and just wide enough to fit us both. The closeness feels natural now, the quiet of the evening wrapping us in its embrace.
Those lingering, uncomfortable thoughts, though manageable, refuse to fade entirely. As Laura wraps her arms around me, my heart clenches, sinking with the weight of emotions I can't quite name. But this time, instead of retreating into my mind, instead of running from the moment, I take a deep breath and lean into her touch. I let myself embrace the warmth and the quiet comfort she offers.