Chapter Text
Rook paced the floor of her increasingly comfortable room. The Lighthouse had started off, to her, as a strange, cold hideout of an enemy. But over the past month or so, she’d found herself looking forward to finishing a mission so she could head back to somewhere that, quite surprisingly, was beginning to feel like home. Home was certainly a place where one fretted frequently over their own pathetic inability to stop daydreaming about a coworker, right? A coworker who was possibly twenty years her senior. At the very least.
She’d never asked his age. Was afraid to know the answer, as if finding out a certain number would lock her out forever, even damaging her sad little fantasies. It was easier not to think about specifics. Specifics were imagination killers. And she needed her imagination desperately, seeing as she was painfully awkward around Emmrich in all their Real Life Interactions. She was more awkward than Manfred stumbling around the kitchen with a spatula, trying to cook everyone breakfast. She was more awkward than Taash during one of Bellara’s impromptu dance parties in the living room.
The biggest problem was this: Emmrich was intimidating. He was a professor. He was well-learned. He was graceful and posh and handsome. His eyes focused intensely on her whenever she spoke, so it was hard for to meet his gaze without blushing. After the first week of this, she’d assumed such embarrassing reactions to him would wear out quickly. One can only keep up the energy of an intense crush for so long when faced with constant interaction. But no.
No, the heat in her cheeks never faded when he looked at her. Her rapid pulse never calmed when he entered the same room. Her ability to have a dream in which he was not the erotic star never improved. Rook was completely (utterly, annoyingly) very much into her necromancer coworker of unknown age. So she paced in her small but cozy room and almost didn’t hear the knock when it came softly at her door.
Another knock, of an easy and polite nature, and then, “Sorry to bother you, but do you have a moment?”
Rook’s chest clenched uncomfortably. He was at her door again. He kept doing that, more and more often. Coming to her after the rest of the Lighthouse had settled in for the night, checking to see if that scrape she’d received on her temple during a skirmish had healed well, asking if she’d like a cup of tea, since he’d “just put on the kettle.” She was positive these check-ins were innocent. If he’d known the way his attention made her skin tingle, surely he would have had some mercy. He wouldn’t keep calling on her like this.
She braced herself, smoothing her hair and pulling the fallen strap of her undershirt back over her shoulder, the bothersome thing. She breathed, in and out, steady does it. And then she crossed to open the door, suddenly self-conscious of her bare feet, but too worried about keeping him waiting to take the time to locate her slippers.
The door creaked when it opened. It seemed Solas had not considered well lubricated hinges a necessity when creating his hideout.
As expected, Emmrich was standing there, looking much the way he’d looked when they’d all said goodnight about half an hour before. Except now, the laces at his collar were loosened, revealing a sharp hint of a collarbone. And a lock of his silver hair was hanging forward, the ends dampened from his nightly routine of washing his face. He smelled faintly of peach blossoms (from his soap) and mint (from his toothpaste) and Rook could feel her cheeks pinkening at a breakneck pace.
“Emmrich,” she greeted with as much nonchalance as she could muster. “What can I do for you?”
Oh, the things she could do for him, if he’d only ask.
He had the audacity to lean against her doorframe and prop a hand on his hip. He was effortless. If she wasn’t so besotted with him, she might hate him for the elegance in which he moved through her world.
“I was passing by on my way from the washroom and thought I would bid you one last goodnight,” he said. His voice was deep and smooth and tinged with concern. “Please don’t take offense, but there was a matter I wanted to discuss in private. It’s been bothering me these past few weeks, and I think we are comfortable enough with one another now for me to bring it up.”
“Um, oh? What is it?” Rook did not move from the doorway, did not invite him into her room. That would be too much. Plus, as often was the case when Emmrich was standing before her, she was frozen in place.
He lowered his voice before he continued, probably seeking discretion, since he was polite and thoughtful and Rook was a mannerless idiot who couldn’t even invite the man into her room. “It is a health concern.”
“Are you sick?” she asked, in a sudden panic. Her fingers itched to reach for him, but up to this point they had seldom touched, and she couldn’t bring herself to do it now.
“Dear Rook, the concern is not for my own person.” It was then that Emmrich stepped forward, gently sidling past her and stepping fully into her bedroom. He took a moment to turn and pull her door closed. Again, the hinges groaned. And so, very nearly, did Rook herself.
He turned back to her, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly, his pupils sparkling with the reflection of the lit lanterns on the wall. “It’s you I’ve been worrying about,” he said, his voice still low, despite their newly attained privacy.
“M-me?” Rook asked. Grunted, really.
“Your cheeks,” he said. His hand hovered at his side, his fingers curling and uncurling. “I’ve noticed they’re quite red. Have you been suffering with a frequent fever of some kind? Please, allow me.”
Before she could allow or deny him anything, his hand reached all the way to her face and cupped her cheek. He tutted, his lips turning into a pronounced frown. “You’re very warm,” he muttered, as if to himself. His hand left her cheek and pressed against her forehead instead. “Have you been to a proper healer lately? You don’t have to pretend like nothing’s wrong. If you’re hurting, I would be happy to accompany you to—”
“I’m fine!” Rook yelled. Yelled, because, as stated before, she was painfully awkward in front of this man on her best days, and now he was touching her and she was on fire. “Just a bit flushed. I blush easy. It’s not anything serious.”
“Ah, is it a blush, then?” he asked, something in his voice making her blush even harder. “What’s bringing this blush about? Are you still shy, even after all this time together?”
“I’m not shy,” Rook argued. “I just…blush sometimes. When…when…”
“It’s okay to be shy, Rook,” Emmrich said sweetly. “But it must be a strain on you, to blush so fiercely, so often. Is there anything I can do to help you feel more comfortable?”
An unstoppable laugh burst from her throat and she clasped a hand over her mouth. Emmrich arched an eyebrow at her. It was no wonder. She was sure she must look absolutely mad, which would not be an unfair assessment.
“There’s nothing you can do,” Rook said. “It’s really not an issue. Not a health concern, I mean. I’m just, um, weird, I guess.” His hand was still on her forehead and this did not escape her notice. Maybe it didn’t escape his either, though, because his fingers began brushing a few errant strands of hair off her clammy skin. Excellent. She was now pink-cheeked AND clammy.
“I don’t know if you’ve noticed this about me,” Emmrich whispered, and why was he suddenly whispering? “But I rather like weird.”
“You,” Rook rasped helplessly, “like weird?”
“My cherished companion is a necromanced skeleton whom I’ve taught to make Eggs Benedict.”
“Oh.”
“And my other cherished companion is a much younger woman whose cheeks turn a delightful pink every time I enter the room.”
WHAT?
Rook’s legs gave out. They actually, literally, stopped working, and she would have crashed to her knees if Emmrich had not swiftly caught her up in his arms and kept her aloft.
“Apologies for the forwardness, dear,” he said, whispering once again, this time right into her ear. “But one of us had to do something about this and we both know it was never going to be you.” His hand tucked under her chin, lifting her gaze to meet his. “Tell me I’m wrong.”
Cradled in his grasp the way she was, Rook could hardly look away. Finally, she felt allowed to look, to really look, and maybe, to her total surprise, she noticed a faint blush on Emmrich’s cheeks, as well.
“You’re not wrong,” she answered.