No Regrets

*EDITORS NOTE* It is BASICALLY a requirement that you listen to THIS song while reading this vig. Seriously. DO IT.


In three little words, S’van’s world was both shattered and rebuilt.

Words he had never dared to think. Never dared to imagine. Refused to consider coming from the one who had said them. Because before the moment that those words were breathed into life, brought forth with seriousness and clear intent, the thought of them would have been more than the weyrling could have handled.

And now he lies on a soft bed in the early-morning light with the person he loves sleeping against him. His head on his chest. His arm across his stomach. Sleeping peacefully. And S’van can’t help but glance down at him, to watch the rise and fall of that chest as he breathes. To trace the lines of his form with his eyes, loath to touch him with his fingers lest he should wake. Arm around him, holding him close, he uses the warmth and weight of his body to reassure him that he wasn’t dreaming.

And once more he sinks into the memory. Replays the words again and again. Engraving them into his memory. Enough to satisfy him forever. Because he had no illusions about the future; had no false hope that he would hear those words again. Once was more than he expected. Once was more than enough. But that didn’t mean that he wouldn’t carve them on his heart to relive at leisure. To replay during the still mornings or cold nights.

His arm tightens involuntarily, possessive. Protective.

There are words he wants to say. Words he feels pressing against his mind and his heart, that he dares not speak aloud. Words of affirmation and affection. Of the fierce and protective love he felt for him. For the adoration he wanted to show. Words of understanding. For the pain he held inside. For the reason he had done what he did. To acknowledge and reassure that it would never scare him off. And how he had already forgiven him, without being asked. Words of passion and lust. Of how he couldn’t get enough of his body or his mouth. How his every touch was like fire, as if he hadn’t lived before he’d known him. Words of commitment and devotion. How he had never before loved anyone the way he loved him. How he would never love anyone more deeply, more wholeheartedly. With his whole being. How he couldn’t imagine his life without him in it. How he never expected to be here, but now that he was, there was nowhere else he would be. How he would give up anything and everything if he could just keep him. How it didn’t matter where he was, because if J’en was with him he was home.

His unoccupied hand lifts, moves over to brush his fingers featherlight against the cheek of the sleeping bronzerider, unable to resist the urge to touch him. Unable to resist the urge to drop his chin just slightly to place a lingering kiss to the top of his head. His eyes close automatically, breathing in the scent of him. Committing it to memory. Storing it in his heart.

Because while those three words had been breathed out, the reaction that came after made him wonder about what would happen when he woke again. Whether he would run again. Whether S’van would have to play it cool once again even while he was dying inside.

But he refused to take a single second for granted, knowing full-well that any moment could be the last. Refused to let one moment go to waste while he was here. Come what may. He had no real choice in the matter, and he was alright with that. He had already given his heart completely over, had already released all control. So while he was here, he was going to love him with everything he had and do everything in his power to prove that his words were true.

In the still of the morning, with his lips against his hair, he murmurs the only sentiment that really matters and means it with his whole being; mind body and soul.

“I love you.”

No regrets.


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