After the night's events, it had been all Aren could do to get himself up to bed when he'd gotten home. He'd refused a word of explanation to his parents and sister about slipping out right before closing or why both he and Ocarern had returned with wet clothes. In the morning, though, Elaera made him pay by going up to wake him once she'd caught sight of Kestal.
With tired eyes he went about washing and dressing for the day, but the cold of his bath only did to remind him of those temporary fears the night before, and nothing did to alleviate the heaviness in his eyes. Upon making his way down the stairs, though, something caught his attention: his friends at the table in the corner. Interestingly to him, though, they were talking, and really talking at that. Silently slinking back up the stairs enough to hide himself from view, he flattened himself against the wall to listen.
Kestal spoke of her parents, of their accident, of life after death, and Ocarern more of life, of living a full life, and none of this hurt. It was endearing, really, knowing they were having a heart-to-heart, but they, or at least Kestal, crossed his line. It hurt to hear her words now. Clenching his jaw, he turned his gaze up to the ceiling in silent prayer that she might say she was just kidding or clarify to what extent her feelings reached, but she didn't. He's special to her... She's never told me that before. Ocarern isn't saying anything... Oh no. Oh goddess! They're kissing! They must be kissing! Aren's heart sank, and he didn't dare peak around at them now.
This is it. I lost my chance. She loves him. He loves her. Secret happily ever after. And in the damn tav! ...bet they thought they could go and say those things without me ever knowing, huh? Bet they didn't think their dear Arensaenger would ever find out. They're probably still at it, they're so quiet... Oh GOSHDARNIT. Don't think about it. ...touching hair..., little kisses, sweet nothings, probably holding hands... and that's just over the damned BREAKFAST table! Aren sighed in momentary defeat, fixed his gaze upon the floor, and backed all the way up the stairs just to stumble back down as if he'd just left his room. Sticking a bright, but still tired-eyed smile to his face, he committed to rounding the corner and allowed his eyes to finally find them again as he quickly crossed over toward the opening to the kitchen. "Morning, Kessy. Morning, Oca," he called over in feigned tiredness even though he was feeling wide-awake now.
Just as quickly as he'd settled his eyes upon them, though, he was looking straight ahead as his steps hurried along to go down through the kitchen and along the rows of stacked storage before he settled himself to lean against the wall of piled bags of oats, wedging himself back in the furthest corner against the real wall of the room before he slumped down to kneel. His head dropped into his hands as he fought to keep an emotionless expression, his thoughts raging on about the meaning of all of this. It was only a matter of time..., you just didn't make your move fast enough. You can't just sit here, though... there's work to be done. Papa was at the bar, I'm sure he wants to talk, but I'll just... organize things. Yeah, straighten things up. I'm sure everyone would appreciate that.