The victory feast was, to put it lightly, a complete nightmare.
Cherion wasn't just in Zarius's personal space at the high table, he was basically trying to merge with him on a molecular level. His brain felt like fifty tabs open at once, all blasting different music, and every single one was glitching. The Great Hall? Just too much of everything. The smell of roasted meat and expensive Northern wax? Suddenly smelled like actual garbage.
Everything was attacking his senses at once. He felt like he'd been shoved into a microwave on the 'defrost' setting, alternating between shivering and feeling his blood simmer just beneath the surface of his skin.
Zarius leaned in. The man was a pillar of frost, a beautiful, terrifying glacier. When he spoke, it didn't just hit Cherion's ears, it vibrated straight through his ribs like low bass.
"Cherion," Zarius murmured, staring way too closely at his face. "Are you… in heat?"
