Dragn

Cullen pt2

Most days it isn't this bad, at least he's convinced himself so. He has work on his desk and troops at his door and responsibilities to balance so often he doesn't have time to let it get to him. He really doesn't. Sure some days his teeth will ache until his head is so fuzzy he's seeing spots, but those days are so few and far between now. Far enough that he can sleep it off, or go for a walk and clear his mind so the darkness doesn't dance at the corners of his vision. Most days the dreadful feeling is simply background noise.

So he says anyway. And yet the sweat pooling at his temples is chilling against too hot skin and all he can hope is that someone, anyone, would come to his office. That Cole or Josephine would stop by and he could talk to pull his mind from the brink. That one of the soldiers or Blackwall or The Iron Bull will pop in and ask for a spar or a drink and give his body something to do other than itch for what it can't have. Even Dorian and his endless blathering would be better than the stinging silence making his own thoughts cave in on themselves. Anyone.

"Commander Cullen?" a polite voice calls from behind his door, followed by the light rapping of their knuckles.

Before he can stop himself, because what is he, if not a truly desperate and depraved man now, he says "come in Inquisitor."

Regret. That's all Cullen can feel now. It washes away all of the desperation and aching and even the chill of sweat running down his spine. Because the Inquisitor, his boss, is in his office and looking at him like that. He wants to take it back, anything or anyone would be better than this. It's too late of course. The Inquisitor steps towards him cautiously with a furrow on their face that's nothing short of worry.

"Your Worship, what can I do for you?" Cullen manages to say, straightening his spine to properly face them.

To say he's expecting would be an overstatement, it's more that he's hoping. Hoping that the Inquisitor will leave him with his business and give him a task to do. Something, anything, he reminds himself. He's been dreadfully useless for several days now. Not that that is a bad thing, it means there's nothing wrong in Skyhold, means people are safe and happy and managed. It means that he'd been absolutely useful and done his job well. Except now he has nothing to keep mind nor body busy and it aches. Everything aches.

The Inquisitor, with their kind and gentle heart, reaches a hand out towards him pensively. Concern travels through their face and body more than it had already when Cullen has the nerve to flinch away from the action.

"Cullen, I'm asking as a friend," they remind him, because they are friends now aren't they, "are you okay?"

It's dreadfully hard to lie to the Inquisitor.

"I'm, I am alright, a bit shaken but nothing I can't handle," Cullen assures. Then a moment later, "-nothing I haven't handled before."

The Inquisitor's face sours and time may have just stopped for a moment. Logically, he knows that nothing bad will come of it, they had asked as a friend after all. Not as the Inquisitor, as someone who needs to worry for the safety of everyone. Still Cullen's mind races to the furthest corners of guilt it can reach with what little lucidity he has left and conjures the image of him out of all control. He doesn't want that. The Inquisitor wouldn't want that.

And it never fails to amaze Cullen just how scolded and childly he can feel under the gaze of someone so much younger than him. "You told me you'd let me know if it got to be too much..." the Inquisitor reminds him gently.

Cullen wrings his hands together, "truly it's not, I'm having an off day but I'll not be a problem."

"Commander." It's a threat and a reminder all the same.