The Heat Behind His Eyes

The Heat Behind His Eyes - Chapter 14

We've been walking through the forest a while when I hear Konoe's steps falling farther behind. I've not been doing much to keep the distance close for several reasons:

First, I really don't want to have him panting down the back of my neck like he was earlier today. I don't need that kind of distraction. Second, I've noticed he has a fear of fire. He's been keeping his distance, though, trying not to show it. It's such a childish fear—it's tempting to tease him. I don't know why I enjoy seeing him flustered so much. Third, and this is becoming more apparent, the physical distance between us has recently increased most likely because he's tired.

I've been trying not to think of that orange cat, whose hands and nose were wandering all over my Sanga just hours earlier. I'll bring it up soon, all right—I just don't want to think about it now. As we've been walking, I haven't been able to determine if it got under my skin because he didn't tell me, or because it was another cat. When we stop, I'll deal with it.

There's a partly hidden glade off the path we're on right now. In fact, that looks like a great place for this young one to rest his feet awhile and give me some explanations. Maybe we should rest there for the night.

They didn't look as familiar as lovers, the thought pops into my mind unbidden. They looked more like friends or good acquaintances. However, I saw the gleam in the orange cat's eye. Glancing behind me, I can't help noticing how childish that small cat looks and acts. Perhaps he thinks they are friends, but that merchant's son clearly wishes they were more.

"We'll stop here for today," my voice breaks the silence. The light from the torch guides us to a place a ways off the road. We need to be pretty far from the road—for reasons of both sight and sound, I think slyly.

Konoe follows obediently and watches me use the torch to build a warming, comforting campfire. I sit closely—I've always remembered reveling in the warmth of the fire—feeling like it melted something inside, maybe meeting a need I didn't know I had—while watching Konoe try his best not to cower from the flames.

Both of us start our evening grooming routine, Konoe starting with his arms. I'm watching him closely out of the corner of my eye, as he sits far away from the crackling fire. His pale hair looks nearly gold in the firelight, and I feel strangely drawn to the smaller cat. The contrast between golden strands of hair and jet black fur attracts my eye in a way that I can't explain.

But with every pop the fire sounds, I see Konoe's ears flick around in miserable discomfort, noticing his tail is fluffed out cutely—just like a kitten's would be—and I wonder how on earth this child-like cat made it so far in the forest of the Void on his own. 

Keeping my own face on the flames, I ask neutrally, "You don't like fire?"

A heart-meltingly adorable utterance escapes Konoe's lips. He sounds shocked that his weakness has been noticed—and the sound unintentionally communicates his guilt, embarrassment, and disappointment in this shortcoming. How does he do that with a single sound? It comes as such a surprise that I can't help turning my head to observe the smaller cat.

Comparing our stances—me relaxed in front of the fire, warming my hands and tail, while Konoe moves to lean against a tree, trying to be casual, but keeping as far from the flames as he thinks he can get away with—though his fear would be apparent to any outsider. For a moment, Konoe stops grooming, frozen in place by my comment. Then, as nonchalantly as possible, which, in my opinion, isn't at all, Konoe turns to the side, pretending to be at ease. He responds, "Not really."

"You were avoiding it while we were walking." I deliberately keep my tone gentle and kind. "Now, too, you're shivering in the cold, when you could be warming yourself next to the flames." Or even snuggled up next to me, I don't say.