15. Hayden

15

HAYDEN

I t's been two days since Cagan last came to see me, and now as I watch him approaching over the hill, something deep inside me stirs. The tension that has been simmering between us seems to tighten with each step he takes closer.

I take a deep breath and wipe my clammy hands on the tattered edges of my coverings, reminding myself of the new bond we've formed. "We're friends now," I repeat silently, echoing the words Cagan said to me in the cave. Clinging to that piece of solace, I resolve to handle the shift in our relationship.

As he nears, his smile beams brightly, catching my eye and igniting a flutter of giddiness within me. The muscles in my face tighten into a smile, a welcome change from my usual scowl. Today, it feels like there's no need for it.

Standing beside him now, the unexplained tension continues to simmer. It's been two days since our last deep conversation, and something has subtly shifted. We're friends, or perhaps something a bit more, wrapped in this unspoken understanding that both unnerves and comforts me.

He strides forward with determination, carrying materials that clatter and clang—a collection of supplies meant for what he ambitiously calls a house. His confidence is infectious, and although I raise an eyebrow at the assortment, the intention behind it warms my heart.

"So, we're really building a house, huh?" I tease, gesturing at the pile of supplies.

He laughs, the sound rich and hearty. "Well, we could,” he starts, then pauses, his expression turning serious for a moment. "Actually, I think you should decide. It’s important—for your safety. Those bastards won’t come after you again, not if I can help it. We can build it close to where you make camp and make it a safe place for you to stay."

The weight of his words hangs in the air, and I feel a mix of reassurance and surprise. Cagan’s earnestness tells me he's committed, not just to the building, but to my safety, to ensuring this place becomes a sanctuary. I feel touched that he is doing this for me, I’ve haven been taken care of before, and that weighs on me. He’s doing something that no other being has ever done for me as far back as I can remember.

"Safe," I echo, letting the idea settle in. It’s a concept so foreign yet so desperately desired. "A home," I add, the word feeling strange yet fitting.

"Yeah, a home," he agrees, his smile returning. "And you get to call the shots. Where do we start?"

I shift hesitantly as he waits for me to answer. It's intimidating to see him standing here ready to build me a shelter just like he said he would.

His smile softens, probably sensing my discomfort. "Why don't we look around and get a feel for things first?" he suggests.

I nod, grateful for his patience, and start walking closer to where I make camp like he suggested. He follows happily, his large form shadowing me from the sun's light. As we walk, the silence stretches comfortably between us.

After a moment, he glances down, noting the large shadow he casts over me, and grins. "Seems I'm not just your guide today, but also your personal mountain.”

His joke brings a genuine laugh from me. It's a reminder of his thoughtful nature, even in humor, and it eases the unfamiliarity of the burgeoning connection between us.

We survey the area together, and I point to a spot near a sturdy oak tree, perfect for our structure. As we lay out the materials, the initial tension from his proposal shifts into a collaborative spirit. The lightness returns when I awkwardly hand him a hammer, and our earlier ease resumes.

"Careful with that,” I tease, as he takes the hammer, pretending to weigh it like a weapon.

He chuckles, swinging it lightly. "Don't you worry, I’ve survived worse than a thumb injury."

I laugh with him as a feeling of lightness begins to roll through me. It’s a peculiar sensation, and everything in me wants to fight against it, but as I look up and meet Cagan’s golden eyes, that urge to rebel dissipates, and as I watch his smile stretch across his face, I feel myself drawn in.

I’m nervously shifting as Cagan sets up the workspace. The tension that exists between us is giving way to uncertainty. Is a house really the best idea for me? I wonder briefly.

As we begin though, the task ahead seems less daunting. Cagan confidently starts mapping out the structure, and as I watch him work, his kindness lightens the mood between us. He looks up, catching my tentative gaze, and winks before making a light-hearted remark.

“Don’t worry, if we mess up the foundation, we can always start a business selling leaning towers instead of houses,” he jokes, his voice warm and playful.

I can't help but laugh, the sound bubbling out, surprising even myself with its ease. His joke not only breaks through the uncertainty but also somehow makes the whole project feel more like an adventure we're embarking on together, rather than a daunting task. The laughter we share seems to stitch us closer, making the workspace less about the house we're building and more about the rapport we're constructing with each playful exchange.

I find myself increasingly aware of how close he is, and how every laugh and smile seem to draw us closer together. My bashfulness mixes with a burgeoning sense of connection, leaving me both delighted and disarmed by the chemistry developing between us. With each shared smile and look, the idea of building something together—both a structure and perhaps something more—begins to feel irresistibly right.

Every shared laugh and exchanged glance begin to build layers of trust and camaraderie. Internally, I question the new feelings bubbling up. Is this what it feels like to have a friend? The thought is both exhilarating and intimidating.

As we start putting together the structure, I try to help where I can, handing him tools and holding materials in place. Our movements create a rhythm, and our laughter mixes with the clinking and clattering of our makeshift construction site. Each time our hands brush, or he thanks me with a grin, a warmth spreads through me, light and fluttering.

Do friends notice how the sun’s rays seem to shimmer in their dark hair, or the way muscles shift under skin? I wonder silently, my thoughts wandering as I watch him work. The question feels silly, yet I can't help but dwell on it. His presence makes me feel almost giddy, the closest to happy I've ever been, and it's both wonderful and bewildering.

I find myself more and more in awe with this friendship as the day continues--something I've never really experienced before, especially not with an orc. Cagan is different; he's kind, and he listens—a stark contrast to any other orc I've ever met. In these moments, as we work side by side under the sun, I find myself cherishing the novelty of this bond. It's refreshing to feel safe and valued, to laugh and share in this simple task.

The work is hard but fun, filled with laughter and playful teasing. He tries to show off his building skills, which turn out to be more about enthusiasm than expertise. We both end up laughing as the structure leans slightly to one side. "I guess it's more of a lean-to than a house.” He chuckles, and I join in, our laughter mingling in the open air.

As the sun begins its descent, casting long shadows over our day's work, the skeleton of the lean-to stands proudly, albeit with its quirky angles and mismatched pieces. Cagan wipes his brow, steps back, and lets out a satisfied chuckle. "Not too shabby for a day's work, huh?"

"Not at all," I reply, my voice light, surprising myself with the ease of my laughter. "It might even withstand a gentle breeze."

Cagan laughs, "Only gentle? I guess we'll have to test it another day. For now, how about a swim? The pond's not far."

The thought of cooling off and just letting go for a while is enticing. "That sounds perfect," I agree, more readily than I would have expected. We make our way to the nearby river, the grass cool underfoot, the evening air beginning to soothe the day's heat. As we reach the water's edge, Cagan dives in with a whoop, splashing water high into the air. I can't help but laugh, the sound mingling with the chirping of the evening crickets.

Hesitating only a moment, I join him, the cool water enveloping me, washing away the sweat and dust of the day. We swim and splash, the water a refreshing contrast to the warm air. Cagan shows me how to float on my back, and I try, failing a few times before finally managing to balance myself on the gentle swell of the water.

"Look at you, a natural!" Cagan calls out, his voice teasing but encouraging.

I can't remember the last time I felt this free, this unburdened. The water, the laughter, his presence—it all weaves together into a tapestry of comfort and care I've never known. As we float and swim until the sky turns a deep orange, I realize I'm smiling, truly smiling.

When we finally clamber out, dripping and breathless, the world seems quieter, more peaceful. We sit at the water's edge, watching the sun dip below the horizon. "I haven't had this much fun in... I can't even remember when," I confess, my voice soft in the growing dusk.

Cagan turns to me, his smile gentle. "Me neither. It's been a great day."