The Nephilim wasn't surprised - as he entered the dim room, lit only by the moonlight pouring through the open window, he found Ezra had already fallen asleep.
Oberyn entered the room without a sound.
Ezra lay curled on the bed, one hand resting over his side where the wound had been. His breathing was steady, chest rising and falling in a slow rhythm. The tension from earlier had softened - the human looked as if he had no worries at all. Peaceful. Vulnerable.
Oberyn's heart ached.
He closed the door behind him, careful not to let it creak too much. The Nephilim moved across the room with quiet grace, shedding his pants and crouching beside the bed.
For a moment, he just watched Ezra sleep. A quiet breath. A little snore. The familiar slope of his nose, the messy strands of hair that clung to his forehead with dried sweat.
"I'm sorry," Oberyn whispered, voice barely audible. "I didn't mean to upset you earlier."
There was no reply. Of course not.
