#bergen_county

"Sy, wake up, okay?" She grazes the back of her hand against his sunken cheek.

A hiccupy noise. Despite Tove's advice, Dag is starting to hyperventilate.

Tove looks Symon over. She is not a magical healer. No spring magics or heather balm. Her specialty is flames. But she does not know to tend wounds and more.

"Help me, honey, help me help Symon ..." She says gently "Remember what we learned about first aid?"

"I hurt him. I hurt him. I didn't mean to." She pets his lank hair, hand shaking.

Tove remembers that she should loosen his collar, and elevate his legs.

Dagmar remembers the things they are actually NOT supposed to do - slap him, pour a bucket of water on him, shake them like a polaroid picture.

Tove looks for his inhaler

"You didn't mean to" She assures "And right now, we help. We study what went wrong later"

Symon stirs! His cracked lips part, and he says something, it's not quite audible.

A golden necklace is on the floor, amidst the spilled snacks.

Tove hands Symon his inhaler, glad Anne Marie told him about it

The necklace may have once have sparkled merrily, but it is now dull, tarnished.

"Sy? Sy, please..."

A breath, whispering something, but it's so faint.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry." She closes her eyes, touching her forehead to his. Her breath is still hitching too fast, even though Symon's the one with asthma.

On the TV, the crowd roars as a shot-putter sets a trials record! Go sports!

Tove DOES want to know wwhat happened, what that necklace is, or was. But her focus is on Symon and Dagmar "Take a few slow easy breaths, " she probably means it for both

A hitching half-sob as Dagmar tries to reel her breathing in, to dubious success.

"Dag...mar." Just barely audible, breath against her cheek. She feels his hand reaching up, but instead of taking the inhaler, the thin, clammy palm rests against her cheek.

Possibly another sob, or a laugh. Well, it's a noise. "Sy. Hey. Hey, you're okay?" She places her broad hand over his.

Tove steps back, and, getting a cloth so she doesn't touch it with her skin, picks up the broken necklace

It's just plain, mundane metal now, nothing triggering that she can sense to her ken.

"Dagmar?" He repeats, not letting go. A bit of a hitch to his breath.

"Yeah, Sy. It's me. I'm sorry."

The glamour in her daughter, and the banality, make sense now

She does not know what transpired here, but she has an inkling, and it can wait.

Oh. Her cheeks are wet. When did that happen?

Symon doesn't appear to have noticed Tove, or if he has, she gets no attention. Rude!

The sluagh collapses against Dagmar, holding onto her like a life raft to a drowning man. His shoulders shake. Is he having an asthma attack? No... no... the sullen, snarky, offbeat sluagh is... sobbing?

No loud boo-hoos here, it's perhaps all the more tragic for it's silence.

She pulls him close, wrapping her arms around him as if she could shield him from the whole world.

Tove steps back a half step, and for now, lets her daughter handle this.

He lets her hold him, srurrounding him as though she is his whole world.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. You'll be okay. Whatever you need, okay? I'll do whatever you want. I'm here." She murmurs into his hair.

"That's all I ever wanted. You. With me." His voice is a whispery croak. "I thought I could save our friendship by turning it off... I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

She kisses the top of his head and closes her eyes. "Nothing to be sorry for."

Tove has slipped further back, quietly as she can hoping Symon is not quite as alert as he often is. More space for the young ones

Then, deciding three is not only a crowd but might hold the two back from a true talk, she slips into the kitchen. Oh she will look for some 'symon worthy food' but in the mean time, it's just Dagmar and Symon.

His embrace is frail, yet strong. Like... a spider clinging to it's web, it cannot be shaken loose, though it would be easy to crush, should someone wish to. Hopefully she doesn't...

He holds on, and presses his thin lips against Dagmar's cheek, it's like a moth brushing against her face, or the press of dry paper against skin, even as he gently holds her chiseled cheekbones in his hand.

Symon's hold and kiss are undemanding, asking for nothing more than exactly what they are, affection, love, certainly a romantic gesture, but without any undercurrent of lust or bodily need, no demand being made.

He realizes what he has done, and pulls away, looking... fragile, and worried. "I... I'm sorry. I didn't... is that... okay?"

"Yeah, it's okay." A small smile, heavy with both sadness and relief.

"I.. uh.. broke the treasure. And hurt you. And I didn't mean to hurt you."

"You... broke a treasure? For me?"

"It was..." She frowns. "I almost saw you, the you I know, and then it... it took you, again..."

"It's okay if you don't... if you... if... if you're... I want you to be happy, but it... I thought... I thought that the necklace was controlling you, and..."

"You broke a treasure. For me." He repeats, and his cheeks... flush a little purplish.

"You're my best friend."

"All I need to be happy is to be with you. Is there a chance that we can be more than friends?" He looks up at her, a yearning in his gaze. "...not like they say a couple is "supposed" to, or like it's in the movies... I want to see you whenever I look by my side. I want to be able to hold your hand. I want to buy you flowers, even if they're disgustingly fresh and floral, I want to see you smile... and if you needed more than that..." He hesitates, not because he's uncertain, but to find the words it seems.

"...if you wanted to see other people for... physical things? I mean, it's like... like... if you wanted to go rock climbing and I didn't want to go, you would find a partner, and if I wanted to go to a roadkill dissection meetup, you wouldn't want to go and I wouldn't mind..." fumbling awkwardly, with what he's trying to say.

"This life, and in any life. That's.. that's why I wanted to Oath."

She sighs. "There's... yeah. There are girls, sometimes, that... that are fun, that I want that way. But they're not you, y'know?"

(Somewhere in the kitchen) Tove pries something in the back of the fridge open, and wrinkles her nose. Symon will love it, when they're ready to eat. She seals it again.

"And I don't... I'm broken like that. I don't have any of those.... urges. It's like if someone said they wanted me to put my finger up their nose..." Something sluaghy pleasant about that, but he continues with the analogy. "It doesn't appeal to me... but that doesn't mean... I don't want to... hold, and be held, be close to someone... even if I am..." He trails off, and vaguely gestures to himself. "Unpleasant to behold."