#but its grimmons kissing so i love it anyway

[driftagemixer]

grimmons post for da month 😁😁😁

@skipitty-bop thank u for actually convincing me to finish it

[a-taller-tale]

Love Letter

“Matchmaking” square for Red Team Bingo Summary: Grif should never have written anything down. Grimmons, based on this brilliant idea and sketch from @sabishiita​.

Hey Simmons,

You’ll never hear this from me but-

Grif crossed out the note.

Doc wanted me to do this stupid fucking exercise to let out my feelings on paper and I told him it was stupid and now I’m doing it anyway. Fuck.

He didn’t know why Doc was suddenly taking an interest in his mental health. Grif should’ve been wary of him after the last time the group had a therapy session, but Grif really didn’t know what to say to Simmons. This was as good an idea as any.

That morning, Simmons was losing his shit at Grif over something that didn’t matter at all. Again. It had been happening more and more often lately and Grif was getting sick of it. He'd tried to stalk off but Simmons kept following him.

The frustration bubbled over until Grif was yelling. “Why don’t you find someone else to bother? I’m so sick of your fucking face.”

Simmons bit his lip, then turned on his heel and left before he could try to backtrack. Grif didn’t lose his temper often, and when he did it burned out quick. The look on Simmons’ face was enough to have it drain out of him immediately. Simmons was less of a crybaby than he had been back in Blood Gulch, but Grif definitely made him cry. He felt like an asshole.

Lately Simmons was just so… It was hard to put into words.

I’m not sick of you, okay? I shouldn’t have said it. I know that’s a thing for you.

But its

Sometimes

Sometimes I get pissed when we have the same fights over and over and I don’t know why. I’ve always been this way and you’ve always been you and we fit.

Why does me being normal suddenly piss you off so much?

Okay, so sometimes Grif still liked to mess with Simmons. A lot. It was hilarious to watch his face contort from disbelief to anger and back again. But it didn’t usually backfire like this. Fighting was what they did. But there was an edge to it now that he didn’t recognize.

Doc and Donut had seen the whole thing, of course, and kept trying to give him advice when he didn’t want to talk about it.

“If you can’t explain how you’re feeling out loud, it can help to try it another way,” Doc pointed out after Simmons had stormed off. “Like on paper. Pretend you’re writing him a letter. Use ‘I feel’ statements. Then you’ll know how to respond next time this comes up and ideally won’t use your words as hurtful weapons!”

“Yeah, thanks Doc. That’s really helpful,” he said flatly.

Donut piped in. “I keep a diary and it helps loads with my secret feelings and fantasies! Here, you can even use my notebook.” He produced a lightish-red notebook with a matching pen from seemingly nowhere.

“I’m not going to write down my feelings about Simmons,” Grif groused.

Doc shrugged. “Suit yourself! We can’t help anyone who won’t help themselves.” He switched to his O’Malley voice. “That will be a $25 copay for the fifteen minutes of talk therapy I’m never getting back.”

Grif flipped him off. “Bill me.”

But when he got back to his room, Donut’s notebook still clutched in his hand, he felt like trying.

Are we even friends? he wrote.

Fuck, that was dramatic. Sounded too much like Simmons. He scribbled it out.

I don’t want to lose you.

Okay, the melodrama wasn’t budging. Maybe writing it out would purge it.

It’s fine if we never get together. It’s fine if we never make out or cuddle or nap together or move in together if we ever get out of here. I’m okay. I’m always okay.

But I need you in my face right now. I love your face. I love you.

Grif stopped writing. Stared at the page. Then he crumpled it up and tossed it at the trash.

Thirty seconds later he actually got his ass up and crumpled it into a tiny ball and buried it deep in the can. Had to make sure no one would find it and read it. He’d burn it, but he hadn’t picked up a new lighter since Simmons confiscated his last one.

He’d watch TV and not think about Simmons and how it felt now that they weren’t in sync anymore. How it felt like Grif was going to lose him.

Donut and Doc came to his door to collect Donut’s feelings journal back and Grif tossed it at them without looking up.

When Simmons came back into their shared room, late, he didn’t look at Grif or say anything as he got changed to go to bed. Grif was in his own bed and pretended to be sleeping, watching him through slit eyes. Simmons’ expression alternated between sullen and kicked puppy, and he eyed the overflowing wastebasket in the room. “You never take out the fucking trash,” he muttered, clicking off the light and climbing into bed.

Grif’s eyes popped open, mind zooming in on exactly where in the trash his scribbled note was and racing through the unlikely scenario that Simmons would find it. The nerd’s anxiety was starting to rub off on him.

Realizing he wasn’t going to get any sleep until he did it, for the first time in years, Dexter Grif voluntarily took out the trash. After he was sure the nerd was sleeping and wouldn’t see him anyway.

Donut and Doc were snickering at each other a lot more than usual at lunch the next day.

Donut so obviously wanted him to ask what was up that Grif just continued eating until Donut couldn’t hold it in anymore. Sure enough, he couldn’t help spilling. “Now don’t get mad, okay?”

“Hm?” Grif grunted.

“Weeeellllll, I might have done something fun to get Simmons to forgive you for saying those hurtful things,” Donut said.

Grif paused with the sandwich halfway to his mouth. “What did you do?”

Doc volunteered this time, because they were the fucking wonder twins these days. “I noticed the torn page in Donut’s secret diary and we thought we’d do something to help you crazy kids.”

“You bear down really hard, Grif,” Donut said, ignoring the horror that was creeping into Grif’s expression. “It was easy to make a copy of that beautiful love letter you wrote Simmons and leave it on the floor next to his desk. He’ll think it was an accident. Finding someone’s secret love confession is the best trope!”

“What the fuck, Donut?”

“This way he’ll know that hiding your love for him all these years is the reason you snapped at him. It’s romantic!” Donut made a heart with his hands.

"And if you lose everything in the process I’ll forgive you the copay,” O’Malley cackled.

“O’Malley, you know I don’t like that kind of negative talk,” Donut scolded.

Grif really wanted to punch both of them in the face for not minding their own business, but it was his own fault anyway for listening to Doc and Donut.

There was no time. Simmons would be going back to the room for a break after the morning training his squad any minute.

Grif ran faster than any shotgun had ever motivated him to. He was out of breath when he got to the room and he thought maybe he’d made it, but when he opened the door Simmons was already there, clutching the piece of paper in his hands and standing very still.

Grif grabbed at his hair. This was the nail in the coffin. Simmons would act weird around him, ask for a different room. Things would never be the same again. And unlike any other time in his life, he couldn’t make himself not care this time. He’d lost a lot before. Losing Simmons too, after everything…

Simmons looked up over his shoulder. His eyes were wide and questioning, a flush over his nose and in his cheeks and a little frown on his face like when he was trying to figure something out. Grif didn’t know what his own face was doing, but whatever it was made Simmons’ breath catch as he took it in.

“You weren’t supposed to see that—” Grif started, his mind racing for any excuse. “It’s not—” He didn’t have any excuses. Simmons knew it was his handwriting. He was writing a play? Transcribing something for Donut? So hangry he went into a fugue state and didn’t know what he’d written?

He could usually talk Simmons into believing anything when he really needed to, but his brain couldn’t get past the fact that he had to learn how to be alone again now because there was no way Simmons would take this well.

Simmons marched up to him and pulled Grif in by his shoulders. It took three seconds too long for Grif to react, but Simmons cupped his jaw and Grif’s hand went to Simmons’ hip and Simmons was kissing him. Grif was kissing him back.

After all these years it felt more natural than Grif had imagined it. Simmons’ hand went up into his hair and stroked and Grif melted against him.

“I love your face too, Grif,” Simmons said quietly when they finally parted.

“Yeah,” Grif said, vaguely aware he was having an out of body experience, but pretty okay with it actually. “You too.”

Simmons was still bright red and would probably freak later, but he snickered at Grif now and gave him a peck on the cheek. “That’s for taking out the trash.”

Hey Simmons,

You’ll never hear this from me but-

Doc wanted me to do this stupid fucking exercise to let out my feelings on paper and I told him it was stupid and now I’m doing it anyway. Fuck.

I’m not sick of you, okay? I shouldn’t have said it. I know it’s a thing for you.

But its

Sometimes

Sometimes I get pissed when we have the same fights over and over and I don’t know why. I’ve always been this way and you’ve always been you and we fit.

Why does me being normal suddenly piss you off so much?

Are we even friends anymore?

I don’t want to lose you.

It’s fine if we never get together. It’s fine if we never make out or cuddle or nap together or move in together if we ever get out of the army. I’m okay. I’m always okay.

But I need you in my face right now. I love your face. I love you.