#famous last words i've been obsessed with them for months now 🤡🤡🤡

[happi-tree]

your eyes look like coming home

On their two-week journey back from Earth, the protective paladin watches over his sleeping friends. As it turns out, though, he's not the only one having trouble getting some shut-eye.

Title from "Everything Has Changed" by Taylor Swift (yes, that one)

*waves* Hello dndads fandom! Enjoy some post episode-23 taylor/link (taylink? swiftli?) softness bc they deserve it 💗💗💗 ft. my part-demon trait hcs for Taylor and a nonzero amount of unintentional foreshadowing!

Lincoln had always been an early riser - more out of self-imposed obligation than anything else, really - but lately, he’s been finding himself staying up later and later, unable to rest. The concept of sleep itself is like a dream he can’t quite grasp, reminiscent of the firefly-golden flickers of memories that are not his. 

Gossamer and effervescent and magical and horrible, they sear themselves into the backs of his eyelids even now, miniature sunbursts in the darkness (and all of those metaphors in English class make sense now that he’s actually seen a sun) filling his senses with too-hot-too-bright-too-much. Every time he closes his eyes, the flashes linger like so much of its static in the back of his mind, always present like the undulating black not-sky of his true homeland, always watching like the red-black eye that gazed blinkingly upon his entire childhood. 

And this is all too much for Link to deal with, and he can’t change the past no matter how it haunts him, and he can’t command its all-seeing form to turn away, so he sits quietly in the middle row of the Pussywagon and watches with bloodshot eyes as his companions slumber. 

If he’s awake, at least he can look out for his friends. 

He can look at Scary and take comfort in her even, deep breaths and her ramrod, borderline vampiric posture as she mutters in her sleep, her nightcap slightly askew atop disheveled black-magenta hair. He grimaces to himself a bit as she grumbles incoherently - Link doesn’t trust this Willy guy one bit, but after these past weeks, he’s just glad to see her sleeping peacefully. Glad that her chest rises and falls with each breath, glad that her typical sneer has faded at the corners, rounding out her face into something younger, more like the girl that used to lead the varsity soccer team.

If Link’s still conscious, he can look at Normal and breathe a quiet sigh of relief that he’s not thrashing in his sleep anymore, every cell in his body begging for its presence to get out of his head as he dreams. Even still, silent tears stream down his acne-ridden cheeks, face contorted into an anguished mask so unlike his enthusiastic smiles, and Lincoln finds himself mumbling words of comfort on instinct. He feels the now-familiar twinge of magic siphoning from between his cells and coalescing into an invisible, intangible something that smooths the furrows between Normal’s brows, eases the tension of his jaw as the boy exhales more steadily than before.

If Link can force his eyes to stay open, he can look at his father, now more childlike and more intensely violent than he has ever known him. He had fallen asleep at the wheel (and Link is eternally grateful that this cat-bus can drive itself), smartphone abandoned on his lap playing the low-volume, tinny Fortnite theme on its dim screen. He snores annoyingly loudly, and Link is hit with a pang of homesick-nostalgic-bitterness at the sound. Link gingerly reaches across to shut off the device and has to shake off the innocent, desperate part of himself that wants to cuddle up next to his dad and feel safe in his warm embrace. (That ship has long since passed, now. The only protection Link has is the safety he makes for himself.)

If Link refuses to sleep, he can look at Hermie, who has graciously taken the passenger seat next to his dad. He’s been through a lot of unnecessary trouble for their little group, and despite his initial misgivings, Link can’t help but worry for him, especially given the more recent revelations about his parentage. Hermie twitches in his sleep, hissing when the worn upholstered seat rubs too harshly on his partially-healed burns. Link’s going to have to see about healing those the rest of the way soon - maybe Normal can help with that, too, since he seems to have a soft spot for the guy. A conversation for the morning (or what amounts to it in the void), definitely. 

If Link just stays awake, he can look at Taylor, who -

“Hey,” a familiar, nasally voice calls out from the purple-tinted not-quite-darkness, accompanied by a crooked smile that looks several shades thinner than usual. 

Oh. Taylor’s still awake. 

Carefully, Link shuffles across the seat toward Taylor’s prone form. A singular eye is cracked open, glowing amber like a yellowed headlight. It’s a different hue of gold than the shades from the church, Link thinks, a soft, pretty color, and then wonders why he thinks that. Must be the lack of sleep.

“Hi,” Link says, trying to keep his voice as quiet as possible.

“You’re trying to stay awake, aren’t ya?” 

“Someone’s been working on their perception, I see,” Link replies in lieu of a direct response, and it earns him a quiet huff of laughter. It’s such a childlike sound, like a secret shared at the sleepovers they had as much younger kids, and it makes Link ache for something that none of them can ever get back. 

“You look exhausted, man,” Taylor says, and both of his eyes are open now, molten-honey sclera fixated directly on Link. 

“Says you,” he retorts, taking in the bags beneath those lamplight eyes, the way Taylor’s knees press against the seat in front of them. “You don’t even have a blanket, dude, no wonder you can’t sleep. You must be freezing. Here, let me -”

“No!” Taylor says, the sudden volume making Link freeze as he holds up the edge of a thermal blanket (it’s actually Taylor’s, one of many the boy had stashed in his “go bag”) for his friend. 

“I mean, nah, man,” Taylor repeats, quieter. “I run pretty warm usually - ‘s why I gave my blanket to Scary. I actually, uh, overheat a lot? And Mom and I could never figure out wh-” and Link watches realization cross Taylor’s face in tandem with his own. 

“Oh,” Taylor says, a soft, broken syllable as he looks down at his hands, clenching and unclenching them. “Oh. That tracks, I guess.”

His eyes shift upward, easy to track in the dark, and something in Link’s body language forces a half-laugh out of Taylor.

“It’s, uh, pretty cool, actually! Another power to add to my main character repertoire. Living furnace, baby! Perks of being half-demon,” Taylor cracks a grin, and it’s a bit wobbly around the edges. 

If Link was to put Taylor’s typically unshakeable confidence on a scale of, say, one to twenty, he’d probably give it a solid six. 

“Speaking of, how are you dealing with, uh, all of that?” Link offers hesitantly, briefly looking down at the way Taylor’s hands clench-unclench-clench.

“Pfft, all of what? The fact that my dad’s a kickass demon and now the government’s after me? Just a typical day in the life of a cool shounen protag like me!” Taylor jerks a thumb toward himself in emphasis, slightly-sharp teeth glinting in the purple-tinted dark. 

“If you say so,” Link says, uncertain. “It’s just, I meant to check in with you earlier, but between all of the… well…” Link makes some stupid, aborted gesture with his hands that does absolutely nothing to convey all of the mind-bending shit they’ve seen since the FBI. 

“You worry a lot, don’t you, big guy?” Taylor mutters, forcing Link to look up from fidgeting with the hem of his tattered Ho Topic shirt. 

“I mean, aren’t you worried?” Link responds. “It’s just - a few weeks ago, the biggest thing I had to worry about was getting on varsity next season, and now the fate of the world is at stake? And we could die at any moment? And I don’t even know my own dad anymore? We’re just - fuck, we’re just kids. We shouldn’t have to deal with… everything. Of course I’m worried, and I’m stressed, and I don’t know what we’re-!”

“Woah, woah, woah, dude,” Taylor says, waving his hands in a lowering sort of motion, and Link hadn’t realized how loud his voice had gotten.

“Sorry,” he squeaks, voice cracking pathetically.

“All good, my man,” Taylor reassures, and he must’ve scooted closer to Link without him noticing, because -

“Wow, you really do run warm,” Link says, almost to himself. “You’re like a tiny space heater.”

“I - I’m not that tiny!” Taylor splutters, temperature briefly spiking even warmer. “Some of us haven’t hit our growth spurt yet, mister tall-dark-and-handsome!”

“I - wh-” Link hopes his complexion hides the heat in his cheeks, because he’d hardly call himself handsome.

Taylor just scoffs. “Unbelievable. I know being all sheltered is like, your whole thing, but you’re really pretty, dude, you gotta know that. Like, prime shoujo love interest material, here!” He sounds genuinely exasperated that he has to spell this out, and then his pupils constrict comically (kind of like a cat’s, Link notes. It’s pretty cute), and he blurts, “In like, a totally platonic no-homo kind of way, uh. Yeah. Heh.”

“Oh,” Link says, because how the hell is he supposed to respond to that?

And then, because he apparently likes shooting himself in the foot, he says “Did you know that your eyes glow in the dark? They look pretty cool.”

“I’m always c- wait, really?!” Taylor nearly falls over in his attempt to pull his phone from one of his many, many pockets, only to pull a face at whatever he sees.

“Damn, guess they don’t show up on camera that well,” he mumbles. “Lame.”

“The white parts are like, this warm, pretty coppery-amber color,” Link tells him, only half-aware of what he’s saying. “Like honey. Or apple juice. And it’s kinda faint, but they glow like Christmas lights, or like, candles or something. They suit you,” he says, voice low, and he realizes that he’s much closer to Taylor’s face than he had been thirty seconds ago. “Uh. I mean. They look cool. Yeah.”

Open mouth, insert foot. At least he hadn’t said that Taylor’s eyes remind him of home or something ridiculous like that. Jesus Christ. 

“Didn’t know we had another poet in the bus with us,” Taylor says after a moment of stunned silence. “Not gonna lie, that was kinda fruity, dude,” he teases, nudging an elbow to his ribs.

Link’s stomach briefly drops, and then he remembers the pink-purple-blue striped pin on the jacket Taylor always wears, and Link lets out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding.

“Says the guy who called me handsome,” he deflects.

“Hey, I said no homo! What’s your excuse?”

“I’m wearing socks,” Link counters.

And Taylor laughs, sudden and sharp and incandescent for the briefest of moments before he claps a hand over his mouth to stifle it.

It’s stupidly contagious, and Link bites down on his grinning lips to suppress any sound, his shoulders shaking with the effort. 

He really likes Taylor’s laugh, Link realizes. He should get that sound to happen more often.

Eventually, Taylor pulls his hand away from his mouth, and Link is greeted with a smile - a real, genuine smile, not one of those fake smirks he uses like a shield, but something open and unguarded, matching the warmth in those shining eyes. 

The temperature spikes again from beside him, and Link’s eyes dart away from curling lips and flashing teeth in concern. “You alright, man?”

“Yup!” Taylor chirps, wobbly and high-pitched. Link decides not to comment on the voice crack. His eyes dart around a bit, and then he asks, “Uh, got enough blanket there, man?”

“Wha- oh,” Link says, looking down at the way that his feet and the majority of his shins peek out from the borrowed rectangle of fabric. “Most blankets don’t really uh… account for taller people. ‘M used to it.”

“Tch. Not if I have anything to say about it,” Taylor murmurs.

“Seriously, dude, it’s fi-” suddenly, it feels like Link’s holding the sun again, except this warmth doesn’t burn him and it’s also person-sized. Because Taylor is pressed up bodily against him, a line of soothing heat from shoulder to knee. 

“Uh.” 

Taylor leans away the slightest of millimeters, and Link has to stop himself from leaning with him. 

“Oh, I totally should’ve asked if you were okay with that, man, I just thought that since-”

“You’re fine, Taylor,” Link says, and he finds that he truly means it. “Just surprised me, is all.”

“Really?” Taylor asks. “Not too weird or like, awkward for you?”

“I mean, we’re both wearing socks, aren’t we?” Link jokes. “It feels pretty nice, actually.”

“Well c’mon, then, get some of this hot half-demon bod!” Taylor says, winking as he pulls one of Link’s arms across his shoulders. 

“Mmkay,” Link mutters, the comforting supernatural heat already beginning to lull him to sleep. He turns onto his side, curling subconsciously around Taylor’s warmth, and if he was any less exhausted he might’ve realized that he was practically spooning his smaller friend. As it is, though, he pulls Taylor closer to his chest and rests his chin atop greasy black hair with a quiet “Thanks.”

And as the warmth spreads through his body, his dreams are colored with a blessedly warmer shade of gold.