#reqs are still very much open i just write sorta slow. i was impressed i got this done

[honeydots]

"of course i’m here. where else would i be?" for Xanlow?

"Of course I'm here. Where else would I be?" 1k, xanlow from this ask game

“Laslow?”

Xander is sitting atop his horse, taking a short trip around the riding grounds. He couldn’t stand the sight of his chambers anymore, of an empty bed and an unfilled silence. He took to his horse, not for comfort or relief, but only to make himself move forward.

Xander hasn’t slept. Exhaustion stings the back of his eyes and aches through his jaw. He wasn’t sober in the nighttime, though he is now, and he figures he ought to stay this way. He’s never had the time or luxury for grief. He only wishes his body would cooperate.

Laslow left him yesterday. He always said he might, that he has a home which expects him—but that it’s also a one-way trek. And it’s never been Xander’s intention to keep Laslow captive, and he’s told himself it may be better this way. But still, the warmth of Laslow’s hands have long left Xander’s skin, and there is nothing but void to replace it.

He didn’t leave in so many words. But it was unmistakably a farewell, one still fresh in Xander's mind. It hasn’t yet been long enough for him to recognize any regrets, even. Though he’s begun to feel them take form, brewing coldly in the back of his thoughts.

And as such, when Xander ran into Laslow while he was riding, he thought he was mistaken. A cruel but hopeful trick his imagination played, already longing for what’s far out of reach. Xander almost simply rode past—but as Laslow’s figure became more clear in the dark, Xander slowed his horse to a stop.

And sure enough, when Laslow turns around to the sound of Xander’s voice, those wide brown eyes are unmistakably his.

“Oh,” Laslow says, sitting on one of the low stone walls that outline the riding grounds. He twists farther around, swinging his legs to the inward side. “Milord. I—um. I was just trying to work up the nerve to go inside. But I—well. I can’t shake these jelly knees.”

Xander climbs down from his horse, not letting himself feel any relief. He wouldn't be able bear the weight of getting his hopes up, not now. And even if something begins to work its way into his throat, he calmly swallows it away. “You’re still here?”

Laslow gives a weak grin, if you could even call it that. It's hardly an upwards twitch of his features. “Of course I’m here,” he says feebly. “Where else would I be?”

Xander, now closer, can see the red in Laslow’s eyes. Not still wet, but bearing clear evidence of tears. “You don’t fool me,” Xander says flatly with a frown. “That was a goodbye, yesterday. What are you doing?”

“Ah.” Guilt creeps up Laslow’s expression. He shuffles his feet awkwardly in the dirt and grips the top of the stony wall tightly. And as his silence persists, Xander goes on.

“Why… Are you back?” Xander asks. Laslow’s face tightens, and he slowly begins to stand.

“I should go, shouldn’t I. I’m sorry, I—”

Xander strides to him and plants his hands on Laslow’s shoulders, sitting him back down before he may even stretch his legs. “That isn’t what I’m asking for,” Xander says, and Laslow shrugs into himself under the pressure of Xander’s palms. “Tell me—why did you return here. What happened?

Laslow licks his lips. And he stares down at one of Xander’s hands, still holding him steady.

“I… Threw my way home into a lake,” he says, with only a slight waver in his voice. “So. Unless it begins to drain, you may be stuck with me.”

Xander stares. He loosens his grip on Laslow, moving his hands from his shoulders down to his arms. “What?”

“Odin and Selena left. We were supposed to go together,” Laslow continues. He scowls down at his feet. “We had magic to use, you understand. Crystals to travel with, one use only. But I—well, I hesitated right at the last moment.” He gnaws the inside of his cheek with an irritation, eyes still away. “But they left. And I—I panicked, and I got frustrated, I was alone and I didn’t think. So… I threw mine into the lake we were by. Because I’m stupid. And—it seems I have a pretty good arm.”

Laslow’s distress looms over him like a blanket. Xander releases his grip and goes to sit beside him instead. “…Oh.”

Laslow nods. “I hope it’s okay I’m here. I don’t know where else I’d go.” He folds his arms tightly, closing himself off further. “You don’t have to take me back.”

Xander wraps an arm around Laslow regardless. They sit, for a moment, in silence. Holding him now, it truly begins to register in Xander that Laslow is here again. “You said you hesitated?”

Something begins to spill, and tears bulge over Laslow’s eyes. He gulps, and an ache comes out in his voice. “I… I kept thinking, um. Of you,” he begins, pinching his arms. “I didn’t know if I—if I was going to be able to love someone like I love you. If the way I’d love them would be anything compared to how I loved you. Love you.”

Laslow sucks in a breath, staring down at his knees. He sniffs, and some tears do begin to fall, dully wetting fabric and dotting his thighs.

“And I think—I’m more of a lover than anything else.”

Xander leans down and kisses him. Feels the warmth of his breath and the angular point of his chin as he presses back. Xander tries to savor every moment, in ways he never did before. And when he pulls away, Laslow lingers close.

“I’m sorry for saying goodbye,” Laslow says, just above a whisper. “Would it—would it be okay if I said hello, now?”

Xander gives a low and short hum. His kisses Laslow’s forehead, trying to relax into him, trying to take not a single moment of his presence for granted. He grazes his arm up Laslow’s back and rests on his neck, petting the hair on his nape.

“Hello,” Xander says, voice just as quiet. “Stay.”