#the wedding wouldn’t have felt so overshadowed and just shoved in at the end then

[alltheprettyplaces]

there just wasn’t enough joy in those episodes to balance out how heavy they were…..

[seraph-novak]

To the Future

Summary ~  It's been almost two years since Cyrus left TJ to go direct his first movie, with the promise that their engagement would still be on when he came back home. Cyrus is eager to be reunited with his fiancé, but it's been months since TJ last responded to his texts, and he's starting to worry things have changed beyond repair. Will TJ accept his invitation to the premiere of his movie, and will they be able to go back to the way things were before?

All likes/comments/reblogs are very much appreciated ♥

P.S. This fic is set roughly 12 years after the finale, so all the characters are around 25/26.

(T.W. for mentions of cancer).

~~~~~

Cyrus stood on the edge of the sidewalk, his hands shoved deep in the pockets of his navy blazer as the thickening snow speckled the ground beneath his feet. It was numbingly cold, despite the welcoming glow of the theatre warming his back, silently luring him inside. His cheeks were starting to sting from it, his breath turning sharp as it hit the back of his throat. If he didn’t move soon, he’d probably freeze to the sidewalk, suspended in a never-ending cycle of reluctant hope and inevitable disappointment. There was only one reason he was still standing here, after all. But with every passing second of snow-studded silence, Cyrus could feel his resolve slowly crumbling, his disappointment starting to overshadow what little hope he’d had to begin with.  

“Hey,” a voice said from behind him, followed by the gentle pressure of a hand squeezing his shoulder. “It’s time to go inside.”

Cyrus turned to find Buffy and Andi standing in the snow, regarding him with sympathetic smiles. The pity in their eyes made him wince. Today was supposed to be one of the best days of his life, and here he was: tears sticking to his cheeks like shards of glass as his friends watched on in silence, their expressions grim and condoling. Behind them, Marty, Jonah and Amber were huddled beneath the marquee, rubbing their arms and gritting their teeth against the biting cold. Cyrus spotted his name on the poster above Marty’s left shoulder, and a defeated whimper stumbled from his lips. This was his moment. His movie. The day he’d been waiting for since he was thirteen years old was finally here, and all he could think about was dirty-blond waves, sea-green eyes, and a dimpled smile that felt like home... Speaking of which, had he even sent his invitation to the right address? After almost two years, it wouldn’t be surprising if the house they’d used to share was no longer theirs, but Cyrus had been too naive to even consider it. Maybe this whole endeavour had been pointless from the beginning.

“The movie’s about to start,” Andi said, taking a cautious step towards him. She lifted her shoulders, a weak smile ghosting her lips, and nodded at the poster with his name splashed across the bottom. “You don’t wanna miss your own movie, right?”

Buffy shook her head. “This is huge, Cyrus. You can’t let TJ ruin this for you.”

At the mention of his name, Cyrus crumpled against the metal barriers lining the sidewalk, his stomach lurching as the memories of that dreaded day came hurtling back. He could see TJ sitting on the edge of their bed, frantic tears spilling down his cheeks as he held onto Cyrus’ hands, desperately trying to make him see sense.

“You have to go,” he said, cupping Cyrus’ face with a trembling smile. “This is your dream, Underdog.”

Cyrus swallowed a sob as he clung onto TJ’s wrists. “No. Not without you.”

“You know I can’t go, Cy... My mom –”

“Then I’ll stay.”

“No way.”

“I’m not leaving without you!”

“Hey.” TJ dropped a soothing kiss between his eyes, palming the back of his neck as he pressed their foreheads together. “Listen to me, okay? As soon as my mom is feeling better, I’ll come join you. Just like we planned, alright?”

Cyrus sniffed. “That’s not what we planned.”

“I know, I know... But it’s better than you staying behind and throwing away your dream.”

“We can push the movie back, Teej. I’m sure they’ll understand.”

“For how long? This is cancer we’re talking about, Cy. She’s not gonna make a miraculous recovery overnight! It could be months. Years. She might not even...” He trailed off, his hands slipping away from Cyrus’ neck with a shuddering breath. “I don’t know if she’s gonna make it this time.”

Cyrus captured his hands and held them to his lips. “Hey. Don’t say that, Teej. Your mom is strong, okay? She fought it once, she can fight it again.”

“And I need to be there for her while she does.”

“Of course, but –”

“And you need to go make your movie.”

“Teej...”

“You know I’m right,” TJ whispered, bumping his nose against Cyrus’ cheek as he kissed the corner of his mouth. “I know it’s hard, but... I need to focus on my mom, and you need to focus on your career. At least for now.”

“But, the movie... I’ll be gone for over a year, TJ. Maybe two.”

“I know.”

“What about the wedding?”

As if by instinct, they both glanced down at their joined hands, the matching bands of silver glinting off their fingers in the dewy, morning light. It had been less than a month since TJ had proposed, and Cyrus had committed every single detail of that night to memory: the velvet sky of milky-white stars; the whistle of the wind between the chains of the swings; the goofy smile on TJ’s face as he’d gotten down on one knee, so sure of Cyrus’ answer before he’d even asked the question... It was perfect. They were perfect. So why was the universe forcing them to say goodbye like this? It made no sense. It wasn’t fair.

“This isn’t goodbye,” TJ told him, effortlessly reading his mind as always. “You’re gonna go make your movie. My mom’s gonna kick cancer’s ass. And then I’m gonna marry the hell out of you. Okay?”

Cyrus huffed a wet laugh. “I’ll be on the opposite side of the country, Teej. What if we can’t make it work?”

“Hey.” TJ brushed his knuckles across Cyrus’ cheek, drying his tears with a lopsided smile. “You’re the love of my life, okay? Nothing’s ever gonna change that.”

“But what if you meet someone else while I’m gone?”

“You know that’s a stupid question, Cy. There’ll never be anyone else for me.”

“But it’s two years! I won’t even be back for the holidays. What if we lose contact? What if we drift apart? What if we –”

“We’ll find each other again,” TJ said, not a shred of doubt in his words as he squeezed Cyrus’ hands. “We always will.”

Cyrus blinked, and the memory disappeared, the warmth of TJ’s touch swallowed by a flurry of roaring snow as he was wrenched back to the present. Buffy’s hand was still gripping his shoulder, as if she was scared he might run off at any moment, and Andi was cautiously snaking an arm around his waist. Within seconds, he was safely contained in their loving embrace, and there was nothing he could do but close his eyes and let the tears fall freely down his cheeks.

“I really thought he’d be here,” he admitted with a pitiful shrug, resting his head in the gap between Andi and Buffy’s shoulders. He could feel the weight of the ring on his left hand, cruelly digging a cold reminder of what could have been into his flesh. “I guess I was just deluding myself.”

Andi held him tighter. “It’s okay, Cyrus.”

“We’ve got you,” Buffy concurred, carefully steering him back towards the theatre. “Let’s get you inside.”

He threw one last glance over his shoulder, half-expecting to see TJ emerging from the snow, then allowed Buffy and Andi to guide him off the sidewalk and into the lobby. As soon as he stepped inside, he forced himself to take a deep breath and embrace the electric atmosphere brimming inside the building. All around him, people were grinning in anticipation as they filed past, talking in hushed, excited voices about the movie they were about to see. The movie Cyrus had written. It was so surreal, he could hardly believe he wasn’t dreaming. But then Jonah gave him a hearty clap on the back, and Cyrus knew it was real. He was here, with all his friends, at the premiere of his very first movie, and even the notable absence of one particular person wasn’t enough to wipe the smile off his face as he let it all soak in.

“I made it,” he murmured, his heart fluttering as they approached the door to the theatre, where his movie would soon be shown to a roomful of strangers. “I actually made it.”

Buffy nuzzled her head against his. “Hell yeah, you did.”

And with that, Marty held open the door, and Cyrus followed his friends inside.

~~~~~

As soon as the applause died down, Cyrus could feel his joyful satisfaction dulling to a deep, distant ache. He glanced at his friends, returning their grins with a faint smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, and acknowledged their congratulations with a stiff, awkward nod. The movie had been a success – that much he could tell – but his enthusiasm felt artificial, as if he’d spent the past two hours watching a mediocre movie through a stranger’s eyes. He could barely muster the energy to return Buffy and Andi’s hugs as they threw themselves over him, babbling words of pride and excitement that drenched him in a strange kind of guilt. He felt like a poser; he’d spent almost two years obsessively perfecting this movie, and yet his mind had wandered halfway through the opening credits. If it hadn’t been for the fervent reaction from the audience, he probably wouldn’t’ve realised the movie had even finished.

“Oh my god!” Andi cried, shaking his arm with an eye-crinkling smile. “That was incredible, Cy!”

“Docious-magocious,” Jonah added from the seat beside her, poking fun at his old catchphrase with a knowing wink. It was almost enough to wring a genuine smile out of Cyrus, but not quite.

“We’re so proud of you,” Buffy said, perfectly summing up the jumble of praise spilling from all of their lips.

Cyrus huffed. “Stop it, guys... You’re making me blush.”

“We’re just getting started,” Amber playfully warned him, her eyes glinting mischievously as she leaned across Andi and Jonah to pat him on the cheek. “The night isn’t over yet, Cyrus.”

“We made reservations at a fancy restaurant,” Andi explained in a mock-snooty tone of voice. “Only the best for our future-Oscar-winning friend.”

Cyrus rolled his eyes fondly. “What would you’ve done if the movie had been terrible?”

“We knew it wouldn’t be,” Buffy said simply.

“Yeah,” Marty agreed, giving him a brotherly clap on the back as he wound his arm around Buffy’s waist. “You’re insanely talented, man. We knew the movie would be great.”

Cyrus tried to smile, but he was too distracted by Marty’s hand as it settled on Buffy’s hip, his thumb absently stroking up and down her dark-red dress. It was such a quietly intimate gesture – one that perfectly encapsulated the fourteen years of unconditional love and support they’d shared together – and Cyrus found himself yearning for the distantly familiar warmth of TJ’s touch. He was on the verge of tears yet again, his hands shaking as he frantically balled them into fists, when Andi spotted something behind him and gasped.

“Is that... TJ?”

And just like that, the rest of the theatre melted away, his breath coming short as he glanced down the aisle and saw a familiar face staring back at him, half-hidden behind a drooping bouquet of soggy flowers. Cyrus stumbled back a step, blindly clutching at Buffy’s arm, and swallowed a startled sob. He was half-convinced his mind was playing a cruel game – twisting the shadows into what he wanted to see – but then TJ came into the light, that unmistakable half-smile tugging at his lips, and Cyrus was hit with the overwhelming reality that this was actually happening; TJ was here, standing in front of him, and everyone was waiting for him to respond.

“You came,” he whispered, his fingers absently twitching with the urge to reach forward and touch the other man, just to double check he was more than just a trick of the light.

TJ’s mouth hitched up at the corner, a breath of laughter passing his lips. “Of course I came.”

Cyrus winced at the faraway memory, and Buffy tightened her grip on his arm. Her voice was low as she leaned their heads together, her sharply dubious gaze never leaving TJ’s face, and murmured against his ear, “Are you okay, Cy? Do you want us to stick around?”

“No.” He shook his head, then flashed her a grateful smile. “No, it’s okay. I, uh... I think it’s best I do this alone.”

“Are you sure?”

“Not really.” He chuckled nervously, his free hand reaching for Andi’s wrist as he pressed against Buffy’s side, soaking in as much emotional support from his two best friends as he could before gently nudging them towards the exit. “Okay. I’m good. I’ll, uh... I’ll meet you at the restaurant, yeah?”

Andi smiled. “Do you want us to wait for you to order?”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“We’ll wait,” Buffy said anyway, her eyes still lingering on TJ. “You won’t be long, right?”

“Buffy...”

“What? It should only take a few minutes to officially dump his ass.”

“You know I’m not gonna do that.”

“After everything he’s done?”

“No one’s at fault here,” he said, giving her hand a placating squeeze as she finally tore her murderous glare away from TJ. “He didn’t do anything wrong, Buffy. You know that.”

“I beg to differ,” she said with a huff. “He broke your heart.”

Cyrus sighed. “It’s more complicated than that.”

“He was late to the premiere.”

“I know –”

“He stopped replying to your texts!”

“I know –”

“He didn’t even try –”

“I know, Buffy! You think I don’t remember?” he hissed, sparing a hasty glance at TJ. The other man was standing just a few rows away from them, and Cyrus knew he could probably hear every word they were saying about him. But his head was ducked, his eyes pointedly fixed on the bouquet in his hands as he fiddled with a browning petal, and Cyrus was grateful he was at least pretending not to eavesdrop. He felt humiliated enough without TJ knowing just how difficult these past few months had been for him. 

Andi touched the back of his hand, and he felt his shoulders sag. “We’re just worried about you,” she said. “But we’ll support you, no matter what you decide. Right, Buffy?”

Under different circumstances, Cyrus would probably laugh at the sour expression twisting Buffy’s face. But now he just felt sad. Back before his relationship with TJ had crumbled, Buffy had been one of their biggest supporters; she’d even helped TJ pick out the perfect engagement ring before he’d proposed. It filled Cyrus with an empty kind of regret to realise just how much her attitude towards TJ had regressed. He felt like he was in Middle School again, torn between his best friend and the boy he loved. How could he ever hope to go back to the way things were before? Maybe he’d been naive to ever think such a thing was possible.

“He’s a good man,” he said to Buffy, not missing the way her eyes softened briefly. “You have to trust me on that, okay?”

Buffy pursed her lips and looked over at TJ, her eyes narrowing as the other man cleared his throat and turned away. When she finally looked back at Cyrus, there was a tight little smile in place of her former scowl. “Okay,” she said, giving his arm one last squeeze. “I trust you.”

Cyrus swallowed thickly. “Thank you, Buffy.”

“We’re still gonna wait for you to order though, so don’t be too long.”

“Okay.”

“And if you’re not there within the next twenty minutes, I’m gonna come and find you.”

“Okay.”

“And don’t even think about inviting TJ, because I only booked a table for six, and I’m not waiting around for an extra hour for them to find us a bigger table –”

“Okay!” Cyrus said, laughing as fresh tears sprung to his eyes. He couldn’t tell if they were sad or happy tears, but it felt good to let them out. He’d spent far too long keeping everything trapped inside. By the end of the night, he was determined to let the weight of grief and uncertainty finally slip from his shoulders. And as scary as that sounded, at least he knew his friends would be there to help him re-find his balance, no matter what.

After a couple more claps on the back from Marty and Jonah, and a rare hug from Amber, Cyrus watched his friends head towards the exit. It was a slow process, what with Andi practically having to restrain Buffy from pouncing on TJ, but they were soon the only two left in the theatre. It was a large room, and the silence was deafening, but Cyrus somehow found the strength to stow his fears and make the first move. TJ had made the effort of showing up, after all, so it was probably his turn.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he said, anxiously smoothing down his blazer as he took a step closer to TJ. “I-I waited outside for you, but...”

TJ flushed. “Oh. Yeah, um... I actually saw you.”

“You did?”

“Yeah. I wanted to go over and say hi, but... I guess I was just nervous.” He shrugged, toeing at the ground with a shiny black shoe. Cyrus vaguely remembered picking those shoes out for him almost nine years ago, when TJ had been fretting over his first college interview. You can’t show up in sneakers, Teej, he’d told him with a fond roll of his eyes. I’m taking you shopping. End of story. He couldn’t help but smile at the memory, and the fact that TJ was still wearing those shoes to this day. Had he been too lazy to go out and buy a new pair, or was there sentimental value to the slightly scuffed (and likely undersized) pair he was wearing now? Cyrus couldn’t dare to hope the latter was true.

“Why were you nervous?” he asked, forcing himself to look away from those stupid, sappy shoes.

TJ snorted. “Why do you think?”

“You didn’t have to come, you know?”

“That’s not what I –” TJ stopped, shaking his head and handing over the sad-looking flowers. When Cyrus took them, TJ clasped his hands together and started twiddling his thumbs. It was a nervous habit he’d had since he was a kid; he’d spent the majority of their first date twisting his fingers together, until Cyrus had taken his hand and offered him a welcome distraction from his own frantic fiddling. “I’m sorry, I just... I’m not good at this.”

Cyrus gave the flowers a sniff. They might’ve looked a little parched, but they still smelled sweet. He knew he should probably say thank you, but he was struggling to form any coherent sentences right now. He was too busy internally debating whether these flowers were simply a gesture of friendly congratulations, or possibly something more...

“I loved the movie,” TJ said, thankfully breaking the silence for him. “It was amazing. And the audience seemed pretty into it, too. There was a couple next to me bawling their eyes out.” He grinned, a hint of shyness in his eyes as he regarded him quietly. Cyrus could feel his cheeks turning warm as TJ came towards him, a nervous sense of giddiness fluttering inside his stomach. “It was exactly how I pictured it, from what you told me. It’s like you brought your vision to life.” He licked his lips, his eyes darting down to Cyrus’ mouth for a split second. He seemed to be holding back from something, and Cyrus was this close to grabbing him by the shoulders and screaming at him to get on with it, to do whatever it was he seemed so eager to do. “I’m so happy for you, Cy,” he continued, his voice now dropped to a whisper. “You did it. I mean, I always knew you would, but still... You actually did it. You’re living your dream.”

No, Cyrus thought to himself, his throat rippling as TJ’s eyes fell to his lips once again. Not without you. My life could never be a dream, unless you’re in it.

“Thank you,” he said, his words slightly raspy. He took another step forward, having to adjust his head to look up at TJ now that they were standing so close. His nose was still dusted with freckles, so light you could barely see them against his pale skin. It’s not like he’d expected them to disappear in the two years since he’d seen him, but still... It felt like a reaffirmation of some kind. Despite the years apart, this was still the same boy he’d fallen in love with as a teenager. The same boy he’d gone to prom with. The same boy he’d said yes to spending his life with. The same boy whose barely-there freckles had always seemed like a secret, only visible when you were close enough to trace them with your lips. The boy who still owned his heart, even though it was broken.

“You’re welcome,” TJ said. It was his turn to take a step closer this time, and he did, the hint of a question in his eyes as he added, “I hope I get an invitation to the next one.”

Cyrus smiled shakily. “Only if you want one.”

“I mean, if you’ll have me...”

“Of course.”

At that, TJ’s face erupted with another grin, and Cyrus felt like he was staring into the sun. He could hardly breathe as TJ’s eyes trailed slowly down his face, so sure they were going to land on his lips yet again. But instead, they kept going, sliding from his face entirely as they followed the path of his arms all the way down to his hands, where he was clutching onto the dripping stems of the bouquet. There, they found the silver ring adorning his left hand, the one he’d worn every single day since it was placed on his finger two years ago, and Cyrus felt his stomach drop. He hadn’t even considered how TJ might react to him still wearing it. Would he think he was pathetic? Childish? Naive? Desperate? He could hardly lift his eyes to meet the other man’s gaze, too scared of what he might find when he did... But when he took a deep breath and looked up, he was graced with the same dimpled smile he’d fallen in love with at thirteen years old, and suddenly, for the first time since saying goodbye, everything felt okay again.

“TJ, I –” He froze, his arms falling limply to his sides as he spotted the blank space on TJ’s finger, where Cyrus had slid on a ring of his own just days after accepting TJ’s proposal. He’d bought him the exact same ring – a few sizes larger, of course – and had their initials engraved on the inside. TJ had sworn he’d never take it off, even when Cyrus was away. He’d promised he’d wear it forever. And yet...

TJ frowned, reaching for his hand not holding onto the flowers, but Cyrus flinched away, his cheeks burning with mottled embarrassment. He’d spent the past two years stubbornly believing everything was going to work out in the end; even after TJ had stopped responding to his messages a few months ago, he’d kept the ring on his finger, constantly telling himself that there’d be a reasonable explanation when he got home. TJ was his fiancé, after all. He wouldn’t just cut off contact with him for no good reason. His mom was sick. And Cyrus was busy. It was difficult keeping in touch, he knew, but everything would be resolved once the movie was wrapped up. That’s what he’d told himself every day, in order to get by... Had he really buried himself so deep in denial that he couldn’t see what was right in front of him? That TJ had moved on. That he no longer wore his ring, because he no longer considered them engaged. Had Cyrus really been living in a fairy tale of his own making all this time?

“Cyrus, what –”

“Your ring,” he said dully, blinking back tears as he hid his own ring behind the bouquet in his other hand. “You’re not wearing it.”

TJ’s eyes grew wide. “Wait, that’s not –”

“It’s okay, TJ. I don’t know what I was expecting. I mean, you made it pretty clear how you felt.”

“What are you talking about?”

Cyrus scoffed, heartbreak giving way to anger. “Don’t play dumb, TJ. You’ve been ignoring my messages for months. You didn’t come to see me when I got back. You left me waiting outside the theatre for almost an hour, like an idiot! I should’ve taken the hint a long time ago.”

He turned to leave, but TJ stepped in front of him, desperation flaring in his eyes as he reached for Cyrus’ arm. “No, wait! This is all a big misunderstanding, okay? I’m a moron, I get that, but you’ve gotta hear me out!”

“What else is there to say?”

“A lot!” TJ cried, the grip on his arm reaching bruising levels of intensity. It was only when Cyrus winced that TJ got the memo and let go. “Shit, sorry! I just... You don’t understand, Cy. I screwed up, I know, but that has nothing to do with how I feel about you, okay?” Before Cyrus could beg to differ, TJ reached under his shirt collar and whipped out a silver chain hanging around his neck. Threaded through the chain was his engagement ring. “It got so hard, seeing it on my finger every day. It just kept reminding me how far away you were. How you were slipping away from me... But I couldn’t bear to take it off, so... This seemed like the logical solution.”

Cyrus gazed down at the ring, caught between confusion and delight, then snapped his eyes back up at TJ. “But... My messages. You stopped responding to them. Why –”

“I was scared,” TJ admitted, tugging at his hair in frustration. “You were getting busier. My mom was getting sicker. It felt like we were out of touch, you know? Our calls were getting fewer and further between, and I just... I dreaded the day when you wouldn’t pick up. I didn’t want it to reach a point where I felt like a burden to you.”

“So you decided to ignore me?” Cyrus asked, tossing the bouquet onto the nearest seat as he jabbed an accusatory finger in TJ’s face. “You wanted to hurt me before I could hurt you? Is that it?”

“No! I just –”

“You broke my heart! Do you realise that?”

“I’m sorry,” TJ whimpered. There were silent tears rolling down his cheeks now, but Cyrus refused to feel sorry for him. Not until he fully understood why he did what he did. “Every time we talked, you seemed so happy... You were off having fun, doing what you love, and I... I was at home. Looking after my mom. Missing you. Wishing every single day that I could be with you. And it was hard, Cy... So, so hard. Some days I could barely stand it. I mean, there were times when I just... I didn’t see the point, you know? My mom wasn’t getting better, and you were so far away, and I just... I felt so alone. And I didn’t wanna drag you down with me. I couldn’t do that. I couldn’t stand the thought of making you feel guilty, or risk the possibility of you coming home... Even though that’s exactly what I wanted.” He sighed, wiping at his tears with the heels of his palms. “I was a selfish idiot. I would’ve done anything to be with you again. Even if it meant you coming home early. But I couldn’t do that to you, Cy. Not when you were having such a great time. And the only way I could trust myself not to ask you to come back was if I stopped talking to you all together. I know that’s a crappy excuse, but... It was getting harder and harder not to tell you the truth, and I... I didn’t know what I might do.” He looked up at him blindly, his eyes brimming with pain behind a shiny veil of tears. “I’m so sorry, Cyrus. I should’ve... I should’ve tried harder. I should’ve listened to my mom... But I was a coward.”

Cyrus faltered, his mind desperately trying to process a thousand different thoughts and feelings all at once. But the one thing he kept coming back to was Riley. TJ’s mother – the sweet, caring woman who’d single-handedly raised one of the best people Cyrus had ever known – had been suffering these past couple years, and Cyrus hadn’t even bothered to ask TJ how she was doing. He felt ashamed of himself.

“Your mother,” he said, his previous anger long forgotten as he dared to place a hand on TJ’s shaking shoulders. “Is she... How is she doing?”

TJ sniffed hard and exhaled a shaky breath. “She’s, uh... She’s doing good. She actually got the all-clear a few weeks ago, so that’s, um... That’s something. She’s still pretty weak though. And with cancer, you never know, so...” He shrugged, the ghost of a smile passing his lips as he finally registered the hand on his shoulder. “She asks about you all the time, though. She still doesn’t understand why I gave up on us so easily. I’m not sure even I understand, to be honest.”

Cyrus allowed his hand to slip away from TJ’s shoulder, inching slowly down his arm until his fingers were brushing the back of his hand. “And what do you say? When she asks about me, I mean.”

TJ looked him straight in the eye. “I tell her that letting you go was the biggest mistake of my life.”

“You really mean that?”

“Yes,” TJ breathed, his hands coming up to cup Cyrus’ face. “I still picture a future with you, even though I don’t deserve it. I can’t help it, you know? I’m just so... I’m so insanely in love with you, Cyrus. And I know I messed up. I know I should’ve tried harder, but... I’m here now. And if I didn’t tell you how I feel, I know I’d regret it for the rest of my life. So... There it is. I’m not asking you for anything, I just... I need you to know how sorry I am, and how much I care about you. Because you deserve to know how special you are.”

Cyrus blinked up at him, completely in awe of this beautiful idiot of a man. He wasn’t sure how long he stared at him like that, his mouth hanging open and his cheeks ruddy from the warmth of TJ’s touch, but it must’ve been a long time, because TJ eventually dropped his hands from his face and took a step back.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I shouldn’t’ve... I-I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable... I should probably go –”

“Don’t you dare!” Cyrus cried, grabbing him by the arm and yanking him forward. With their chests pressed together, he could feel TJ’s heartbeat aching against his skin, and it felt good to know he wasn’t the only one freaking out right now. “There’s no way I’m losing you again.”

TJ startled. “You mean... You feel the same way?”

“I’m still wearing my ring, aren’t I?”

“So –”

“I’m in love with you,” he said, a hysterical laugh bubbling in his chest as he pressed their foreheads together. “I never stopped loving you. Not for one second. Even when it hurt. How the heck could I ever get over you?”

“After the crap I pulled, I wouldn’t blame you.”

“Shut up.” He squeezed his eyes closed, simply breathing in the familiar, boyish scent clinging to TJ’s cheaply-made suit. It was dark grey, and way too big, and so utterly TJ it made him want to cry. He’d missed this so much: his stupid, lanky fiancé and his stupid, terrible fashion sense. How had he ever survived two years without him? Whatever the answer was, he never wanted to put it to the test ever again. “You’re right. You messed up. But I don’t care. Maybe I will in a few hours, but right now? I honestly couldn’t care less.”

“I’ll make it up to you,” TJ promised, peppering the side of his face with kisses that were long overdue. “I’ll never give up on you again. I won’t let my stupid insecurities get in the way. I’ll do better.”

“I know you will.”

“I swear –”

“I know.” Cyrus pulled back slightly, allowing their noses to brush against each other. “But right now, all I want you to do is kiss me. Think you can do that?”

TJ grinned. “If you insist.”

It wasn’t anything spectacular – just a featherlight brush of lips, almost childish in its innocence – but it was enough to make Cyrus’ toes curl with two years’ worth of repressed longing. His arms were wound around TJ’s waist, clutching at the back of his suit, and his heart was throbbing with an intense combination of joy and relief. His lips were still moving when TJ slowly pulled away, his eyes fluttering open like a pair of sun-peeled flowers. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think this was all a figment of his imagination. The real world couldn’t possibly be this perfect, could it?

“So,” TJ said after a moment of aching silence, slightly breathless and glowing with giddiness, “does this mean you’ll still marry me?”

Cyrus spluttered a laugh. “Are you serious?”

“Of course I am! I mean, I’m happy to propose again, if you want...”

“You don’t need to make a fuss,” Cyrus assured him softly, his hands sliding up the back of his neck and carding through the spill of dirty-blond waves on top of his head. He smiled, relishing the blissed-out expression on TJ’s face, and kissed him sweetly on the tip of his nose. “Just ask me again after dinner. I can’t make such a drastic decision on an empty stomach, you know.”

TJ chuckled. “What about Buffy? She only booked a table for six, remember.”

“We can draw up another chair.”

“Well, it’s your funeral...”

“She’ll be fine,” Cyrus said, referring to more than just the table. “They all will be.”

“You sure?”

“They’re your friends as well as mine,” he reminded him. “And they all know what you’ve been through lately. I’m sure they’ll understand.”

TJ dropped his head against Cyrus’ shoulder with a groan. “I lost contact with them after you left, you know? You’re not the only person I froze out. What if they’re not as forgiving as you are?”

“Just give them time, Teej. They’ll come around.”

“I hope so.” He lifted his head, a pained smile thinning his lips. “I want things to go back to the way they were before. The seven of us. I miss that, you know? I miss having people in my life.” He shrugged self-consciously. “I’m so sick of being lonely all the time.”

There were tired lines bracketing the corners of his drooping mouth, and Cyrus smoothed them away with the pad of his thumb, his fingers dancing a silent tune down the hollow of his throat until they reached the silver chain hanging around his neck. With a gentle smile, he freed the ring and tucked the empty chain back inside his collar. TJ was watching him the entire time with a dazed kind of expression, his lips softly parted and his eyes alight with reluctant hope. It felt like an eternity passed as Cyrus cradled TJ’s hands against his chest, completely lost in the other man’s unwavering gaze; he could hardly remember where they were when he finally shook himself out of his trance and slid the ring onto TJ’s finger, back where it belonged.

“There you go,” he said, pressing his lips against the silver band. “You’ll never be alone again.”

TJ gulped, his entire face quivering with barely-supressed emotion. “I love you so much, Underdog.”

Cyrus smiled at the old nickname. “I love you too. And I promise, when my movie takes off, and I become a famous director, I’ll buy you an even fancier ring.”

“That’s okay,” TJ said, spreading his hand in the air to admire his freshly-adorned finger. Beneath the warm lights of the theatre, the ring appeared to be winking, and TJ was admiring it with a proud little smile that made Cyrus’ heart stutter for a few beats. “I think it’s pretty perfect already.”

Yeah, Cyrus thought to himself, reaching for TJ’s hand so their rings were glinting side by side. I guess you’re right.

The End.

~~~~~

Thank you so much for reading! This will probably be my last Andi Mack fic, at least for a little while... If we’re lucky enough to get a renewal in the future, I’ll definitely come back to these characters, but for now, it seems like the right time to say goodbye. I’ve had an amazing time being a part of this fandom, and I’m so grateful to all the people who have supported my work over the past few months. You guys are the best ♥

[hunnywrites]

Sixteen Candles: Part Three

Summary: It’s the day that Vivian has been looking forward to nearly her entire life: her sixteenth birthday. But between her sister’s wedding overshadowing her big day, and praying that her crush Billy Hargrove will finally notice her things aren’t going too well for her. If she can just survive the under the sea dance at her school and avoid the really weird and creepy Tommy H her night might be salvageable. Maybe.

Pairing: Billy Hargrove/OFC

Sarah, Kevin and Vivian’s parents had left for dinner about twenty minutes ago. Since Enzo’s was the nicest, or really the only nice restaurant in town, they were hoping it would impress Kevin’s snooty parents. It probably wouldn’t. Now Vivian’s grandparents were left in charge. Which meant they would be eating dry meatloaf for dinner and her grandma would remind them over and over of the dangers of underage drinking and premarital sex. Vivian almost put her fork through her eye. 

She hadn’t gotten a dress for the dance. She had been holding out until the last minute hoping that her mother would decide against forcing her to go. Instead Sarah lent her a dress that she didn’t want anymore because it was “totally out of style” and wouldn’t be caught dead in. Vivian didn’t really get why. It was a cute dress. It was a deep red, velvet dress with a Bardot neckline that stopped just above her knees. It was a little bit ill fitting. Sarah was practically waifish and Vivian had wider hips and a bit more of a fuller figure like their mother. The dress ended up showing off that “nice little figure” her grandma had told her she had a little bit too much for her liking. But if she threw her leather jacket over it it wasn’t so bad. 

Her hair had won the battle of Vivian trying to tame it. She’d cut her curly red hair about a month ago to her shoulders, hoping that it would make it easier to manage. It didn’t. She guessed it made her look cool. Casual. Like she didn’t really care that much. Plus, after Carol started pounding on the bathroom door and threatening her, she didn’t really have much of a choice but to give up. 

Now it was time to wait for Tommy to show up to drive them to the dance. Carol was back in her bedroom getting dressed and singing loudly and very off key along with Madonna to Burning Up. Vivian was in Sarah’s room, standing in front of the full length mirror hanging on the back of her door. She didn’t feel like she was sixteen. She didn’t look any different than when she had been fifteen. But had she ever felt different after her birthday? Had she always been too wrapped up in all the cake and presents to notice?

She let out a soft huff and turned to the side. She felt ridiculous in Sarah’s dress. Like she was trying too hard almost. There was a brief moment when Vivian wondered if Billy would like it. Maybe that was the change. Worrying so much about what a boy thought of her. Or catching herself day dreaming way too often about all the things she wanted to do with Billy that always made her cheeks grow all hot. And then there was being faced with the fact that absolutely none of those things would happen in a million years. Vivian let out a groan. Growing up sucked. 

“Girls! Thomas is here!” Vivian rolled her eyes at the sound of her grandma’s voice. No one called Tommy H Thomas. It made him sound way too mature when really he had the mentality of a thirteen year old. Carol poked her head out of her room and yelled down that she would be out in a minute. Which in Carol speak meant more like ten. Vivian reluctantly made her way downstairs to the living room where Tommy was waiting by the front door. He gave her a slow once over and grinned at her. Vivian suddenly felt like little red riding hood trapped in a room with the big bad wolf. 

“Lookin’ good, Viv. That a new dress?” Vivian plopped down onto the couch and instinctively turned her body away from Tommy. She hated having to be alone with him.

“Uh, not really. It’s actually Sarah’s.” she tugged at the end of her dress in an attempt to cover up a bit more of her legs. Tommy didn’t hide the fact that he was looking at them. Vivian had never understood what Carol saw in him. They’d somehow been together since Vivian was in elementary school. It made the fact that Tommy almost relentlessly hit on Vivian any time Carol wasn’t around that much creepier. Of all the boys in Hawkins to be interested in her, why did it have to be Tommy H?

Tommy moved closer to her and perched on the arm of the couch. “Hey, how come you don’t have a date to the dance?” usually Vivian would have some sort of biting remark. Sarah was always telling her that she was much too comfortable being sarcastic. But with Tommy she kept the comments she wanted to say to herself and kept things as short as possible. He wasn’t entirely bright enough to understand sarcasm. Or much of anything. Usually he would just seem to think she was flirting back and it would be impossible to escape the conversation. 

Plus, she didn’t really want to open the can of worms that was wondering why no one had asked her to the dance. “...I just didn’t want to go with anyone, I guess.” she finally said with a shrug. 

“Oh...well, that’s okay. You wanna be my date? I’m sure I can juggle you and Carol.” that grin was back. Vivian didn’t stop herself from rolling her eyes. 

“How about you ask Carol how she’d feel about that arrangement?” Vivian asked, fluttering her eyelashes with a sweet smile. Tommy’s grin fell. He opened his mouth to say something else, but was cut off by Vivian’s grandmother walking in. Tommy nearly jumped up from the arm of the couch. 

“Would you like something to drink, Thomas? Are you hungry? I made meatloaf. The girls weren’t really hungry so there’s plenty left over.” they were plenty hungry. The meatloaf was just awful. Vivian almost hoped Tommy would accept her offer. 

Tommy only smiled what Vivian assumed he thought was a charming smile. “Oh, no thank you ma’am. My mom made a pretty big dinner so I don’t really have room for meatloaf.” he patted his stomach.

“Consider yourself lucky. A dog wouldn’t even eat that meatloaf.” it was Carol. She came practically stomping down the stairs in her strapless, light pink chiffon dress that she had begged and pleaded with their dad to buy her for the dance. Vivian usually felt self conscious next to her older sister, but she felt even more so now. Carol looked like she had just stepped out of an issue of Cosmo. 

Their grandmother frowned over at Carol. “Now, young lad-”

Carol rolled her eyes and tossed her hair over her shoulder. “We gotta run, grandma. Don’t wait up. Mom says curfew’s at one,” that definitely wasn’t true. The girls had a firm eleven o’clock curfew on weekends. But Vivian kept her mouth shut. Carol grabbed Tommy by the arm and pulled him towards the front door, Vivian close behind. Their grandma followed with a reminder of the lovely talk they’d had at dinner. The three teens practically bolted for Tommy’s car. 

“God, she never shuts up!” Carol groaned. “No sex before marriage!” she said in a crude, mocking voice. “Jesus doesn’t like tramps! Please.”

“Don’t forget that story about her friend Judy and how her grandson died from drinking a beer at a highschool party.” Vivian laughed as she slid into the backseat. Carol threw her head back and let out a cackle like laugh.

“That’s right! He’s not even dead! He got shit faced on tequila shots and got a dui and his dad sent him to boot camp!” if it was one thing Vivian could bond with her sister over, it was what an absolute fruit loop their grandmother was. 

Tommy was grinning again. “You know, she’s a little too late with that no sex before marriage thing, Car.” Vivian’s nose scrunched up in disgust. So not what she wanted to hear. Ever.

Carol let out a loud snort and shoved Tommy’s shoulder. “Shut up, ass.” and just like that, the sisterly bonding was over. For the rest of the ride to school Vivian ceased to exist to Carol and Tommy. Which was pretty alright with her. Especially when it came to Tommy.

The Hawkins High gym had been transformed into an under the sea fantasy. Well, as much of a fantasy as the dance committee had been able to pull off. Blue lights hung high above the students dancing and mingling, giving them all an odd and almost otherworldly pallor. Silver streamers hung from the doorways, food tables and sporadically from the gym’s ceiling mimic what Vivian assumed to be seaweed. In one corner there were large cut outs of crudely drawn sea creatures along with a mermaid and merman as a photo op for the students and their dates. 

Carol quickly dragged Tommy over to have their photo taken. “Oh, see ya later, sis! Have fun!” Vivian muttered to herself as she made her way over to the bleachers where Robin was sitting and looking bored. “You have no idea how happy I am to see you.” she said with a heavy sigh as she sat next to her best friend. 

“Likewise,” Robin said with a grin. “I dig the dress. It’s gonna be hard for Billy to ignore you in that.” 

Vivian rolled her eyes and waved a hand at Robin. “This so isn’t for him. I didn’t have anything to wear so I had to borrow it from Sarah. Tommy hit on me while we were waiting for Carol to finish getting ready,” she pulled a face. Robin and Vivian both looked over to where Tommy and Carol were posing in front of the photographer for their dance photo. They both groaned. Vivian scanned the room quickly. “...Have you seen Billy?” she asked casually. 

Robin smiled and shook her head. “Not yet. I’m imagining Cheryl’s gonna turn up fashionably late. You want some punch or something?” Vivian only shrugged. Robin patted her knee and stood up. “Be right back.” Vivian watched Robin head over to the snack table and let out a sigh. This was probably gonna be a long night. And adding the fact that she was going to wait around for Billy like a little puppy definitely wasn’t going to help.

“There she is!” Vivian groaned. Her night just kept getting worse. Tommy had spotted her. He was dancing along to the music and headed her way. Carol wasn’t anywhere in sight. “Been lookin’ for ya, Viv!” he took her by the hands and pulled her to her feet. Vivian watched in near horror as Tommy continued to dance in front of her. 

“Uh, Tommy? Where’s Carol?” 

He didn’t stop dancing. “She went to the bathroom with Cheryl. Come on, girl! Don’t leave me hangin’! I love this song!” he took Vivian’s hands in his again and tried to get her to dance with him. Vivian harshly pulled away from him. She didn’t really know who she was more embarrassed for. Tommy and his awful dancing, herself for having to be seen with him, or Carol for thinking Tommy wasn’t an absolute creep. 

“You know, I’m not really much of a dancer. Maybe you should just go find Billy or something,” she took a step back from Tommy hoping it would keep him from grabbing her again. “Have you seen him anywhere?” 

Tommy was still dancing. “I think he’s outside having a smoke,” Vivian thought that she hid her disappointment, but apparently not as well as she thought. Tommy grinned at her. “You sweet on Hargrove, Viv?”

Vivian felt her cheeks burn. “Of course not. I didn’t even...I gotta go find Robin.” she rushed around Tommy and disappeared into the sea of dancing teenagers.

A few moments later Billy waltzed back into the gym. He shoved the sleeves of the black blazer he was wearing up his arms and gave an unimpressed look around the gym. Susan had given him the blazer right before he left to pick up Cheryl. It was his dad’s. “It’s a dance, Billy! You have to look your best for your date!” she had said, running into her bedroom to fetch the coat. 

Cheryl hadn’t really cared about what he was wearing. She spent the entire drive fixing her makeup and bitching about how her parents refused to buy her the dress she had wanted because she had failed two classes that past semester. As soon as they arrived at the dance Cheryl and made a beeline for Carol and the two had run off the the bathroom. Billy headed back outside for a smoke and to sneak a few swigs from the flask he’d stashed on the inner pocket of his blazer. 

When he’d made his way back inside Tommy was dancing over by the bleachers. Alone. Billy rolled his eyes and walked over to him. “They’re still not back yet?” he asked, scanning the crowd for Cheryl and Carol. 

“Nah, man. I bet they’ll be gone for awhile,” Tommy finally stopped dancing and looked at his friend with a mischievous grin. “You’ll never guess who was asking about you, dude.”

Billy let out a heavy sigh and shoved his hands into his pockets, his fingers playing mindlessly with his lighter. “I give up.” he said with a bored tone. 

Tommy threw an arm around Billy’s shoulders and turned him towards the snack table. Vivian was standing by the punch bowl with Robin. She looked good. Amazing, actually. But with the way she kept pulling at the bottom of her dress and shifting uncomfortably showed that she wasn’t entirely comfortable with all the new attention she was getting. Billy watched on with an amused look. 

“You think you can maybe talk to her? Get me an in?” Billy frowned and looked over at Tommy.

“...The hell are you talking about? Aren’t you with Carol?”

Tommy looked around to make sure that no one was listening. He grinned wickedly. “I don’t see her around, do you?”

Billy rolled his eyes. “Christ, Tommy. You’re even dumber than I thought.”

Tommy frowned. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“You can’t try to fuck your girl’s sister. They tell each other about that kinda shit. You need to get some tact, man,” not to mention he was fairly certain that he would see pigs flying before Vivian ever agreed to willingly sit in a room alone with Tommy. There was a moment when Vivian turned and met eyes with Billy from across the gym. Her lips twitched. Like she wasn’t sure whether to smile at him or not. The corner of Billy’s mouth turned upwards in a smirk, and Vivian’s cheeks turned a deep pink before she turned back to Robin. “...I’ll see you later, Tommy.” he patted his friend on the shoulder and started off towards Vivian.

“There you are!” Billy stifled the groan he wanted to let out at the sound of Cheryl’s voice. He stopped in his tracks, turning to face his date with a thin smile. “I was worried someone might’ve stolen you away,” she said with an overly sweet smile. Cheryl straightened out the front of Billy’s blazer before she placed her hands on his chest. “Carol told me that Tommy’s having a party at his place after and I said we would go.”

Billy could think of about 900 completely awful things that he would rather do than go to a party with his friends. “I’m not really in a partying mood. I gotta get to the pool early tomorrow.” he lied. 

If looks could kill, Billy would be dead. Cheryl’s hot pink nails dig ever so slightly into his chest as she glared up at him. “Well, I already told Carol that we would go. And it’ll look bad if I go by myself. So you’re going to come with me, and you’re going to have a good time.” she said through her teeth. 

A mistake that Billy had made early on with Cheryl was deciding not to argue with her. It gave her the sense that he was a pushover that would do whatever she wanted. That she had power in the relationship. Usually it was just easier to do what Cheryl said. No matter how much he hated it. It was never worth all the dirty looks and all of her bitching. “...Whatever, Cheryl. We’ll stop by for a few minutes. I’m gonna go have another smoke.” 

He didn’t care that he was ditching her. He didn’t care about the way she was calling after him in that fake, sweet voice that she used in front of other people. He wanted to get away from her. Away from this stupid under the sea dance. 

He shoved the gym door opened and collided hard with someone on the other side. “Christ, watch where you’re goi- oh, Billy!” it was Vivian. The door shut loudly behind him, and the two were left out in the quiet hallway. 

“Sorry…” he muttered, fidgeting with the lighter in his pocket. Vivian waved him off and adjusted her dress. He couldn’t help but give her another once over. “I like the dress.”

Vivian’s hands went still as she looked up at him. She blinked a few times. “...What?”

Billy chuckled and motioned to her outfit. “The dress. It looks good on you. You get it for your birthday?” 

He expected her to blush again. To freeze up like she usually did when he complimented her. Instead she rolled her eyes dramatically and scoffed. “No. I didn’t get shit for my birthday. My family forgot all about it.” there was a shocked look on her face almost like she had said something she shouldn’t have.

Billy raised an eyebrow. “They forgot? How’s that possible?”

“My sister’s stupid wedding. I keep telling myself that I’m over it, but every time I bring it up I get pissed off all over again,” she shook her head. “It’s not really a big deal. Anyways, having fun with Cheryl?” there was a bit of bite in her voice that made Billy smirk down at her. 

“Tons,” he said cooly. “She told me Tommy’s having a party at his place after the dance. You should come. Bring Robin. We’ll call it your birthday party.” that shy look of hers was back. Billy couldn’t help but smile. 

“I don’t know…” she scrunched up her nose. “I’ve kinda had my fill of Tommy for one night. Robin and I were gonna head to the movies and see Red Dawn,” Billy honestly wished he could join them. “Maybe next time.” she offered. He knew that was a lie. 

Billy smiled slowly at her and nodded. “Yeah, maybe next time. Well, I guess I’ll see you around Birthday Girl.” Vivian tucked a piece of hair behind her ear as her cheeks turned pink again. Her lips twitched again, like she was fighting to keep her cool. She mumbled a “bye” before rushing back into the gym. He knew that Vivian thought he couldn’t see her now. He placed a cigarette between his lips as he watched her hurry across the dance floor towards Robin. 

She was talking to her friend animatedly and pointing back to the gym doors. Robin looked on with an amused smile at her friends ranting. Billy let out a short laugh and lit his cigarette. He didn’t really know why he was so interested in Vivian. Aside from her obvious good looks, Vivian was a good girl. Billy had never really liked good girls. Maybe Cheryl had made him realize it was time to try something new. 

He decided once he was sure that she was home from the movies that he would call her and ask her out. What could go wrong? 

[yyrz]

breath, faith, taste

note: IT’S VALENTINES and you know what that means!!!

also, an entry to @bnha-angst-week​ day 7: roses // time

the title lyric is from face my fears by utada hikaru because im kh trash. and also because i wrote this with no title in mind and that just started playing and there, here we are

disclaimer: blood mention, vomiting mention, death mention

(all my, all my life)

ao3 link! | fic masterlist!

i.

The petals littering her floor cover the blood she’d spit out hours ago.

White dahlias. Those are white dahlias, from the google search she did hours ago. Kyouka doesn't know what they mean. What they are, really. She doesn't want to continue reading the page she skimmed quickly, doesn't want to know why she's coughing them up whenever her thoughts stray towards Momo—

Momo, who's in the process of meeting her partner-to-be, trapped in a marriage meeting with her parents. Momo, whose excitement felt palpable from the moment it was announced that she'd finally be wed on the eve of next year’s winter solstice. Momo, whose tears ran tracks on her cheeks, all of which Kyouka kissed away, wishing her a bit of simple good luck before letting her go.

Happiness, Kyouka told herself, watching as the Yaoyorozu family car drove away, taking the person responsible for the festering feelings in her chest. Momo was crying tears of happiness.

Don't be selfish Kyouka. She’s not crying because of her freedom and marriage to a stranger feel like a ticking time bomb. Not because your hands cupping her cheeks feel like a goodbye.

Not because you’ll stop being her friend after this whole ordeal is settled with signatures on a contract, irreversible in the eyes of the law. You’ll never stop being her friend.

Not because— not because it feels like you’re giving her away— like you’re not fighting— because you don’t want to just be her friend—— don’t be silly.

ii.

The eve of the New Year looms closer and closer, each day making Kyouka fold into herself with anxiety that, in other circumstances, wouldn’t be present in her overall demeanor. But then, those other circumstances aren’t always so filled with thoughts about Momo. And ever since her winter break, it’s been nothing but Momo in her head.

All she can do is wait for the news. Momo hasn’t called or texted her at all. The break is almost at its end — by next week, they’ll all be back in class.

Maybe Kyouka can wait until then. Maybe Momo’s busy.

An itch makes its way up her throat at the thought of Momo being busy with her... with her fiance. She suppresses it, desperate to keep the flowers from spilling from her lips. A fist is shoved into her mouth, and she forces herself not to let out the dinner she’d eaten earlier, as well as the flowers churning deep in her lungs. Knuckles white, grimace clear on her face, Kyouka finds herself losing as she succumbs to the feeling of dread forcing itself up her throat.

Her dinner comes first, and then the flowers, caked with blood, splattering against the hardwood floor. She’ll have a hard time scrubbing it away, she notes, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. Not that she can leave it alone unless she wanted to explain to her parents just why she’d been throwing up flowers.

With that thought in mind, Kyouka sets off to clean up her mess.

As she picks up the last clumps of bloodied dahlias, her phone rings. The sound of Satie’s Gymnopedie No. 1 makes her drop every she’s holding, fingers fumbling to answer the call. No matter if her phone's smeared with blood now — it’s Momo who's calling her, so of course she'd answer with the promptness of an ignored soul.

“Jirou-san!” At once, everything in Kyouka’s mind clears as Momo’s voice echoes from her phone speakers, almost bouncing with glee.

They talk for hours. Kyouka’s forced to keep her coughing to a bare minimum as Momo gushed on and on about her break, asking Kyouka for details of her own. Stories fill the gap between them, and Kyouka's heart soars when she hears Momo laugh. The growing flowers seem to shrink every time she listens to Momo.

That’s good.

The ski trip she wanted to invite Momo to rears itself to the forefront of her mind. But Kyouka refrains from saying anything about it because she knows Momo will feel bad for not being able to come. Not that Kyouka had the guts to invite her, even when the opportunity presented itself, but that wasn’t the point.

Eventually, their conversation comes to a close. Momo bids her farewell (with something about her tone gives Kyouka pause) and the call ends with Kyouka's goodbye.

Her phone chimes a beat later.

momo: I missed you Kyouka! I’ll see you next week!

momo: :*    

Her heart lurches in its place behind the thick foliage growing beneath her ribs. She stares at that small emoji, a kissing face, and wonders if Momo means it or if she thinks it only a gesture of friendship.

kyouka: no prob mo. missed u 2! see u next week.

iii.

Every day, her chest aches. Every day, the pain multiplies. Every day spent with Momo is a day spent agonizing about her future. No one knows about the flowers.

Or, no one would have known, had she not run into Kaminari during an episode.

A trembling hand reaches for the blonde, as he stares in shock (and if it weren’t so serious, she’d hear him laugh at the pun). She twists in her seat, fisted hand clutching her chest as though that would alleviate the pain of flowers growing in her lungs. Dahlias don’t grow with thorns, but Kyouka feels as though a thousand have been piercing her since this all started.

She swallows a cry (and the blood, the bile, the petals) back. A shudder runs through her shoulders. Kaminari can do nothing but watch, horrified as a dribble of blood makes it past her fingers, which she wipes away.

There are questions on the tip of this tongue, and the fact that he’s yet to crack a joke at her expense makes her believe that he’s taking this as seriously as she has. It’s odd for Kaminari to do so, but the appreciation she conveys for his somber manner is still well   

No one’s there to notice anything. She’s lucky. She’s lucky Momo’s not here to see her. She’s lucky Momo’s out with her fiance.

Ha.

iv.

.

.

.

Momo doesn’t know anything apart from the fluttering in her stomach; she doesn’t care about anything apart from a nagging insistence residing in her belly, urging her to spend time with Jirou. She has always known what she wanted, even at a young age. But right now, she doesn’t why her desires tell her to always be within Jirou’s range.

There’s something there. A spark? She can’t pinpoint it and for the love of God, how she wants to name the restless feeling she gets whenever she isn’t near Jirou.

She’s meeting with her fiance today and a feeling in her swells to an uproar. I don’t want to! I want to stay here! But her mother had their lunch date arranged, had planned everything and it would break her heart if Momo says that she’d rather stay with her classmates, spend the night idly chatting with them in the comfort of their common room. She already can imagine herself, sprawled on the sofa, teased for keeping her feet firmly on the floor while everyone has theirs up on the coffee table, while Iida shouts something about respecting the one who made it.

Which was her, for a dare.

It seemed like a lifetime ago. Fooling around with her classmates, when she hadn’t the slightest clue to her future. When her mother had yet to tell her about the engagement; when she had yet to meet the person she’d spend her eternity with.

They were nice. Friendly. Almost too much, like it was a farce for them, wrapped in printed paper and topped with a colorful bow. Maybe that’s what they think of Momo — a gift by her parents, or an offering to appease them.

Stop that line of thinking Momo! She feels silly for allowing such thoughts in her head when they’ve been nothing but understanding with their predicament. An arranged marriage was such an old custom, and yet here she is, here they are, in the middle of it. Ready to go through with it.

Are they really ready though?

Momo’s thoughts drift back to Jirou. She was such a supportive friend, crying with Momo when she expressed frustration for the plans her mother spewed. She wanted nothing more than to turn her back on that plan, but mother’s disappointment loomed above her head, a stormy look overshadowing the words that would’ve brought her respite. Jirou tries to lift her spirits up, easing her into the thought of a future carved into stone by her parents.

But the longer she waits, the lower the spirits drop, the deeper the pit she feels herself falling into. Momo makes her circumstance a show of happiness, even with the judgment she can feel pouring out of Todoroki and Iida’s intense gaze.

Are you happy? Is what they always ask, the pair laced with concern and anger, both at her inability to say no and her cowardice.

And she knows. Momo knows how deep her weakness falls. But she pushes aside everything that her mother has expressly forbidden her to do, ignores the own throbbing of her chest whenever she refers to Jirou has her friend.

Because deep down she knows — down to the cells making up her body, the rushing blood against her veins. She knows that friend can’t explain that throbbing; friend can’t explain the misery. The word friend can never explain the enormity of her feelings, yearning yet confined within the small space she could never let go.

.

.

.

When she exits the common room, eyeing the scene of a happy Jirou nudging Kaminari, laughing at the stupidly content grin on his face, something prods against her chest. A heavy feeling, foreboding in all its glory.

.

.

.

The roses littering her floor cover the stench of her disappointments and regrets.

v.

Dahlias and roses surround her, around her body, like a protective shell. Her body is floating, carried by the current.

Jumping off the cliff was her decision. Sudden but not unwanted.    

Momo follows soon after. The shouting behind her ignored as she plunges headfirst into the ocean, splitting it for a moment before she’s submerged. Her eyes sting, but she’s undeterred in her quest to locate Kyouka.

The sea seems to glow when she opens her eyes, when she feels hands cupping her cheeks, when she finally stares at Momo’s paling features, watching her cry at nothing, tears mixing with seawater. Kyouka can’t seem to speak anymore, not when water is already entering her mouth, her nose, burning her lungs into oblivion.

She breathes salt and sea, shame and desire, pulling her deeper into the abyss that was the ocean. She smiles, letting her lips touch her cheeks, letting her face bloom with heat even in the freezing depths. She finds that her hands have taken Momo’s own, holding as tightly as she could (as she can, in her weakening state).

Momo replies with the same gusto of the dying, closing her eyes, letting everything else take her. Letting go of her unhappiness, bleeding agony until only the truth remained.

Too late to say, but at the same time, it was just the right time to realize.

vi.

They’re found together, blue and no more, holding each other close.   

[its-love-u-asshole]

hopping into puddles [Final]

Pairing: Tsukishima Kei/Kuroo Tetsurou

Summary: Tsukishima Kei has bad luck when it comes to a lot of things, mainly when it comes to love. In fact, if it were up to him, he wouldn’t be looking in the first place. But because of a curse brought upon him by his idiotic ancestors, his only hope for a normal life is to find someone who accepts him and his…particularly abnormal nose. Not that it’ll ever happen…

Or at least, that’s what he’s accepted.

Then Kuroo Tetsurou shows up.

Rating: T

Warnings: None

Note: I can't believe it's the end! Thank you all so much for reading my first multichapter kurotsuki fic, I appreciate all the support and comments I've received along the way <3 I hope I can write a lot more for this pairing in the future, I love them so much <3 Thank you @emeraldwaves for reading this whole fic over ^^ Enjoy! 

Kurotsuki Gift Exchange Sign-ups still open! 

AO3

Like all trends and hot topics, the story of Kei's situation and the curse which caused it, faded into obscurity. The world moved fast, new tragedies, new highlights, they all soon overshadowed his once overpowering headline. Now his story, where he was and what he was doing, was relocated to page three of the paper, then page seven, and then not at all. He hadn't disappeared of course, sometimes when he'd be walking down the street people would recognize him, would squint at the scarf he still kept around his neck (more out of convenience than actual fear at this point). It was aggravating being stopped every now and again, people asking if it was really him. He'd flip them off, and if they were truly persistent, lift up his scarf for a split second or two. He hardly cared anymore if people saw, but he hated the attention, and especially giving into strangers.

After a while though, even that diminished, people forgetting all about him. It was nice, more than nice, since he didn't have to worry about people interrupting his grocery shopping or dates anymore.

And speaking of...

"Hey beautiful, ready to go?" Kuroo stood in the doorway to their bedroom--bigger now, since getting their new apartment. He looked good even dressed so simply, in just a hoodie and skinny jeans, and Kei wondered when the spark would wear off. It had only been a few months since the wedding, a year since they'd met, and something about Kuroo standing there made his heart race as strong as ever.

Kei scowled, rising from the bed as he tied on the shoes he'd been searching his wardrobe for. "You better not call me any of that crap in front of your coworkers." Since Kuroo had booked a more permanent singing gig at the bar, the management had apparently needed more part time bartenders, and the two newbies had invited Kuroo out for a movie. Polite socializing, Kuroo had called it, getting to know the new workers to make sure they were good guys. Kei didn't much mind, though meeting new people was never his preferred way to spend a Friday night. But alas, Kuroo had promised him plenty of sweets at the movies, and that's all he really needed to survive. Kuroo was keen on doing most of the talking anyways, and Kei secretly felt sorry for the guys, having to be analyzed by his critical husband.

Regardless, it sent a surge of fondness through him all the same, and he touched his wedding ring in appreciation. How he had ended up so happy, he didn't understand, but he was thankful to wake up next to Kuroo every morning.

No matter how annoying.

"Aw, but how will they know how in love we are?" Kuroo smirked as Kei shoved past him, making a beeline for the front door. "Why do you think I asked if I could bring my husband? I gotta show off."

Kei rolled his eyes with a slight smile, knowing full well they were going to a movie anyways, and Kuroo wouldn't have much opportunity to be his usual sappy self. "You're gross."

"I'm wounded."

Kei gave him a flat stare, but there was only so long he could look at Kuroo's stupid grin and painfully mismanaged hair before he cracked, laughing as he got ready to pull a scarf around his nose. Before he did so, he paused, waiting for the kiss which he knew would come automatically. And ah, it did, Kuroo's lips planting firm against his, the other's tongue trying to sneak past his lips for more action. Usually Kei would indulge, but they were on a time crunch as it was. He pushed the other away with a huff, making a note to continue where they'd left off later.

Kei didn't know how the night would go, but for some reason, leaving the safe confines of his home with a kiss always seemed to calm his nerves. He couldn't remember when he'd gotten used to this routine, but he dared not question it.

Kuroo smiled at him, linking their hands as he opened the door to the chilly air. I better be getting popcorn too. Something told him he didn't have to say it though, Kuroo already knew.

With a pleased sigh, Kei tied on his scarf securely, and followed Kuroo out into the night .

--

"Ah thanks for all the tips about the manager Kuroo, I wouldn't want to get on his bad side."

The two coworkers, Shun and Yuto, ended up being decent company. They were polite when they'd introduced themselves outside of the theater, but had for the most part clung to Kuroo throughout the time before the film started, eager for work insights and tips. Kei hardly minded, content with eating his snacks and listening to his husband talk about the job he loved. The movie had been fairly decent too, but Kei might've been biased due to the actors. Not to mention he was blissed out on the candy, popcorn, and soda Kuroo had gotten him. When the lights had dimmed, Kuroo had grabbed his hand firmly. In short, everything was to Kei's liking. So far.

Now they were leaving the theater, it had gotten darker and colder, and Kei bundled up as best he could. He'd never been built for chilly weather, he could barely handle keeping the fan on in his room. The parking lot was clearing out pretty quickly, and Kei hoped the talking wouldn't go on terribly long.

"Yeah no problem," Kuroo said with a laugh. "If he gives you a hard time let me know, he doesn't always mean to."

"Thanks! And hey, thanks for coming, we should do it again soon," Shun said, and Yuto was nodding along with him.

"Yeah, and of course your husband is welcome too," Yuto said, and Kei nodded politely, brain on autopilot while his body dealt with the chill. The comment seemed to direct Shun's attention to him, and Kei reached up, gripping his scarf to provide him with more warmth. The motion caused Shun to bite his lip, and Kei wondered if his theory was right.

When they'd first been introduced, both men had looked at his scarf oddly, but had said nothing out of respect. After a while, the weird moment had faded, and the evening had went along smoothly. However, there was just one thing Kei kept noticing, even as the two men began to take their leave. Shun hadn't stopped staring at Kei's scarf for the whole outing, eyes flickering to it occasionally, as if the question was eating at him. Kei had of course, expected this. He'd be a fool if he didn't think either man would make a comment, but he wished Shun would get it over with.

They were in the middle of the parking lot now, Kuroo's car in the opposite direction of the other two's, but Shun halted, coughing as he looked at Kei. Any day now or not at all would be nice...But soon the other managed to force the words out, barely keeping his grin back.

"Ah, sorry but...I gotta ask," Shun said rubbing the back of his neck. His excitement was clear, and Kei figured he'd be another one of those weird enthusiasts, the ones who wanted a picture or proof. Whatever, it was better than the ones who outright insulted him. It was frustrating still, but it didn't make him as humiliated. "You're the one right? The cursed one with...well, you know--"

"The pig face," Kei stated, shivering slightly from the cold. Kuroo stayed silent beside him, and Kei knew it wasn't a good sign. Kuroo tended to get more offended about people bringing up Kei's face as a negative, but for now, Shun wasn't, so Kei hoped he'd keep his cool. "Yes, that's me."

"Oh shit you're kidding! I thought the scarf was weird but I didn't seriously think it could be true!" Yuto jumped in, and Kei resisted the urge to roll his eyes. It was all over the news months ago, his picture, and his height tended to set him apart from the crowd in the first place. And it wasn't like he'd moved far or anything...he could get to his parents' place in fifteen or so minutes if he wanted.

Kei waited for the questions he was used to from the usual fanatics.

"Can we see?"

"Can I get a picture?"

"Does it hurt?"

Simple questions with one word responses, that's what he was used to, what he could handle. It wasn't what he got.

"Shit, and you don't care at all Kuroo?" Shun laughed, and Kei's stomach plummeted, because shit this is not going to go well. "I...I mean no offense, I'm happy for you but I don't know if I'm that open you know?"

Kei rolled his eyes outright this time, not caring. I'm right here you bastards. "Um--"

"Yeah like...okay not to be weird, but when you guys kiss or...do stuff like, it gets in the way yeah?" Yuto whispered, as if it was some taboo thing, kissing Kei, being intimate with him. Whatever, the fact of the matter was it really didn't get in the way. Not more than a normal nose anyhow.

Kei was basically over the conversation, he was cold, and he wanted to curl up with Kuroo in bed, maybe catch up on that series they were watching. Not deal with these losers. But that was him, and Kuroo was a different story. Kei glanced over, noting Kuroo's clenched fists and set jaw. He looked calm, too calm, but Kei could tell when he was fuming, when he was on the verge of decking someone right in the face, and Kei had to intervene before it reached that point.

Yeah these guys were assholes, but they were people Kuroo had to see and work with everyday. It wasn't worth it.

"No it doesn't, and before you ask, it doesn't hurt either. Is that all?" Kei asked, grabbing Kuroo's hand as he did so, pleased when it relaxed considerably.

"Man just...that sucks, I couldn't imagine," Shun breathed, looking at Kuroo, and Kei knew the statement was meant to sympathize with his husband and not him. Because dating someone with a facial deformity must've been so damn hard, pft. Idiots. "Anyways it's late, we'll see you at work next week man!"

The two started to walk off, and Kuroo did manage to give them a proper goodbye, as forced as it was. Kei didn't drop his hand the whole time, maybe as an effort to ground him. Over time, Kei had grown more and more immune to harsh criticism or slights about his appearance, though his views had changed. He didn't ignore them because he thought they were true anymore, no, he knew they were baseless and had no reflection on his actual personality. Again, they were upsetting, but he paid them no mind.

Kuroo on the other hand had never been comfortable with it, was protective to a fault. It was simply his instinct, and Kei was grateful, but he hated seeing his husband getting so riled up.

Nowadays, it was the only reason he ever found himself wishing for a normal face, only to spare Kuroo the idiocy of other people Kei had to deal with his whole life.

Oh well, we can't have everything.

And that was fine, because Kuroo made him feel like they did.

They made it to the car, the doors shutting to encase them in a tense, emotion heavy silence. The keys dangled in the ignition from the force Kuroo had put them in, but hadn't been turned. Kuroo set his hands down on the wheel, taking a deep breath. The car was freezing, but Kei suddenly didn't mind it. He just wanted Kuroo to be alright.

"Tetsu..." Kei breathed into the quiet of the car, watching Kuroo's hands shake from how hard they gripped the steering wheel. "Tetsu, it's ok--"

"Let's just...go home first alright?" Kuroo interrupted, voice trembling with the anger Kei hated. It was so unlike him, so weird to see something make his husband genuinely upset. The fact that it was on Kei's behalf was both touching and irritating, and it made Kei want to go back and slap Kuroo's coworkers in the face for their ignorant words.

But for now, they could go home, talk about it amongst themselves, and in the morning it would be better. Or at least, Kei hoped.

"Okay," he said, settling easily back into his seat as the car's engine roared to life.

--

Kei wasn't ashamed to admit that as soon as he was through their door, he toed off his shoes at lightning speed and flung himself onto the couch, burrowing into the blankets he kept there. So fucking cold.

It didn't take his mind completely off the predicament, in fact it made him more aware, now that he wasn't so focused on getting warm. Naturally, without thinking, he'd made space for Kuroo on the spacious couch, and his husband followed after him, movements stiff.

Ah, he doesn't know what to say. Not a good sign.

Kuroo always knew what to say, even if it was pure nonsense.

His husband's arms wrapped around him, pulling him close. Kei was on his back, Kuroo on his side, making eye contact mandatory. Not Kei's strong suit, but he knew it was necessary. How to even broach the topic was another issue, and Kei wasn't good at that either, but he could try...

He looked into Kuroo's eyes, and the intensity of the emotions inside them almost made him choke on his own. Fuck, how could he have ever doubted Kuroo loving him, when he gave him faces like that? The other's golden eyes were sad, searching, as if ready to offer any comfort Kei needed. It was nearly laughable. Here Kuroo was, worried about Kei, when Kei was only worried about him. Guess that's how relationships went.

"Tetsu, you know I don't care right? So you can stop looking at me like that," Kei said, trying his best to sound annoyed. Maybe if he tried to bring back some normalcy, Kuroo would forget about what his coworkers said. But his voice was small, not convincing in the slightest. I just don't want you to be upset, you ass.

Those coworkers...they weren't worth it.

Kuroo shook his head adamantly, his voice carrying tremors of his earlier anger, and his grip tightened on Kei's waist. "You heard what they said about you, how they..."

"It doesn't m--"

"It does matter. Kei...I won't let people say those things about you! I love you," Kuroo said, louder, his voice carrying through the apartment. His eyes were desperate as he brought a hand to Kei's face, and Kei wished the mood was different, so he could kiss him. "You know it's not true right? All that stuff...I don't think you're hideous or have problems kissing you, or regret--"

"I know." I know. Kei bit his lip, remembering their wedding, Kuroo's efforts to gain Kei's forgiveness when they'd first met, every small and intimate gesture from Kuroo. His husband showed his love in a thousand ways, so thoroughly and sincerely that it was impossible for Kei to doubt him. The blond almost felt guilty, making Kuroo worry about whether Kei believed him.

"I'm serious Kei, no matter what I--"

"Tetsurou," Kei said, rising from the couch in a sudden surge of certainty. The tables had turned hadn't they? To think Kei would have to comfort Kuroo about this. He would gloat, but he knew this was important. He had to be clear. Once he was, they could leave this behind them forever, fuck what anyone else said. "I believe you. I...I love you too so, ugh! Those guys were stupid, everyone is stupid! I don't care what they say, I'm not worried about you leaving me or being grossed out anymore."

"But--"

"I used to be, yeah I know," Kei continued, watching as Kuroo's eyes went wide. His husband rose from the couch too, face now directly in front of him. Kei didn't know if he was crying, but he wouldn't acknowledge it even if he was. "But I'm not anymore. I swear. I..."

Kei's breathing stuttered, and he remembered. He remembered being laughed at, being run from. All the matchmaking meetings, his mother's worries, being holed up in his room wishing he was either dead or someone else, all because of his face. But he'd done fine with this face hadn't he? He had friends he'd made on his own, he had Kuroo and his family, he was well educated and had hobbies he enjoyed. He was...he was happy. He'd be that way, with or without this face. If anything, his face had brought him so much, had taught him so much...how could he begin to resent it?

"Babe?" Kuroo looped his arms around Kei once more, their faces close enough to where Kei could feel his breath against his cheek, and he knew the answer for sure.

"I..." He breathed once, letting his forehead touch Kuroo's as a flush took over his cheeks. "I like myself the way I am, alright?"

The air was gone out of his lungs the next second, the world spinning around him as he fell back off the couch. He could hear Kuroo call his name in panic, but it faded away into oblivion, and Kei could do nothing but hope for the best. Images flashed in his head, the sounds and smells accompanying each memory whirring past his senses. The sound of people running, his mother crying, a servant perishing in anguish because of a scorned love...

It was as if he watched his own family tree from the roots up, every sin and birth, the crimes and accomplishments, all until it came to him. For whatever reason, as he felt his eyes watering and the world coming back into view, it was his mother's voice he heard, mixed with one he couldn't place.

"Never give up honey!"

He hadn't, he'd found what he was looking for.

"Not until one of your own kind accepts you as their own, shall the curse be broken."

The phrase repeated itself over and over again, booming in his skull. The curse, the myth, all replaying in his mind.

One of your own kind....

And then the sound stopped, and he was staring at his ceiling, the silence of the apartment sinking into his bones as he took what felt like his first breath in hours. Kuroo was above him, eyes wide and jaw slack. In any other situation, Kei would make fun of it, but he felt lightheaded, like something was amiss, and he couldn't place it.

"K-Kei...are you...you're..." Kuroo was at a loss for words again, abnormal, and Kei squinted at him as he sat up from the floor.

"What is it? What was that? I..." Kei brought a hand to his head, willing himself to relax. He breathed in through his nose slowly, the nostrils expanding as it scrunched up. He made a noise of confusion, and his hand slid down to his nose as if compelled, fingertips tracing the curve.

The singular, smooth curve.

No ridges. No snout.

He shot up from the floor, ignoring the dull pain in his head. Kuroo's arms were behind him, telling Kei his husband had cushioned most of the fall. He kept his hand on his nose, and Kuroo's jaw remained open, staring as Kei tried to remember how to breath correctly.

It's gone...is it...

Kei made a dive for his phone, opening the camera app, confirming his suspicions with a magnitude he was unsure of how to deal with.

His face was normal. Or, as normal as he'd once desired. Back when he'd fretted over his appearance and accepted every cruel criticism about it. There was no snout, just an average, human nose, fitting on his face perfectly.

"T-tetsu..." Kei called, for no purpose other than to know if he was dreaming or not. But ah, he wasn't. Kuroo was there in a split second, cradling his face with the same gentle smile as always. Nothing had changed below the surface, and it almost put a damper on the shock Kei felt. Because honestly, normal nose or not, this life of his was perfect.

"My nose is...I broke the curse." Kei finally said, and it felt strange to finally acknowledge the legend aloud, now that the proof of it was gone. It felt like a weight fell from his shoulders, the past crimes of his family finally moving on into oblivion.

Kuroo grinned at him with a shrug, mirroring what Kei already understood. This would change nothing. "Yeah moonshine, I guess you did."

--

His mother reacted about the way he'd expected. She fainted.

Luckily though, Kuroo must've seen it coming, and stopped them from taking an impromptu trip to the emergency room for her concussion. That he could anticipate, that he could handle. His family being happy for him, overjoyed even, coupled with confusion over how and why now of all times the curse was lifted.

What he couldn't have expected was the surge of emotions which came after. It was natural to suspect his family would blame themselves for the curse, but Kei hadn't even thought of it that way.

"We could've broken the curse a long time ago..."

"Oh honey, we should've accepted you as you were from the start! None of this would've ever happened!"

"You must hate us..."

The tears had been too much, the words more so. Kei had swallowed his pride and outright hugged his inconsolable mother, because of course what they all said was untrue. He could never hate them, no matter how annoyed he'd get or how dismissive. His family was his family, and they'd been there since the beginning. He didn’t know if they’d ever let go of the guilt, but he hoped so. And in the meantime, he visited and called often, never letting them doubt his appreciation.

"Alright Akiteru, I should go," Kei said into the phone with a yawn. He'd been working for a few weeks now, but the early rising was something he continued to be against. Mornings were not his friend. "My shift starts soon, and Kuroo gets whiny if I don't walk out with him."

"Hey! You're right but I'm offended," Kuroo said from where he stood in the doorway, dangling his keys in a subtle push for urgency. Kei nodded, grinning smugly.

"Ha yes, yes, I won't keep you two," Akiteru said, and Kei was thankful his brother chose not to tease him for once. Kei thought after a few months of being married he'd stop hearing it, but he'd been wrong. "I'll see you at dinner tonight. Later!"

Kei said his goodbyes, loving how he no longer had to untangle his phone from his scarf when he hung up. Sometimes, he found himself reaching for it before leaving the house, a force of habit after so many years. It was a benefit to breaking the curse, not having to hide, and an even better one was his vanishing presence in the media.

Conspiracy theories about the mysterious disappearance of the pig faced boy surfaced throughout the internet and tabloids, and they were fun to laugh at with Kuroo when they were bored, but for the most part, Kei was hardly found on any major news sites. No more pictures, no more attention. The world had moved on. Now he could enjoy the world he'd created for himself in private, without the interruption of 'fans' or uncaring journalists.

And of course, Kuroo was his husband, and Kei loved him. But that wasn't new, was it?

Kei smiled as he walked past his husband, and it was then his stomach chose to let out an embarrassing growl, ratting him out.

Fuck.

"Keiii, did you not eat breakfast again?" Kuroo's worried tone made Kei roll his eyes. Normally it was endearing, but Kei had been in a rush this morning. Besides...

"So? Neither did you."

Kuroo looked as if he was about to protest, but luckily for Kei, his husband's stomach chose to growl at that exact moment, winning Kei's case for him. Kei snickered as Kuroo pouted, opening the door as Kuroo leaned up for a surprise kiss on the blond's cheek. "Yeah, yeah. C'mon."

Kei smirked, but nonetheless felt his skin warm up, his heart and mind content in ways he never thought he'd get to experience.

Kuroo grabbed his hand, and Kei squeezed it, walking through the door of the home they shared together. And yeah, this was definitely something he could get used to.

In short, Tsukishima Kei was cursed with a lot of things; an unpleasant attitude, a smart mouth, and so far today, an empty stomach. But as he watched Kuroo walk towards his car, stopping for a final kiss before they went their separate ways, he thought he was blessed with plenty too.

[thedeviltohisangel]

If We Go Down//If I Could Fly//8

A/N: sorry for the delay guys I’ve been in such a lazy zone that writing hasn’t been as much a priority as netflix. but here is more hen for you guy I hope you love it! mentions of miscarriage!

masterlist

I snuggled into his chest once he was settled into the back seat, the drive from the airport to his childhood home lying in front of us.

“Does it feel good to be home, baby?” I mumbled into his chest, pressing a kiss to his heart. He had rolled down the window and taken a deep lungful of sea air, a content smile on his face that I haven’t seen in weeks, his eyes closed in pure bliss.

“Yeah. It does. I needed this, thank you.” I met him in a kiss halfway, bumping his nose softly with a smile and hoping his happiness would absorb into me. A month ago I had gone to the doctor’s with Matt for, what was supposed to be, a routine prenatal visit. It was the second time in my life, first time in my life with Henry, that I had been delivered the news of no heartbeat. Having to hear the news myself was one thing but knowing I would have to be the bearer of the news to my fiance hurt worse.

I flew to London to be with him as soon as I hung up the FaceTime call. It wasn’t a time to be alone. We hadn’t spoken much since I’d arrived. Neither of us knew what to say. As far as we both were concerned, it was a time for mourning.

He had finished filming his current project and everything felt off. Wrong. Unstable. I decided the best thing would be a getaway and what better place than Jersey. His true home and true love.

“Does your mom know?” I whispered quietly as the backseat of the car drifted into silence, Henry staring out the window, the sunlight bathing his chiseled features.

“Yes. I didn’t…didn’t know what to do when I hung up the call with you so I called my mum.” I nodded my head against his chest, my fingers snaking under his tee to rest against the warm, muscled skin of his torso. “Mum makes everything okay.”

He was out of the car faster than I could process the fact that we had arrived at his childhood home. His mother, Marianne, came bustling out of the house and pulled him into a hug.

“Mum,” he breathed it like a sigh of relief. I sat watching from where I stayed in the car. Watched Henry begin his healing process right before my eyes and wondered once again how I was ever supposed to begin mine. The driver came around and offered me his hand so I figured it would be an appropriate time to exit the car.

Henry pulled away from his mom who immediately rushed over to me, crushing me into her. I drew in a shaky breath but closed my eyes and tried to absorb as much love as I possibly could.

“Thank you,” I whispered quietly. She pulled away with a small, sad smile and cupped my face.

“You go rest up before dinner. I’m sure my baby boy doesn’t mind carrying in your bags.” His ensuing eye roll was enough for me to crack some semblance of a smile before I turned and made my way into the house.

The kitchen pulled me towards it like a magnet, the smell was inviting and the room one of my happy places. The stove overlooked the English Channel and the gentle breeze kissed my face softly.

“Mum made your favorite meatballs.”

“And your favorite cookies if my nose is correct.” His arms snaked around my waist, warms hands encompassing my stomach and I tried my hardest not to flinch as they rested there. I shut my eyes and tried to feel the love he was no doubt trying to send through me but it was overshadowed by my repressed feelings of anger. “I think I’m going to go take a bath.” The act of prying his hands off of me was attempted as delicately as possible before scurrying upstairs.

I held my breath through his childhood bedroom, not wanting to smell Henry in Jersey knowing the unique scent might just break me. I shut the door behind me and locked it, not wanting any intruders.

The water burned as I slipped underneath its soothing surface. My body seemed to unwind save for the tension that sat within me at my core. I knew eventually my feelings would need to come out or I’d suffocate under their constricting weight.

My toes rose above the water and I stared at them silently, thinking it would’ve been nearly four months now and my view of my toes would be increasingly less. The offensive appendages disappeared back under the water, which had grown cold, and I removed my whole self from the tub. I wrapped myself in a fluffy, blue towel and left to find Henry sitting on his bed looking through a photo album.

“Do you think the baby would have had my eyes or yours?” I pushed his words far, far away and began to dig through one of my duffel bags looking for clean clothes. “You haven’t spoken more than one sentence to me at a time since you got to London.”

“If one has nothing nice to say then they shouldn’t say anything at all,” I muttered without even looking up from my search. I found a Superman shirt and decided to put it on, maybe it would bring things back to normal.

“What’s that supposed to mean? Have I done something wrong? I’ve cleared my entire schedule for the next two weeks to be with you. What else can I do?”

“You’re here now but you weren’t there when it actually mattered, Henry.” It finally had come out. The root of all my ill will these past few weeks.

“So that’s what this attitude is about?”

“Attitude? Wow. Have you been on too many sets lately that you think everyone should just naturally feel enlightened by your mere presence?” He rolled his eyes at me and stood up from the bed and I felt the fight growing inside of me. My fingers flexed, ready for accusatory jabs and pointing, my tongue running against my teeth as if to sharpen itself.

“You knew this was my job long before you decided to come out of hiding and commit to me. And this lifestyle that you have been living lately requires money which doesn’t grow on trees.”

“Don’t fucking preach to me about commitment or I swear to God, Henry William, I will throw this ring in your face and never look at it again, got it? I don’t care about the money! Is this just another ploy for me to wax poetics about how much I love you? Jesus Christ.” I balled up my dirty clothes and walked to the empty suitcase to put them in.

“Well, this is great. Get it all out before the wedding. Would hate to go through this fight when it’s already too late.” He was spitting venom. The words tasted like vinegar coming out of my mouth, I didn’t want to lose him. I loved him and he made me love myself.

“Maybe I don’t want to marry someone who is going to be an absentee husband and father.” We both seemed to feel the cold slap of the words at the same time.

“Excuse me?” He was seething. Never had this level of anger been directed at me. Always at some handsy man at the bar or a pap who was feeling too sure of himself one night.

“Just forget it. I’m going to go home.” Before I could even process what my body was doing, I slid the diamond ring off my left hand and placed it on his nightstand. I grabbed my unpacked duffle bag and made my way quickly down the stairs and out of the house, not looking back.

I found a bed and breakfast to stay in, owned by a cute elderly couple. I felt bad that his mother had so graciously opened her home and I had behaved that way. No regrets filled me for what I said, only how I said it. It was how I felt and if I was going to be in a relationship with someone, I needed to know that I could say how I felt without fear.

I glanced down at my phone and grimaced with sadness when I realized he hadn’t tried to reach out to me since I had left. My nose crinkled as tears filled my eyes and I tried to fight them off. I shoved my phone into a drawer for the night and rolled over for a night of teary sleep.

The next morning I woke up and stared at the Delta website debating if I was actually going to go home and end everything with Henry, when I realized my passport had been left on the kitchen counter. I painstakingly went through the motions of getting myself ready for the day and made my way back to his family home.

Last night, his whole family had been coming over for dinner to see us and I felt guilty knowing I had probably ruined the whole thing. His mum’s dog, Bella, was at the back gate when I arrived and I made my way over to say goodbye to her.

“That dog loves you so much.” Startled, I looked up to find Henry’s mum.

“I just came to get my passport and I figured I would say goodbye to Bella.” I swallowed past the lump in my throat as I stood back up.

“So you’re actually going to leave?” My eyes flickered up to Henry’s bedroom window, half expecting to see him peering out but the curtains remained closed.

“I feel like I have too. After last night…I’m not even sure there is something to fight for.” It was a sad truth. That our relationship was lying on his bedroom floor like scorched earth and the possibility of picking up the pieces seemed too dim.

“Well, at least have a cup of tea and breakfast before you go. Can’t send you off with an empty stomach. I’ll meet you on the patio.” She didn’t give me a chance to say no, though I doubt she would’ve let me, before she turned and went back into the house.

I made my way to the back of the house, sitting on the swing that was fixed there with a blanket wrapped around my shoulders to combat the early morning chill.

“Double chocolate muffins from the bakery down the street. Henry always reminds me to have them fully stocked for you.” Marianne had come back with a platter of muffins and a cup of coffee which looked to be made perfectly with my taste in mind.

“Thank you. You don’t have too. I feel spoiled,” I gushed but descended upon the chocolate treat with a fervor.

“That’s the boy I raised. Always paying special mind to the women in his life.” I cast my eyes downward as Bella jumped up onto my lap. “I wish you wouldn’t go.” She said it like it was a plea.

“I wish I didn’t have to,” I responded, “But I’m not sure there is much left to fight for. I said something that cut so deep and I…I didn’t mean it at all. I just knew it would hurt and I’m afraid it did so beyond repair.”

“I feel like you were already such a part of our family. I know you two started on less than ideal terms but it always felt right to us, ever since you were in the picture. Know any of us will do anything you need in the future, regardless of who is in it, okay?” I nodded, afraid to speak for the tears that had formed in my eyes. She pulled me into a hug and the moment was interrupted by the sound of something slapping against the patio table. I looked to see that it was my passport, having been thrown down by no less than Henry himself.

“Is this what you came back for?” He was in a tee shirt and plaid pajama bottoms, his curly hair signifying he had come out here as soon as he had rolled out of bed.

“I just wanted to come over and say goodbye,” I murmured while keeping my eyes focused on the slate. His mother wordlessly stood up and went back into the house, Bella trotting after her. I felt his eyes bearing into me.

“So that’s it then? All we’ve gone through for nothing? You’re just going to get on a plane and forget about us?” I shook my head and stole a quick glance up to him.

“I could never forget you,” I whispered like I was telling him a secret as I had so many times before.

“Do you really have that worry about me as a father?” His voice had gotten softer. His eyes molten and moisture beginning to accumulate. “You know how worried I am about having kids and being away all the time. They’ll have the most amazingly perfect mum in you and I’ll just be some man in the background.” I shook my head and let the first tear fall, extending my hand for him to grab and gently tugging him to sit next to me. As soon as he was next to me  my lips were on his. My leg swung over his so I was sitting in his lap, the entire expanse of his hands around my face and pulling me into his kiss as if I would ever try to escape. My own hands were tangled in his hair and tugging gently with each moan and gasp that escaped me from overwhelming passion.

“Henry, Henry slow down,” I gasped as he nipped at my neck like a man depraved.

“I have to…have to prove myself. Keep you here. Can’t give you any reason to run away again.” His eyes were closed as if he was in some sort of a trance, his thumbs tracing over my features to confirm I was real.

“I promise I won’t ever again. I promise. I could never love anyone the way I love you. No one could ever make me feel loved the way you do. I promise, I promise, I promise,” I chanted knowing I would do so until he believed me if I needed to. I let him shakily slide the diamond ring back onto my finger where it belonged.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I wasn’t there. I let you down. I let our baby down. You don’t have to forgive me.” I saw his tears and a split second later I had his head tucked into the crook of my neck.

“I forgive you. I love you, forever and ever, Henry, okay?” It was the first time I had properly seen him cry tears of sadness. “I need you as much as you need me, okay? Be my rock and I’ll be yours.” We would never be alone again, I had him forever and nothing could make me happier.

Tag list:

@franz-irrelevant-opinion

[savinscripts]

❝ So it's not gonna be easy. It's going to be really hard; we're gonna have to work at this everyday, but I want to do that because I want you. I want all of you, forever, everyday. You and me... everyday. ❞

To say Faye was the only one to think his suggestion mad would be a lie, because as soon as Fane found his closest friend and advisor to tell him of what had been decided and would be happening he merely got a flabbergasted look. Though the man was admittedly rather pleased to see his Lord looking more like… well, himself. Along with a thorough quizzing on how he planned about pulling this insane stunt off successfully and a reminder of the repercussions that would come with this action on their behalves. It took a bit of convincing, but ultimately Fane won his friend over with a final roll of Damien’s eyes and a few sweet words that turned the tide.

“Come on, we’re going to need to move fast and discreetly,” and so the pair got to work as quickly as they could. There were jobs to be done and after drawing up a list splitting tasks as evenly between the pair of them as possible they set off their respective ways. It was late evening by the time everything was arranged, Maester Armen frowned disapprovingly at Fane for a long time but ultimately the old man who Fane viewed more as another grandfather than anything relented with a shake of his head.

Damien was tasked with finding a suitable dress for Faye; warm enough to hold off the winter chill and appropriate for the occasion at hand whilst also convincing the blacksmith to make up a ring promptly. Fane’s jobs were less arduous in terms of the distance he had to travel but no less difficult in regards to managing to convince the cooks to prepare a small meal for later on that evening. It wasn’t entirely uncommon for such requests to be made and after a few questioning looks they agreed.

All it was now was to get to the Godswood and to exchange their vows, to drape Faye’s cloak in his own and finally make the blood oath. It was an incredibly Northern vow, and something that Southern weddings had dropped in their entirety because it was considered to be far too barbaric on such a wondrous and happy occassion. Here though, it was just another part of the ceremony to solidify their bond to one another. One heart, one bone, one blood.

By the end of the night they would be wedded, and on the morrow their lives would be forever changed.

The sun dipped over the horizon casting its final light on the day and Fane stood in his chamber studying the mirror unable to stop his eyes from drifting down to the slightly awkward ankle of his leg as he stood there propped on his cane. He had sought out his best clothes; a dark black and silver embroidered doublet and black breeches. Over his shoulders hung a thick cloak that wrapped warmly around him emblazoned with the crest of his family and soon to be Faye’s also. Dragging his eyes away from his leg Fane adjusted his jacket slightly. His stomach felt like it was flipping and Fane couldn’t help but wonder if this was the right decision or if this was all simply some futile attempt to move against some predestined fate. Whatever it did mean, it meant that after tonight things would be rather different. “Tell Faye it’s time… When we’re there you’ll have to escort her since she isn’t too familiar with the ceremony.”

“Yes m’lord, I’ll stay with her.”

“Remember-- no one can see any of us tonight…” Damien arched a brow which only served to make Fane huff and give him a small shove the act making him laugh a little. “Go on…”  and with that encouragement Damien hurried along the corridors until he arrived at Faye’s chambers knocking quickly on the door until he heard the permission for him to enter.

“Lord Savin says he shall see you down in the Godswood m’lady.”

Catarina’s reaction had been much the same as Damien’s. Disbelief mixed with fear mixed with trepidation. But when Faye had explained the circumstances- Lord Flint (who Cat held the same opinion of as Faye) and the raven from her father - then the handmaiden had soon come around. She too knew that Faye could only find excuses to stay at Blackspire for so long now that the battle had moved on. So she’d hugged Faye tight and set her mind to the tasks at hand.

Faye had gone into a bit of a numb haze. Not for dreading what was coming - dread wasn’t the right word at all - but because it was all happening so fast. Faye had none of the things she would have needed back home. The weddings of her house were celebrated for an entire day. Starting at sunset, there were celebrations and bonfires and music, and then at sunrise, the couple was wed. The sun representing a new beginning.

She had no dress that was appropriate. But that was soon remedied as a bundle was delivered to her door. It was beautiful and simply made, and Faye felt her throat closing up at the thought that Fane had gone to so much trouble for her. Though a dress seemed a simple thing in the grand scheme. Still, this was an extremely important event for both of them, done quickly and under duress, yes. But no less serious and worthy of ceremony as a wedding that had been years in the making.

She let Cat bathe her - in water warmed over the fire as there was no time for a full tub to be filled - and brush out her long hair before styling it as was proper for a Southern lady on her wedding day. There was no adornment to it other than the intricate braids that Cat wound through Faye’s locks, different than she’d ever worn it before. It was tradition that her hair be braided as such, not tightly as during battle, but long and intricate down her back. Her husband would have the job of undoing the work on their wedding night, and seeing her with her hair fully down for the first time. Though Fane had already seen it, Faye still tried to honor the traditions of her house where she could.

When she was ready, she let Cat hang her cloak, bound with the Phoenix of her house, around her shoulders. And then they waited.

Finally, the knock came, and Cat let Damien in. He explained where they would be going and how - I order to stay concealed - and then with one final look, he turned and led the way to the Godswood. Faye followed in silence, Cat at her side, trying to keep her composure even though she could feel it at risk of slipping away any moment.

But she wouldn’t allow it. She was a Knight, and she was braver than this. So she pulled the same veil of calm around her as when she rode into battle, and followed Damien until they were standing at their destination.

Snow fell gently around them, illuminated in the soft light of lanterns that had been placed all around. There was no sound other than the wind through the woods, and Faye thought it was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen in her life.

Until she saw Fane.

Fane wondered whether Faye would mind the fact that they were marrying infront of the Old Gods and not the new. They shared different faiths after all, not that he was expecting her to convert but it was a consideration he’d wondered about whilst getting prepared himself. They had no sept here as it was so there wasn’t much that could’ve been done in regards for allowing Faye to pray to her own Gods before this arrangement and whether she’d feel better with a blessing from the Mother. Fane did his best to be a good man, and whilst he was anointed by the seven despite taking the Old Gods he really didn’t know all that much about their ways and practises nor their customs. Much like he knew rather little of the South, their weddings all seemed so gaudy and fanfarish that he sometimes wondered whether all that pomp and ceremony overshadowed the celebration of the bond that was established that day. Here in the North worship was a time dedicated to private thoughts and contemplation, it was a time of wishes than actual prayer.

Not that there was really any time for that, but it was a lingering thought nonetheless. Though he also wondered whether the gods really heard you or not. Ultimately, Faye was branching into his own house and a part of that would result in them learning further of their respective similarities and differences. Their strengths and weaknesses and time to figure out how one might balance or tip the scales on the other depending on how it went. So far in their friendship they had managed to make it work and he could only hope it would continue.

The ceremony would reflect the ways of the North, there were no bawdy singers, no dancers nor real entertainment (of course there were at the feast) but the ceremony itself was a reflection of its people. Simple, grounded and focussed on what the purpose this occasion was truly for. A binding of two lives to one.

Damien spoke a little en route, explaining that the ceremony wouldn’t be too long and that once she was with Fane it was simply a matter of repeating what he said and that if she needed prompting Fane would mouth the words for her.

Stood beneath the red branches of the Heart Tree Fane stared at face carved into its bark, bleeding red sap while the wind whistled through the quiet clearing and the streams bubbled nearby. The nerves were starting to kick in now, not that he was questioning his decision but more wondering how Faye truly felt about this hoping that perhaps she might ultimately feel some sort of happiness. Or that perhaps with time she would at least. He wondered whether or not he should have asked his parents to be here, but the potential of them declining his arrangement would ultimately result in Faye being married off to that oaf Flint. No, he would simply have to inform them on the morrow.

Fane could feel the eyes on his back, dressed in his dark finery his hair ruffled occasionally by the breeze stirring the air the slight curls catching falling snowflakes. He wanted to turn and look at her, but he knew that he had to remain where he was for now. Maester Armen stood before him and a small nod was his indication to start speaking. His voice carried in the quiet clearing surprisingly calm and collected despite his trepidation about what would come of this. “Who comes? Who comes before the Gods?”

Damien who had taken up a spot on Faye’s arm gave it a small reassuring squeeze before speaking in answer as they approached where Fane stood, snow crunching underfoot. “I bring forth Lady Faye of House Lacroy, a woman grown and flowered, of noble blood and birth. Who stands here to claim her?”

When they arrived at his side Fane finally turned and the words he was about to speak died on the tip of his tongue as he took in her dress along with the loose braids styling her hair. There was nothing else on his mind save for her and he almost forgot to breath for a few moments. Remembering himself though he gave Faye a smile and cleared his throat “me, Stefan of House Savin and Lord of Blackspire. I claim her.” With the initial part completed Damien nodded stepping aside to stand with Catarina his hands clasped infront of him as he observed the pair beneath the Heart tree and it seemed Fane couldn’t keep his eyes off of Faye.

Faye was glad for the simplicity of things. For the quiet wood and the low light and the two witnesses who were more trusted to herself and to Fane than even Faye’s father and Fane’s parents were. Southern weddings were all well and good, but Faye didn’t see the point. She often felt that the weddings she’d been to were for the guests and not the pair being joined. This was as simple as it could get. And felt far more reverant that standing before throngs of people that only wanted to be able to say they were there at such an event.

She had prayed to the Seven. In her rooms as Catarina had braided her hair. There was no sept here, of course, but Faye kept a small, seven pointed star among her things. It was customary to pray the eve before your wedding, so Faye had knelt before the fire and said the wedding prayers to the Mother. To protect her and her soon to be husband. To bless their union and their joined houses, and to bless their marriage bed so that one day there would be children to carry on their names. All this Faye prayed, but the part she lingered over, the part she put most of her faith towards, was that the Seven watch over Fane. Because he was a good man. He was her friend. And she cared for him a great deal.

And now, as she saw him standing before Maester Armen, in the finery of his House and his standing, Faye felt as though she were a plain brown sparrow, come to stand next to sleek black swan. And not for the first time, her stomach tied itself in knots more intricate than the ones in her hair. Damien’s words were taken to heart, and Faye nodded that she was ready.

She trembled beneath her cloak, and it had nothing to do with the cold. Fane didn’t turn around as the Maester and then Damien spoke, but Faye’s eyes never left him. A touchstone in a world slowly tilting on it’s axis. Then they were moving forwards, Faye putting one foot in front of the other, remembering her bravery and her commitment to make this as special and as reverant a ceremony as possible. There would be no hesitation on her part, no showing of the nerves she felt as surely as she felt the cold around her. She would not be turned to some… some…

But all words failed her as she finally saw him fully. He was… the black of his robes and the darkness of his hair made his eyes look like pools of ink. The lanterns reflected in them, softening them a bit, and she could see that beneath his cloak her wore what had to be some of his best finery. He looked every bit the Lord that he was.

She returned his smile, and as he finally found his voice, and spoke his claim to her before his Gods and their witnesses, Faye’s heart gave a shuddering beat that had nothing to do with nerves.

There was nothing more beautiful to him than the woman stood before him right there and then, the very sight of her stealing all thought from his mind and air from his lungs. But there was a ceremony to continue which he reminded himself after a moment of gaping. The snow caught in the blonde tresses of her hair, little specks that drew his attention up only before they were drawn back to her eyes; their violet hues entrancing him to the point he never wished to look away.

Unfortunately, Maester Armen had no such consideration for what his Lord wanted to do and when he spoke broke Fane out of his trance. “Then, Stefan of House Savin please take Faye of House Lacroy under your protection.” Fane who had been marginally propping himself up on his cane moved then, slowly due to the damp and uneven nature of the ground underfoot until he was stood behind her. Close enough that he could reach up and around to carefully unfasten the pin and letting his fingers curl under the material brushing the exposed skin of her shoulder prior to lifting it off her shoulders. “You look beautiful,” he breathed quietly knowing he hadn’t really spoken to her as of yet and it was all he could say before Catarina stepped forwards to take the cloak off of him earning a small nod of thanks. His fingers went to unfasten his own and draped it over her shoulders. The material was thick and warm due to his own body heat whilst also being a little on the heavy side due to the fur from which it was made. His hands pressed lightly atop the material, a small gesture of support and an assurance that he was here before he returned to her side.

Shifting his weight onto his better leg he glanced at Maester Armen took his cane momentarily freeing him to grasp the small dagger that was tucked in his belt holding his right palm up whilst drawing the blade across it in a short line scoring the skin deep enough to permit a dark line of blood to well up. The act making Cat gasp a little due to how foreign and gruesome the tradition seemed to be. He turned the blade over then for her to copy. Once their hands were together and bound with two ribbons matching their house colours he began to speak. Every sentence was spoken slowly so she could keep up and so that they could speak in union.

“With this oath, I pledge my life to you, and everything that I own. I promise you the first bite of my meat and sip from my cup. I pledge that your name will be the one I call aloud in the dead of night. I promise to honour you above all others--” there was a pause in his pledge as he decided to amend a part of it “I promise that we will remain, forevermore, equals in our marriage. This is my vow to you from now until the day we pass.”

Faye saw Fane’s look, the way he stared at her, but never in her wildest thoughts would she have guessed the thoughts running through his mind. Behind them, Damien and Catarina shared a look, both keeping their own council for now, though it wouldn’t be the first time they’re own thoughts had run in a similar vein where their friends were concerned.

But they returned their focus to the ceremony.

Faye stood still as Fane reached around to unhook her cloak. The material of the dress was thicker than southern clothing, but no less fine. And the slight shiver that ran through her as his hand brushed her skin could be attributed easily to the cold. He spoke, his voice close and intimate in the quiet of the woods, and Faye swallowed, looking back just enough to see him, but not enough to be able to meet his eyes. But she had no time to say anything in return, as her cloak was gone and replaced with his own. Much heavier than hers, and almost immediately she was surrounded the his scent. Warm and familiar, it settled her nerves a bit, as did the gentle press of his hands.

The blood didn’t shock her as the dagger glinted across his palm. She’d seen blood, his blood, more often than she would like. So there was only the tiniest moment of hesitation, barely more than a breath, before she took the dagger and her own blood was welling up in a dark line across the pale skin of her palm. It stung as their hands were pressed together, but she didn’t look away from his face as their hands were bound.

Drops of red fell to the snow between them as they pledged themselves to one another before the Old Gods. And when the words were said, Faye’s hand gripped his tightly, and her eyes shone as they had in the courtyard only mere hours before. But this time it was not fear or resignation that caused the ache in her chest. It was a feeling she couldn’t name, but one that filled her completely, blocking out all else. Beneath that feeling that Faye would one day recognize as love, there was also gratitude, and a fierce respect for her friend - no… her husband - that had so selflessly given her her life back.

With the gift of his own.

It was a gift gladly given. She was his friend and what he’d told her earlier about needing her was no lie. He did need her both for council but there were deeper reasons, things that he didn’t quite understand yet. Things that he would come to realise were the depth of his feelings and his fear over losing her to someone else as well as the fear of her suffering for it.

He never wanted to see her suffer. There was too much of that in the world as it was. He barely heard the Maester speak when he did, “now you are bound one to the other. With a tie not easy to break. Use this binding to learn and grow in your wisdom so that your marriage will be strong and last from this life to the next.” Happy with their vows he unbound their hands “then in front of the Old Gods you may bind this union with a kiss.”

As their hands were unbound Fane didn’t let go despite the slick warmth of blood between their palms not wanting to let go of her just yet. There was a bowl nearby set up for them to clean and bandage their hands so as not to ruin their clothing but that would be the following step. He glanced at Armen and back to Faye a flutter of nerves in his stomach and something he couldn’t very well recognise making his heart thud in his chest. He never recalled feeling this way on the day of his last marriage and was left to wonder why this felt different.

Fane searched her eyes a small squeeze of her hand being given as he sought her permission, wanting it before he leaned in pressing his lips to her own softly in a sweet and tender kiss. And he was admittedly a little surprised at quite how much he enjoyed it a part of him having thought it might feel odd to kiss a friend-- but now she was his wife now and this would have to become commonplace. There was a small pause where he drew breath but his eyes were bright unable to help himself from stealing another which lingered a little longer than the last something in his chest leaving him feeling airy and light ultimately causing a boyish smile to play at his lips.

And that was it. With a few words and a few drops of blood, they were wed. She was no longer Lady Lacroy, but Lady Savin, of House Blackspire. It would take getting used to, as she’d never been anything but, though Faye knew with time it would settle in. She only hoped she could do her new family proud.

The ribbon was gone, and still they held hands, Faye holding on as well, taking in the moment for what it was. Their blood mixed, dripping off into the snow and seeping into the ground of the Godswood. Symbolic as anything.

Her own nerves fluttered, and she was glad for the steady grip he had on her. He bent his head towards hers, and Faye’s heart shivered in her chest as she gave a small nod of consent. She closed her eyes as his lips met hers, sweet and chaste and searching. And if felt… good. Faye had been kissed before - she may be unspoiled, but she wasn’t completely untouched - but this was different than the other times.

Perhaps it was because Fane was now her husband, and the weight of that - while not truly realized yet - settled around Faye like the weight of his cloak on her shoulders. But it was a weight she would gladly bear. He pulled away, and Faye opened her eyes to see the look in his own just before he kissed her again. The hand not holding his own raised to touch his face, just a brush of fingertips along his lightly stubbled jaw, and Faye let out a small breath through her nose as the kiss lingered just a bit longer than necessary.

When they pulled away again, Fane was smiling. Looking very much like his old self, the grinning soldier she’d mistaken as a Ranger so many months ago now. And Faye couldn’t help but smile as well.

Maester Armen gave them a few moments, before clearing his throat and giving Fane a pointed look. There were still things to be seen to. Things to make the marriage completely binding. And if they were to ensure that this wasn’t all for naught, they had all best make their way back to the castle, and Fane had best take his new wife to his - their - chambers, before the sun rose on the new day.

Catarina shared a look with Faye, just as Damien did with Fane, and they both fell into step behind the newly wedded couple as they made their slow way back towards Blackspire.

Her smile convinced him that perhaps this would work out in the end and when he finally looked away to Armen he almost groaned at the pointed look he was given. He managed to keep the sound in though and instead merely nodded his head. As it was his mind wasn’t on such activities considering he had no plans to take Faye to bed, not tonight at least there were still things they both needed to discuss and until both of them were comfortable Fane refused to force her into taking that step. Regardless of how much she might enjoy it, or he hoped she would at least.

“Come on,” he murmured gently leading her over to the bowls of water set out as he took her hand and gently began to clean away the blood from the cut before he banded it up in s wrap of linen. Giving her hand a squeeze once he was done.

Once they were both cleaned up more or less the group made their way back towards the castle using one of the side doors that led discreetly to the higher levels of the castle and to his chambers. Reaching the intersection of their corridors he gave Damien a hug, patting his back and similarly kissing Cat on the cheek thanking them both as they departed for their own rooms leaving the newlyweds together to finish the walk to what were now their chambers. Food was already laid out on the dining table present on one side of the chambers. “How do you feel?” Fane asked as he shut the door behind them glad to finally have some privacy with her so that they could simply talk with no additional pressures. “You look beautiful,” he’d said it earlier but he felt like it needed to be said again because to him she looked astounding.

Faye had no allusions about what would happen later in the evening. There were duties a wife was beholden to, as was a husband, on their wedding night. To make the union official. Unable to be challenged by another. Though it wasn’t until they were headed back towards the castle, Faye’s hand stinging beneath the bandage that Fane had so carefully applied, that the weight of that duty started to settle around her.

Bidding Damien and Catarina goodnight, Faye entered Fane’s chambers as he held the door open for her. Though she supposed they were her chambers as well now. As the door closed, Faye relaxed ever so slightly, but not as much as she once would have. It wasn’t that she was frightened of him, not at all, it was that… she didn’t know what to do. Or how to be… How to be a wife.  And she would have to tell him that before they-

But thankfully, Fane started talking. Faye turned towards him, watching as he crossed the room. “I… I don’t quite know,” she answered honestly. “Not… bad, but… strange. If that makes any sort of sense? And you?” she asked in genuine concern, noting his pronounced limp. “Does your leg hurt?” He’d been on it a long time, and she could see the discomfort written plainly across his face.

She dipped her head in a small bow, thanking him quietly as he called her beautiful again. And when she looked up again, her hand drifted to touch the crest of his house at her neck. Her house.

“You look very handsome yourself… husband.”  The word was also said quietly, and with the reverence it deserved. And where it should have felt strange, instead it felt almost… comfortable. Like greeting an old friend after a long absence. Or coming home, after a long journey through the cold.

Fane held no allusions to what their duties entailed, and though it was on his mind which was hardly surprising, he was still a man after all he wasn’t about to rush or hassle her into doing something she might not feel comfortable or ready for just yet. Instead, Fane let them both into his chambers which were kept warm by the large fire that burned in the hearth his cane clicking as he limped over to the table which as he’d instructed the kitchen staff earlier had been set up for two to dine. He listened to Faye as he moved, “I’m not too bad. Actually I’m… happy all things considered.” Happy he could help her and happy that she wouldn’t be leaving. Perhaps selfishly, but could he be blamed for it really?

But as she drew attention to his leg he glanced down at it dismissively, generally he adopted the stance that if he ignored it things were generally better. “Oh it’s not too bad, just need to sit down for a bit” he remarked idly as he drew out a chair gesturing for her to come and sit down if she fancied. He noticed how she played with the fastening of the cloak and he had to admit the black and silver complimented her wonderfully.

His attention was quickly taken the moment she called him husband, and the reality began to set in. This was it, this would be their life now and something about that… Fane could only smile the act softening the hard edges that had begun to develop after his injury finding no real issue with it. “Well, thank you wife” he wanted to test the word-- it had been so long since he’d used it and when it rolled off his tongue he felt a certain warmth blossom in his chest. “Are you hungry?”

The smell of food wafted towards Faye, and it wasn’t until then that she realized how utterly famished she was. Her stomach had been in such knots for most of the evening that she’d not had an appetite at all. Before that, she’d had a bit of bread and cheese this morning, but as of now her stomach sat empty.

Hearing he was happy made her smile fondly. “I’m glad. It’s nice to see you smile again. I was starting to think you’d forgotten how.” There was a touch of her old humor in the words, as with every passing moment things became a bit more comfortable. Not like they were yet, but… shades of their friendship before tonight, before their argument, were starting to show. And for that, and so much else, Faye was grateful.

She hesitated only a moment over the dismissal of his pain, not wanting press the issue and ruin their wedding night and his good mood. So for once Faye let it go, sitting as he pulled out a chair for her. Later maybe, once things had settled a bit more, she’d tend to the injury. But for now she’d let it be. His face pulled into another smile as she called him husband, and as he called her wife in return, Faye held his gaze and gave him a small bow of her head. The word was foreign to her, never having been married or even having a mother to hear the term used upon. But she found that it sounded nice. Comforting in it’s own way, even if the full impact had yet to hit her.

“Famished,” she said with a small huff of laughter. “I haven’t eaten since this morning… unless you count wine as a food group.”

“Maybe a temporary lapse of my memory,” though if he was being honest he hadn’t felt much happiness lately in the slightest. What reason had he to smile and laugh and be happy? But as Faye kept trying to remind him over the past months there was more to life, and though it didn’t mean they had achieved and immediate cure Fane had more things to think about. Particularly the immediate consequences that came from their rather rushed decision to marry. “Or maybe you just have to remind me how.”

She sat and he lightly touched her shoulder; the small intimacies would come with time but for now he was simply trying to judge what barriers and limits they had with one another for now. After all, he didn’t wish to move too fast and scare her not that he thought she was afraid of him he simply preferred to figure such things out sooner rather than doing something that might upset her‍. Once she was settled he shuffled around to take up another seat nearby taking some of the meat that had been brought up and serving it onto their respective plates along with some vegetables and a healthy dosing of gravy. “Well I can’t have you starve on me now can I?” Fane also took one of the bottles of red that had been brought up filling their goblets with a healthy dose. “Hopefully you don’t mind a bit more— I promise I’m not trying to take advantage of your earlier state.” He was teasing obviously, not having any such plans to do anything beyond enjoying her company tonight.

Considering he hadn’t had a drop of liquor or anything of the sort today he was relatively observant tonight so her pause didn’t go amiss. He’d been about to start eating but decided instead to pause, setting his fork down he began to work the bandage that had stuck down to the cut across his hand loose. The wound was still relatively fresh and vulnerable he knew but it made the most sense to him. Setting the bandage down on the table he set his hand on the arm of the chair to help aid him in heaving his weight back onto his feet. His leg protested but he ignored it with a small grimace.

The journey over to the bed was slow going, his gait entirely analgesic shifting his weight onto his stronger leg to help him move that resulted in a rather pronounced limp in his movements. Pushing the pillows out of the way, disrupting the neat arrangement of the covers he pulled down the heavier top quilts pushing them aside until he reached the base sheet which he tugged free from the other covers. With the sheet free he once more drew the very same dagger as what he’d used outside retracing the line he’d cut earlier until blood flowed steadily once more, holding his hand out he allowed the blood to drop onto the linen crimson seeping through the material until he was satisfied it was stained enough to be believable. With that done he discarded it in a pile near the foot of the bed, turning to limp back his injured hand held close to his body until he sank back down and began to redress the wound.

“I don’t want you to feel rushed about this,” he finally said in explanation of his actions his eyes seeking hers out as they sat there. “When you feel ready and comfortable… We can take that step” Fane figured being matter of fact was the best way to deal with this not feeling particularly uncomfortable around the subject since it wasn’t a new area for him but something made him want to ensure Faye felt just as comfortable he did and that meant giving her the time she needed until she was ready.

Faye frowned when he got up, her heart literally stopping in her chest as he made his way towards the bed. Surely… surely he didn’t mean for them to… right now? They’d barely been here twenty minutes… why else would he-

Oh.

Well, that was… unexpected.

She downed the rest of her wine to calm the hummingbird beat of her heart, not able to meet his eye as as he sat back down. She could feel the heat on her face and neck, and cursed herself for blushing like a child. She never blushed. Nor had she ever been unable to look him in the eye. But she could feel him looking at her, his gaze steady and unharried. So she finally took a breath and looked at him. “Alright,” was all she said, managing a small smile of thanks. He seemed perfectly comfortable with such topics, and Faye had never thought him any sort of saint when it came to physical matters. He was a grown man. Men had needs. Why should Fane be any different. And she wasn’t a prude either; she’d been kissed, even touched, but she’d never been with a man, not fully.

Her eyes drifted to the bed again, to the bloody sheets on the floor. Perhaps Fane thought her not a virgin, and that was part of why he’d done such a thing: thinking she wasn’t going to bleed regardless. At her age, who could blame him for such thoughts. Well, she wasn’t about to tell him that he was wrong. Not now at least.

“You’ll show them to Maester Armen?” Faye asked, reaching for the wine bottle to refill her glass. “He’ll make sure it’s known when the time comes?” Talk of strategy, such as it was, was comfortable. Even in such a context as this. So Faye thought of it as such: a battle plan. For now at least.

The blush that had flared across her cheeks was incredibly evident even in the low light from the fire and it made him tilt his head marginally. It had been a long while since he’d truly been around a woman prior to Faye’s arrival from the South with the Tyrells. Even before the wars he’d been too busy and occupied to even consider any attentions that might have been sent in his direction anyway. Why would he need to? He had duties to perform even if he had needs he wasn’t overly base enough to seek out company to satisfy them. Although, there was the discreet matter that he and Damien occasionally shared with one another but as it was that would likely also come to an end now.

After all, Fane has promised to honour his wife and he planned on doing precisely that. Regardless of the favour his closest friend held in his life.

Picking up his goblet he took a sip, pressing it lightly to his chin as he savoured the redness that creeped its way down her neck and vanished beneath the cloak and scoop of her dress. Unable to help how his mind wondered about such things, and he’d be a liar to say he hadn’t wondered at least once even before now about her in such ways. “You’re blushing,” up until now he’d never seen such a reaction from her and he had to admit he rather liked it.

“Mm,” he sounded setting his goblet aside and picking up his fork to spear a piece of meat. “Proof to show the marriage was consummated, I’d rather not have to explain my way around such things considering I don’t particularly want to rush this.” They would eventually have to take that step, but he was willing to wait until they both felt more comfortable about it. Better to familiarise themselves first he thought. No actual thought in his mind was given to whether or not she herself would bleed Fane simply considered the fact that this would make it appear they had indeed done their marital duty when in truth they hadn’t. Not yet at least.

His eyes were on her now, and she lifted her own goblet to her lips. “It’s warm in here,” she said as she took another long sip. “And the wine is strong.” An attempt to play off her blush, even though she knew he would see right through her. She watched him for a moment more before making the decision to eat as well. She was hungry. And it wouldn’t do to drink wine on an empty stomach. Faye would rather not be three sheets in again today if she could help it. Once was enough.

“Thank you. For that.” The words were sincere, and said softly. “I don’t either,” she said to rushing things. She’d been tempted before, dallying with a few young men here and there when she was younger. But as much as she hated the thought of marriage for political gain, Faye wouldn’t take the chance of ruining her future  just because something felt good in the moment. And there had always been the risk of getting with child as well. Which would have shamed her family beyond reason if she weren’t wed. So Faye had remained -  mostly - chaste.

Conversation drifted thankfully to other things, and after a bit their ease with each other started to return. Whether it was the wine or simply their shared history, there was a slow strengthening of  mutual understanding over the course of the next hour. When they’d both had their fill of food, and with the wine still flowing freely between them, Faye leaned back in her chair. It was warm, and Faye felt sated and relaxed as she watched the fire, both she and Fane growing quiet for a bit, lost in their own thoughts.

The excuse earned a little snort from him his eyes creasing at the corners in his mirth. She was right that he didn’t believe her in the slightest and honestly she was simply giving him more reason to continue on. “Oh aye, I’m sure you’re far too warm in all those layers though I’ve hardly seen you not be able to handle your drink” it was all in good humour, he had no particular expectation but it was far too easy to poke fun a little especially considering how entertaining the sight was to see her flustered. Everything for once about his temperament after such a while of sombreness was fairly light-hearted and jovial and he hoped that a bit of his old humour might help her relax. This was hardly the first nor the last inappropriate remark she’d hear him utter after all.

“Aah, don’t worry” he assured some of his humour sobering a little with talks of what the future might bring popping a bit of food in his mouth and chewing on it.

Whilst they ate the conversation drifted to bits and pieces, little and important things until most of the food was cleared away and Fane had shifted his chair a little closer so that he could take her hand and play with her fingers idly. The silence stretched between them for a long while, and Fane couldn’t help but sit and watch her finding the simple act entirely satisfying for some reason. “A part of me never wants to have to go back” he said, breaking the silence after a while of contemplating his thoughts whilst he’d been sitting there studying her. Fane wasn’t sure what brought him to admit it, but there was a heavy truth to it for sure.

She gave him a small smile, refusing to rise to the bait of his suggestion that she had on too many clothes. They would have to go to bed eventually, and consummation or not, she would have to get undressed. And he still had to unbraid her hair for her, though she had yet to tell him so. “Except for earlier,” she said of the drink. “I’m sorry. For acting that way.” It had been unbecoming of someone of her station, regardless of circumstances. She didn’t rehash any of her feelings of the time, all being null and void now that she was married to Fane. There was an entire new slew of feelings to deal with now, though she was admittedly feeling lighter than she had in some time, his bawdy humor aside.

She drifted a bit as he toyed with her fingers, the weight of her ring feeling strange, though his hand was warm and gentle. Faye’s eyes had drifted closed again when Fane spoke. She opened them and found him looking at her. “To what?” she asked quietly, eyes hooded with sleep. “Being a Lord? Or to war?” Or something else. Faye lazily stretched out her hand, catching his fingers where they were still toying idly across her own.

“Pah,” it was spoken as a cross between a huff and a remark his fingers still idly drifting over her fingers and brushing her knuckles reverently. “If I were in your boots I would’ve been raving drunk too, I can no’ blame you for that.” Occasionally his fingers turned her hand over so that he could idly trail the lines of her palm brushing her skin tenderly and occasionally drifting up over the inside of her arm before returning back again. Considering his words seemed to get no rise or reaction out of her he let them be sitting back in his chair and stretching out his legs.

His eyes were hooded, the day’s activity taking its toll both mentally and physically. The walk this morning had been arduous enough trying to find the wildflowers especially in this time of winter combined with the topple, the walking about the castle trying to hastily arrange everything else to let it all culminate in the Godswood. He’d regained some of his strength but he was nowhere near what he truly needed to be and his body was punishing him for it now considering he felt as stiff as a board. “War, all of it-- the responsibility… Don’t you ever wonder what it would be like to not have these responsibilities ‘n’ have a life… Out there somewhere.” But this was their life and there was no questioning it, but as it was he felt content despite his idle wonderings.

Faye snorted a small laugh. “Seeing you married to Flint would be quite the show,” she joked. She let him play with her hand, watching his fingers as they moved over her skin. She wondered for a moment how he seemed to touch her so easily, like he’d been doing it for years, when they’d never shared much more than simply holding hands while he was recovering, and the simplest of touches here and there. But she didn’t linger over it. It didn’t matter.

He looked exhausted, Faye noted. She was tired herself, and she had done far less than him that day. Which brought her thoughts back to his leg. It pained him, she knew, and he’d sat here with her, in robes and boots and everything else, talking and trying to make her comfortable, when he was anything but. But his answer came before she could move to do anything else. “All the time,” was her answer.

“I used to dream about… running away across the Sea, or to somewhere where no one knew who I was. I could start over. Build the life I wanted. Marry someone I loved. Have children when I was ready. Live a simple life, instead of a life that was anything but.” Hearing him voice such things made Faye’s heart ache for him. Though she knew he would never abandon his people or his family, it was still hard to know that it wore on him. Nuch as it did her. She squeezed his hand. “We shall be alright,” she assured him, smiling at him again. “And you… my Lord husband… shall take off those boots. Before you end up unable to walk at all tomorrow.” She gave him a look that said she wasn’t going to argue with him. Standing, she held onto his hand for a moment longer before letting go, her fingers slipping gently from his. “Up you go,” she told him, sliding a footstool forwards so that he could prop his feet up.

“It’s me or the Maester,” she said with a sly look, her expression still softened by fatigue and wine. “And I’d rather not see him again tonight, if it’s all the same.”

“Ugh--” his expression twisted into a disgusted grimace at the mere thought she proposed “at least let them be someone I can enjoy looking at that man looks like a pot bellied ale barrel… You’d probably push him over and he’d start rolling.” While Fane was relatively discreet in his preferences for the most part sometimes after a few drinks they made themselves a little more known. “No, I’ll happily stick with this marriage thank you.”

Honestly, the food and wine had utterly distracted him from even considering taking off his boots and outer layers; too hungry to think of such things to the point he practically forgot about them. But as conversation drifted he gave a small nod, glad to hear at least he wasn’t the only one to feel this way. “We shall.” However, Faye’s sudden shift of topic to his clothes made him huff a little. “You’re so fussy,” he muttered stretching out his arms and shoulders but ultimately ended up retracting his hand from her own so that he could start to ease off his boots.

The task was slow-going, the activity had triggered a little swelling which made getting his left boot off a struggle and Fane could feel her eyes on him as he worked the leather off feeling a little embarrassed by the struggle he had with something so simple. He had to stop occasionally due to the pain of the act but finally the boot came loose with a wince and he breathed out a sigh wriggling his toes a little. His hands went to ease off his jacket then draping it off the back of one of the chairs nearby.

His attention went to her then and the fact she had yet to take off his cloak, or undo her hair and he decided that perhaps this wasn’t the best place. Reaching to take her hand he beckoned her to come with him leading her slowly over ‘til he could perch on the edge of the bed reaching up to lightly brush a few stray wisps of her hair.

Faye wouldn’t have judged Fane for any preference that was outside the ‘socially accepted norm.’ She knew men lay with men, and women with women. Though she’d never been terribly curious as far as women went. Not to say she didn’t find women beautiful and enticing - look at Cat for example - she just never felt the urge to be intimate with them. But she wouldn’t judge someone else if they did.

She laughed at the image his words brought to mind, giving him a firm nod as he agreed that they would be alright. No matter what. “I am not fussy,” she shot back, mock offended. “I can simply see that you’ve been in pain for hours now. But I didn’t want to bother you about it.” More than once, she felt like kneeling down and helping him take of the boots herself, but she let him have at it. He was capable, after all.

His boots removed, his jacket followed, and Faye realized that she was still very much clothed, cloak and all. She hadn’t been sure what to do at first, so she’d just left it all on. But now it seemed that the time had come to take it off. Fane led her towards the bed, Faye’s heart beating a bit less fast than it would have been had he not assured her they didn’t have to do anything she didn’t want to do yet. But still, she’d never slept in the same bed with a man. By the fire in a camp roll, yes. While on the road and there was no place for tents. But not like this.

She fought to keep her breathing calm as he brushed back her hair. “You’re supposed to undo them. The braids,” she clarified. “It’s… a tradition.” It felt weighted standing here, him perched on the edge of his bed, her standing so close. Not weighted as in she felt obligated or scared, but weighted with importance. Here and there throughout the night, reality had pressed through the warm veil of the room, reminding them that outside lay the real world. With real consequences and repercussions. And tomorrow they’d have to face them.

But for now they were here, and it was just the two of them.

There wasn’t much difference between a couch roll and sharing a bed except for the presence of another being closer and it wasn’t as though the moment they were in bed things were about to change. Fane had promised her that they wouldn’t rush things and that meant tonight would simply be a night for them to get to know one another. To familiarise themselves with what the other liked and didn’t.

As it was he was taking the time to admire the intricate braiding that styled her hair. He’d noticed it earlier, it was far more complex than anything else he’d seen in the North. Pretty but he wasn’t entirely sure what to make of it. “Take the cloak off,” he stated softly not wanting her to feel burdened here by the responsibility of it also figuring it would be far easier to move about without it “then come ‘n’ sit here so I can take your braid out.” He was still in his breeches and a white shirt himself but it was far more comfortable than the full get together she’d had to wear for so long and he wanted her to be comfortable too.

Faye complied quietly, not feeling pressured but still a bit nervous. The cloak was laid aside carefully, her fingers lingering over the fur for a moment before she turned back to Fane. Sitting on the bed as he’d asked, though the laces of her dress were still a bit confining, she turned her back to him so he could get at the braidwork.

Cat had done a fine job, and the braids were precise and intricately woven, but easily undone. “We wear our hair in braids to signify that we’re unmarried. Though I wear mine as such because of what I am. Because I ride and wear armor and command troops. Long hair gets in the way. But… once we’re wed, our husband takes down our hair for us, and he’s the first - other than our family - to see us without our braids. Though I’m afraid you’ve already seen me as such earlier…” Faye was rambling slightly, she knew, but she couldn’t help it. His presence was warm at her back, and she couldn’t see what he was doing, or see the look on his face.

“Sorry…” she breathed, clasping her hands in her lap.

There was no rush in Fane’s request, he was simply content to remain perched on the edge of the bed while Faye unhooked the silver clasp watching her with thoughtful curiosity how she seemed to be handling everything. She seemed to have relaxed but some of the trepidation he sensed in how she paused here and there seeming to collect herself occasionally.

All Fane wanted was for her to feel comfortable, explaining why he wanted to undo her braid and get her dress undone so she could feel a little less confined by everything. He had no wish to imprison her here. She was his wife after all not his prisoner. “Huh, interesting” they didn’t have such customs here “our weddings are very simple by comparison it sounds… But as you already know, we don’t particularly like big and gaudy occasions all that much.” His fingers brushed the braid reverently, enjoying the softness of her hair beneath his fingers which slotted into the braid and began to unweave it from its intricate plaits. She continued to ramble and his hands paused, slipping down to rest on her shoulders as he eased her back. “Faye--” her voice was murmured quietly, enough to get her attention and when she looked at him he met her gaze levelly before pressing a slow kiss to her lips. “Don’t be sorry… But I want you to relax.” His thumb brushed her cheek before he resumed the task of undoing her braid. Once this was one he started to loosen off the back of the corset aspect of her dress doing what he could sat for the time being as he didn’t particularly want to be spending too much longer weight bearing with the condition of his leg.

“I liked it,” she said of the ceremony. “I’ve never been one for big occasions. It was… it was more than I could have dreamed.” The words were sincere, and if Fane had been able to see her face, he might have noted the way her eyes grew fond with the memory, even as close is it was behind them.

His fingers started working on her hair, and it felt good. Though it did nothing to stop her rambling. It wasn’t until he called her name and she turned that her words were halted. He kissed her again, slowly and surely, and once more Faye closed her eyes, breathing out through her nose as the taste of wine slipped across her lips. It was a simple kiss, not urgent or lustful, and when they pulled away Faye found herself wishing it had gone on for just a moment longer. But she took a breath, realizing she was being silly, and nodded, doing her best to relax.

Though the closer he got to pushing the dress from her shoulders, with each pull of corset lace that loosened the garment, the more she started to tense. Not because she didn’t trust him, or because she was afraid of him seeing her body. Not for the reasons he might think.

There was something else.

So as the last of the dress slipped from her shoulders, the shift started to slide with it, off Faye’s shoulders and down her back. She caught it with a hand, and pulled it back up, holding it tightly. “I…” Her breath shuddered a bit, but she forced herself to continue so he didn’t think she was frightened. “I’m not… I’m not so lovely to look at beneath everything.”

She had scars. Terrible ones. All up her right side. Over her thigh, hip and most of her back. Burn scars from an accident when she was a young girl, not quite twenty. Cat knew, and her father and brothers (before they passed), but she’d told no one else. Because they were hideous, and she looked like a monster. They were the reason she favored her hip so often, the scar tissue thickest over the joint. But she played it off as an old riding injury, and no one ever asked further.

“I’m glad,” he hoped she hadn’t minded considering everything was so quickly arranged that honestly there hadn’t been much thought besides the final result. So to hear her say in no uncertain terms that she had liked it meant more than he could truly explain.

Fane would have continued kissing her, and a part of him wanted to do so much more. For now he settled on unbraiding her hair and slowly working the threads of her corset loose from their eyes on the back panel. He deliberately took his time in unlacing the fabric, observant to her posture and shoulders the lower he got in case it made her uncomfortable. The tension that began to creep into her body certainly didn’t go unnoticed and as the material began to slip and she caught it he wondered if he’d gone too far.

Her explanation confused him some, and it was his turn to reach forwards and take her hand pulling slightly to encourage her to face him so he could look at her. “Would you rather I let you change yourself? I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable” which was the sincere truth but they would have to see each other at some point. “Though I hardly doubt it’s so bad… You’re a beautiful woman Faye, a powerful woman and no matter what you look like… you’re my wife and I swore to honour you which is precisely what I plan to do” even more powerful now that their families had been united together as one. “You never need to worry because to me you’re astounding.” He held her hand then, giving it a small squeeze. “You can trust me with this or anything else.”

The offer to let her continue changing on her own - while it didn’t surprise her, Fane being that sort of man - was something she hadn’t necessarily thought about. There were traditions - though if they were both honest they had stood tradition entirely on it’s ear tonight - and then there were things than could be reasoned over and still taken part in.

So as Fane once again took the time to reassure her that whatever it was that was bothering her would be handled in due course, and with all the care it deserved, Faye felt herself once again step back from the precipice of tension and nerves that she’d been slowly creeping towards. Besides, wouldn’t it be better to let him see her now, and know what to expect, than to be blindsided when the night came and they finally lay together? Faye wasn’t sure she could stand that sort of humiliation if it came. To have her husband - her friend - look on her with pity and Gods forbid, disgust. To have him never want to lay a hand on her because of-

No. No, it was better to get it over and done with now. So she returned the squeeze, but shook her head. “I trust you.” She stood slowly, facing away from him, and stepped out of the remnants of her gown. The shift beneath was not made for sleeping in, and already hung loose from Fane’s attentions, but still caught along the crest of her shoulders. Her hair was down and hung to her waist in long, blonde waves, and as she waited for him to finish undressing her as was his right - though she knew he didn’t think of it that way, and she would soon after be dressed in her nightgown - Faye said a prayer that he would not flinch from the sight of her.

All he was interested in was seeing that she was comfortable, and if it meant letting her undress and change herself then he would let her do so. If it meant reassuring her that nothing would change then he would tell her so, because she was his friend and he had promised to be honest with her regardless of how much it might hurt. But what were scars? He bore so many of his own that they were something that barely fazed him now, he’d seen things far worse than scars on a person’s body. They were just another tale in his mind, of torment and tragedy but ultimately a story that could be put to bed eventually.

“Okay,” he answered softly hoping to further reassure her that there was nothing to fear here not with him. She stood, and the gown pooled at her feet though Fane’s attention went to the visible expanse of tan skin covered by her shift beneath the dress itself. Molten heat coursed through his veins as his eyes drew over her figure unable to help how his thoughts roamed to what her skin would feel like under his hands and the taste of her in his mouth. To say he hadn’t found her attractive despite their friendship would have been a lie, and to say he hadn’t wondered about things such as this would be an even bigger one. Except, he’d never thought he’d ever get to truly entertain let alone one day experience those musings. Had she been able to see his face she would’ve likely been able to see the traces of desire and hunger in his gaze along with the affection and respect he did have for her.

Swallowing thickly he tried to push such thoughts away, knowing his body would start to betray him if he wondered on them anymore. Instead, he got up from the bed to take the nightdress that had been brought in from Faye’s chambers standing at her back he let his hands press into the plane of skin exposed on her upper back. Her skin warm and supple under his touch which lingered there, letting her accustom herself to his touch before gradually he slipped his fingers reverently into the back of the gown pushing it slowly off the crests of her shoulders and easing it down off her body his hands trailing her curves feather-light with the act. He paused occasionally, watching, listening and looking out for any sign she wanted him to stop but as his fingers brushed over the first of the roughened patches of skin he glanced down.

She’d warned him that they were bad, and while they were a sight Fane didn’t think them abhorrent or disgusting. But her warning alone was signal enough she felt self-conscious about this part of her body and in the hopes of reassuring her Fane pressed a kiss to the slope of her shoulder. “You’re divine,” he murmured lowly his voice roughened a little from his desirous thoughts as his hands continued down pressing a kiss to her shoulder and speaking another praise the lower he eased the material. Beautiful, gorgeous, beguiling along with several other words drifted from him until the material was pushed off her hips and it was here that his hands settled thumbs cresting the bone of her hip while he admired her body. His imagination had been good, but to have her like this in person-- Fane was certain he almost forgot to breath and that molten heat had begun to stir once again making him shift a little. “Turn around for me?” his fingers brushed up her waist in tender encouragement for her to let him admire her.

It was a slow process, coming to trust someone fully. There was the first meeting, where so many first impressions could be wrong, as in the case of Faye thinking Fane was a Ranger. And then there were impressions that came later, building on one’s perception of what made a person who they were. So perhaps it was good that Faye already held such faith in Fane. He’d always kept his word - to the best of his ability - and he’d always been truthful with her. Never once had he betrayed a confidence or told her something blatantly false. Why should that change now? Simply because she was his wife? If anything, that fact should make her trust him more. And it did. After what he’d done for her… what they were both risking… how could she not continue in the same vein as they’d begun?

When he’d given her no reason to think otherwise?

Faye knew what desire looked like. She’d seen it in men’s eyes before when they looked at her. Though the difference between lust and… something else… was a fine line she had yet to try and navigate. All men lusted. Women as well. And it wasn’t something to be frowned upon, unless those urges led to violence, or taking someone against their will. Lust and desire could be one and the same, and they could be very, very different. As for Fane’s thoughts, Faye had never let her mind drift to the fact that he might find her attractive in a way that would fuel any sort of imaginary wants. That he would look on her and see a woman, and not just his friend and fellow soldier.

But none of that mattered now. Faye could feel his eyes on her, just as she’d always been able to. And she stood quite still, the low hum of his voice both soothing and filling her with butterflies. The bed moved, and she felt his warmth as he came to stand behind her. To her credit, she didn’t flinch as he laid his hands across her back, though her breathing was a bit faster than normal. His hands were warm and gentle, and they went slow, easing her into the sensation. And finally, the shift was pushed free, and she let it fall to her waist. Her arms crossed over her breasts and belly, though he was still looking at her back.

When his fingers brushed over the scars, Faye let out a huff of air that she knew he would hear, despite her desire to keep it in. Her eyes fluttered shut, and she swallowed against the tightness in her throat. He was so close behind her, and he literally radiated heat. It had been a long time since Faye had had a warm body against her, and the longer he stood there the more she realized how cold she must have been these last months. Because nothing drove away the ice from one’s bones like another person’s warm skin against your own. And then, unexpectedly, his mouth was on the slope of her shoulder, warm and slightly wet and murmuring such beautiful words in a voice that turned the flitting butterflies in her stomach to warm honey. Another breath found it’s way from her throat that had nothing to do with nerves.

He continued, easing the material down as each sweet word vibrated against her skin, and by the time the shift fell to the floor, the honey in her belly had started to melt, slipping lower and warming parts of her that had long lay dormant. She cursed herself for it, and cursed her traitorous body even as she pulled her thoughts back into some semblance of reasonable order. Fane was her friend. And she would treat him as such.

He’s also your husband… a voice in her head whispered. Faye promptly shut it up. It quieted, but not without protest.

He spoke again, wanting her to turn to face him. She could hear the question in the words however, and that eased her a bit. Slowly, she turned to face him, her arm still crossed over her breasts - which weren’t overly large but full and rounded, though not as much as they would be in a woman who’d bore children - and one slanted across her hips. She’d never stood naked in front of a man before, but as she looked up into Fane’s eyes, she was struck by what she saw there. The look on his face…

Faye dropped her eyes, unable to hold his gaze and not have her body begin to betray her once more.

Fane had always kept his thoughts to himself, it was simply easier to do so than risk saying or doing something that may be interpreted wrongly. And it was that moral line and code that he had drawn up for himself that kept him and any urges he did have in some semblance of check, he would never allow himself to force someone into something against their consent. Especially when it came to something quite so intimate. His bawdy humour aside, he always took concern with how another actually felt and if they were uncomfortable with such antics he cut back. Just as he’d done earlier when he’d noticed Faye’s hesitance at a few of his cruder jokes. She was nervous, that much he’d picked up upon almost immediately and he wanted to set her to ease.

Her warning alone had been a signal that this was clearly a precarious area for her, and he could only hope the way he handled it was proof enough that she didn’t need to feel insecure or self-conscious. Not here. Not with him. She could trust him in this just as she could trust him on the field. The rush of air from her lungs was audible over the only other sound in the chamber which was the crackle of the fire, and her skin had slight goosebumps that he felt under the slow searching touches of his warm fingers. As much as she was his friend, she was his wife now and there were certain things he was aware they would need to get used to and though he unknowingly had more experience in this department he wanted her to feel desired. To know that no scar or mark on her body would cause him to turn away out of fear or disgust which also served to explain the tender press of his lips at the junction between her neck and shoulder; reverent and something so much more all at once.

Hers wasn’t the only body waking from dormancy, and Fane was aware he would have to stop soon unless things got awkward for the both of them and so with a final kiss he eased back. Not that it truly did much with her still stood bare infront of him. Gods it had been so long since he’d seen a woman’s body, and the sight of her when she turned made his mouth go dry and sparked a hunger that he hadn’t truly felt in a long time. His hand remained on her hip, as much as he wanted to take her own and pull them away. He could tell she was affected, the creep of red rising in her skin and the slight glisten she tried to hide behind her hand. But he’d promised her no more tonight “you’re radiant,” he said finally settling on the word with a nod.

And with that he unfolded the night dress and held it out for her to take. Another sign that despite the feelings stirring in his body he wouldn’t betray the trust she had placed in him today.

Faye knew that with time would come familiarity. And they were familiar with each other, just not as husband and wife. Friends, yes. Soldiers, yes. Comrades at arms, yes. But this was another realm entirely. Once which Faye would have to grow used to. Even outside the confines of their marriage bed, there were things she didn’t know yet. Ways that her status had changed even as Fane had promised nothing would. No longer could she claim to be only the Lady of Burning Rock. She was also the Lady of Blackspire; Lady Savin. Their houses were united, and while tomorrow would start the avalanche of events from their marriage, right now they were alone and none of that mattered.

Turning to face him had been hard, and Faye had been more frightened of his initial reaction than she had been of riding into the field after the Bolton army. She had other marks besides the burn scars. The one on her thigh that was still vivid pink, a sword slash taken on the field below the castle. Several other smaller ones, each with a story of their own, which would be told with time.

He didn’t take his hands off her as she turned, and though she wasn’t as softly curved as some women - a life of riding and training and commanding troops had hardened her a bit - she still had the figure of one. When he spoke she looked up at him again, seeing the same look in his eyes, but also something else. She wasn’t sure what it was, but she smiled at him and dipped her head in a small nod. “Thank you.”

The nightdress was held out, and she took it gratefully, slipping it over her head and letting it fall to the floor. The action left her breasts exposed for a short moment, but they were soon covered and Faye felt infinitely more relaxed. She stood there watching him, noting him still dressed in his shirt and breeches. “You should… let me help you,” she said quietly, indicating his shirt. “If you like…”

Fane wasn’t quite so shy regarding his body nor his appearance, the only things that left him feeling insecure and uncertain of late were his leg for the most part. But Faye had seen that and it left very little for him to consider being mindful of. For the most part he was rather proud of the state he kept his body in; lean and trim around his middle in comparison to many of the elder lords who had gotten themselves bellies off of too much food and drink.

Appearances mattered to him, it was partly why the injury to his leg had hit him quite as hard as it had. In his mind it made him look and by consequence feel weak. The jeers of the other lords hardly helped in that regard. It was why he got as frustrated as he did.

So, when Faye suggested he let her help in undressing him in kind he merely cocked his head considering her for a moment. His weight was propped on his stronger leg but his hands that had begun to pull at his shirt dropped. “Okay,” his voice was still low, calm knowing that it was only fair he let her do the same as he did for her. It was the first step in familiarising themselves with each other’s bodies after all.

Faye knew enough about Fane to know how he felt about his leg, at least in part. It was why she only ever commented when it seemed he needed a reminder that a limp didn’t define who he was, or what his capabilities were. Letting others see that it bothered you only gave them fodder for later, and the ones that gave him grief were not even half the man Fane was. Though he was right that most were twice his size, gorged and lazy.

Fane was trim, Faye knew from seeing him in just leathers, as well as when he was ill. And she’d appreciated him from afar from time to time as he’d trained with his men, or sat on his horse. But seeing him so battered and bruised after the battle… nothing had entered her mind other than his well-being.

But now… now he was warm and alive and mostly back to right. And he was hers. As with so many things that night, it was a sobering thought. Why he wasn’t married at his age, she didn’t know. Perhaps he was like her and didn’t want to marry for anything but love. Or… whatever it was between them that was more than friendship, unacknowledged though it was.

She stepped close, fingers reaching for the laces of his shirt which already hung open, exposing the fine hairs across his chest. Faye continued slowly, until just as he had done her, she let her hands slid beneath the fabric across his shoulders and slowly push it off and down his arms. He was even warmer like this, and Faye’s hands moved over the lean, curved muscle, feeling the dips and rises beneath his smooth skin. The honey warmth in her belly started to melt again, and she let herself look over him for a moment, tracing the edges of his collarbone with the tips of her fingers.

When he didn’t protest, Faye let her fingers drift over his ribs, which had been so battered only a few weeks before, and then down to his hips. His breeches hung a bit low, and here Faye hesitated, though she would be lying if she said she didn’t find the arch of his hipbones or the flat planes of his belly utterly enticing. She wondered what he would feel like beneath her hands… the sounds he might make… and if his skin tasted like his mouth. Her hands settled around his waist, and it was only after a moment’s hesitation that she reached for the clasp of his belt, undoing it and pulling it loose.

“Should I stop?” she asked, fingers on the laces of his breeches. Once again, her breathing was a bit faster than it should be, and her nipples stood out hard and dark behind the material of her night gown. Her body was utterly invested, even if her mind wasn’t ready yet.

One day he would tell her the truth of what had happened, but tonight was a night about them growing familiar and comfortable with one another. He didn’t wish to spoil it with talk of what once had been his life and the potential future that he might’ve had if his former wife had lived. She hadn’t. That was all that really mattered in the end and he didn’t wish to think on it tonight.

So he focussed his attention on Faye’s hands, their slow exploration. He stood still much as she had, and while he was a little unsure about what she would think he wasn’t overly fazed by being touched by her. Not as much as she had been when he’d taken his time to ease her out of each layer of clothing one by one. His neck stood out long and prominent a small tilt to his chin as he watched her expression as the shirt he wore gradually came loose and was eased off his shoulders. He was a built of long lines of hard bone softened by the slight curve of muscle here and there and the touch of her fingers to the hardness of his collarbones made his throat work slightly.

Her touch left what felt like little trails of fire over his skin and Fane could feel some of that warmth from earlier stir but where Faye had tried to hide the response of her body he made no effort to conceal it. Seeing no point because he could hardly control it. And as her hands ventured lower, he drew in a small breath which drew his abdomen in. Without his belt his breeches hung low on the arch of his hipbones a slight trail of dark hair visible on the exposed part of his pelvis.

Her question was met with a small tip of his head, eyes hooded and breathing low at the way her hands lingered. “Only if you want to.” He’d always leave the decision up to her, Fane wasn’t particularly shy about these things nor was he particularly prudish as Faye would certainly come to learn.

If he was shy at all, he didn’t let it show. If anything, he seemed to enjoy it, though he stood very still as she explored him. The subtle movements of his body were not lost on Faye, who was observant, even if she wasn’t well-versed in such things as physical intimacy.

The curl of his stomach and the shudder of his breath gave her pause. Her fingers stopped what they were doing, dipping just into the edge of his breeches. He looked… Faye wasn’t sure she had a word for it. Though the word he’d used earlier - divine - seemed to fit. So as he gave his permission, her eyes lingering on his - the expression on his face undeniable - Faye continued. Slowly, one lace at a time, her fingers shaking just so, until finally there was nothing holding them up but her hands.

His own nightshirt lay nearby, but Faye didn’t move away to get it for him. Instead, she let he hands ease the breeches down over his hips until they fell under their own weight. She was standing close, so her hands skimmed his bare hips as she brought them back to where they’d rested before, not wanting to stare at him and at what was so glaringly apparent. Though Faye swallowed and found a central point on his chest, focusing as best she could and wondering how on earth they would ever manage to-

She blushed again, her thumbs stroking the arch of his hip, hoping that her actions and her touch would let him know that she found him very fine to look upon as well, since words seemed to fail her.

Despite everything, it had been a while since he’d been touched this way. Whilst what he shared with Damien was… enjoyable for the both of them there was something different about genuine physical intimacy shared with someone you truly cared for. And though he wasn’t quite sure what they shared was just yet, he knew it was different than anything he could share with someone else. Whatever this was between them was entirely new and that fact in itself was… Exhilarating.

He wouldn’t have minded all that much if she had stared, though he was keenly aware of the way he was semi-hard simply from the searching and soft touches they’d shared. Fane had no particular control over it, and it was only now when she was staring at his chest his ears grew a little red.

Her thumb continued brushing over his hip though and he could only hope that it was a sign she was okay. He reached out himself then, touching her waist to draw her attention “perhaps we should...” another shallow swallow worked its way through him trying to ignore how he felt right now amongst the other things nagging in the back of his mind. “Sleep?” he finally suggested unsure whether or not she wanted him to dress again or not.

His touch caused her to look up, and she swallowed past the tightness in her own throat. She’d seen men before, but only in passing through the camps and on the battlefield. Plus she had had three brothers. So she knew, in part, what a naked man looked like. But she’d never seen one so close. Or so… well.

“Sleep would be… welcome,” she nodded. With one last stroke of her thumb, she stepped back, letting him have his space, and turned in case he wanted to dress or not. “Which side do you prefer?”

Once he told her, Faye climbed into the large bed, sitting beneath the covers and watching Fane as he finished up his nightly routine. “What’s going to happen in the morning? How will we explain this away?” she asked as he finally joined her.

Typically, Fane didn’t bother with anything besides a set of loose linen trousers and figuring that they might as well get used to each other’s preferences. So, as Faye went to climb into bed he took the ones he’d left out and pulled them on needing to perch to get them on over his injured leg and limping around to get in the other side as there wasn’t much left for him to do.

Settling down under the covers he turned his head aside to look at her and after a moment stretched his arm out; a silent offer for her to settle a little closer if she wanted to. “We wake up, we go to breakfast and I’d say it’s best we tell my parents first… We can start preparing to weather the rest of it, I’ll write to Robb and inform him of the developments. He’ll be able to deal with Flint if no one else can.” Fane was on rather good standing with the Young Wolf and had a feeling the news would be well received.

After all, it did for all intents and purposes look like a political move considering the strength of both houses now tethered by this union. Plus, it did also strengthen the ties between the North and South. With Robb now set to marry Margaery Tyrell it served well to shore up alliance even if this had nothing to do with that.

Faye wanted to ask him about his leg again, but now didn’t seem the time. They would be able to get a good night’s sleep hopefully, and that should help. If it was still paining him in the morning, she would say something then. When he held out his arm, Faye hesitated for a moment, but finally slid over and tucked herself, just a bit awkwardly, into the crook of his arm. He was so warm, and she instantly felt the cold leach from her bones.

“What will they say, do you think? We didn’t ask their permission. Or even invite them.” Faye knew why of course, but she knew there might be a few hurt feelings at the least. Her face grew grim at the mention of Lord Flint. “He won’t be happy. Though I could care less about that.” Though Faye felt a small feeling of dread that the usurped Lord might do something foolish, his pride being only slightly larger than his belly.

“I just hope it doesn’t come back to bite us.” Faye didn’t know how it could, but stranger things had happened.

His arm twisted slightly to curl about her shoulders, it was something he used to do when he’d been married before… Something that felt comfortable to him and he hoped Faye didn’t mind all that much. It was strange, having lived for so long absent with the warmth of another body beside him that all he wanted to do now was nuzzle down and cuddle into the warmth of her body. But despite everything that had happened today, they were yet to truly get comfortable and until they did it was a matter of taking this at a pace that was comfortable for the both of them.

“Ma’ will probably understand, though she’ll probably insist we do it all again just so that she can be there… Pa’...” Fane wasn’t entirely sure “I’m not sure… Probably won’t be happy but he’ll come around,” especially considering the fact that the family lineage had no heirs as of yet and a marriage; even one as whimsical and rash as this had been had the potential to have a good outcome in the end.

Fane lightly rubbed his thumb over her arm hoping to reassure her as best he could. “We’ll deal with stuff as it comes up… There’s no point stressing now that it’s done.”